a new familiar...

I was born on an island. Perhaps that's one reason being on this one now feels so strangely like home. Tall trees and black sand beaches and a tinge of salt in the air bring back memories of my childhood, growing up with a beach for my backyard. My sister and I spent hours there playing, with the sand a canvas for our endless imaginations. We drew floorplans for our imaginary houses, and when we tired of one, walked a few yards away and started another. Bullhead kelp were our children, complete with stringy hair, and rocks and driftwood served nicely as furniture.

My beach trips 20-something years later usually involve a steaming latte and my ipod, but there's still room for my imagination. The smooth sand left when the tide goes out still makes me want to draw in it. Maybe it's something about knowing it will all be washed away with the next tide, and there's plenty of room to start over.


:: “The sea does not reward those who are too anxious, too greedy, or too impatient. One should lie empty, open, choiceless as a beach - waiting for a gift from the sea.” – Anne Morrow Lindbergh

celebrate love...

It's our parent's 36th anniversary today. I'm thankful to be one of the few 30-somethings left in America whose parents are still together and still love each other. Thanks Mom & Dad. Happy Anniversary from your children...

:: Where does the family start? It starts with a young man falling in love with a girl - no superior alternative has yet been found. – Sir Winston Churchill

ways to walk on water...

storylines...

I wrote this awhile ago but it feels like it belongs in this week...

:: :: ::

I've been thinking about life stories. How they are written... who writes them... Are the journeys of our lives predetermined for us? Or do our choices have more control over our destinies? What about the the things that happen to us that don't make any sense?

Have you ever done one of those creative writing games, where you each take turns adding one line to the story, then you pass it to the next person, so they can only see the one line written before? One person might start off writing a fairytale, and the next turns it into a mystery, and the next into a suspense novel... And the cleverest of all can take a story almost at a dead ending and with a few words bring it back to a whole new beginning again.

Maybe our life stories go something like that. Maybe there are a certain number of lines already written for us, from the beginning of time... Then there are a certain number of lines that we write ourselves... and a certain number of lines written by the people we choose to add to our lives... but there are also a certain amount of lines allowed to be written by other people that we don't necessarily have any control over.

Maybe it's the order of those lines that God can see, and rearrange, and supersede. And maybe, although he doesn't erase and doesn't delete the lines that have already been laid, if we only let him, he can write in between the lines, changing the meaning entirely.

Maybe things like the choice of where I live next is one of the lines I write myself. Maybe the man I will marry is one of the lines already written that hasn't been added to the story yet. And maybe what's amazing is that no matter what enters into my story, I can always trust God to bring me to the perfect ending.

Maybe it's more than maybe.

:: "We will not know unless we begin." –Peter Nivio Zarlenga

adventures of design man...

I really was planning on a more inspiring blog entry this week, but then I saw this... and couldn't help myself.

One of my personal missions in life is to eradicate the world of Comic Sans. No, it is not okay to use for professional documents. EVER. Not on your resumé, not on your letterhead, and please, please -- NEVER on your organizational chart.

Fonts matter.

:: “Excellence is in the details.” – Perry Paxton

minus 3 degrees...

(that would be -18° celcius...)



Yesterday was a good day for freelancing... one of the perks being I can work in my bathrobe without leaving the house. :) Speaking of bathrobes, I have to say a publicly huge thank you to my friend Melinda for having the foresight to give me the world's most luxurious bathrobe (personally endorsed by me and Oprah) as a homecoming gift. It's like wearing a full-body hug...

There are also certain perks to being a girl in my family... I have to admit to feeling a tiny bit guilty in the mornings, listening to the sound of my dad snowblowing the driveway while I'm still under the covers, or sitting at my computer in the afore-mentioned bathrobe with a steaming cup of coffee while my brother trudges out to warm up his car for a half hour before driving to his outdoor construction job.

I did leave the house twice yesterday, actually... once for snowblower lessons, (yes, in -3 degrees), so I'm at least prepared if all the men in our family are somehow simultaneously incapacitated. The other outing was to see Charlotte's Web with my niece and nephews, which I loved for bringing a warmly loved story of my childhood to life and was worth braving the frozen air for.

I seriously don't know how my brothers can pound nails in below-freezing temperatures, or how they can be at all productive digging their projects out from under snowdrifts every other day. My dad says it'll give them good stories to tell their grandchildren... This is my dad who took off yesterday (solo) in his single-engine airplane (in the same -3 degree temps) for a 3-hour flight over water and mountains with about as many hours of daylight to do it in...

Somebody asked me not long ago what I'm looking for in a man... I guess being able to run a snowblower, pound nails in winter and fly across wilderness would be a starting point... Or I might settle for two out of the three.

You think I'm kidding...

:: "A healthy man, indeed, is the complement of the seasons, and in winter, summer is in his heart." – Henry David Thoreau

it's snowing men...

