Outnumber The Sand

I'm in Sweden, and this is where I'll write the most...

2010-09-14T15:29:00.000-07:00

I'm writing most things about Sweden at:

Letters from Lund

but sometimes I'll need to come back here. Not so many people know about this one... better that way. ;)

sunset chase

2010-08-04T14:42:00.000-07:00

Email today to the other American girl who will be in my masters program:

hey sarah,

i'm sitting here at work, frozen and unable to be super productive because there is so much to do and so much on my mind. as i stress about where i'm storing all my stuff, if my passport will come, the parking ticket i got, if i can tie up all my loose ends at work, if i should get an oil change and how there's possibly time, all the goodbyes that are happening, and if i will be able to fit in a workout tonight...

i can only ground myself by knowing that there's scene coming, soon, which will be symbolic that the hard work over this last year was so amazingly worth it and that i've reached the top of this mountain that's called "grad school in sweden." i've been picturing it for a long long time.

a girl i know wrote about this one time here.
the scene that says you made it.

it's going to be after i've arrived in sweden...traveled down from stockholm...gotten all my stuff into the apartment... checked into lund university so they know i'm there...met the people in our program... bought a bike... and then

i'm going to ride that bike out of Lund and into the countryside of Skåne, and keep going. the days will still be long at this point since it will still be august, and so it will be a later evening ride because i want to chase the sunset. i did that one time in the netherlands, rode my bike into the sunset as far as i could, and it was one of the best days of my life. i know the day i do this in Sweden will be my "climactic scene," and also one of the best days of my life. i'll have finally made it. and it was all so very hard but so very worth it.

join me if you like... or at least let me know your scene, if you've pictured one... ;) we're going to be okay and it's all going to work out.

here's where that girl wrote about reaching that scene she'd written about long before.

best,

corinne

Certainty

2010-07-27T15:19:00.000-07:00

In these last couple weeks in Santa Barbara, my mind is full to overflowing.

But it's not so much with wondering, questions, ifs and whens and whos...

My to-do list is of course crowding my thoughts. But my mind is most full of moments, each dashing through, wanting it's own image to stain me with it's meaning. These moments are past memories, things of the present and anticipation of the future.

I think about moments that changed my life. Sitting in a Westmont dorm for preview days as a senior in high school, looking at the late night madness around me, and passionately scribbling down what was to be my entrance essay for that college. Picking up a description of the trips that the summer missions teams were going on through Westmont when I was a sophomore, seeing the description of the Thailand trip, and without knowing anything about the student leaders or the country, knew I was going. A late night conversation with a tall blond boy the year I was an R.A., who looked deep into my eyes and heard every word I said, in a way that few had before and since. The day a certain curly haired girl moved into my house after graduation. The text that came that said, "Let's do New Zealand this February." Standing on the dancefloor, waving the ridiculous ribbons of white from the smoke machine out of my face when a tall guy with a mischievous smile started waving it away for me. Opening my email to discover all the good news these past couple months.

I think about these things and how hard work and drive has come between all of them to get me to where I am now. To a place where I finally know what the next year will look like, and it looks exactly as I am certain it should. Everything's been so up in the air.

Now all that's up in the air is how amazing it will all be. How much I'll learn. How cold I will get but how beautiful it will be. It's the best up in the air I can imagine. The certainty of growth and discovery... I'm finally there.

Out of Africa

2010-07-14T10:41:00.000-07:00

It's amazing how things loom on the horizon and then all of the sudden they've come on gone.

Such was my trip to Uganda. I can't believe it happened and I've been back for a few days. One minute, I'm dancing at a party in a museum with all my friends downtown, the next, I'm in a village where women carry babies tied around their backs and baskets full of food on their heads. And then, I'm back again. Looking at the high heels in my closet and trading them for flats because I still need to debrief mentally from my trip and high heels just won't help.

The posts I wrote about Africa are originally at the family website I set up for the trip, Roots of a Tree. That site has the photos if you want to check them out.

I think my trip will forever be seen through the lens of the fact that a few days after I left, there were bombings in public places in Kampala where people had gathered to watch the World Cup Final. At least 70 Ugandans and and other international residents and visitors were killed. I can picture the types of people who died while enjoying the soccer game... older brothers taking care of their family, young women who just finished their waitressing jobs and wanted to join in on the viewing, aid workers from abroad. It wasn't, but could have been, Ambrose, Georgina, Lonna, or Francis. It wasn't, but could have been Kacie, Sarah, Kate, or my aunt. And even Kevin and I could have been there, as we spent so much time watching the World Cup in public places while in Uganda.

Please keep the people of Uganda in your thoughts and prayers as they deal with the pain and fallout from these terrorist attacks. It could be just this incident, but it could be the beginning of a streak of these cowardly and devastating acts.

Fitting Finale

2010-07-14T10:40:00.000-07:00

"You've got to do your own growing, no matter how tall your grandfather was."
-Irish saying

Our time in Uganda ran out all too soon, but as it ended we still fit in some of the best moments with people there we'll never forget.

I met my mother's friend, Dorothy, whom she met when she visited Uganda three years ago and has corresponded with ever since. Dorothy hurried to meet Kevin and I as we pulled up to my aunt's church on Sunday. She was so easy to talk to right away, and we carried on chatting and I gave her a gift from my mother (the novel Little Women, some candy, and a card). At one point she paused and said, "It is so strange to be talking to you now, you look just like your mom, it's almost as if she's here." She seemed to have tears in her eyes, and of course then so did I. I understood why my mom always spoke of her with such tenderness.

My aunt and Kevin and I had lunch with Kevin's student, Ambrose, and the student that my mom and stepdad sponsor, William. As soon as we met William I could tell he had a fun and hilarious personality. Over lunch I had the privilege of getting to give him a new backpack packed with fun presents from my mom and Brad. I wished that they had gotten to be with William to do this, since they've never met him and I knew they'd love him. As he opened the backpack he first spotted a card from each of them, and read them thoroughly first without even touching the candy and gifts, and then grabbed a stack of photos my mom included of various family members doing fun things, and had me explain who was in each photo and where it was taken. William's amiable curiosity and confident caring nature is going to take him wherever he wants to go... it was a such joy to meet him.

On our last full day we went bowling with my aunt and the Hope Alive staff. The skill level was wide-ranging but the smiles never stopped, and after every turn, there was always someone cheering you no matter how you did. There was a dj playing a wide variety of 80s and 90s dance hits, and between turns our Ugandan friends would bust some serious moves. Kevin and I were so impressed, and Kevin decided then that he needed to one day come back to Africa for a few weeks just to study dance moves... "there was so much to learn from them..." he said in awe. Totally true.

************

Then we flew away... but before our journey was completely over, there was still something left we had to do. As we touched down in Dubai for our overnight layover, Kevin asked, "Did you bring your paintbrush?" I grinned. "Yep."
"Good, because I've got my roller," he replied. But we didn't quite paint the town.

Our cabbie drove us through the glittering city in the middle of the night. The streets were quiet but the skyscrapers lit up the middle eastern night sky. Nothing was open at this time, so we had him drop us off at the beach right in the heart of Dubai. Kevin and I tore off our shoes and ran through the sand. We stepped into the ocean... and just started laughing. It was so warm. Warmer than the humid desert air. And the fantastic and very foreign scene was just too incredible. That famous hotel, the one that rises up in a curved arc with a tennis court hovering in the sky, was just to our left, looming over us and illuminating the gentle waves of the Persian Gulf. We bodysurfed and picked up shells and floated easily on our backs in the very salty water. It's a euphoric feeling to be in a moment that you are confident will stay with you for the rest of your life. As we drove away, the sun rose and we could see the city come to life. Kevin and I knew there could not have been a more fantastic finale to our African adventure, and when we landed in San Francisco eighteen hours later, with sand still in our hair, I know we could not have felt more grateful when we saw our Grandma waiting for us, sweet and excited, eager to hear our stories.

"The greatest adventure is what lies ahead.
Today and tomorrow are yet to be said.
The chances, the changes are all yours to make.
The mold of your life is in your hands to break. "
— J.R.R. Tolkien

Crossing Hemispheres

2010-07-14T10:39:00.001-07:00

We spent most of the weekend in Masaka. Although the road there was rough and bumpy, I knew as soon as we pulled into our site there that this part of Uganda was my favorite. The hills are green and rolling. The air is still warm but not nearly as gripping and humid as it can be elsewhere... at times it almost felt cool. The atmosphere of the town is more relaxed than Gulu, the other smaller town we've been in, since Masaka is in Southern Uganda and not affected by the rebel activities that had been going on in the north. Whenever I'm in a new place, be it a city, state or country, I like to imagine where I'd live if I settled down for awhile there. In Uganda, it would be Masaka.

There were so many highlights to the weekend...

* We visited the classes at a primary school and were there during one of their hour breaks. Some of the boys in the Hope Alive program practice their drumming during htat time. Kevin went over to join them... and soon there were dozens and dozens of kids around, because as someone said, "There's a muzungu (white person) playing the djembe!" Boys were authoritatively pounding their respective drums, fiercely hitting their shakers, occasionally looking up at each other to acknowledge or adjust the beat. Beads of sweat dripped down the face of each person. Some of the girls started dancing, swaying their hips to the sounds, looking like they were born to do it. I don't know how they learn to do that by 8 years old... they truly must've been born with the skill. Then a dance-off evolved from that... muzungus vs locals. You could probably have scooped up in handfuls the joy that was pouring out from everyone all over the place.

* The next day the kids of Hope Alive put on a fantastic dance and drumming program for us. It was a more polished, more passionate, and amazingly impressive version of what had happened spontaneously the day before. They work on their music program all the time, and treat visitors to their talent when they pass through their Masaka site. The girls in their native dress costumes shook their bodies like crazy, worked their bare feet over the floor- paying no attention to the 2 inch deep and probably 1 foot wide holes dusty holes in the facility floor. Kevin and I clapped our hands and cheered and thought the same thought many times... "I wish I had moves like that."

* We watched the USA vs. Ghana game on the outside patio of our Hotel Zebra on Saturday night. The full moon was out and so was our patriotism in support of our team. All two of us... surrounded by Ugandans, cheering on the last African team left in the World Cup. We were sorely outnumbered. Kevin and I would gasp quietly at all the close calls for a goal for our side... and on both of Ghana's great quick goals, we looked down in disappointment as cheers rose up all around. We laughed at the setting and couldn't be too bummed about the USA loss... we've loved our African World Cup watching experience and are quite happy for them.

The time here in this country has almost run out...but I think it's been lived to the fullest. Still a bit more to share with you before the end though.

A Dad's Gift

2010-07-14T10:38:00.000-07:00

"You have a nice home," I said.

"Not really," he replied, his tone matter-of-fact but laced with a hint of sadness. We were spending some time visiting the homes of children in the Hope Alive program. This was the fifth house, and the first time we had encountered a father. Usually it was a mother or the older sibling heading a household. His home was nice, relative to so many others; I hadn't been transparently trying to flatter him. The house looked like many in this poor area of Masaka; the roof was made from tin shingles and the walls from maybe some native bricks and the floor was concrete. But there were no chickens running around inside or posters taped up on the walls, and the floor was swept clean. It was spacious, there were at least three rooms and the couches were very worn but comfortable, and they even had a tiny TV.

Ronald spoke of how difficult things had been lately since he was out of work. His wife occasionally worked as a cook, which brought in some money, but he still was very concerned for their situation. Several times he said the words, "I just want to provide for my family." I wanted to do more than listen. I wanted to say that he was doing so much already just being there for them. That he was doing a great job for his kids, and that as they grow up they will benefit immensely from having had a dad. So many kids in Uganda may have a father, but he is often absent, for every reason from not wanting to be involved, to having found another family, or having passed away, or having to live in another place for a job. Ronald is providing, and I wanted to tell him that. But for that time, it was best to just let him share.

His darling daughter, a primary student who wore a pink dress and had greeted us with a hug, waved goodbye as we set off for the next home. She's a lucky girl, and I hope one day she realizes that. Her name, by the way, is Gift.

****************************************

"I think this is when most people give up on their stories. They come out of college wanting to change the world, wanting to get married, wanting to have kids... But they get into the middle and discover it was harder than they thought. They can't see the distant shore anymore, and they wonder if their paddling is moving them forward. None of the trees behind them are getting smaller and none of the trees ahead are getting bigger. They take it out on their family, and they go looking for an easier story."
-Donald Miller

Give & Get

2010-07-14T10:37:00.000-07:00

From what we get, we can make a living; what we give, however, makes a life.
-Arthur Ashe

Kevin met the student he sponsors on Thursday.

We went to Ambrose's secondary school to have Kevin visit him at lunchtime. The secretary had Ambrose pulled out of class a few minutes early. He walked into the office and then there they were, student and sponsor, grins a mile wide, giving each other the Ugandan handshake, and then, a hug. I bit my lip and stood to take a photo of them. We walked out to the schoolyard where they got to talk for quite awhile.

I try to put myself in the place of the students who are sponsored, to imagine what it would be like to meet in person the one who is putting you through school. Especially the older teenagers, who are close to graduating and being able to take their qualifying exams for college... they are so aware of how the support is allowing them truly move forward. Ambrose doesn't have parents, he lives with his older brother. It has to be overwhelming, to meet your sponsor, to know what to say, how exactly to say thank you, and all in your second language. And I know that sponsors are eager to convey their care, their interest, their desire to see the student thrive...It's true that their lives are separated by obviously so much more than a continent and an ocean. But you learn that often, that separation doesn't matter at all.

It was awesome to see Kevin and Ambrose dive right in to exchanging stories and discussing sports and video games and school. We'd heard Ambrose is quite smart and driven, and that was evident. I know they each got to express the depth of their appreciation for the other. And past that, I watched them become friends, the seventeen year old and twenty seven year old, laughing and posing for photos in matching aviator shades, as girls looking on giggled.

Brushfire Fairytales

2010-07-14T10:36:00.001-07:00

I was heading back to my hut at the safari lodge we were staying at on Sunday night. It was very dark but as I left the main lodge, I was sure of where I was going and was a little startled when an elderly man dressed in the lodge employee outfit came out of the shadow, pointing away from us and looking at me. He was calm but saying something in a low and forceful voice. "Bathroom," it sounded like he said. I paused... "No, no I'm going to my hut," I said quietly back. He shook his head. I leaned in.

"Buffalo."

Oh.

About ten feet from the path that led to all the huts stood about six massive dark buffalo. We'd actually been told to expect this, and that it wasn't too dangerous but you should just be cautious. Hearing about it is of course quite different from encountering it. I walked slowly, reverently, past. And obviously, made it safely back to my place.
The next day we viewed dozens and dozens of them from the safe and assuring enclosure of a hardy safari van. Along with giraffes, bucks, a lion and her cubs, and a lot of other things. The feeling of standing in a vehicle, your upper body out through a hole in the top, racing past the landscape, wind on your face... doing that every day would most certainly be incredibly good for the soul.

Other highlights of the last two days out on the game reserve by the Nile...

* Our safari guide setting fire to the tall golden grass and then having us drive away. Um, aren't you about to burn up thousands of acres of African landscape? No, it's not dry enough here? Okay. Santa Barbara would light up like a Christmas tree in January, but we'll take your word for it.
* Watching the World Cup games with Ugandan locals and international lodge guests on a sweet flatscreen by the bar. Geckos crawling on the wall, bats flying by the ceiling, Ronaldo drilling the ball into the net after it bounces off his back. Epic.
* Scrambling around on the wet rocks surrounding Murchison Falls on the Nile. Hot air, cool water spray, rainbow over the gap... can't wait to share all the photos.
* Food from the street vendors while on the road... its official: Meat on a stick is fantastic no matter what corner of the world you're in. Thailand, Greece, Uganda, Sharkeez in Santa Barbara... All delicious.

Miss you all.

Gulu Scenes

2010-06-19T10:50:00.002-07:00

The sky here is enormous. It goes on forever in every direction, clouds billowing high and low. You could lay in the long grass and watch them forever.
Gulu is fantastic.

We drove for five hours to get here from Kampala, and the highlight of the trip for both Kevin and me was the same. We rounded a bend and there it was...massive, raging, scary and beautiful. The Nile. Pictures will absolutely not do it justice. We could have sat on that bridge and stared at the river for days. We get to ride a ferry over it tomorrow, but apparently that will be at a calm spot. The place we saw on our roadtrip had rapids rated something higher than Class V, as in, perilously unnavigable. There's a small part of me that wants to take it on anyway.

Today we visited the Gulu Hope Alive site, which was amazing. We played with the kids, they made up songs and skits, Kevin taught them how to make paper airplanes, I put countless fake tattoos (my specialty;) on eager arms, and enjoyed a meal of casava (a sort of potato) and sweet tea. The site is in an area which used to house internally displaced persons from Sudan, and so there are dozens of huts left over from that in the surrounding areas. I took a walk through grass about twice as tall as me, wandering as I'm prone to do, until my little friend Mark, he's about six, came and found me, taking me by the hand back to our building for tea.

You should know, if you haven't been here before, how amazing the childrens' smiles are. It's not just the smile itself, it's how it happens. The kids are observant, watching you as you move past, not afraid to look right into your eyes, but their gaze is serious, curious and respectful. Then if you give them a smile, and if you hold it for at least a second, and they break into a smile as well. A shy and delighted smile that lights up their entire face. Also difficult to capture on film. No worries, because I know we won't ever forget it.

all in a day

2010-06-19T10:50:00.001-07:00

* Relaxed dinner with new friends that don't feel so new since they know several members of my family pretty well already.

* Driving on the left side of the road, with, as Kevin put it, more almost head-on collisions than he's had in the past few years combined. Just a standard cross town trip in Kampala.

* A sudden thunderstorm around noon, that came down hard and fast, and left as soon as it arrived. I stood on the porch and overlooked the city from the Hope Alive office and soaked it up, since rain in warm air is a novelty and a delight for me.

* Ugandan food... varieties of potatoes and rice and banana dishes and chicken and beans...delicious.

* You must speak slow here to be understood by Ugandans. But more importantly, you must listen hard to understand their English. To get every word, it's best to lean in and silence your own thoughts and focus on every word. Think about the context and wait before asking them to repeat themselves, since if you pause and review, you probably got it the first time. This is a great lesson.

*Fatigue. I know we have jet lag, but I started this trip sleep deprived, and maybe a couple months of too much too fast are catching up with me. There's nowhere like here to be able to slow down and rest. Even when the night sends through my open window the loud sounds of people cheering the World Cup game at a party in the distance. It didn't keep me up, but I fell asleep with a smile.

roots of a tree

2010-06-19T10:48:00.000-07:00

Five years ago I was heading back to Santa Barbara from Ensenada, Mexico, returning from a trip with a team of Westmont College students and other alumni. As we crossed the border I pulled my phone out to check messages that hadn't gotten to me while I was so far south. There was one from my mom, wanting me to call her - it was urgent. I did, and found out that my grandfather had passed away a couple days before.

It was expected, as he had been battling prostate cancer for several years and for a couple months we knew he could go any day. As we sat in the pews at his funeral, I looked around at all the men in the family; my strong and kind uncles and cousins and brother. I observed the women; my loving and wise aunts and mother and sister and Grandma. Although we and hundreds of others were mourning, strangely, I didn't really feel like my Grandpa was gone. I contemplated how to describe what Cliff Coon and his wife, my grandma Lucille, meant to our family and to so many others, but it was years before I found words that described it.

When I read A Million Miles in a Thousand Years by Donald Miller last year, I came across these words that finally explained my feelings.

"I knew he wouldn't die, because his life was like the roots of a tree

that went miles into the soil and miles around its trunk

and came up in my cousins, in their faces and their voices and their character.

I didn't think you could kill a tree that big."

And that was it. I got it. Cliff & Lucille lived a life of intention and virtue and achievement that grew roots so deep that though he passed away, everything they instilled in their six kids and fourteen grandkids and respective spouses was palpable and evident in the spirits and actions of each family member. It made sense why it often felt like he was still around... giving quiet words of wisdom, scribbling puzzles on napkins for people to figure out, tending his world class ivy garden while listening to the baseball game on the radio, writing his novels.

One of my grandfather's final wishes was that he and my grandma would pay for my sister and cousin Stephen to go to Uganda to visit our aunt Catharine. She has lived there for eight years and founded an organization called Hope Alive, a relief and development project focused on orphans and fragile families.

Last year, when the trip finally came together and Calista and Stephen were sent off, my grandma asked me if I'd like to go next year. I was floored. She said she had decided to send two cousins every year, an extension of my grandfather's original wish sprung from the joy she felt in sending her grandkids on this incredible experience. This is a sacrifice for her, and one that she has taken on with patience and generosity, and never with a hint that anyone owes her anything for it. She is faithfully ensuring that the third generation is inspired to live a life where their roots can grow deep too.

So off I go, along with my cousin Kevin, to Africa. 2010 is our year.

My grandparents live a life that has meaning, a life that makes for a great story. So do their children. The cousins, in our twenties and teens and gradeschool years, have been blessed with the encouragement and support to do the same.

So here's some more words from Donald Miller, in hopes that as the Coon family ventures out to Uganda over the years, we will take them to heart...

"No, life cannot be understood flat on a page. It has to be lived; a person has to get out of his head, has to fall in love, has to memorize poems, has to jump off bridges into rivers, has to stand in an empty desert and whisper sonnets under his breath... We get one story, you and I, and one story alone...

And once you live a good story, you get a taste for a kind of meaning in life, and you can't go back to being normal; you can't go back to meaningless scenes stitched together by the forgettable thread of wasted time."

Here's to a great story... for your life and for mine.

try a little tenderness

2010-06-08T00:26:00.000-07:00

He'd just made us some rice and chili for a late night snack. Brought two big glasses of milk over. Settled down on the floor in front of a fire and a movie playing in the background. His housemate was asleep on the couch. We'd all had a pretty fun and long day. A lot of sun, quite a few watermelon mojitos.

We started wrestling a little bit, just jokingly. When he seemed ready to stop letting me pin him, like he was about to really prove who was stronger, he said something about not wanting to hurt me. The words slipped though the laughter and my automatic response cut through it right back:

"You can't. You can't hurt me." I stared right into his eyes.

A few moments later the same exchange happened again. "You can't hurt me." I felt physically compelled to state it again, with an unblinking gaze.

"Okay. You have a heart of steel then?" he asked amiably but laced with understanding.

"Yep." I replied.

***************************

I can feel the reflex. Vulnerability peeks over at me from it's far away retreat, and I throw daggers and flying kicks to send it back to hiding. Don't mess with me, I tell it. I tell him. But from the other direction creep in my very real feelings and a sense that I shouldn't miss out on something. Even if it's just fun.

It's been a couple months now and after a bunch of back and forth, ignoring him, reconsidering, distraction... even a conversation after two days on a boat together about the fact that I don't feel enough to respond as affectionately as he wanted me to since we aren't dating and I am not in a place to date...

After all that, um, here we are this week... Looking like I'm going back on things I said and thought. Goodbye kisses, inside jokes, meaningful looks. Whoa, how did that happen. Somewhere between him telling me exactly where he stood and our singing along to Jack Johnson and the talk about WWII history on the ride home, I suppose...

Crap. Get me out of here. Wait, hold that thought... I'll hang out for a bit.

every moment red-letter

2010-06-02T00:02:00.000-07:00

I don't know how old I was when I first realized that music pulsed through my veins as thickly and essentially as my blood. I know I loved to sing and so I did so in musicals when I was little. I know it felt natural to want to pick up my dad's flute and join the middle school marching band. Come high school, I didn't think twice about trying a new musical direction and joining bell choir (that's another story ;). And in college, my musical desires were fulfilled in tiny bits with a year in gospel choir and a semester leading worship every Sunday for several dozen students in Europe.

But I don't know when I knew that a beat can make me overcome almost anything. That I want to live and die to music. I'm quite positive that the last year and a half my music blood rushes through me more than ever. I have to either sing, dance, or be happy if the right tunes are on and I don't have the words to explain how it's so powerful.

Last weekend, on a four day houseboat/wakeboarding trip, I was struck by this again.
The music was always playing. Whether it was:

Jack Johnson in the morning as we crept out of our bunks and woke ourselves up with bacon and coffee and dives off the patio into the lake.

Jay-Z during the morning boat run to get us rocking with the wind in our hair and our first tries on the wakeboard.

Girl Talk during the afternoon boat runs which pounded so fiercely through the speakers and out to me as I was pulled over the water that I felt I had my own private dancefloor as I sped by on my board.

David Guetta to get the evening party started, no matter how tired I was, I would go nuts when he was on.

And then when we'd create our own music late at night, after settling in on the roof while the guys with guitars led us in rock slow jams, pop favorites, and Disney songs. And I could sing with my full voice. And the stars looked on, and no one but the 20 of us could hear what we were doing as we sang out on our boat in our little cove.

I couldn't have been happier. My many cares were a world away, to be dealt with after this holiday. And then, the lead guitarist began a melody I knew too well, and I thrilled and sang while I thought about how applicable the song was to this rambunctious group of men and women in their late twenties who are all still figuring things out, and doing our best to have as much fun along the way...

"Either way, I wonder sometimes
about the outcome
of a still verdictless life...
Am I living it right?"
-John Mayer

stand or fly

2010-05-14T17:33:00.000-07:00

We sipped wine and the waves hit loudly against the nearby stretch of sand. Flames from the restaurant's heat lamp kept us warm in the cool evening breeze.

And we had a conversation so full of things we've discussed with other friends in different ways for the past few years...

what, where, who, why, when? how?

The topic that twenty-somethings return to again and again. Especially, I find, single twenty-somethings.

One of the questions that tugs the most can be the "who?" For my friend, it is at the forefront of her mind right now.

And I've been there. I will be again. It's not my question at the moment, but I have learned some valuable things during those times that it was and I know what to watch out for.

So I told her how it feels like when you know you're loved beyond doubt. When you can look at someone else and be incredulous together about your love. When they aren't afraid to talk about the future. When someone thinks you're the most interesting person they've ever met, and you think that about them. Or when they simply just don't want to let you go if you're lying down for a nap and you just need to get up for some water.

And she and I discussed together, what things do we need? What can we let go of? And when do you stop giving someone the benefit of the doubt and realize that they're just not that into you?

Is it too much to overcome if he's this way and I'm that way?

Regarding these questions, I think I've come a long way in figuring out the answer in many cases. Still have some learning to do.

I hope my friend, and the rest of my girls who have yet to find someone, can figure out their answers too.

"She kept asking if the stories were true and I kept asking her if it mattered and we finally gave up -- she was looking for a place to stand and I wanted a place to fly."
-Brian Andreas

Don't let yourself be tied to the ground if your wings are aching to catch the wind.

silver wings

2010-05-10T23:54:00.000-07:00

Roald Dahl will help me with this post...

"I've heard tell that what you imagine sometimes comes true."

So I sat on my couch last July and was researching and when I found it, my pulse quickened.

I can do this masters program. One year. Free tuition. An adventure in Sweden. This can happen.

"Never do anything by halves if you want to get away with it. Be outrageous. Go the whole hog. Make sure everything you do is so completely crazy it's unbelievable..."

It's amazing how time flies while it still takes you to so many places and carries you along while you scramble to get a million things done.

And then, a couple days ago, the emails flooded my inbox. I was accepted to the program. My dream program, ready and waiting for me in the south of Sweden. Now if only I can make it happen.

"We have so much time and so little to do. Strike that, reverse it."

When I began the journey, while it seemed outrageous and lofty, it simultaneously felt like the most logical and natural thing for me to do, combining all these things that I needed, longed for, and knew would take me to great opportunities and a better version of myself. And I knew that reaching for it would allow me the chance to fail. Failure... I hate it. I'm not used to it. Life here, in the past couple of years, hasn't given me much opportunity to experience it. But I knew it was time to change that. I'm terrified and ecstatic... and proud of myself that I looked for and found the less traditional option, the path less traveled.

"And above all, watch with glittering eyes the whole world around you because the greatest secrets are always hidden in the most unlikely places. Those who don't believe in magic will never find it."

I hope I can arrange the finances to make it happen. In the past couple days, my worry has been outweighing my action. If I can reverse that... and end up biking along cobblestone streets to my university, reading in cafes with classmates from around the world, and exploring the rocky shores of the Swedish coast with my dear friends... wow. My imagination bursts with this real opportunity for adventure.

"You seemed so far away," Miss Honey whispered, awestruck.
Oh, I was. I was flying past the stars on silver wings," Matilda said. "It was wonderful."

pink bubbly

2010-05-07T13:37:00.000-07:00

We found a perfect spot by the water. We spread our blankets out. Out of the bags came our crab, chicken, and chinese salads, some cheese, strawberries, and of course, bottles of champagne. We brought out the speakers, hooked up the ipod, and turned on the tunes. A late afternoon, last day of April sun shone down, it felt perfect on our bare shoulders and legs.

Everything then was so unknown and yet the moment couldn't have been happier. A rolling tide of joy rose up, inspired by the setting and the food and the fact that I was sitting around dear dear friends who have meant so much to me in the past year.

Friends who sing Disney songs at the top of their lungs while we walk downtown in the night.

...who help me when I don't know how to ask for it.

...who know the people I have known and can understand.

...who pull me out of my occasional hesitance and into epic and sometimes mischievous memories.

...who wrap their arms around me so tight when they saw I needed it. I didn't have to talk or move, they just held me hard and close. I wouldn't have expected that from them, I can't even do that for those I'm close to most times, but they did, and it was the perfect thing to do.

And we toasted several times, to various things, and since summer is close, the sun still kept shining. We sang into pretend microphones to so many songs, and the one I remember most was this one:

"and all the roads we have to walk are winding
and all the lights that lead us there are blinding."

Winding or straight... well-lit or not... this is a good road.

unanswered

2010-05-04T23:39:00.000-07:00

"So will you still be here in the fall? We'd love for you to stay on with us!"

"And Corinne, what are you looking for in a relationship? Something serious? Or...?"

"Will you be in town for Fiesta?"

"What will you do if you don't get into the program?"

"Why wouldn't you play kickball next fall?"

"Shouldn't you buy new cleats?"

"Want to see John Mayer at the end of August?"

"Can you come to this wedding next spring?"

"Are you interested in this other job? It's not where you want to end up but it's really awesome..."

"If you went to Sweden when would you go? If you didn't study there how long could you stay?"

"What is new?"

"How do you feel?"

"You're complicated."

To every question, every comment... I don't know. All these in the past couple weeks. Sometimes from people who know I'm up in the air, sometimes from strangers or people who don't know what I'm up to.

And I just. don't. know.

In a couple weeks I probably will. And any which way things will go, I'm getting really scared, because the changes are coming either way, and change has NEVER not been for the better but it remains ABSOLUTELY terrifying when it holds the most major things in your life in its hands.

visual diary

2010-05-04T00:55:00.000-07:00

Coachella... as I saw it.

"tall as the dunes on the shore"

2010-04-22T00:30:00.000-07:00

At nighttime you could look up and if you waited a few moments, the dozen-plus searchlights that swept across the desert sky would come together, shining simultaneously towards the middle of the stars. Whether I was sitting in the grass swaying my head to lilting piano melodies, holding the hand of a friend as we weaved our way out of the dance tent and on to the next stage, or jumping up and down to the beat of the headliners, I would look up there pretty frequently... it was settling and stable, yet fantastic and out-of-reach. It was a fleeting mental escape from one of the most intense sensory experiences I've ever had... one that pushed hard against our capabilities for handling sight, sound, touch, and the rest. And even as it pushed, we wanted more, and knew that we'd never have the time to see, hear, feel, or do it all. And as we drove away we were already remiss that it was over. Showers, silence, clean clothes, sleep, sanity, be damned.

To remember every moment would be most desirable. I would love to recall exactly the way Temper Trap opened their set. I wish I knew how we ended up talking to some Australians after the Gorillaz played. It would be great to remember what songs we laughed at and sang to when they came on at the club in the campground. But of course, life is not designed to remember everything, it's impossible. So much is a blur. But there are some extremely vivid moments that I think I'll hold forever.

* Our group of five was zooming through the crowd, led by tall Jonas who had his fist in the air so we could keep track of him by our stay-together method of wearing glowing wristbands. There was a thick frenzy of excitement pressing down on us, the final act of the festival was taking the stage. Movement, movement, lights, bodies, cheering... Jonas was running faster and faster. He kept repeating, "this is it guys. let's do this. this is IT!" and all we could do was keep our eyes trained on his glowing fist and clasp hands tight, Sabina and Jodie and me, and follow. Then we got near the front. And then the beat dropped.

* Without expecting it, I found myself falling for LCD Soundsystem. The tunes were fantastic and the energy incredible. And several songs in, they started one song, I can't remember if it was Someone Great or All My Friends... Then I could see a fierce jump forward from a guy to the right and back of me, and his face was elated. He cried out, to noone in particular, or maybe all of us, or maybe just for himself... "THIS IS WHY I'M HERE! THIS BAND...THIS SONG! THIS IS WHY I'M HERE!!!.... this is why I'm here..." he trailed off as he began to sing along. I smiled at that for hours. His moment, I could so identify with it, became one of mine.

*She danced and waved her hands, not as crazy as some around us, but she was enjoying herself. She was in a two piece bathing suit only, with some body paint and maybe some feathers in her hair, not unusual for the festival. It was nighttime at one of the headlining acts. Since our groups were pressed in close to each other, the usual festival camaraderie came easy. We hadn't exchanged any words at all, just bumps and laughs and sing a longs. She was younger than me, and looked not crazy or hipster but sweet. At one point she leaned back, wanting to say something, so I leaned forward. "This is my first time really letting loose. The first. I don't ever look like this, I never have, I'm so conservative," she said, gesturing to all her bare skin. "I came here to be free." Her innocent face, somewhat buzzed, seemed to hope for acknowledgment that it was okay. It was. "You look great. And this is the most fun. Be free," I smiled at her and hugged her. She grinned and turned back and wrapped her arms around the girl next to her. I wonder about her.

*We could hear that they'd started a few minutes early. We started to run. It wasn't fast enough. Sabina and I broke into a full sprint, leaving the rest behind. We couldn't miss one more note without being as close as possible, this was one of the main bands we came for. When we reached the more tightly woven crowd, she persisted as she always did by pulling us through, winding past. Then somehow, after my pointing it out and her daring assertiveness, we got ourselves up on a concrete platform, only big enough for the two of us and a fellow Passion Pit fan. Our feet were at least seven feet higher than the heads of the crowd. We were right in the center of thousands. The sun was going down, and the colorful festival lights came on; the orange ferris wheel, purple folded crane, green and blue palm trees... Passion Pit sang, "let your love grow tall, tall as grass in the meadow, or the dunes on the shore, like the buildings in the city, and your children on the floor..." And the wind was warm on my face and Sabina and I waved our hands and it was unbelievable and THEN they played Moth's Wings... one of the songs I set my 2009 video to, and images of some of the best times of my life flooded over me, mingling with the images and feelings before me right then. There were tears in my eyes. It one of those perfect and stunning moments when you feel that it's possible that all your dreams will come true. You forget about the scholarship decision waiting in the mail at home, you forget about everything except for the moment.

That was Coachella.

desert bound, unfettered and free

2010-04-15T13:59:00.000-07:00

and away we go...

more friends than I can count, from across California.

music lovers and good timers from across the country and abroad.

cars packed with summer dresses and bathing suits and sleeping bags and lanterns and beers.

spirits full and thrilled in anticipation of the next four days, of which we've been counting down the days since triple digits.

we arrive tonight after a road trip of a multiple car caravan. for days and nights we will...

run between concerts, set list in hand, smiles wide with excitement.

pump our fists to the beats of djs playing under the stars where hundreds move in time with us, warm breezes blowing by.

sit in the mornings and before bed with friends old and new in a tent city, telling stories, taking pictures, playing games, sharing snacks and coors light.

soak up the hot desert sun and the fact that life is beautiful and we are so blessed and these are the kind of adventures that you seize to make things as memorable as possible along the way.

See here to see what Coachella will look like. See this website next week to see what it looked like through my eyes.

check

2010-04-08T01:33:00.000-07:00

To Do List For This Week:

1. finish my taxes
2. complete my Coachella band research
3. secure tent and sleeping bags and outfits fit for the desert for Coachella
4. buy a new camera
5. all my clients are back from spring break. figure out new work schedule.
6. check the mail. try not to think about it too much.
7. new debit card was sucked into atm... must replace
8. sleep
9. confront the tangled web that is Tuesday night co-ed kickball
10. purchase plane tickets to Uganda. yep.

Whew.

up in the air

2010-04-08T00:27:00.000-07:00

"So tell me the story!" S said eagerly. "I just know there was kissing in a treehouse, and I want to hear all the details! From the time we left, how did you end up there? Sounds awesome!"
I grinned. "It was really awesome." It was a good story, but more than how it sounded cool, it had really been a genuinely great time. Once we were all sitting down with menus in hand, they had me tell the tale.
"So after you guys left, I had to take E and him home, and of course E is so close, so I dropped her off first..."

*****************************

"Do you want to come in?"

I had just pulled into his driveway. I looked directly in his eyes, looking for some hint of smirk. None. We'd been coyly flirting all night, under the radar of all the outright flirting and jolly mischief that regularly goes on with our team during the food and drinks after kickball. It was only a matter of time before we'd confront the fact that he was obviously interested. Which is interesting to me.

"How about... I come in and we go to the treehouse?" I suggested. I'd wanted to see this treehouse since he'd mentioned it a couple weeks ago... two different levels, ocean view, it sounded like it was right up my alley. It was still an early night...and, this way, I wasn't actually "coming in the house to hang out." The treehouse was the purpose...not something else.