Meet the two newest men in my life...

The first came as a Christmas gift from my mother... a foot-high wooden artist's figure. "It was the closest I could come to getting you a husband," she said. Apparently the place she bought it thought I would be offended by her thoughtfulness -- on the contrary, not only am I immune to her marriage comments, but I also figure that the day she stops making them is the day she really gives up on me...

I called him Michelangelo, in honor of the fascinating subject of the best book I've read since I've been home (The Agony and the Ecstasy), and as a reminder of my commitment to pursuing my creative destiny and unearthing my dormant figure drawing skills...

Then on Boxing Day (a Tuesday :) my new powerbook was born. His name is Pierre (I believe in naming inanimate objects that are important to me), to remind me that I'm going to keep learning French, and he is an investment in my future and my freedom. With Pierre by my side, I'll be able to work from anywhere, leaving geographical decisions to be determined by other more important criteria.

My dearly beloved ibook iSabel, who has been my faithful companion on all my journeys for the past five years, will soon be travelling to her new retirement home where she will be just as dearly loved but will hopefully get more rest.

One for each side of the brain... I'd say together they make a very balanced companion. Never fear -- there is still plenty of room in my life for a real man -- these two are just helping to keep me entertained (and employed) until he gets here. :)

PS: Belle, Angelica and mini-Gaston make up the rest of my digital family (iPod, camera and external hard drive, respectively)

:: "Lord, grant that I may always desire more than I can accomplish." – Michelangelo Buonarrati

winter blue...

life in a northern town...

Over the atlantic and through north america, I'm finally home again.

Homer for the holidays... Home in the 49th state, as far west as you can drive on the continent, in my cozy little hometown at the moment all shrouded in snow. It could possibly be the best place in the world to spend Christmas. Too small to be too busy, too few stores to be overrun by consumerism, too cold to draw pesky tourists.

It's an odd place, a dear place and a one-of-a-kind place. A place where almost everybody knows your name (even after six years away) and they definitely all know someone you know. A place where you can wear whatever you want and no one cares about status. A place where you can't tell the mayor from the garbage man, and the postman is also the local theatre star. A town with enough talent to pull off a full-fledged production of the Nutcracker every year that the locals wouldn't miss... A little town with three museums, eight coffee shops, and more art galleries than organized churches.

It's a place that comfortingly never really changes, although every time I come back there's something new and controversial. Last year it was the first and only stoplight – this year a Starbucks has invaded. We'll see how long it takes for the independent coffee roasters to run it out of town. Homer has a history of successfully ejecting fast-food joints – Dairy Queen, Burger King and Pizza Hut all couldn't make it. Only McDonald's and Subway have survived. But Starbucks only snuck it's way in by embedding itself with a grocery store chain. I have mixed feelings – in foreign countries and big US cities Starbucks is something good and familiar, but here it just doesn't belong.

Isn't it cold there? People ask. Well, yes, I suppose. But all the better for staying home wrapped in a cozy bathrobe with hot cocoa by the fire. Isn't it snowy? Well yes, but that's why we have garages and snow machines and woolly mittens. Isn't it dark? Well yes, but all the more reason for everyone to put up Christmas lights. Plus it makes for better viewing of the stars and the aurora borealis...

I love winter, and snow, and Christmas. It's a season that feels like a big warm hug at the end of the year to me -- remembering the greatest gift. It makes me sad to know it's not that feeling for everyone. Someone asked me with a sigh not long ago, "Do you really think there's any Christmases left like the ones in the old movies?" Feeling both sad and incredibly fortunate, I said "yes".

There's no place, no family and no season in life that's perfect. But my December at the end of the road comes pretty close.

It's snowing again...

:: "From quiet homes and first beginning, out to the undiscovered ends, there's nothing worth the wear of winning, but laughter and the love of friends." – Hilaire Belloc

in between...

So I'm here... back on American shores again... Not quite home yet and not quite adjusted, but I'm getting there.

Sailing home was the best idea I've had all year. Maybe in five years. As described to my best friend, it was in every way the perfect escape from my reality and at the same time a beautiful echo of the best of my ocean past... The gentlest transition I could have hoped for.

Now I'm moving through cities on my homecoming tour, eyes wide open, bags in fist, absorbing the pace of change and the unchanged. The nothingness that seemed so overwhelming from a distance is surprisingly less frightening up close.

Or maybe I'm just still dreaming...

:: "In the universe, there are things that are known, and things that are unknown, and in between, there are doors." – William Blake

angels at sea...

last boat to america...

For those of you wondering... I'm alive and very well on the sea again. Last stop on European shores... next stop, America.

:: "I find the great thing in this world is not so much where we stand, as in what direction we are moving – we must sail sometimes with the wind and sometimes against it - but we must sail, and not drift, nor lie at anchor." – Oliver Wendell Holmes, Jr.

last rites...

bon voyage...