So inside we went. After some chatting with the roommates we went out to the backyard. It wasn't a treehouse like your dad made for you when you were a kid, with a straight ladder and walls or a fence around the platform, all safe and storybook-like. This was a twentysomething-plus treehouse. Less safe, more adventurous. Kinda tricky to climb up to the first level, quite a bit of careful foot placement and upper body strength was needed to get up from the ground. Then you had to climb skillfully around the thick branches upwards... until you got to the second level. It was a perch, high above the ground, with a perfect view out to the ocean. A long strand of little white lights wound carefully from branch to branch, illuminating the inside of the tree where we sat. It was perfect.

We talked and talked. About the funny, the serious, the random... we even debated. At one point he placed his hand over mine very deliberately, laced his fingers through, and pulled our hands towards himself. Later there was a break in the conversation. I leaned forward to see if I could see any constellations through the gaps in the leaves.

"So, how do you feel about kissing in a treehouse?" he broke our comfortable silence. I didn't look at him and kept peering upwards, but could feel a laugh trying to break through my lips. "Well, I don't want to fall out of here..." I stalled. The laugh escaped.
"Well I'm not going to lay you out over this branch!" he laughed too, pointing to the 5 inch diameter bit of tree coming out from under our platform. I laughed harder. When I stopped, I said finally, "I feel good about kissing in a treehouse."

And then we did.

*****************************

Then a few days later, amidst too many people and too much noise, a kiss happened again.

Shortly afterwards he said this: "When I kiss you, I can see in your eyes beforehand that you are thinking 'What am I doing?' You really have to think about it first. It's so obvious. What's the deal?"

He was absolutely right. I didn't think I was so transparent. I was thinking that... I have been.

It's just cause there's so much else going on... so much unknown, so many people to consider, I don't know who or how much I want. It's not you... it's me.

what's to come

2010-04-03T23:21:00.000-07:00

a drive home, north on the 101, for a holiday. oh how many times i have done it.

but my favorite time to do it is during the daylight of spring. the hills are greengreengreen... rolling and gentle and lush. the rains have worked their magic on "golden" california and made it clear that we sorta do have seasons. and this one is the very green one.

i've been a few places and i still think california is one of the most beautiful there is. so many different parts of it. and i love that to go to family means that i must drive up through vineyards, along the ocean, past fields of yellow, mist swirling around the massive hills dotted with round bits of forest. i enter the bay area and the hills slope down to a shimmering bay, bridges rise in the distance, and i marvel at how lovely it is and wonder if i'll ever live here again.

with all the rain this winter, this drive was one of the most amazing i've done in the last ten years. despite the crippling allergies all this blooming has brought me, i could still gaze in awe. i sipped on a peppermint tea, while some of my new tunes played over my wandering thoughts about all that April has in store for me...

"never wanted time for looking back
for a moment i look down and wonder
and of what's to come today
girl, i wonder where you are..."

-Ra Ra Riot, who I will see in two week at Coachella.

"oh we'll get there someday"

2010-03-31T14:10:00.000-07:00

"You mean you're not going to follow her to the east coast for college?" the mother said pleadingly but with a twinkle in her eye.
"Oh, wouldn't that be fun!" I answered with a laugh. I've been giving heads-up in the past couple weeks to the families I work with that there is a possibility I won't be in town next school year. Just a possibility... I don't want to surprise them with the news later on if it's really going to happen. I've been surprised and flattered at the playful resistance and genuine disappointment that's come in response. In some ways, I know that there is someone else who could do perhaps a better job than I have with these high schoolers, and I have some people in mind to pass them on to.

But it's nice to know I will be missed if I'm gone. I will miss them too... no work I've ever done is as fun as tutoring these teenagers. And it's so much more than tutoring... it has to be, to establish that rapport and gain respect and mutual "like".

I love Monday nights when I arrive at B's lovely home on the hill... and she is ready with the latest funny anecdote about one of her friends, or a photo of a piece of clothing from the Olsen twins line, Elizabeth & James, which we both love. This is my second year with her... and at times I've even shared very tiny snippets of the latest travel/boy/fun stories in my life, which seventeen year old girls gobble up.

Tuesday afternoons with C... that girl is amusing. She was quiet at first...but her humor sneaks up on you with its spontaneous quirkiness. On our second session, she was telling me how her classmates, two darling hyper girls I worked with in tandem last summer, told her that the best way to bother me was to try to "scrunch" my hair when I wear it curly. I laughed, and immediately sent a joint text to those two girls thanking them for passing on that wisdom. I explained to C that yes, I don't like my hair scrunched, and most clients wouldn't get a chance to know that, but those girls and I spent a lot of hours just the three of us, sitting in couches going insane studying Algebra, so they got comfortable enough with me to touch my hair, which doesn't commonly happen with my clients. Little fourteen year old C didn't skip a beat and responded, "Oh, don't worry, we'll get there someday." We're not there yet, but we have discovered our mutual love for the smell of freshly lit matches, so I've given her a box of Swedish matches that light extra explosively. And since we meet at my house, I let her light some of my candles during our sessions.

And then I think, I'm gonna miss these girls if I go. But even if I don't, they will soon, so one of us has to do it first.

"sparkly and colorful, we are"

2010-03-29T00:28:00.000-07:00

We sit in the car, southbound on the 405...

"Some people, some girls, are just colorless. I want to be around people who are colorful. You are colorful. You are vibrant. A colorful girl. That would make a good song."

************

We sit in a modern space, dramatically decorated red and black, with the tastiest Italian food before us.

"So won't you show me your writing? Can't I see your blog?"

"Hmmm." I look down, embarrassed, not sure how to evade this any longer, I must just say it. " Well, maybe, it's just that, I've kind of written about you on there. Like once or twice."

"Well, I can't wait to read it." He said with a gentle and amused smile.

************

We sit on a balcony with tea, overlooking the beach.

"Why is it that you want to figure people out so completely?"

"If I know and understand people, I can treat them better, they don't bother me since I get their motivations, and, well, I think I want to understand people well enough so that they can't hurt me..." I explain vaguely.

He frowned. "But people can still hurt you, even if you 'get' them."

"Yeah, but maybe they can hurt me less this way... " I trailed off. I had never really said that reason out loud. Not sure how I liked the sound of it.

*************

We sit by the window, he with his spicy shrimp soup and me with my chicken pad thai.

"What kind of guy do you typically go for, then?"

"I like leaders... I like guys who are sure of themselves and are such that others are sure of them too. Kind and good with people. Driven. Fun. One of my best friends told me that I seem to only have ever dated guys who 'sparkle'. I like that." I smiled.

"Well... that sounds like me!" He winked. "But really, I have heard that said to me before... Sparkle. Am I a guy who sparkles?"

We both kind of laughed but it was an honest question. "You are!" I said.

"Okay then. Here we are. A sparkly guy and a colorful girl."

**************

We just been standing, kissing goodbye, giving long hard hugs. I opened my car door and stepped in, he closed the door behind me. I pull my seat belt around as I reach for my ipod to set up a song for my road trip. I'd just barely picked it up and clicked once before there was a tap on my window. I reached for the door handle but he was already opening it.

"One more kiss." He leaned in and gave it. "Okay, be safe." Then shut the door again. I drove away, grinning. He stood there and waved until I was out of sight.

"set your course by the stars"

2010-03-25T11:09:00.001-07:00

On the 4th of July last year, I was more madly in love with my town than ever before.
On the 5th of July, I decided that I needed to attempt a new challenge, one that would likely take me away from this beloved town.

It was strange, realizing that as in love as I was with Santa Barbara, the fact that I still had nagging feelings of "what/where is next?" was a powerful turning point. The first half of last year confirmed my thirst for work that challenged me more, where I could apply the highest tests and purpose to my skills and intuition and passions. The first half of last year developed in me a more fervent thirst for new experiences and learning and relationships.

So I decided to apply to graduate school far far away, to the perfect one year masters degree program designed for the exact career I'd been wanting for years. And I decided that I would put all my effort into winning a top scholarship to get me there.

So for this scholarship, I dove deep into research. I emailed foreign admissions representatives, business contacts, local scholarship advisors... I conducted informational interviews.. I studied for and took the GRE... And I researched some more. Read a ton. Made hundreds of to-do lists.

Then began the writing. Oh, the writing. It was painful. Every sentence of my personal statement and proposal statement was crafted in agony. How could I cram everything I knew and had read about my field into a couple sentence summary? How could I answer all required eighteen-plus questions about who I am, my study/work/life experiences, and where I want to go in one single spaced page? I was on the emotional edge for weeks figuring it out. I had a dozen such statements found online that had won this scholarship that were tattered and highlighted from my intense study of them in order to create something as good or better. I knew the competition was out there, fierce and accomplished and driven, and several times I was close to giving up... when I couldn't figure out the precise angle of my necessary research aim for my proposal, when I didn't think my letter of affiliation would come from the foreign university, when I assessed that my college grades were crap and uncompetitive... But briefly, just a couple times, I thought: I could win this. I have amazing experiences, travel/work/life, behind me. Maybe my writing will draw them in. The letter of affiliation has come! My references are stellar. I think I'm what they're looking for. I hope.

I've never been on such a rollercoaster of belief in myself as I was during August and September. Then I just had to wait.

On January 29 I was told I was a finalist. I was in the top 15 or 20 for ten awards. Just reading the first line of the email I had tears and shaking hands and a pounding chest. That was affirmation enough. I am so honored. And I'm the better for having applied... the process was transformational. So then I've waited some more.

Sometime in the next two weeks I will hear the final answer. It will come by snail mail. The letter, no matter what it says, will change my life. And I'm prepared. I've opened envelopes before that held answers that changed my life, answers that I hadn't expected or hoped for. And it has all worked out okay. I know for certain that it will all be okay this time too. No... not okay... fantastic. Scholarship or not.

You'll hear from me in the next two weeks... shortly after I find myself alone on a beach, opened envelope and unfolded letter in hand.

“When you set out on your journey to Ithaca,
pray that the road is long,
full of adventure,
full of knowledge.”

-Constantine Peter Cavafy

"explore. dream. discover."

2010-03-24T23:27:00.000-07:00

The last time I'd checked, it was March 11.

Then I was on a hotel rooftop skybar in San Diego, looking out over the city lights, sipping the best champagne I've ever had.

Later I was lying on a black sand beach in La Jolla as we laughed at the unexpected nudists strolling by while we drank Coronas and ate girl scout cookies. Thin Mints and Do-si-dos.

Then I was on a boat in Newport Beach Harbor at sunset, motoring our way to a fancy seafood restaurant.

Some time later I woke up in a big soft hotel bed and had breakfast- cranberry bagels, bananas, juice, and chamomile tea, on a balcony overlooking the ocean in my own little Santa Barbara.

The next day kickball started and I had my fingers crossed for a good team, that my foreign friends would do well, that I would make a good catch and have great kicks and that we'd make a bunch of fun friends. It all happened, even better than I imagined.

Then this one day we all wore green and I drank cider and had veggie pizza with some of my best friends and we traipsed about town, and the night ended as I sat under the stars with someone who hadn't let go of my hand since he'd met up with us and there were whispers in my ear of how beautiful and classy I looked and how funny I am...

A day or two later we said goodbye after a beachside wine tasting and spell in the hot tub. I drove away. And then

I woke up in Pacific Grove. With my mom, sister, aunts, Grandma... and other women who have watched me grow up. We hug repeatedly and we save each other spots at lunch. I greeted the day with a run; following the wooden boardwalk through the white sand dunes and between the cypress trees, and down to the fine soft sand on the beach, scrambling over rocks and jumping over rivulets, the beat of the turquoise ocean loud through my ipod earphones, and it was so amazing and I was so happy to just BE that I had to run with both arms open wide. Laughing.

I just looked at the calendar and it's March 24. How did that happen?

Sometime in the dark dark night as I journeyed the 101 north I was on the phone to my sister, I sat in my little car cocoon and she on a log near a bonfire on the beach that awaited me. I wondered to her, "Is this my real life? Doesn't it sound outrageous? Or is it a dream, like my friend Nick says..."

It is my real life, for now. It's okay for life to be this crazy, this fun, this dreamlike. It's not without it's tears and insomnia and stress and awful pollen allergies.
But mostly everything altogether is adventurous and lovely and I am not taking one second for granted.

"first i must say that i miss your company..."

2010-03-05T23:17:00.000-08:00

When I write emails to my mom, she responds in a timely manner, and always responds. She addresses each thing I say, and her tone is engaging and, where it applies, encouraging. I am such a verbal person, both written and spoken, and that she responds to me this way is something I so appreciate.

I was trying to assess why there was something familiar in the way he's been emailing me... I like writing back and forth with people, especially when they are far away. But why did the emails feel so... I don't know... reassuring?

Then it hit me. He writes and responds to me like almost no one else does besides my mom. Not in a weird way...of course... but when I bring a topic up, he continues it with more thoughts. If I answer his question, like what's Newport Beach really like, he thanks me for telling him. If I attach a recent photo of myself doing something fun (following him doing it first), he comments on how pretty I look. And then the time I wrote more than I intended, and tried to disclaim by ending the email with "wow didn't mean to write so much!" he responded by starting "thanks for your long email" and his email was equally as long.

Ummmm... I don't know what to do with this. Verbal affirmation, in person and on paper (well, on internet). I've craved it in a relationship and now it's here... but I don't even consider myself in a relationship. Not really. Confusing? Yep. A problem? Nope.

Whatever happens, it is good to know what it feels like to spend time with someone for whom verbal affirmation comes naturally. It feels reassuring. It feels safe. And it feels good.

this will look good on him

2010-02-28T23:50:00.002-08:00

I think I was about 12 years old, and my mom had just brought us kids home from something and we were sitting down for dinner. My sister and I were commenting on how we probably missed one of our favorite tv shows that night. Then my brother, around 8 years old, jumped out of his chair and made an animated joke about the show, and I almost fell out of my chair laughing. So did my sister and my mom. "He really is funny... more than your average funny guy funny..." I remember thinking.

I always knew it must be hard to grow up as the youngest by several years of three kids, and the only boy, and with obvious personality and interest differences from the older two sisters. I knew it was difficult and it was hard for me to show empathy since we were so different. We all loved each other even if it wasn't said very often, and we mostly got along, and we definitely had some awesome pretend games in the early years... but then sometime along the way as we grew to resemble adults more than we resembled kids, a few years ago, the realization came that my brother and I weren't so different. Definitely not in every way. Inside jokes were easily created and cherished. Laughter was easy and often. Texts back and forth were clever. He would have thoughtful things to say about the guys that I dated.

And so this early adulthood stage in a brother-sister relationship is a great chapter, and it's not necessarily the early years that are the most important in a sibling relationship. All the time you spend together can make it seem like that... but even when you don't wake up and stand on opposite sides of the wall heater every morning before school every day, you can grow as a brother and sister who are friends.

I thought these thoughts the other day when I was wandering around H&M looking for a present for my about-to-be 23 year old brother. I had texted him to double check his shirt size. "Medium, right?" I asked. "Yeah!" he said. Then, a second later, "Except when I'm flexing. Then I'm like an XL." I laughed out loud. I grabbed the medium size sweater. "Obviously!" I texted back.

lala land

2010-02-21T00:43:00.000-08:00

Where do you go when you need to get away? Be refreshed? Get a taste of a place you love and don't get to see often enough?

I go to L.A.

It's not always my escape, but I love being there and it's so close, and I miss it sometimes.

It's been a week-plus of sickness and not too much social time or productivity. I needed some time out of a house littered with herbal supplement bottles and blankets, some fresh air, a new atmosphere, some shopping maybe, and some time away from my computer and watching the Olympics to get some reading in.

So off to Venice and Santa Monica I went.

After a successful shopping session, I went for some lunch with one of my favorite people and ended it with some fried plantains... I'd been craving them for months. We walked along the beach boulevard and played on the rings, balance beams, and climbing ropes that dot the walkway near the pier. It's such an energetic and carefree scene, I wish I could start or end every day there. Then I watched a cold and colorful sunset looking over the coast of L.A. I found a birthday present for my brother on Third Street. Then I sat in an airy cafe with passionfruit tea and eggs on toast for dinner while I read. The rain waited until I started driving home, where a couple more hours of Olympics welcomed me back before bed.

*photo credit not mine for this one

It's good to get away for the day, even when it's away from my wonderful paradise town. It's also good to treasure this time when I have nothing else planned, nowhere to be, and no one to answer to.

precarious

2010-02-16T23:36:00.000-08:00

If I really think about it, I've only truly felt healthy for maybe a dozen days since my birthday in October.

It's unlike me... well, unlike how I grew up. I was always super healthy. The year after college I got a lot of colds, but I blame that on working with kids and an extra rainy and depressing winter season. And then in the past year and a half or more my colds have lasted too long. Then last May I had to go on antibiotics to get over a 6 week weird cold-turned-chest congestion thing. Same in the beginning of December. And then a few days later, before the antibiotics were over and I'd been able to enjoy more than 5 days of feeling better, I got sick all over again. So at the end of December, another ten day round of antibiotics. These were stronger, made my mouth taste like poison, and generally made me feel strange. As January came to a close and after a few nights of little sleep, my throat started warning me again with a familiar dull ache, and then all of the sudden, last Thursday, my head and chest were exploding with congestion. And then followed days of the most debilitating cold or flu or sinusitis or whatever I've experienced since I can remember.

When I've talked about it in the past few days, I start to tear up. So it was all I could do to keep my tears from spilling down when I sat in the office of a soft spoken Belgian homeopathic doctor yesterday. I sat there thinking about how I didn't really have a choice besides him, since I knew I shouldn't go back to urgent care and be on antibiotics again, but he was going to cost me so much money. His questions turned from details about my symptoms and history to... my feelings. "How does it feel to have been sick so often?"

"Well I'm used to getting to do whatever I want since I'm a healthy person with a pretty healthy lifestyle. I am not used to having to be careful, to say no to things, to be balancing precariously on the edge of health."

"So...how do you feel?"

He kept returning to that, to ask me to explain it precisely, what I've been and am thinking and feeling. I felt silly almost, to say that it frustrated me, made me upset, made me feel weak. It felt weak to even say all this, like I shouldn't be making it a big deal. I didn't feel like myself saying those things, trying to verbalize thoughts and feelings that I was slowly realizing had been affecting me negatively the past two months especially. I'm not used to being emotionally affected by my health, though it comes as second nature to know how I'm affected emotionally by everything else.

He diagrammed for me on a piece of paper how my emotional, mental, and physical elements are not in sync, and how my physical health issues are causing the other two elements to get off kilter. His questions were all a fine-tuned attempt to figure out how my body is functioning and predict what will help it to function best.

I recognized his analytical method, could compare it to how I analyze people and personality functions. I have to believe, since he is an expert and I am not, that he is more accurate than I am and that this cocktail of supplements I am on now will lead to an end to all of this.

you are very cute.

2010-02-08T00:09:00.000-08:00

It came on. I stopped talking. I leaned forward more and more. And then I teared up instantly, and grabbed the hand of my friend who'd just done the same. Across town at another Superbowl party, my friend yelled for the party to pause and rewind the commercial so it could be seen again, because it was "just sooooo Corinne!"

There are so many different versions of those same searches I've typed before in various years of my life. For different and similar reasons. My life has been launched into dozens of adventures, the biggest yet to come, from what has come up on my dramatic and/or curious Google searches. I was so moved by the simplicity of the words and the vulnerability that we give to our internet searching. And as one youtube commenter put it, what the ad showed in so few searches was "just the journey of being human."

Millions of other viewers have been touched by the spot too... just a few comments:

afterburner - Wow.
I met a french girl two years ago while she studying abroad here in the US.
We started to date.
She came back to the University. For me.
We were sitting together at a Super Bowl party and this commercial came on.
Everyone became silent at the party and stared between us and the commercial, smiling.
Almost as good as our first kiss.

rwalford79- And that my friends is EXACTLY the same thing I do, except mine is for Colombia :)

hundredyard-I am a hard-hearted prick and that made me tear up.

marcustodd-i love this commercial, reminds me when i was in love with a foreign exchange student from sweden......

jeromebesnard - That's my story (the other way around). I'm French, met my wife in the US and we just had a daughter. Very nice!

timberwolves-Great commercial. Stopped an entire bar dead in its tracks last night. By the time the commercial was over you could hear a pin drop.

starsandsea - As someone who met her current partner thanks to study abroad, this made me tear up a little.

JohnnyB - This is crazy. My girlfriend is French. We have been doing everything we can to get her a job back here in the US. We met in business school at SU and she has her MBA. This commercial speaks to us on so many levels...like google has been spying on us. It's one of those things that give you hope and assurance that it has to all work out in the end.

usafpilot - this is something that i am experiencing right now. went abroad last year, have a girlfriend in Germany, and hopefully i'll have the same fate as this lucky guy.....

jpickles - I wonder what the Paris girl is searching about on her end?

**************************

Great question. I wonder that too.

amazing except for

2010-02-06T00:02:00.000-08:00

A few days of my favorite class in college focused on how to observe and experience your environment more keenly. Our professor taught us that we should learn how to cultivate "The Illusion of the First/Last Time." The idea is that when you see a place for the first time, you are supremely more aware of the details around you, noticing things that those that are accustomed to the place don't notice anymore, and you are maybe more appreciative. And then, when you see a place for the last time, you tend to linger, soak it in, let your senses take their time over the things there are to remember about the place. In these ways, if we cultivate the illusion that we are in a place for the first or last time, we can see, feel, and learn more about it. It can work with a person or an action or anything. I've never forgotten this lesson.

I don't know if I will be leaving Santa Barbara this year. But in case I am, I have been trying to soak up the luxuries that my daily life in this town bestows upon me, thinking about them more deeply than before, and wringing out every bit of wonderfulness from them. If I leave, I would miss a thousand things as much as I might miss my right arm if it were gone.

But one of the main ones would most certainly be the weather. There are so many great things about living in coastal California and having one of the most mild climates in the world... it's what I've grown up with. But as I look around me, in the dead of our winter, I'm noticing more as I wonder if I might not have this next year.

Tonight, people sit on outdoor patios of restaurants. It was rainy and windy today, but tonight was calm and mild, and outdoors they sat with thin jackets on and no hint of chill. When my friends and I want to dress nice to go out at night, we can leave our jackets in the car for the short walk to the destination. In February. I can go for a run in a tank top and shorts. It rains for more than three days in a row and it makes major news. Just a few days ago, I laid out in a bathing suit in my backyard to read. I mean, this is ridiculous. And I've never known anything else.

This part of the world is wonderful, and many who live here consider the weather to be the best part about it. And I might leave it for a place, as described by it's locals, that is truly amazing except for one bad thing: the weather.

I'm reveling in the 50 and 60 something degree days, sometimes 70+, that we call winter. But I'm also trying to convince myself that these are not non-negotiables for a content life. I'm trying to make myself believe that I wouldn't miss them desperately if they were gone. Because weather isn't everything... right?

piano man

2010-01-26T23:10:00.002-08:00

He looked down at it, eyes sparkling, moving toward it eagerly. As he sat down he said excitedly, not even seeming to direct his words to me but to the atmosphere around us..."I'm going to rock this piano, I promise you."

*****************

It had been a good night already, on the way to this moment. We sat in oversized velvet red armchairs and shared delicious Middle Eastern food... grilled halloumi, lamb, hummus... I watched amusedly as he peppered the waitress with questions, his inherent curiosity not allowing him to simply order whatever struck his fancy. He had to know; what was the best local red wine they had? Would she recommend the syrah or the pinot noir? What do the kibbeh wheat balls taste like? I would have been slightly embarrassed, assuming that she would be getting a little annoyed, if it wasn't so apparent that she was a bit charmed by his accent and honest wondering eyes.

We'd been talking about music and how he was in a band and how I played the flute and handbells, and sometimes sang... "I would love to get to a piano right now! I could play... and you could sing." he said. I decided I'd do what I'd been contemplating doing since he'd arrived. "I'm going to take you to a place where you can do that," I replied. "It's deep in Montecito... I'll drive."

As I drove in past the Westmont College sign and parked by Clark Halls, he looked around with his characteristic deep curiosity. We traipsed around for awhile, making our way through Kerrwood Hall and then over to the library rock. Scrambling to the top in our fancy shoes and jackets got us laughing, and at the top he closed his arms around me and stood still for a few moments, oblivious to the perpetually smiling nineteen year olds in their school sweatshirts passing by the rock to study in the library.

I pulled him through the formal gardens and we arrived at the prayer chapel. There is a piano in there for anyone to play, although in all the times I'd been in there I'd never touched it. At that moment, there happened to be a student at the keys, having a moment, singing his heart out. While we waited we ducked into the observatory classroom and pretended to give each other lectures. We scribbled our names on the board, drew pictures, sat in the desks, and giggled like kids. When we walked back to the chapel, the guy was still on the piano. I made a lucky guess, and took us to where I thought the music practice rooms were nearby in another building, and happened to open the right door. There was a practice room, quiet, private, with a lovely baby grand just waiting.

He approached it, and put his fingers to the keys, and played like crazy. Blues, classical, rock, soul... his hands flew up and down the black and white. I couldn't remember when I'd ever seen someone play like that in person. He'd said he was in a band a decade ago, but it seemed he truly did play often at home like he said. He didn't have to think about the notes, and he sang along, and when he didn't know the words he hummed. So supremely comfortable with himself, no hint of shyness, as in anything he did. I sat down next to him and watched as he went from Guns N Roses to ABBA to Journey. I wanted to sing along but I only knew a couple lines to each song. "These songs are a little old for me...maybe could you try something post-1995?" I asked with a laugh. He laughed with me, then tried another idea. Lennon's "Imagine". I could sing that. So we did.

Then he moved on to something else, something beautiful, it seemed somehow familiar but I wasn't convinced I'd heard it before. He didn't sing, he just played. "Do you know what that was?" he asked.

"No... it was lovely though!" I answered. "I wrote it," he replied. I was impressed. "Really? It was beautiful. Beautiful and melancholy and complex," I observed.

He looked up, not at me, and smiled. Then he looked down. Then he nudged my shoulder with his and finally looked in my eyes. "Thank you... yes. Yes. Thank you," he said sweetly and genuinely. It seemed as if he'd wanted it described exactly like that.

Last time he was here we sat with some wine by the beach at night, and I said that I hoped he'd remember that moment when he was back home, so far away. He laughed incredulously, and assured me that it wasn't a moment anyone could easily forget. He's gone again, and that's okay, but now I have this piano session, in my head, not willing to leave anytime soon. It's not a moment easily forgotten.

Here's to the next ten...

2010-01-01T13:41:00.003-08:00

I didn't think about the fact that 2010 was a new decade until December. A new decade...and the end of the previous one.

In 2000 I graduate high school and moved away for college and turned 18 and first fell in love.
In 2001 I chose to major in Communications and September 11th happened and I grasped life more firmly as a college student.
In 2002 I grew exponentially as a leader and in my sureness of who I am, lived in Thailand for six weeks, and had my life changed forever by being a Resident Assistant in Clark Halls at Westmont.
In 2003 I met a love of my life, soaked up Santa Barbara for the summer as I would for the rest of the decade, and went on the trip that shapes a lifetime through twelve countries in Europe for three and a half months.
In 2004 I excitedly and fearfully graduated, left Westmont, studied Spanish and life and dancing and body boarding in Costa Rica with my mom for a month, and landed a dream job, lived in a house with friends for the first time, and experienced a completely broken heart.
In 2005 I lost my grandfather, car, house and job within a couple months, and built life back up with the support of my growing Santa Barbara friend group to create the dream that we affectionately called "the mid-twenties", and the theme parties with the roommates began.
In 2006 I reunited with love, watched my sister graduate and biked through fields and past waving grass beaches in Nantucket with my family, deepened relationships with friends post-Westmont in ways that assured we would be friends forever, and had a golden party for my golden 24th birthday on the 24th.
In 2007 I dyed my hair dark, we watched our house burn, we found a dream come true as a replacement and threw the party of the year to celebrate it, and I grew to love LA as I spent every other weekend there with my boyfriend.
In 2008 I had to part with love again, the roommates and I threw our Last Dance, I moved to my own place for the first time, I worked hard, I thrived.
In 2009, well, you know.

In 2010... I will:

* as life evolves for me, be honest with those close to me so that I stay close to who I am and what I believe
* seize the moment but use wisdom within it
* wear my hair curly more often for things that matter
* cook more often. i always say this, but I promise. i'm getting better.
* be more fit than I've ever been
* start a graduate program in the Fall
* travel to Sweden, or possibly study there
* hopefully visit my aunt in Africa
* make sure my friends know I adore them, especially if I might be leaving Santa Barbara
* live an adventure. I swear it. You can only take your memories with you... So I will learn a new language, teach students to succeed, study what I love, spend time with people who are living life to the fullest, and see places I've been dying to see.

Mark my word. Hold me accountable. Here we go...

One Story Alone

2010-01-01T13:41:00.001-08:00

"No, life cannot be understood flat on a page. It has to be lived; a person has to get out of his head, has to fall in love, has to memorize poems, has to jump off bridges into rivers, has to stand in an empty desert and whisper sonnets under his breath... We get one story, you and I, and one story alone."
— Donald Miller

2009 was an incredible story. Here is where I tell you about it, but here is where you can see it...

2009 In Review

Memories:

Moving to the Lindblad's cottage. Best decision ever. A housewarming party full of friends old and new in a home to be proud of.

Body boarding at Raglan Beach in New Zealand. One of the first days of my epic trip, and I knew that the months of saving and years of hoping were redeemed as I took wave after wave during summertime in this paradise in the Southern Hemisphere.

Partying in Queenstown with our new travel friends after days of hiking and exploring the town. This is what traveling is about for me these days... the carefree, spontaneous, shared experiences with new friends in foreign settings that I can do now in my free-as-a-bird days.

Went to Mexico with some of my favorite girls on a cruise ship listening to John Mayer live all the way.

Dancing at Indochine with my Santa Barbara friends and Swedish friends after pre-parties full of wine, singing, youtube videos, and dancing.

Swedish DJ concerts in Hollywood... swaying to the beat all night, it didn't get old.

Watching Carly start to crawl, start to talk, start to walk, start to run, and become the brightest, blondest, happiest, most determined baby I've ever been around.

Fourth of July weekend where I hiked and ate and watched fireworks with my parents and went out dancing with my friends.

A July where I transformed my perspective and had some of the most amazing days I've ever spent in this town, posting a picture here for every day.

Concerts in Hollywood with the Stichters and Quinlans... Phoenix and Ray LaMontagne. Music and southern California and wine and summertime go perfectly together.

August and September spent in research, studying, emailing, planning, and intense personal growth... the reason why will be explained.

Meeting Sabina and Emilia, creating an Autumn unexpectedly laced with Swedishness, like my Spring had been.

Lovefest in San Francisco.

Vegas with my best girls for my birthday.

A Thanksgiving in Napa with my foreign friends and awesome family, where we jumped on the trampoline in the colorful fall forest for hours and hours.

Winning tickets to see John Mayer in Hollywood right after his new album came out.

Christmas Eve breakfast bonfire in the cold Oregon forest in my dad's treehouse.

New Year's Eve with Emily and Zac in Hollywood. Nothing like old friends and an insane club to ring in the New Year.

Challenges of the Year

Being in a new relationship... I learned just how direct I've come to be, gained confidence, learned more patience, and grew from the significant interaction with someone so different yet so similar to me. It gave me a thirst for more new experiences, places, knowledge and people.

As summer began I learned from the Swedes to soak up the sun, they practically worship it, and once they left I took that and ran with it to a place where every day I woke up more in love with Santa Barbara and summer life than the day before. I've always been a somewhat grateful person, but this summer my gratefulness and

I moved from real estate into educational consulting and tutoring, and grew exponentially as a person from it every month. I've improved and gained skills in communication, managing, being assertive and direct and persuasive, analytical problem solving, and speaking honestly to inspire others. I'm happy in what I do and am better at it than I've been at anything before... and it continues to spur me on to want and reach for more...

And in my aim to reach for more professionally and personally, one of my biggest challenges of the year has been the process to get there. I made a decision this summer that required so much from me over the fall in regards to work, self-examination, follow-through, writing, and faith. The journey continues, and I'm am infinitely the better for it. More in the New Year.

Songs of the Year

*Face to Face on High Places by School of Seven Bells
*Burning in the Sun by Blue Merle
*Everything Leaves a Mark by Pictures & Sound
*So Here We Are by Bloc Party
*Praan by Gary Schyman
*1901 & Love Like A Sunset Pt. II by Phoenix
*Use Somebody & Notion by Kings of Leon
*All My Days by Alexi Murdoch
*Vid spilum endalaust by Sigur Ros
*Moths Wings by Passion Pit
*Feel It In My Bones by Tiesto
*Yes by LMFAO
*Fireflies by Owl City
*Pjanoo & Call on Me by Eric Prydz
*Leave the World Behind by Axwell & Ingrosso
*Leende Med Kniv & Stunder Som Den Har by Bo Kaspers Orkester

upside down

2009-12-29T23:26:00.000-08:00

New person: They came into your life and turned it upside down. Who is your unsung hero of 2009?

I have to say that the newest and most influential "person" in my life this year is: Swedes. The ones I met and befriended, all of them. Although I know they aren't exactly unsung, at least on this blog. ;)With the first one I met and then it continued with every consecutive one I got to know, I discovered how well we got along, how much I loved their various perspectives, was amused by their observations, intrigued by their language, delighted by their customs, and blessed by their real friendship. One of them told me when they were doing intercultural training to prepare for their year in America that they were told, "It's really hard to get close to Americans. You will have a hard time knowing if they mean it when they say they want to hang out or follow through with you. 'Let's get a beer/pizza' or 'Give me your number, come over to my place next week!' These phrases can just be niceties, not as meaningful as you might expect. They are so friendly but the connections they make can be more transient."
When I heard this, everything in me wanted to be different. I already knew that I had proved that it was with me, but I knew that these friends were ones I was absolutely going to see again, and hopefully again, someday. They laugh and dance and wonder and plan and believe and challenge me and care in ways that make it seem like I was always supposed to be friends with them, and in 2009 that time arrived.

Puss och kram, min svenskar.

whimsical christmas

2009-12-26T00:03:00.000-08:00

On Christmas night I step out into the below freezing air. There are so many stars in the sky, many more than I can usually see in Santa Barbara. Dark trees stretch their triangular shapes up into the night. I take each step solidly, being sure that my wimpy southern California boots don't slip on the ice patches. I'm heading away from the house on the side of the mountain and into the surrounding forest. I come to stairs carved into the hill, set with logs carved in half. I head down into a ravine and a strand of brightly glowing green christmas lights illuminate the path. It's an unnatural glow, ethereal, but it doesn't seem out of place here.

Halfway down the path a glass and metal lantern hangs from a low branch, a tiny candle burning inside. The path leads to a wood platform. It stretches out over the ravine until it's over twenty feet above the ground. Huge beams are in place, holding it up securely. I walk out to the furthest section. A thick, twisted twine rope stretches around each edge, waist high, the only thing that really is supposed to keep anyone from falling off. A firepit sits in the center, logs packed in tight, flames lighting up the deck and bringing us in with their warmth. I sit down, pull in close, and sit quietly around with my brother and sister and dad. It's been a long day, and the day will be long tomorrow too, so we don't say much, just look up at the stars. I couldn't see as many from this place as I could before I descended the path, now the moss covered trees obscured many of them. I've always loved that moss... when we were younger and played pretend games on the other side of the hill we would collect that moss to create our forest beds. It always made the forest look more mythical and mysterious, hanging gently from a majority of the trees, so very light green. So even though less stars were visible, the moon was still clearly seen and bright, perfectly halved, claiming the top center of the night sky. I stayed there, warm by the fire, and loving the reminder of just how lovely the cold weather and wilderness are. I don't get enough of either. I want to stay all night, and come back the next day and the next... but my life thirteen hours away demanded me back, and I had to reluctantly answer to it.

I rose and passed a massive, reinforced tent/house. On the other part of the platform. My dad's treehouse. He lives there, most of the time, for now. Instead of down in town, and usually instead of with my grandma up on the hill where I was staying. He built us a treehouse when we were kids. Now we sat around a bonfire with him in his actual tree House. I walked back along the magical greenly lit steps to go to bed.

Some have wondered where I get my whimsy from... much of it is from what happens in the forest in Oregon.

growing up and away

2009-12-23T23:31:00.000-08:00

Learning experience: What was a lesson you learned this year that changed you?

I learned other lessons that were more important than this one, but I've touched on them before and will mention them again in my year wrap-up.
But this lesson was hard, sad, and instructional. I wish to mention it once, briefly, and no more.

It was that the friend you trust with everything, all your secrets and contemplations and desires, when you are 26 may not be who you can trust with all those things when you are 27. And it's not because of some explosive dramatic event. It is realized slowly, painfully. A morning in May with thoughts tripping over each other in confusion and hurt. A night in July where I think maybe I'll try to untangle it all, and decide that I don't know how. Not sure if untangling will be possible or help, or if they will really understand themselves enough to know what to say. An afternoon in October where I realize I've mostly forgiven but that it won't ever be the same.

This sounds dramatic and it wasn't really. In a life so blessed and rosy as mine, it was just a low point to learn that not all relationships can be kept the way I want them. That was obvious when I was younger, but hasn't been during my twenties when one assumes that friendships have become static and stable. And it's possible I've let people down in similar ways, and for that I am sorry.

the beacon

2009-12-23T00:55:00.000-08:00

"The best place: A coffee shop? A pub? A retreat center? A cubicle? A nook?"

My loft. The one just underneath the slanting wood beam ceiling in my cottage, that holds my bed and some books and my favorite wood and paper lamp. I looked forward to this element the most when I moved into my cottage back in January. It seemed romantic and private and wintry cabin-like. And it is. If it was mine as a kid there would have been no limits to the pretend games I would have created up there. However, I have cursed it many times... when I have to gingerly climb down in the middle of the night if nature calls, which totally wakes you up because if you aren't totally alert you will fall and die. I've also cursed it for being the place where I have to sleep in summer heatwaves because the hot air collects up there like crazy. I curse it when I have to change my sheets because that job is awkward and takes forever when your bed is on a wood floor but the ceiling is just above your head while you're kneeling.

But mostly, I think it is cozy and I will miss it the day I don't have it anymore. It is a place where you sleep and the rain will beat down just feet away from you. It's a place where I become drowsy while I read too late into the night, although I actually don't do this enough. It's a place to lay under my silk comforter and talk to someone next to me about what the future looks like, about history, about music, about growing up, and so many things. It's where I fall asleep sometimes to my ipod. It's where I couldn't sleep and sometimes cried at various points. I've sat there and thrown pillows down at people. I've sat there with some favorite friends and talked about love and life. I have felt the most alone there, and I have felt the most companionship there. There's been lots of kissing there. You can hide in the loft... sit on the bed against the wall and reach your feet out to rest along the beams of the ceiling and pretend there is no responsibility or things to do, and just dream.

The light up there has been named the beacon, and sometimes I go up and light the beacon just so that later in the night when I'm downstairs it will call me to bed earlier. I actually don't spend as much time there as I would like. I plan to do more, as long as it is mine.

leave the world behind

2009-12-20T22:23:00.000-08:00

"Rush: When did you get your best rush of the year?"

Best rush... well, I went over some Class IV rapids in the rain on a boogie board in a foreign country. But that wasn't what I would call a rush for me... It was terrifying and character-building and is a whole other story.

I stood in a sea of people in front of a huge stage. Lights flashed and the crowd around us pulsated to the beat. Fists raised and pumped the air along with the bass. On stage was a DJ, working up a sweat, smiling a mile wide, nodding his head to the music that he was creating. House music. Dance, electronic, club music... remixed... blended together... 80's songs blended in with the climaxing beat. I had never really known what house music was until three months before. And then it still took me awhile to understand it and realize the good, the great, in it... how you can dance mildly without thinking for most of it and then when the beat really hits you can jump and punch the air like your life depended it. It's feeling the music in a way that can be sustained longer than your favorite hip hop jam, in a more physical way than your favorite acoustic melody. So there I was, in the heart of Hollywood, under a Swedish flag, with friends all around, the guy who introduced me to this music stood behind me, hands on my shoulders, smiling a mile wide as well, it was 3 a.m., in high heels that didn't hurt after dancing for 5 hours, with the incredible rush of this new music experience. The rush of being somewhere and doing something I never imagined being or doing. Something told me that I should feel like being up that late, dancing for that long, pumping my fist toward the stage was somehow too edgy and wild. But it really was an experience I knew I'd always remember, that set me free in a tiny way.

My arm was sore the next day from pumping to the beat. In the months to come my legs would be sore from the running that such music would induce. Such a rush... and certainly in a way, one of the best of 2009.

forks and spoons

2009-12-18T22:28:00.000-08:00

I just discovered this challenge a couple days ago, and I'm just going to use it however I want to in order to inspire my writing for the rest of the month...

"Restaurant moment: Share the best restaurant experience you had this year. Who was there? What made it amazing? What taste stands out in your mind?"

It was such a culinary and social year, I have more than one...

1) The air is warm and slightly breezy. The evening is waning but the sun is only slowly making its way down to the water, dodging the sail masts that cover the horizon. Stephen and I each had a beer, and it tasted like lifewater at that moment. Our dishes were incredible, fish with some gourmet mashed potatoes... we laughed as we realized that in New Zealand "entree" meant "appetizer", so we ended up ordering a few more starters to fill up, some sweet potato fries and shrimp cocktail. There wasn't too much to say, we just reveled in our first dinner in Auckland and the soothing jazzy live music accompanying our meal. We'd soon find out that live music at dinner seems to be the law in that country, and we would delight in it the weeks to come. The singer, with his long dreds and lilting voice, sang Sting's "Fields of Gold" and I thought about how I'd made my dream come true by being there.

2) There are old and new friends around me and some that I've just met. The smell of meat and tomatoes and fish is heavy in the air. Candles are lit and sitting everywhere. To us Americans many of the dishes looked odd and questionable, to our Swedish friends they looked like Midsummer dinner, Christmas dinner, Mom's table at home. They had been preparing for hours to give us and themselves a taste of home. Their special brands of schnaps sat on the table. We dove into the meal... I loved every bite. The herring in the mustard. The meatballs. The little sausages. Then we picked up the folded lyrics by our plates, poured ourselves shots of schnaps, and sang Swedish toasting songs together. In Swedish. We attempted them in a rough English translation. We all laughed and laughed and laughed. I marvelled and drank in this culture that loves to create a meal together, insists on wearing their nice clothes to sit down and enjoy it, sings silly songs afterwards while they enjoy wine, and believes that the night is just beginning at 11:30 pm when all that was done and it was time to go dance.

3) It was the Fourth of July and I sat across from the beach at the Fishhouse with my mom and stepdad. Our table was next to the bonfire on the patio. My salmon was amazing, as salmon always is. The wine was light and crisp. People were flooding the beach, the pier, the streets, the grass... I was overwhelmed at all the people out in my beautiful town for this holiday. As it got dark and the first firecracker lit up the sky, everyone hushed up, and we turned away from our table to watch the gold, red, white and blue explosions in the sky, framed by silhouetted palm trees. I had never before been so achingly in love with my city. And it was that weekend in realizing how great my love was, but confronting the fact that I was still faced with this growing, undefinable desire to experience something new and far away, that I made plans for 2010 that will likely take me away from this beach city I'm in such a deep relationship with.

4) We sat around a table, drinking sangria, in the city that never sleeps... the city of lights... Las Vegas. I had turned 27 that very day. Friends surrounded me, ones that I've known for years and a couple that were brand new but already had fastened themselves to my heart. The tapas were the best we'd ever had. The paella met every expectation. When the servers brought out the tiniest little slice of chocolate torte, with a lit candle stuck in it, and everyone began singing happy birthday, I was smiling so very very hard, harder than I could remember smiling in a long time, I couldn't wipe it off, it was so hard I thought I'd be sore... I was so very happy, the moment was perfect, I loved my friends so much, and I was so grateful for the year that was 26 and thrilled for the year that would be 27.

some rest for the weary

2009-12-13T14:19:00.000-08:00

My grandma got on facebook earlier this year. She spent some time looking through my photos from the first few months of 2009 and then sent me a message, saying, "Your life makes me dizzy!" It does the same thing to me, but I almost always enjoy it, pushing for more, never saying no to anything. It's almost impossible for me to say no to fun, to being social, to spontaneity, to people...

And then my Introversion creeps in. Every couple of weeks when I haven't had the standard amount of hours spent at home alone in my personal space, thoughts, song lyrics research, writing, etc I can feel myself build up a bit of a wall. Ignoring calls, neglecting errands, just aching for some quiet time. I can hear the edge in my voice if a friend or family member asks something of me or tries to get me out somewhere. This fall roared in like a lion, and is going out in the same way, and I am weary. I have had too much of everything, and been enjoying it, but have sensed this week that the holiday break away from my life couldn't come soon enough.

So while a 12 hour drive up to Oregon (which I plan to split over two days) is usually daunting and unfavorable, right now I am positive that what awaits me there is so exactly what I need that I'm looking forward to the journey. Some quiet in the middle of the mountains and forest. Cold and maybe snow. Big jackets, scarves, some quality reading, and soup made by loving relatives. Some tree chopping with my dad. A peaceful chat with my Grandma on the couch, overlooking the view with no houses in sight, sharing the endless amazing crazy stories of this past year... so happy that they happened, but definitely glad to not be in one of them that moment.

All this dizziness... I need to get my head on straight.

everything leaves a mark

2009-12-06T23:59:00.000-08:00

at least with me, it does.

more on that later... but first, it's strange, this feeling that grows, month by month... that I just don't want to feel attached...emotionally... to anything that has the potential to a) hurt me b) make me feel crazy or c) tie me down.

because a) i've been there, too recently, and i'm not up for it right now b) this moment, my right now, has been so wonderful lately that i don't want to be wondering about anything, anyone, waiting for my phone to light up, my email inbox to fill, my thoughts to settle down. and c) i have plans. exciting ones, that feel right, and have pushed me to action and to dreams of great things. and i'm afraid of something happening that i won't be able to turn away from in order to press forward.

there are so very few things that cause the former a, b, and c to happen. the main one is a boy. and because i know that, i can feel just how protected i've become. i'm bolder, more laid-back, yet more straightforward... all these things laid layer after layer over the part of me that can hurt. and i hear myself say things i have never said, like "well you live out of town, and i don't want to be thinking about you when you leave. i don't want things to be complicated for me." it doesn't sound like me but i meant it.

and the next day i wonder if i really did mean it. i remember the delight that came over me when i felt a tug on the back of my white winter coat, and turned around to see him. i'd thought all day about him, wishing that i'd gotten more than his first name after talking to him for so long with my friends the night before. i knew he was only here for a day or two and then was going back up north, and i really doubted he'd be at the same place, same time, two nights in a row. and three seconds after walking in, there he was, behind me, towering over me, grinning. laughter, cigars, each others' friends, dancing, racing in shopping carts, wine and youtube videos, and then we were alone. and i say what i said, that i don't want complicated. and even though that's true, with me, nights like that leave a mark. doesn't really matter what happens afterwards, but people have never been dispensable to me, and really great moments aren't either.

so today i have been wondering what to do with all that. wondering about when feelings contradict each other. and when you wish you didn't feel at all. and worrying about the increasing moments when i'm not allowing myself to feel, when a, b or c are threatened.

"And we are so fragile,
And our cracking bones make noise,
And we are just,
Breakable, breakable, breakable girls and boys."
-Ingrid Michaelson

the force behind you

2009-11-30T23:26:00.000-08:00

A parent of a student I work with the most wrote to me recently, and commented that it seemed that my method of getting students to respect me and get work done and do what I ask can be most closely related to "talk softly but carry a big stick."

I stopped to pause on that, and my first reaction was really, "But I have no stick!"

I don't have anything that I can use to discipline the teenagers I work with, no major consequences for them to hold up behind me as I speak gently to them face to face. I also don't have some sort of quiet rage or passive aggressiveness that might guilt others or put fear into people so that they act.

So if that impression has been made, that my approach is to talk softly and carry a big stick, I must have some sort of proverbial stick. I don't like the forceful and potentially physical connotations of that, and I know the parent meant it in a positive way. So what is my stick, the force behind whatever authority and respect and productivity that comes from the students I work with?

It's something I've been thinking about. I think it has to do with confidence, instilled by my parents and the fact that they commanded respect and taught me that I deserve it. It has to do with conviction, my belief in what is right and what is necessary and what is true. It is not true to tell a student it is okay that they have not kept their word, to just sit by while they offer meaningless excuses. And it has to do with my pride, in both good ways and bad, in ways that I will keep thinking about.

I wonder if you feel like you have a "stick", and if it has any effects on others, either positive or negative, and what forces created the stick and keep it in line behind you, whether you speak loudly or softly...

but i do.

2009-11-24T14:26:00.000-08:00

Starbucks holiday decor this season...

But I remember. Don't you?

Not just vague memories, but actually what it was like...

Four years old, riding my tricycle around the court I lived in, yelling at the top of my lungs, "I have a new baby brother! There is a new person in this world!" Elated and mystified.

Seven years old, in second grade, going into the kindergarten class at lunch to help the teacher with the "little kids". I remember that I recognized the sound of my mom's keychain clinking when she arrived at the playground to drop off my younger sister, and ran out to give her a hug.

Nine years old, the first signs of a girl who would for years into her adulthood get crazy private and embarrassed about boys... I sat across the table from a cute sweet boy named Jacob in Mrs. Schafer's class, and one day he held up a composition notebook in front of his face towards me, open to a page where he had written "It is true. I like you." I turned away, a deep shade of red, and didn't speak to him for weeks.

Eleven years old, straddling the brink between childhood and adolescence, playing pretend games in a treehouse in my backyard with my best friend but at school discussing how many boyfriends Katrina had and having my first boyfriend for three days, dumping him after he told everyone in P.E. that we were going out. I do remember being aware of the tension between the two different sides of my growing up self.

Thirteen years old, so much happened that year...I remember most of it...being tremendously upset that in the final semester of eighth grade I was to get my first B+ in a class, Algebra, my perfect A streak for all of middle school, ruined...the hours after school divided between marching band practice, soccer games, and babysitting... the moment I sat with my family in the living room, face stone cold, as my parents said they were separating and we were going to move out of my childhood home.

And then, when would you say being a kid ends? When you stop playing Marco Polo and lay out by the pool instead? After your last pretend game? When you get your license? When you move away from home?

I don't think, for me, it will ever truly end. You can't say you aren't at least still part kid, when you are twenty seven and on a Saturday night you skip along the streets as you head downtown, singing Disney songs in a round with your friends... high heels, nylons, and laughing bystanders be damned.

grey sweatpants

2009-11-17T13:21:00.000-08:00

It was a lazy Sunday in November. My friends in my dorm suite and I were lounging on bunk beds, chirping away about the details of our group date the night before, where we'd each been set up with a guy our roommates picked. There were so many things to discuss, but we were tired, a few of us had been up until 5 am. Casey was playing her new favorite singer in the background, whom she'd been declaring her love for all week. I thought his name was so boring, I didn't pay attention. But that mellow Sunday, where we were unable to be productive and could only just be, I could hear the lyrics and absorb the melody of the song she loved so much...

"I loved you
grey sweat pants, no makeup, so perfect

Our love was, comfortable and
so broken in
she's perfect, so flawless
I'm not impressed, I want you back."

That day, eight years ago, is when I fell in love with John Mayer. We didn't want to leave him in the room when we went out that night to watch the meteor shower, so we brought a cd player as we lay on blankets on some Montecito hill under the stars.

Since then, each time a new album of his comes out, it goes like this... I have been awaiting it, had some clues about the content, and then when I finally have it, I listen to it over and over again... and over again... on long drives, as I go to sleep, as I clean my house. I have to get to know it, get past my first and second impressions, and the songs become like friends and a part of my life's soundtrack. I don't always love every song, but I always have a relationship with each album, particular to its scope and the feel that the sequence of tracks gives me.

I've hardly felt more content than in the quiet moments spread throughout this past crazy week where I've listened to bits and pieces of Battle Studies, looking up the lyrics and writing my thoughts about them to a friend who loves him equally if not more. The album is officially available today. My love for John... it's so... comfortable. Broken in, really. And wholy unconditional.

in the middle

2009-11-15T21:57:00.000-08:00

It's known that I like to guess people's Myers Briggs letters... I can't help it, it is subconscious really, happening under the surface of my in-the-moment interactions with each new or not-so-new person I meet. It's not with everyone, everytime, but often. But I can be pretty wrong sometimes. Meanwhile, I'm trying a new method of understanding people a little better... much simpler, easier to figure out immediately, and doesn't reveal how much of a psychology nerd I am...

He stood by the entrance to the dressing room, among the headbands and necklaces of the girls section. He was so patient, waiting around for us girls as we shopped and tried things on. Very much a gentleman, this guy, also extremely stylish, but with an ever-so-slight air of being out of his comfort zone, laughing a bit at the girlishness all around him. I paused whatever else we were talking about and asked him, "Do you not have any sisters?"
"No," he laughed. "I don't. I have two brothers, and my mother is not very girly at all."
"So there's three boys then," I confirmed, and he nodded. "So, are you the middle brother?"
He tilted his head in a bit of surprise, and said, "Yeah, I am! How did you guess?"

Then I felt a little hesitant, I haven't really done such a direct and accurate guess before with someone I have known such a short time. I didn't know how to answer without giving away that I am maybe too observant and then too quick to categorize my information. But he had some really precise personal qualities, ones that didn't only speak to being Scandinavian. He was very neat and organized and disciplined and driven but laid-back and somewhat spontaneous. He was a friend of my friend, and had been the best host to four girls he didn't really know...preparing amazing cocktails, buying magazines in case we wanted to read by the pool, and making gourmet sandwiches for everyone at 3 am.

"Well, I don't know, I just kinda like guessing sibling order, it's a thing I do," I tried to shrug off the responsibility of an answer.
"No come on, you must have reasons behind your guesses! Why did you say the middle?" he pushed. I tried one more time to evade him, he wasn't having it.
"Okay, well you are organized and put-together, ambitious I think, and are good at directing a group. The youngest sibling tends to not have all those qualities, but the oldest would have more of a bossy element to them, less people-pleasing, not quite as mellow as you. So that's why I wouldn't have gone for oldest either."
"You are pretty right, I would say," he said with an amused smile. I don't think everyone likes the feeling that someone is looking deeper than the momentary interactions with them. I know not everyone does. And I know I will be wrong as often as I am right. But I love that moment when someone is pleasantly surprised by it. To those who feel unsettled by feeling known, even a little, I'll try to keep my mouth shut.

November on State

2009-11-11T14:35:00.000-08:00

I don't know what to say about this one, really. I don't know what I think. I can tell a bit of the story though...

It was Saturday night. I had a great new dress on. Karen was by my side. I never play poker, I hate it, but we were at a fabulous Casino Night Fundraiser, and three drinks in, having a blast at the blackjack table. I didn't really care if I won or lost. We stayed at the table for a long time, people we knew and didn't know coming and going from the spots around us. I was aware that a man had come to my right, between me and one of my friend's husbands. A few minutes later, my friend's husband motioned to me, saying to the guy, "Talk to her about Sweden, I think she might even speak a little Swedish!"

The man looked at me curiously, asking if it was true. And there was that familiar accent. I nodded with an embarrassed smile and replied:

"Ja, jag pratar lite svenska." (Yes, I speak a little Swedish)

I thought the guy might fall over. "Är du svensk?!" (Are you Swedish?!) he questioned.

"Nej, jag är amerikan," I said, secretly proud that he couldn't hear my accent, for those phrases at least. We started talking, discussing what he was doing here, my connection to Sweden, and whatever else came up. Our chips lay on the table, bets lost and forgotten, at least for the moment. He was older, that was clear, how much older, I couldn't tell. Wisdom lines around his eyes told me at least that I likely wouldn't have been even thinking about college while he was attending it.

By the time we parted ways later, after my friends and his were all mingling and eating and drinking at Joe's after the event, he'd made it clear that he wanted to see me again. He was here for business, and was going to be gone again in a few days, to maybe return in a month or two. I wasn't sure what I thought about him, but I was intrigued, so I knew I probably agree to hang out again. We said goodbye, and I laughed to myself. State Street in November, you've done it to me again, a different Swede, a new year.

And now, on Thursday, after a couple long dates, and he's gone on a plane back across the world, I can see three missed calls from him. From right before his flight took off. And I just keep thinking about what he said shortly before we said goodbye, he was describing me, to me..."This is what amazes me... You are intelligent, in a scary way. You are strong, and very competitive. You're curious and interesting. And, you're fragile."

"Fragile?" I said, confused.

"Yes, fragile. You care about things, people, deeply. You let them in, and that makes you vulnerable. You're delicate in that way, fragile."

Okay, so... fragile. I am trying to reconcile this with what I was told by a best friend this year, that I'm emotionally strong. I proudly agreed with her, that I'd come a long way and considered myself to have a heart of steel, soft inside but protected and direct on the outside. Am I more vulnerable than I ever admit? Fragile but lightning quick at covering it up? And how did this guy pick up on that?

And what do I do about him, especially when I don't want anything from any man right now? And why do I feel I need to decide what to do... can't I just...be?

the most important meal

2009-11-05T13:15:00.000-08:00

I was finishing a run in my neighborhood today, and was coming around the last charming rectangular block before the home stretch. A couple houses in front of me I could see a white-haired old man make a turn up a driveway in his motorized wheelchair. He stayed in place as I ambled by. My ipod was playing the song I plan to use as the soundtrack for my year-end slideshow in a couple months, and I had the volume so loud that I couldn't hear a word from him as I passed by and saw him saying something to me. I was hesitant to know what a possibly senile and fragile man could have to say to me while I was trying to mind my own aerobic business. I stopped and pulled one earphone out.

"What?" I said.

"Have you had breakfast yet?" he asked.

I was surprised by the question, and instantly a tiny bit defensive, like, I don't want to be given a lecture by this grandpa. The truth was, I hadn't yet, which was rare, since it was about 11:30 am.

"Uh, not yet, I'm doing that when I get home!" I responded

"Well here!" he motioned over and fished around in a plastic grocery bag he had in his basket. He pulled out a NutriGrain Bar. I came forward, stunned, but trying to only show polite gratefulness. Once I was nearer I could see just how much he looked like my Great Uncle Bill, who passed away a few years ago.

"Thank you, sir!" I said with a smile. He smiled back. And that was all he wanted to do, just give me breakfast. I wondered how long this whitehaired man hadn't been able to just walk to the store, instead needing this motorized chair. "Have a nice day," I added.

I ran the last block home and ate the bar immediately. Mixed Berry... it's always been my favorite.

onethroughsix

2009-11-04T22:37:00.000-08:00

I never do Facebook applications. But tonight I did, because the History of my Status Updates was a bit intriguing to me...
And this is one of the things that I learned from it:

Corinne's Most Used Words Are:
#1: night
#2: summer
#3: beach
#4: stars
#5: warm

If that doesn't nail the life I lead and love, I don't know what does. Maybe #6 would be dancing, or friends.

Heaven, I imagine, will be #1-6, all at once.

ten twelfths

2009-11-01T23:51:00.001-08:00

So it's November now.

The days are so much shorter. You can feel the crisp air of autumn when you stand in the shade or in the night air, even if the daytime temperature is still so ridiculously Southern Californian.

Another year is in its final months. Time flies, and just how fast it goes amazes me more every year.

I'm still reeling from those 31 days of October. It was one of the most fun months of my life. The weekends and weekdays were filled with San Francisco, College Reunion, Las Vegas Birthday, Halloween, Kickball, Downtown...I think I spent maybe five nights at home the entire month...it's always a hypersocial month but this year it was absolutely relentless. And even though it's been a crazy fun relentless year, I am now seeing it all and my current experiences with more perspective, a larger grasp on what's going on with me and my relationship to good times, to the place I'm at in life, and to my understanding of myself.

The year of being 26 was truly transformational, and while I love to do yearly reviews at the New Year, and it was hard to not want to do one around my birthday. I'll save a more in-depth and less vague review for two months from now, to keep the pattern.

But there is change going on inside me.
I'm seeing myself in a new light, remembering parts of myself that have lied dormant, coming back as I make plans for the future and do the work to get there.
I've been learning that I need to revise the way I see and describe myself. Some things that I would have said before are becoming more the exception than the rule.
And somewhere along the last 365 days I have let go of the reins, with at least one of my hands. My grip on my desire for a purposeful and amazing life remains tight. But with the other hand I have let go of so many expectations, fears, and mental frameworks for what things I do and do not like, should and shouldn't do, things that are and are not possible... the collection of moments where I've found myself doing things I never imagined or considered doing before has had an indelible impact on me.

To quote a friend, and know I will quote her again at the end of the year, "There are years in our lives that will always stand out as a year of years. A year you came into with one life, and walked out of with another." In a much less dramatic way than my friend, my year as a 26 year old felt quite like that. I keep picturing that scene in Garden State, but instead of Natalie Portman it's Time, saying to me with a winking smile "26? It'll change your life I swear."

wild thing

2009-10-31T21:45:00.001-07:00

I hadn't seen her in over a week, and we were so off track with her studies. It had been a painful process to get her to finish that research paper... disappointment, broken promises, frustration, late nights, excuses... and then she went on vacation. And then she came back and couldn't come in the next day since her mom was sick and couldn't bring her. And even though it was Friday of Halloween weekend, I was determined to get her in that day so we could get some momentum. I never do this, but I offered to pick her up. "That will work," she texted around 12:30. "Great, I'll see you at 2." I wrote back. I added on before I sent it, "you should be in costume, btw." Just to be fun and lighten the mood. It's better with us when the mood is light and she feels like things are okay.

At 2 I pulled up and texted that I was there, and she sent back that she'd be right down. The car was in park and I sat fiddling with my phone as I waited another couple minutes for her. I was still looking down at my phone as she came to the door, opened it and sat down, and I said hi and reached to put the car in drive before I looked up.

She was a Wild Thing. Furry goat-like costume, brown animal ears, face makeup, ripped tights and brown boots. Her sheepish anticipatory smile on top of it all, waiting for me to react. I burst out with laughter, genuine delight and surprise, and she started laughing too... I hadn't expected her to actually be in costume, and I don't think she had much reason to be for a couple hour tutoring session... She did it for fun. And, I think, to join me in wanting to lighten our mood.

The short car ride was fun and full of stories. Something about sitting side by side in a car lessens your boundaries and pushes you towards camaraderie. I wasn't in costume for work but I put on my short choppy black wig I'd had in the car once we got to the center. And then we had one of our best sessions ever.

Inside both of us, a young and younger Wild Thing, is hope. Keep your fingers crossed.

a beer maid's reflection

2009-10-31T21:44:00.000-07:00

Best phrases from this past week:

"I have a thing for lions!"

"How can you not kiss me, I'm Superman!"

"You don't even want to know how much I spent on these legitimate Where's Waldo glasses."

"Ugghhhhh... well what color pterodactyl do you want to be?" (exasperated guy on phone behind me at craft store)

"I have a thing for sailors!"

"I just got the stink eye from the other beer maid at this party."

"I just started gluing feathers to clothes that I was wearing sometime around midnight last night. Yeah I'm super tired."

"I went to the Virgin Islands for vacation last week. Now they're just called the Islands." (Chuck Norris on State St.)

"I was sick all last week so I figured there was nothing else to do except make a Buzz Lightyear costume."

"You should probably not wear a mustache that matches your hair so perfectly again. It's frightening." (one girl to another girl)

"How does she even sit down? What if she meets someone she wants to hook up with?"
(bystander on State St. about girl in nothing but thick body paint all over a la Rebecca Romign in X Men)

"It's a $3 charge to get in if you're in costume. $30 if you're not, asshole."

"We should for sure play kickball in costume."

"Is she dressed as a cougar or is she just herself?"

"She was dressed like Pretty Woman, in the early part of the movie, and she was the least slutty girl there."

"Is that a real person?" "I'm not sure." (This dad I don't know and I look closely at the figure on the ground in front of a house while out with the kids trick or treating, we lean down closer to see breathing but it could be some prop connected to the blow up ghost right next to it) He says,"Poke him in the butt!" "YOU poke him in the butt!" I say. "I'm kinda scared. The legs are too skinny. He's not real." (the dad pokes him. no reaction, movement) "Feels lifelike, but could be fake, I don't know!"
Annoyed mom at doorstep, just noticing what's going on, "That's my son." "Oh sorry," we say and creep away. Weird.

"More importantly, however, is that we don't lose sight of what makes us human. Like waking up in an ivy patch off of Milpas wearing a Tarzan costume. Or trying to find a place to put your keys while wearing your French maid costume. There is no place." (on a Halloween party invite)

"Dear Principal: I would like to be a rollerskating waitress for Halloween this year. Can I please have permission to wear my rollerskates at school on Halloween Day? I promise I will be very careful. Thank you."
(This one is not from this week, it's from a letter I wrote to the Principal of my elementary school just after I turned nine in fourth grade. I got permission. That was the best day ever. My teacher even let me be the one to pass out papers in class just so I could skate up and down the aisles. Halloween is the best.)

monday my day

2009-10-26T22:43:00.000-07:00

Mondays are quiet. I like them.

I'm usually still tired from a fun weekend, possibly sore from Saturday's soccer game. It's usually a day where I wash my hair, take time to cook dinner, catch up on the news, clean my place. Lately I've had a regular tutoring session with one of my favorite students from 6 to 7:30. This year she's in American History, so my Monday nights mean discussions about the Stamp Act, Samuel Adams, Ben Franklin, the shifting perspective of the colonists towards the Brits and vice versa after the French-Indian War, and how the Ivy League East Coast colleges were born in 1600s and 1700s. I love it. We pepper the hour and half with fun comments about our friends or our travels or short youtube videos that pertain to the history topic. I come home, have a drink with my neighbors...then I head back to my place and catch up on The Office or Gossip Girl.

It's the night that I'm most aware that I live alone. Every other night has some other regular social or sporty activity going on. But Mondays are just for me. They are serene, rejuvenating, certainly not a bad way to start the week.

I don't know what life will be like the day that I share the house with a partner and then kids who will want more from me than to let me be quiet on my sofa with the computer and some music and a tuna melt for dinner. I'm sure I'll love Mondays in a different way that day, but I like them just as they are for now.

27

2009-10-25T23:30:00.000-07:00

Of course there were the fabulous moments, the ones that the pictures will show and that will come up first when asked about the weekend in the future:
Our surprised delight at being swept into the major clubs, escorted to private tables to enjoy free bottle service, dancing on catwalks and tables...
the laughter that followed our walk through the casino and hotel lobby and into the cab holding open champagne bottles and balancing on four inch heels...
the delicious tapas and sangria toasts for our main dinner together...
enjoying the perfect hot dry weather as we laid by the hotel's lazy river...
the magnificence of "O" at the Bellagio, where the world class acrobats, divers, dancers, and swimmers had us spellbound...

And then there were the ridiculously goofy moments that come when you combine six fun-loving girls with Vegas and alcohol and very little sleep:
Diving on the bed, trying for the perfect mid-air photo, during our elegant and mature hotel room preparty...
lipstick marks found on one girl's hair, that could only have come from one other girl's red pouty lips that night...
rolling over hotel walls into the planters, purposely, for reasons unexplained...
glasses dropped between dances moves on cement tables, and trying to take a turn in the flower petal laden bathtubs in the club...
trying to suppress the giggles as two of us ate everyone else's leftover chicken paella on the bathroom floor at 5:30 am while they slept...

But sometimes you have that one perfect moment, that one instant you didn't know was coming but completely collects the joy of your surroundings, friends by your side, and the promise of more greatness ahead. It's not necessarily better than any of those other moments, but will forever be more lucid and present in your mind than the rest.

We stood, as the sunset finished, in front of the lake at the Bellagio. Those breathtaking fountains and lights were performing to Time to Say Goodbye by Sarah Brightman & Andrea Bocelli. The streams of water shot sky high, the music played loud, both serene and stirring, the moon shone down, and my heart swelled with gratitude. My 27th birthday, with friends old and new, could not be more amazing, and the water show was still more wonderful than I remembered. I was so completely and utterly full of happiness, I felt I could cry. As the show ended with a spectacular finale, I had the wish that my friends beside me who had never been to Las Vegas had loved the show like I always have. I had talked it up to them, said it was one of my favorite things in that town and anywhere. Hoping it had lived up to expectations, I looked at Emilia, and said with thinly veiled eagerness, "So, what did you think?"

She had tears in her eyes. "I loved it." Moment perfected.

27 was an unbelievably fabulous birthday. And as I told a fresh faced young guy we met at the club who turned 21 that weekend, life only gets better with every year. Believe it and it will be true.

21

2009-10-25T22:52:00.000-07:00

The first thing I did that morning was wash dishes. I came out of the cabin, all bundled up, and joined the others at the eating area, and was assigned the job of cleaning those ubiquitous red bowls. Once I did that, I was then switched to a different station, to serve hot cocoa into said bowls for the thousands of European teens and twentysomethings that were barely awake and freezing early on this French October morning. It was a kinda fun job, actually. Then something magical happened... magical for me at least. It started snowing. Sweet little snowflakes, shy and infrequent, landed all around me... on the hair of the girls passing by, on the benches, and onto my hands as I scooped the cocoa. I laughed out loud at the surreal place I had found myself on my 21st birthday: an ecumenical community in the countryside of France, surrounded by youth seeking solace and affirmation in all matters of Faith and God, trying to keep warm in a cold like I've never known in my inadequate jackets.

It was a very memorable and beautiful day. The small group I was in with some earnest kind German girls gave me a birthday card, I frolicked in a field and watched the sunset with some of my dear friends that were on this European adventure with me from home, and during dinner had Happy Birthday sung to me in four different languages. And then that night our group gathered for our last night in this community and invited all the friends we'd met to meet us there to sing guitar songs and praises. Dozens and dozens came. I was pulled to the center to be by the guys playing guitar to help lead the songs. The lyrics to the songs our group knew so well from home were passed out to the young Germans, French, Polish, Dutch, and Italians.

And then we sang. We sang and sang. Some of our new friends sang along, some watched in awe, and some were crying. Some from our group had cheeks shining with tears too. It was truly, I would say again, magical. A better word would be heavenly.

By the next night we were in Paris. Some said to me that we could then celebrate my birthday in true 21 year old fashion. But I knew that I'd already had the most memorable 21st birthday anyone could ask for, and that I would remember it sweetly forever.

16

2009-10-25T22:09:00.000-07:00

I dashed into the house, hurrying to change my clothes and throw on some make-up to head out for some frozen yogurt with my mom and brother and sister. I'd been in the same clothes all day, from school to watching the varsity boys' soccer game to a friend's house, so I couldn't wait to switch outfits. Running past my mom by the front door, promising to take only a minute before we could leave, I headed through the house to my bedroom. I had but one foot into the living room when-

"SURPRISE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

A chorus of dozens of voices had aimed their shouting towards me, and I was startled to the depths of every cell. I jumped and had my hand over my mouth for the next five minutes, hardly able to believe what had happened and still dealing with the adrenaline rush from the shock. It was a couple days before my birthday and the last thing I'd expected on this typical schoolnight was to run into my house and collide with a huge party for me. Almost all of my good friends from my high school, various groups, different ages, some family mixed in... they were all standing in my house. On a Tuesday night. And there were streamers. Cake. Presents on a table. Cameras were flashing, capturing my joy and disbelief. It was the biggest gathering of my friends I'd ever had in my honor and at my house. The boy I had just started dating was standing back at first to let my best girl friends rush to give me hugs and bubble over with the story of how they pulled off the surprise, then came towards me with a sly smile and gave me the longest ilikeyou hug. A sign hung up on the wall declared:

Happy Sweet Sixteen.

Still one of the best birthdays of my life, and always will be.

forever young

2009-10-19T22:25:00.000-07:00

Favorite scenes from the Westmont Class of '04 Five Year Reunion...

* a husband playing with his wife's ponytail as they chat with an old friend. they've been together for about seven years, married for four.

* a single fellow alumni guy gingerly holding a baby... the one that was born so premature, that so many prayed for and fretted over... he was finally seeing this little daughter of his good friend and had no idea how to give her a bottle, but did his best anyway because as we were all so aware, the world is so lucky that she made it and is healthy and flourishing and is here to be able to take a bottle at all.

* my conversation with a dear friend, one who lives in town, who i get to see all the time, about what three things we would tell our college selves. i thought at that moment that i was so very happy that because i chose to stay in this paradise town, i get to see more westmont friends regularly than so many others.

* the sunset as it put on a fantastic performance, sending plumes of pink and purple throughout the sky and complementing the glassy turquoise ocean. this and the hot weather made it seem that santa barbara was saying to everyone, "glad you are back, i missed you, and didn't you miss me?" and it seemed that the collective answer was Yes.

* seeing my freshman year roommate, now a doctor, with her lovely husband, also a doctor, and delighting in how they've realized their dream together that i watched hatch as they met each other nine years ago as freshmen and started studying together for their first pre-med course.

* the scattered little clusters of Europe Semester alumni, reminiscing about hikes on Scottish islands, injuries on the Acropolis, awkward moments with the professors... when we see each other there's still a tie that binds, a deep familiarity in each others' faces, from 3 1/2 months filled with a lifetime's worth of memories in faraway places.

* the football huddle the guys made, for reasons still unknown to the girls, reminding us that Westmont guys always were a mysterious and special breed, but we love them for it.

* how we stayed past the closing of the restaurant, for hours after dark, unable to cut off conversations with the friends that, for all the years that have passed, for all the wedding rings and babies that were present, for all the respective doctor or lawyer titles that have been earned, still look and seem young and fresh and like they still have the whole world in front of them.

you can see it in her eyes

2009-10-18T22:01:00.000-07:00

Because it is a desire of my heart, I want for my friends to find it too, and I'm overjoyed when they do.

I want, for all of us, to find a love that, while imperfect, brings great joy and passion and depth to life. And it would be even greater if we all had what one of my dear friends has found in her love...

********************

"You know what I didn't expect?" she said, coming to the end of her story, her eyes shining with happiness and emotion. "I didn't expect him to say all those amazing things, and in hearing them, to feel so completely known. He gets me, more than anyone ever has. It's more than I could ever ask for."

In so many years I'd never seen her like this. She was glowing. She was a woman not only deeply loved... but known. How absolutely fantastic.

i love you so

2009-10-16T19:26:00.000-07:00

My love for the movie will probably always have more to do with the idea of it and the words describing it's vision than the film itself, as much as I loved it.

I was beside myself when I first saw the preview for Where the Wild Things Are. I didn't particularly love the book as a kid, but the preview was magical, mysterious, enchanting... especially, for me, the verbiage in it.

"Inside all of us is hope.
Inside all of us is fear.
Inside all of us is adventure.
Inside all of us is a wild thing."

You know I love that kind of talk. Well I waited and waited for the movie, and in the past couple months more interviews and then reviews came out about it. A deeper picture evolved of what I was waiting to see.

One reviewer was so poetic in his description, that I want to save some of his words forever...

"This is not a film defined by bits and bytes and the clicking of a thousand computer mice; it is a world of wood and wind and wave, of sunlight and stone. "Where the Wild Things Are" feels, for lack of a better or less ironic term, handcrafted, and that makes it something quiet and true, like a campfire song played on acoustic guitar."

"a world of wood and wind and wave, of sunlight and stone." I want that to describe my world. More natural, more handcrafted, more true. I couldn't wait to see the movie even more.

Then in a GQ article, an interview the Spike Jonze, the director, he had this to say about his realization of the concept he could center the movie around:

“It just hit me that wild things could be wild emotions,” says Jonze. “It was that simple of an idea. And all of a sudden, it seemed infinite where I could go from there.”

“As a kid, that was really scary and confusing—both the wild emotions in me and the wild emotions in the people around me,” he says. “Unpredictable emotions, positive or negative—you don’t know where they’re coming from, you don’t know what they mean. Especially negative emotions. Your own behavior—you don’t know why you’re acting a certain way and it scares you, or you don’t know why somebody else is acting a certain way and it scares you. Big emotions that are unexplained are really scary. At least to me. I guess it’s anger, or sadness, guilt—or guilt for being angry, you know."

He nailed it. Wild emotions... they are incredibly scary. My worst memories as a child are the confusion and sadness that came from the occasional intense and unpredictable emotions of the adults around me. My worst memories as an adult are moments of dealing with overwhelming sadness, loneliness, and despair... these emotions in great doses are terrifying. You cry and it's not better. You drive and yell and hit the steering wheel and it's not better.

How lucky are we that there are brilliant creative minds working who can put vision and art together in such a moving and beautiful format; a format that communicates to both children and adults everywhere the things we can't always express by ourselves. The movie, as promised, was lovely, mesmerizing, genuine, and very scary.

this is how it happened.

2009-10-15T13:56:00.000-07:00

a month or two previously the topic had come up as a few of us sat on stools by the outdoor bar built into his backyard.
"seriously stephen?" i asked. "new zealand is the next place i want to travel to as well. it's been on the top of my list for four years."
"really?" he replied with interest. "i haven't really ever traveled, and i just hear so many things i would like about that country so i want to go, for like a couple week trip or something."
"same," i said. "i've been saying i am going to plan it for over a year now, but i told myself a few months ago that in 2008 i would plan it or go for sure, maybe this winter while it's warm down there."
i really don't think there was much more said about it than that. maybe a casual joke thrown out by him a week or two later, something like "new zealand! let's do it!" between bottles of red stripe.
then one october sunday, a year ago, i was having a leisurely shopping day with some girlfriends. i think i was in the forever 21 dressing room when i got the text message.
"let's go to new zealand together. how about february, it will be their summer. let's make it happen." - stephen.
i read it and laughed in surprise. i got quiet and stared down at my phone. i just knew that he meant it. i knew that february would be great timing. i also realized that i'd been putting off booking the trip since i didn't know what that kind of adventure looked like as solo traveler, and i was hesitant to find out.

this was it. i got a flash of adrenaline and nervousness as i stood there with discarded dresses all around in the stall. i was going to go to new zealand. i had a friend to go with. not a close friend, but a friend who was fun and laidback and would follow-through. this is how it's supposed to happen. i'm going to new zealand, finally.

three weeks later we bought our plane tickets. three months after that, we were staring out the window of our bus as it rolled down the main streets in auckland after an early morning flight arrival, and we shared ipod earphones as stephen played band of horses to go along with our first views of the country we'd been dreaming about.

a season on the fence

2009-10-14T23:49:00.000-07:00

of course I have always loved October for being the month of my birthday. when your birthday is near the end of the month i feel like it's easier to feel like the whole month is yours, the anticipation stretches out from the first day you flip the calendar. growing up i loved that my birthday was where it was during the year for several reasons... close to halloween so i could have dress up party if i liked, enough into the school year so that i knew the kids in my class and that it wouldn't be awkward to bring cupcakes and be sung to, and not too close to the holidays.

one of my favorite reasons for having a late october birthday was/is this: this month, while containing the best of autumn in the form of pumpkin carving parties, nights by the fireplace, and the promise of holiday candy, could still act like a card-carrying member of the summer season, at least in california. the days are still often warm. you can still sport shorts and tank tops.

and that meant that my birthday parties could also be pool parties.

one of the greatest glories of my childhood was belonging to the local pool club. you had to live in the neighborhood or be friends with someone who did, so that meant that almost all of my middle school and junior high friends could go. for weeks after school started we could say after the last bell of the day, "see you at Treeview? in an hour and half?" and everyone would be there. we girls would stake out spots for our towels on the grass near the shallow end, so we could have the best view of all the action, and dip in and out for games of marco polo. i remember when one pieces started turning into two pieces by the end of one adolescent summer. these get-togethers were somehow more social than the summer ones as i recall, since many friends would be scattered over the vacation months with family or at camps. we would soak gloriously for a couple afternoon hours in the chlorine and the flirting that never culminated in much of anything, and head home for dinner and homework when we'd had enough. even if i was having an actual birthday party in some other form, it would still work out to casually rally the friends together for an afternoon of canon balls and underwater leapfrog that third week of october in honor of my birthday.

those wet days would end after halloween, not to be seen really til the spring. those times, where you could care less about your hair getting wet and maybe too much about what the boys were doing, and the chlorine would discolor your suit by the end of the year... they are something i miss the most about childhood.

for tomorrow...

2009-10-12T23:42:00.000-07:00

She sat down, not wanting to look up at me. She knew she hadn't done the work she promised to do, had made excuses, and sat here now after a couple days of avoidance knowing that she'd disappointed me.

"Look at me." I said. She looked up then down again. "Look at me." I repeated. Once I held her gaze, I had to do everything I could to keep my voice from cracking, especially as I saw her start to tear up.

"You haven't done the work. We both know it. But I refuse to create an unhealthy dynamic between us. I care about you too much and I just will not stand for unhealthy relationships in any aspect of my life. We will have a good, straightforward, trusting relationship of client to tutor. I already know you want to do the work, that you want to get through this class, that you have good intentions. You have to know I know that. What we both know is that we need to get you to take more action. Don't be fearful that I will get mad at you when you don't get things done. You let that fear paralyze you from actually doing it. Just do it, and if you don't, let me know without excuses, and then start again the next day. I care about your success today, but mostly I care about your well-being ten years from now. I do not want you, in your mid-twenties, to not be where you want to be and still be wrestling with the devastation from your lack of self-discipline. I know what its like to be a procrastinator. I know what it's like to be a play-first-work-later type of person. Believe me. You will have to fight this. I am on your side, fighting with you. Fight now or the fight will be harder later. The consequences will not come from me, they will come from no high school diploma, they will come from having to enter the workforce with no skills of follow through or self-discipline. We're doing good, you and me, and don't let this huge paper create a dynamic of fear with us. There will be no element of mistrust or manipulation between us, I will not stand for it."

She nodded. "Look at me again," I said one last time. "Do you believe we can have the kind of relationship I'm talking about? Do you trust me? Can we move forward together, no fear?"

"Yes." She wiped a tear away and gave a half smile. "Wonderful," I said. "Let's get to work."

I think about her every day. I fear for her, for her present, for her future. I'm literally one of her last options for getting through high school. Her private, imaginative, bookish, passionate, procrastinating, achingly perfectionistic nature tied her to my heartstrings from the beginning, I could see myself in her strengths and weaknesses. But she has other things holding her back, things I didn't have, her issues are deeply rooted, and I can only hope and instruct and affirm. And hope some more.

This conversation was today. Cross your fingers for tomorrow.

always raspberry

2009-10-12T23:00:00.000-07:00

I love being by myself. I'm compulsively social, but time alone energizes me and gives me some of my most memorable, creative, and peaceful moments.

One of the best alone days I've ever had, one that I will always vividly remember, was one early October day in Florence, Italy.

We arrived in the city as I was listening for the first time to John Mayer's Heavier Things album, which is still probably my favorite of his. The bus pulled up and it was lightly raining outside and I was charmed by our hotel by the river. It was maybe two days later that I got the chance to wander the city alone for a day that turned into an evening.

I was happy to be on the trip, with my friends, in Italy... but the dull ache of missing my boyfriend would often persist when I was alone, more than at other times. That day I didn't feel the ache, I slowed my usual fast pace to a saunter along the cobbled roads and delighted in the moment, in the sensations surrounding me, in my own solitude amidst a pulsating artsy breathtaking town. I went to the outdoor market and picked out silk scarves for my mom. I passed through quiet alleys and ended up in an old jewelry store, talking to the old owner who told me stories of all the famous people that had entered his doorway and touched his necklaces and rings. For a little while I sat in a cafe across the square from the Duomo Cathedral and was spellbound by the most phenomenal peoplewatching I'd ever encountered. I took a hike up to the Piazza Michelangelo and at the top bought two flavors of gelato, raspberry and lemon, a refreshing reward for all those stairs climbed. I walked down and walked along the Arno River, admiring the painters' canvases spread with flourishes of color as they stood and did their best to express the scene as they saw it from their easels. The sun set, I crossed the Ponte Vecchio bridge, and came upon a little handmade pizza eatery. It had mostly outdoor seating, was pretty empty, and looked like exactly the right place to sit down, eat, and write some postcards. So I did. And the most vivid part of the memory of this day is the sensational prosciutto and artichoke pizza I had there. It was just the right size, the crust was crispy and thin but not too thin, and the flavors were fresh and aggressive and amazing. I wrote family and friends postcards, truthfully telling them that I was having one of the best moments of my life in a little Florentine restaurant on a warm October night.

Then I walked home and on the way, got gelato again, raspberry and chocolate this time.

And after such a memorable and refreshing day alone, I was so happy to arrive back at the hotel, to a room full of the silver laughter of all the fun girls on the trip, and compare notes about our day in Italy and just how much gelato we'd each had, and how much more we planned to.

ears to hear, a heart to listen.

2009-10-09T15:41:00.000-07:00

one of my students is deaf. he was born without any ability to hear whatsoever. this was discovered as he approached one year of age and was unable to make any coherent sounds and had issues with sleeping and other milestones. but at age two, he was set up with special hearing aids that allowed him to hear to some degree, and a couple years later received a cochlear implant. this is basically a bionic ear. he can hear and converse to a significant degree like a normal hearing person can, but there is evidence in his tonality and pronunciation that he isn't hearing things as clearly, and he can't always pick up on subtleties of speech in regards to tone or nuances as others might. still, its remarkable to think that without this technology he would be living a very different life. he participates in a regular classroom and has never had to learn sign language.

on the first day we worked together the topic of ancient sparta came up. it was related to what we were talking about in the novel "The Giver". he said he had recently learned that in sparta babies or toddlers who weren't functioning normally, who seemed weak or sickly or had developmental issues, were left to die in the wilderness or thrown off cliffs. we marveled for a silent moment and how outrageous that was. then he said, very matter-of-fact, "i suppose that i wouldn't have made it in sparta, i would have been a throwaway baby." i was startled by his thirteen year old insight, and easy observance of a heartbreaking realization. he was right, and tears stung my eyes. i hid them well, and responded back to him about how incredible it was that he was born in this time and place, where he has the opportunity to actually stay alive and thrive and hear and speak. as we got back into our work, i said to him, "keep proving the spartans wrong."

he had a latin test today and so yesterday as a study method he taught me all the vocab and lessons that he needed to know for the test. he made jokes about romulus and remus, mimicked a professor that paces back and forth in front of the class, and just generally blew me away.

i love my job.

in like a lion

2009-10-08T00:29:00.000-07:00

(during the lovely month of october, one of my favorite months of the year, i will write a series of short true stories, and try to do one every day, a maybe less committed version of my photographic july)

"Pardon me, can I persuade you to leave the dancefloor and step outside with me for a bit?" The voice was low in my ear, and startled me. I lowered my arms, I had literally been mid-dancemove. I said sure without really considering it, since for one I was so surprised by the bold request and also because I'd noticed him already, tall and dressed sharply, crossing the dancefloor a couple times earlier. We walked out to the patio, both comfortably confronted with one of those odd moments where you know the only reason you're speaking with someone is because of attraction and a bold move. With new drinks in hand we sat on a bench. Those conversations are fun... you gather a semblance of an understanding of this new person with personal and random questions. His accent was a proper British one, it seems he was a classic Oxford snob. I revealed myself as a local, and explained why I had been dancing with an assortment of Scandinavians and Germans. He has an older sister, "his best mate", and watches Gossip Girl on occasion with her. He likes Coldplay but not Phoenix, and works in banking. I was older than he guessed, and also the oldest sibling, which he also misguessed, and a fan of quite a bit of music that he wasn't.

"So are you just traveling through here or do you live here?" I asked. Was it really almost a year ago now that I posed the same question and got a very different answer in a very different accent? The Brit was only passing through, just one night to spend in this American Riviera.

After a few minutes he asked, "Had you seen see me hovering, pacing past your group, trying to decide if I was going to talk to you?"
"No," I lied.

A short time later we found ourselves wandering up State Street, I hadn't had my phone on me at closing time so I had lost my friends. His friends had seen us talking and lost him on purpose. We walked along, humored some people shouting at us from across the street, dashed into the plaza by the old Acapulco restaurant and played with the statues that sit there. He sat on Ben Franklin's lap and we posed the musician statues' movable arms in position to play their instruments. It was a carefree way to spend the first night of October, a mischievous month that never fails to be full of stories.

I asked where exactly in London he lived and he tried to explain to me which underground stop his flat is next to.
"I love the Underground!" I exclaimed. "I have a map of it framed in my house actually."
"Prove it." He said.
"Well I'm not falling for that," I laughed.
"You don't have to," he responded.

The wandering continued.

Blue Dress Yellow Shoes Green Purse

2009-09-27T22:53:00.000-07:00

A student I work with just finished reading "The Giver". Though I was in junior high, like so many others when they have to read this classic, I still remember how that book creeped me out. I've always been obsessed with memory, what it means, how to preserve it, how it teaches us, so The Giver sounded like my idea of hell. A society that lets only one person remember pleasure, pain, the feel of snow, the rush of a first kiss... hell.

But I forgot one of the other main ideas in the Society of "The Giver". The concept of choice. It comes up when Jonas, who is the next person chosen to keep all the memories of the community, learns about color. In his Society there is no color. He wishes that "colors still existed so that people could have the pleasure and freedom of choosing between them."

He thinks about it some more, and, since it is still early in the story and he has not quite realized how twisted the Society is, he comes to this conclusion: if people were allowed to choose between colors, they might get so used to making choices that they would want to choose their jobs and their spouses. These are decisions that will have a serious effect on their lives and on the life of the community, and a wrong choice could be disastrous. He then says “We really have to protect people from wrong choices." His community teaches that wrong choices are to be avoided at all costs to protect the Society from disruption and damage. The citizens accept this and allow designated knowledgeable people to make choices for them.

I've made dozens of major decisions in this past year that have had a significant impact on my life and sometimes on those around me. I think I live in a time and country where I'm afforded the opportunity to have more choices than in any era previous, in regards to finance, work, school, love, travel, media, clothes, beliefs... The overwhelming options for my generation, in some ways, can be a hindrance, with so many directions to go it can be difficult to choose just one, and then be happy with it.

But again, a society that left me no option but a grey dress to wear, every day, to save me from the responsibility of continually having to choose and possibly do it wrong... that is hell.

Be there disruption, damage or error, give me a wardrobe filled with every color of the rainbow.

Gold Thread

2009-09-23T23:12:00.000-07:00

There are a few messages in my voicemail that I can't delete.

One is from almost two years ago. I remember picking it up for the first time, I was driving home from work, distracted, but my dad's rich voice stilled my frenzied thoughts...

"Hello my daughter! I was just talking to a young lady I met today about you... she is young and unexpectedly pregnant but in a serious relationship- basically the mirror image of what your mother and I went through. Anyway, I was telling her about how I found out about true love, when I saw my daughter for the first time. I love you, Corinne."

There's another message I keep, it came the day after he found out about my major breakup with my longtime boyfriend...

"I just called to say i love you, I called to say I've been praying for you. Today is a great day Corinne, it's a day the Lord has made, I love you my daughter, keep strong."

The third one from him that I can't delete, that came just a couple weeks after the second one, completely summarizes the message he's been sending me, without end, unconditionally, my entire life...

"Just called to say I love ya, thought I'd call you and see how you're doing, you rock, my daughter, you're young and beautiful and successful and you've got the whole world by the tail. I love you."

Twenty-seven years ago today my dad celebrated his twenty-second birthday. A month later, I was born. As young as he was when he became a father, as much as he's gone through since, he's made his love and admiration for me so evident, so constant, that it's become part of my narrative of how I've become a confident young woman, even when I haven't displayed the qualities that he's always used to describe me.

He is not perfect, and neither am I. But I'm one of the lucky girls, I know.

"There's something like a line of gold thread running through a man's words when he talks to his daughter, and gradually over the years it gets to be long enough for you to pick up in your hands and weave into a cloth that feels like love itself."
~John Gregory Brown, Decorations in a Ruined Cemetery, 1994

*a daddy/daughter-made sandcastle, 08/2008

blaise

2009-09-08T01:16:00.000-07:00

Since I first met this quote so many years ago in Rhetoric class I have never forgotten it...

"The heart has its reasons of which reason knows nothing."
-Blaise Pascal

photographic friday

2009-08-22T14:56:00.000-07:00

i had one of those friday nights where not much was planned, and i didn't feel anxious about having not much to do because i knew saturday was going to be good and full. and so i let the evening stretch out, taking as much time as i felt like taking to walk around downtown after work, go for a run, make dinner...

and the run went on endlessly because i couldn't bring myself to go inside. the air was warm and the fragrance of the sea was strong. i was playing sigur ros, and i don't know why i've never run to that music before but its certainly a great thing to do. and then the sunset went on forever. the clouds were tangled throughout the sky, fog spread around the horizon, and the purple and orange and golds would change and grow and move to other spots and back again. on the hill of city college overlooking the ocean with that music and that sky, it was downright ethereal.

there is a spot at city college that i love to stand at in the middle of workouts, it has stones planted in the grass to sit on, a fountain, and quotes on metal pieces set into the ground. i love this quote below, it seems to prove true again and again, and i think of it whenever something seems to difficult to achieve.

so then i came home from my run, and checked the mail. best mailday ever... a postcard from j in sweden, another from my sister in uganda, and a small package and card from my mom because she's about to leave for prague! happy friday to me!

the card from my mom is from a line of cards that highlight unique words from dying languages.
this word is from the native american huron language, and it means, "Stay in Touch With Your Dreams."

thank you mom, i am. :)

maybe not again for awhile

2009-08-16T20:47:00.000-07:00

i think it's kind of like christmas.
most everyone loves it, we look forward to it all year long, and there is always something to say to someone in coming or going...
"viva la fiesta!"

the atmosphere, the spirit, the vibe of the town is so celebratory. the buzz is everywhere, even days beforehand. parks and venues all around town prepare for the part they will play in the five day party. businesses downtown post signs in their windows the weeks beforehand giving notice that they will close by noon that friday for the parade. and the people i celebrate with, they get ready by making sure they have at least one fun colorful outfit to wear out during the week, they pull cash out so they can buy churros to their hearts' content, and they coordinate with friends as to just where they will meet up to watch the parade, catch the flamenco dancing, or enjoy the nighttime craziness.

fiesta is one of the best times of year in santa barbara.

this year was one of the most incredible ones yet. each fiesta stands out for particular moments... last year had highlights like overlooking the carnival lights while enjoying churros on a hillside with my mom, the year before that was most memorable for the free mat kearney concert under the stars that turned into a spontaneous dance party once a dj got on the stage afterwards, with all the twenty-somethings who'd come for the concert prancing around the dancefloor in goofy ways that would not be seen in indochine.

this year will be marked by the collision of so many dozens of friends from all over on thursday night at dargans and saturday night at blush. friends from way back, friends from now, all reunited serendipitously on this weekend of all sb weekends. i will also most certainly remember how we ended up watching the parade next to the most amazing family of goodtimers ever, who'd drawn circles in the street to take bets on where the horses would do their business, who had a keg out in broad daylight, and who cheerfully ran to buy trays and trays of confetti eggs to battle with the children who were pelting them from an office window above with the same. and when the day comes that i am away from santa barbara on this first weekend in august, like i haven't been in 7 years, i will remember how when you look around during those five days, as i most noticed this year, you see spontaneous dance parties to mariachi bands, strangers cracking eggs over other strangers and everyone laughing, boyfriends and girlfriends sharing their churros with each other as they sway to the cover bands that play in the plaza, every girl with a flower in their hair, and the dancefloors everywhere so packed while thousands line the streets, all there because of a desire to be a part of that VIVA spirit.

i'm not sure, but fiesta might have been so good to me this year because it knows i may not be around for it again next time...

july bride

2009-07-31T01:42:00.001-07:00

and to cap off july, a fabulous wedding... a former roommate tied the knot, and we celebrated the day with raspberry cocktails, croquet, swing dancing, more dancing, nonstop laughing and stolen slices of wedding cake.

two years today

2009-07-30T23:58:00.000-07:00

happy birthday to outnumber the sand. this page is two years old today...

i started a weblog because i wanted to get my thoughts down about people and how they work, to practice my writing in general, to have somewhere to occasionally record travel memories, and to share a little bit of life happenings. i am happy to say that i feel satisfied with what i've done so far. i didn't plan for this month of daily photos to coincide with this anniversary, but i think it's quite perfect, i've truly become so grateful this past month for the people and places in my life, and i'm glad this page helped me get there. and i love having a place to type things out, review, revise, and publish every so often. i'm challenged by the fact that this is public and available to any who stumbles across it, found it on my facebook when i used to have it linked there, or have had it passed along to them. family, friends and others can and do read it, and it will always be an ongoing process for me to decide how much i want to share about where life takes me. at the beginning i didn't intend to share as much of what is going on in my own life currently as much as i have. sometimes i want to share it all. then i think, "maybe i will be embarrassed later. maybe they won't agree with how i portrayed them. maybe they will be hurt. maybe they will be put off. maybe they will know too much and stalk me. maybe they will think i'm a bad/annoying/emo family member, friend, girlfriend, ex-girlfriend, stranger, prospective employee, etc."

but then i think "maybe i will get to look back at this in ten, fifteen, or twenty years and have this wonderful journey recorded. maybe i will still remember what it was like to be in my twenties and though i try to keep my entries subtle and inexplicit, i'll be able to read between my own lines and recall all the sheer joy, the wondering, the heartbreak, the hopefulness, the love, the learning... maybe it will show me how i've grown. maybe someone i care about will read it and understand me better for it. maybe putting down my goals and plans will keep me accountable. maybe it will be for someone else what several blogs are for me, something i get excited about when there's a new entry, for i get to be drawn in momentarily to the ongoing novel of someone's real actual lovely life. maybe this is becoming just that: a novel, written in short bits, of the story of my life... the collection of yearly reviews, photos, flashbacks, encounters, thoughts, feelings, plans... it is the "adventures of corinne."

my life is wonderful and an adventure indeed. and i wholeheartedly believe that the best and most incredible is yet to come.

endless summer

2009-07-30T00:07:00.000-07:00

On Wednesday nights in July the Santa Barbara Zoo hosts a movie shown outside on a huge screen under the stars. If you get there early, you can just relax on a blanket while the sun sets, watch the boats go by, throw a frisbee around, see the animals, and get some hot dogs or bbq ribs, wine or beer, and of course popcorn. I've been wanting to do it for awhile, and when I saw that they were showing Endless Summer on the final night, which I've always been meaning to watch, I knew I'd have to be there.

It was fantastic. The movie, the night, the setting... Wow.

In the photo below you can see some of the ocean view, and a boat going by.

And here's the moon and the surfers, chasing the perfect wave around the world...

the perfect bag

2009-07-29T23:51:00.000-07:00

i've found it. been wanting one for months, to carry my things in while i bike, to fit my computer when i go to a coffee shop, to carry all the notebooks and textbooks i have now for tutoring, and for the newest reason, to hold my GRE study materials. it's my favorite brand. soft buttery brown leather. pretty pattern inside. pockets. large and small straps.

i discovered it in a consignment store. and they even gave me a generous coupon to use before i bought it.

what a steal. i can't wait to fill it and use it for years.

reason #1: it's cheap again.

2009-07-27T23:00:00.000-07:00

I feel bad for these teenage boys studying for the SAT sometimes. Mostly in regards to the reading comprehension section. The passages are so boring to them most of the time. They have to read them and answer intricate and tricky questions about content, inferred meaning, tone, metaphors used, etc. There are passages about Japanese ants, a daughter's resentment-riddled memories of her mother, and about what it's like to be a senior citizen. They boys I tutor could care less!

Finally I thought today to try beginning one student's reading comprehension test prep with a more interesting first passage. Not from the CollegeBoard book or official online SAT study guide. But from one of my favorite magazines... GQ.

I assigned two different short articles for him to read, each one excerpted from a feature on "47 Reasons to Rediscover Europe". They had a much more relevant voice, interesting details, and it was much easier to discern the "tone." I know he preferred this to the ants passage.

After that, my student said, "You must really be into travel and Europe right?"

"Oh you know...a bit," I downplayed.

Plus, the other articles in this particular GQ were about a high school sex scandal, the greatest gory movies ever made, a top surfer who loves to get laid, and a lengthy piece about the atrocities of Khmer Rouge. Not my favorite issue ever, so certainly the travel feature was the best option, despite my particular bias.

by the bay

2009-07-27T22:42:00.000-07:00

Last November, December, and much of January I had only one CD in my car. It played on repeat through all those weeks, acting as the soundtrack to a crazy time of change and excitement and lots of contemplating. (Believe me people, I know how emo I get sometimes. This site gets the bulk of it.)

Anyway, imagine my delight when I heard that Needtobreathe, the band behind my wintertime soundtrack, was coming to play a free concert down by the beach here in town! Bay Cafe was hosting yet another great show, and it made for a great Sunday night. I came in my bathing suit and a dress after a full day of fun, and enjoyed a glass of wine, warm air that lasted past sunset, and a truly soulful set that seemed to, as the guy next to us put it, leave the band members hearts poured out onto the pavement.

If you don't know them, you should.

"and a new day will begin"

2009-07-27T22:27:00.000-07:00

It is so few and far between that I get to see stage performances, but whenever I do I'm reminded of how brilliant they are, how drawn in you become, how a great performer is a thing to behold. They throw themselves across the stage, sing while doing cartwheels, and are so utterly completely... vulnerable. They are singing their hearts out and making dramatic faces and wearing skintight outfits in front of thousands of people. It's truly a gift they are giving us, their talent and vulnerability give us the chance to be swept away in a story, carried away by songs like "Memory", or the chance to laugh and cry and cheer like I did when I saw Les Miserables. I'm so happy I won those tickets to see Cats... Another perfect summer night it was.

firepit friday

2009-07-24T23:55:00.000-07:00

all day i'd been craving middle eastern food, and quite by chance i was able to end up at zaytoon's with friends to sit around a firepit and have kebab with rice pilaf and hummus and pita bread and sparkling wine and live guitar music. thank goodness it's not only friday, but a warm and beautiful one at that.

fast asleep

2009-07-23T23:11:00.000-07:00

stumble upon

2009-07-23T22:52:00.000-07:00

this morning i was the 9th caller on a local radio station and won tickets to see the musical Cats. i was so stunned that i actually was paying attention to the radio at the right moment and heard the number, was able to dial right then and then thought to wait a few beats so i wouldn't be 5th or 8th, and then say the right answer and give the correct name of the radio station. it all happened so fast, and then they replayed it and there i was, on the radio. truly, i was in the right place at the right time, and completely paying attention to the moment. serendipity!

i often think about how some of the best moments when traveling are when you hit the right place at the right time and experience something surprising and lovely and memorable. one time in florence i got separated from the other students i was traveling with, and was trying to find my way on my own, when a couple stopped me. they spoke in spanish and asked me for directions to the exact same cathedral i was looking for. this was strange, since they not only thought i looked like i spoke spanish, in a country that speaks italian, but thought i looked like i knew where i was going! i spoke spanish to them and forced confidence into my sense of direction, and led us to the right place. the scenario gave me so much joy and was encouraging to my spanish skills, and was completely serendipitous since i had been on my own only accidentally.

in new zealand we arrived at the waterfront town of Wellington, only to stay for a night, and leave early the next morning. i assumed this was just a "travel-through" city, and that's what it was going to have to be for us. we got off the train and went to the first hostel closest to the ferry we were to take the next morning. no beds left. on to the next hostel. same story. so we ended up walking along most of the waterfront to get to the main downtown area where there were more hostels, our heavy backpacks bearing down on our sunburns. it was so beautiful though, the sun was setting and the town sparkled with lights all around the hills that cradled the bay. and then we came upon this tented stage, with theatrical lighting and music playing. there were people performing a show, amazing acrobats that hung from fabrics and slid down ropes and did other kinds of daring amazing things. i stood there in awe, loving this surprising moment we had come to completely by chance. an outdoor dance performance at sunset by the water, on a wednesday night... when we might have easily been setting our packs down at the first hostel and calling it a night.
serendipity.

peanut butter and algebra

2009-07-21T22:49:00.000-07:00

I am doing regular tutoring in Algebra, just for the summer for two girls going into high school. Math really hurts my brain, and it has the same effect on them. I can't tell you how much I dislike polynomials at this point.

Today we rewarded ourselves for our hard work, and also celebrated one of the girl's birthdays, by walking to the nearby cupcake shop.

The peanut butter chocolate delight that I had was so worth the two hours of mental acrobatics. They would have agreed about the wafflelicious flavor they each got.

pool therapy

2009-07-19T23:11:00.000-07:00

likely because of a combination of the growing tally of nights with too little sleep, the dehydration from a hot and muggy weekend, a too eclectic line-up of drinks from last night, and mental fatigue, today i found myself utterly useless. i was completely spent, often dizzy, sometimes nauseous, and definitely not going to accomplish the long to-do list i had given myself for this day.
so lazy sunday it was. i joined friends at the pool and spent the day as it was designed, as a day of rest.

pier part deux

2009-07-19T22:43:00.000-07:00

the pier was so wonderful on friday night i had to go back for more on saturday. we sat on the patio of the wine tasting room, watched the sunset color the sky and the water, and shared a bottle of pinot grigio and some salami and herbed brie. the night continued on in a rambunctious and carefree way, the way nights seem to when we get together. but i certainly believe that sitting up there overlooking the lights on the shore and the boats scattered throughout the harbor was one of the finer moments of this sunny & splendid july.

dusk on the pier

2009-07-18T00:16:00.000-07:00

Tonight we went for crab cakes and lobster tacos and wine tasting on the pier. I love the view looking back at Santa Barbara from out there. I love looking at the pier even when I'm not on it, seeing it stretch so quaintly out over the water, all the wooden painted buildings, how it defines our little town's coastline. I was told not too long ago that piers like this are to many foreigners a distinctly American image, that they are not commonly done anywhere else just like we do them here... wooden pilings holding up baitshops, restaurants, ferris wheels, and other such things as they do on our coasts. I liked that.

little skye

2009-07-18T00:13:00.000-07:00

a giggling, clapping, grabbing, throwing, attempting to walk, gorgeous little neighbor of mine...

off to the theater...

2009-07-16T11:21:00.000-07:00

Waiting to see Harry Potter, sitting in the gorgeous Arlington Theater breezeway, looking out at the sparkling lights by the restaurants across the street.

whale tail

2009-07-14T22:58:00.001-07:00

on my last day in new zealand i wandered around christchurch and kept coming back to this main square where tons of handmade goods were being sold. i had my eye on this whale tail wine holder. i debated back and forth about buying it... could i fit it in my bag? do i need it? is it worth the money? i finally decided to do it right before i caught the shuttle to the airport. i'm so glad i did, i think it's my favorite thing i brought back, besides my photos...

bicicletas

2009-07-14T22:53:00.000-07:00

have never seen this corner of downtown sb before... i find something new about this city every week.

a strength that lies

2009-07-13T23:40:00.000-07:00

excuse me while i have a love affair with summer of oh nine.

sometimes i anticipate something so much that there's no way it will live up to my expectations. i was so excited all week for the ray lamontagne concert at the hollywood bowl, knowing the weather would be great and that we would pack great food and wine and just have a lovely time. i pictured the setting of the hollywood hills and ray's soulful music floating over the amphitheater.

sometimes, when i'm lucky, the moment exceeds my fantasizing.

the night was so warm. the hills wrapped their green around us, the hollywood sign watched from high above. the champagne and salad and dark chocolate covered cranberries were so satisfying. everybody was so happy to be there, so summerfashionable, prepared with their picnics and wine. the orchestra raised their instruments, the flutes, the trumpets, the saxophones, and then, the strings. it was so beautiful. and ray, he never really talks, but boy does he sing. and he sang right to me. "be here now" he said. don't be somewhere else, corinne. now is where you are supposed to be. don't think of tomorrow, next year. now that you've fantasized about this moment don't think of what's next to come. just be still. be still.

Be Here Now

Don't let your mind get weary and confused
Your will be still, don't try
Don't let your heart get heavy child
Inside you there's a strength that lies

Don't let your soul get lonely child
It's only time, it will go by
Don't look for love in faces, places
It's in you, that's where you'll find kindness

Be here now, here now
Be here now, here now

Don't lose your faith in me
And I will try not to lose faith in you
Don't put your trust in walls
'Cause walls will only crush you when they fall

Be here now, here now
Be here now, here now

i want to love you, PYT...

2009-07-13T23:20:00.000-07:00

saturday was a wonderful summer day. i played soccer in the morning, a fastpaced, hot, good-humored game with boys and girls up by westmont. then i got crepes at the french festival with friends. i went to northstar cafe and played on my computer. then i saw the movie away we go by myself on a whim. then i had dinner at the habit by myself. then i met up with some friends at dargans pub. then we went to yogurtland. i was about to go home to bed, but then we decided to party, and, still in my outfit from the past eleven hours, we went to indochine and the dj played one of the best sets anywhere in months. we danced forever. we did funny moves. we pumped our fists. we would try to take a break and then have to come running back since "this song is my jam!"

i don't have a single photo of any of it.

so i'll put one from sunday, which was unbelievably amazing too. there is nothing like sitting out on the ocean, alone in a kayak, looking back to the shore at your gorgeous hometown and friends playing paddleball and knowing that this is not your vacation. this is your life. this is my life.

shimmering sky

2009-07-10T23:57:00.000-07:00

days like today make it obvious that the evening will hold a fabulous sunset... the scattered streaming clouds always make for a colorful show and reflect the gold fading light in the best way...

backyard barbeque, lawn games, guacamole, coronas... a perfectly mellow friday night.

alegre en el sol

2009-07-09T23:57:00.000-07:00

Shortly after I graduated from college I took off for a month in Costa Rica for language school. Almost exactly five years ago today is when I returned. I spent the fourth of July there, on a weekend down the coast with a few girls at a two room bed and breakfast in a tiny tiny village by the sea, that wasn't even in the guidebooks. We couldn't believe how wonderful it was, so gorgeous, the waves were the best we'd seen, and we seemed to have the beach and the boogie boards and the tiny German restaurant with the crazy lady who needed our order two hours in advance and the kind Canadian man who ran the B&B and made us pancakes and the warm night filled with stars all to ourselves. It was one of the most amazing times of my life.

Below is a photo from another time on that trip when a few of us from my language school hiked through the hills to get to this hidden waterfall and pool. We swam there forever, and some of us jumped from the top down into the pool. Some of us may or may not have been dared to jump without their top on... and even though from down below the group couldn't really see anything, you could cover yourself with your arm and put the top back on once you were underwater...I may or may not have done it and felt like I was truly having the crazy carefree moment you should be having when you're 21 and just finished college and jumping off waterfalls in foreign countries.

seven eight nine

2009-07-08T22:57:00.001-07:00

you can't see it but there was a fiery pink sunset going on when i took this photo tonight. i was headed inside to watch So You Think You Can Dance with the girls. the white little lights over the back door, the pine tree in the background, karen and laurie making snacks and pouring wine for our show...

july is going well.

summer school

2009-07-07T22:28:00.000-07:00

On my walk from home to work downtown today, I passed the international language school on Chapala. Whenever I'm around that area I see young fashionable foreign students milling around, just out of class, heading towards State to shop or get some food. I love trying to figure out where they are from, imagine what their story is, how well they speak English... Today there were dozens all gathered outside, and it seemed that they had maybe just started a session and were new to Santa Barbara; they had that first few days of school buzz, and were slightly hesitant as they made their way in front of me towards their new adventure that is downtown SB.

"show me what i'm looking for..."

2009-07-07T00:14:00.000-07:00

I went to a free concert tonight at Bay Cafe, near the beach. A local radio station was sponsoring it, and Carolina Liar was the main performer. I like their song on the radio and thought it would make for a fun Monday night. Meg and I were enjoying our delicious tacos under the mid-evening sun, and as the band got going, I heard a familiar accent. I thought they were all from Carolina for some odd reason, but at least one of them definitely wasn't. I didn't continue to think about it until the accented band member starting talking again. Later the lead singer, speaking American, told the crowd a story about how a song was written about his experience with the Swedish summer, since the rest of the band is from Sweden and he's the only one from North Carolina. Ha! I thought I recognized that particular way of speaking English... and that preppy funky style. It was a thoroughly enjoyable and spontaneous night, complete with the opening singersongwriter guy doing a fun cover of Part of Your World from The Little Mermaid. No joke.

Two of the band members, Carolina to the left, Sweden to the right.

sky and sea

2009-07-06T00:10:00.000-07:00

“I can't change the direction of the wind, but I can adjust my sails to always reach my destination.”
- Jimmy Dean

golden rain

2009-07-05T23:53:00.001-07:00

it was an amazing fourth of july.
i love this holiday, mainly because it's in the summer and there are fireworks. i adore fireworks. i thought the palm trees might block our view of the show, but it was one of the most memorable fireworks displays i've ever seen precisely because they were framed by the silhouettes of those tall lean symbols of california beach life. i had my jaw agape the entire time, falling in love again, as i so often do, with this town. the golden shower of sparks that rain down slowly after they explode are my very favorite. i will never forget the scene of them falling down over the palms and the beach and the harbor, thousands of people around gazing in awe, capping off a day where i was in total amazement at just how festive and vibrant my hometown was everywhere i went.

quintessential santa barbara, except for the fact that a usually car-filled boulevard by the beach was closed to traffic, except for the bike and pedestrian kind...

and this photo because this dear friend knows how to do holidays and good times, complete with the appropriate colors...