My last Tuesday in Switzerland...

Surrender seems to be working. All the last things are upon me now and the inevitable end is starting to look more sweet than bitter... I think the hardest part of this ending is behind me... and the hardest part of the beginning still seems far away...

Fall -- it's my season of change. There's something very fitting about leaving a place the same time of the year I arrived. A full circle, fulfilling familiarity... Last moments of warmth and love and all things familiar... and this suspicious feeling I haven't seen the last of this place or these people.

A week from today I'll be sailing again...

:: "Beginnings are usually scary and endings are usually sad, but it's everything in between that makes it all worth living." –Hope Floats

synonyms of letting go...

a·ban·don
1. To withdraw one's support or help from, especially in spite of duty, allegiance, or responsibility; desert: abandon a friend in trouble.
2. To give up by leaving or ceasing to operate or inhabit, especially as a result of danger or other impending threat: abandoned the ship.
3. To surrender one's claim to, right to, or interest in; give up entirely. See Synonyms at relinquish.
4. To cease trying to continue; desist from: abandoned the search for the missing hiker.
5. To yield (oneself) completely, as to emotion.

If one relinquishes something finally and completely, often because of weariness or discouragement, the correct word is abandon. (They were told to abandon all hope of being rescued.)

Sadly, this word I feel defines my life right now. Abandon ship. Abandon the effort. Abandon hope. It can't be true, that this is where I've arrived... but it feels that way.

There's another word...

sur·ren·der
1. To relinquish possession or control of to another because of demand or compulsion.
2. To give up in favor of another.
3. To give up or give back (something that has been granted): surrender a contractual right.
4. To give up or abandon: surrender all hope.
5. To give over or resign (oneself) to something, as to an emotion: surrendered himself to grief.

Eventually you get to the point where you're not fighting to hold on to things anymore. You surrender them because it's your only hope of receiving something better, and because it's the only thing you can do.

Things I believed in so much are disappearing into thin air...

Illusions. Maybe that's the word. Castles in the sand that I worked so hard to build, and were so beautiful... and now nothing I can say or do or build can keep them from washing away. Maybe instead of fighting the wave I just have to surrender to it and let it come... and when the water drains away and I can open my eyes again, seeing what's left...

Maybe there will be nothing.

:: “All of our reasoning ends in surrender to feeling”
– Blaise Pascal (mathematician, philosopher and physicist)

borrowed wisdom...

It's been a long week since last Tuesday. Cleaning out my inbox today I found this forgotten forward... I don't know who originally said it, but thanks Chris...

:: :: ::

As we grow up, we learn that even the one person that wasn't supposed to ever let you down probably will. You will have your heart broken probably more than once and it's harder every time. You'll break hearts too, so remember how it felt when yours was broken. You'll fight with your best friend. You'll blame a new love for things an old one did. You'll cry because time is passing too fast, and you'll eventually lose someone you love. So take too many pictures, laugh too much, and love like you've never been hurt because every sixty seconds you spend upset is a minute of happiness you'll never get back.

:: :: ::

turning four...

One year bigger today...
:: :: :: ::
Happy Birthday
Adams!
:: :: :: ::

submergency...

Sometimes I wonder what percentage we really see of each other's lives, in our everyday friendships -- even in our closest relationships. There's so much we leave unspoken and unseen... and they are quite often the biggest things. A vision of icebergs comes to mind... all of us floating around in relative peace and passivity, rarely touching each other above water, but below... the 90% of our invisible selves constantly in jeopardy of exposure...

Every now and then we look deeper and we can see... just what lies beneath. Sometimes dark and disturbing... nearly always painful. The view of each other above the water is so much more pleasant. It consists of things we are comfortable seeing and know how to handle. But it isn't the whole picture. It isn't reality.

The closer we get the more we see... The more we see, the more we feel. And the more we feel, the less we know what to do. It would be easier to see less, but I ask you, how can we truly love someone when we know only 10% of who they are?

The more I glimpse the pain below the surfaces of the people I love (and we all have it), the more it hurts me. Maybe the real reason we don't look so hard and don't get too close is because we're afraid we'll see something we recognize too much -- something that reminds us of our own deepest hurts. Yet maybe our seeing, and our staying, is enough. Perhaps being willing to take on some of that confusion, uncomfortableness and painful familiarity somehow does help make it a little less to bear.. for both of us.

Bear one another's burdens...

hug the world...

This made me cry yesterday... Watch it and hug someone.

:: “I have found the paradox, that if you love until it hurts, there can be no more hurt, only more love.” – Mother Teresa

coming home...

I had a fully swiss Saturday watching the cows come home...

We drove through the end of September fog to fresh green hillsides past the end of Lac Léman, and joined local villagers in their annual "Désalpe" celebration -- welcoming home their friends and neighbors who had been in the alps all summer with their animals...



Think all the storybook charm of "Heidi" and add a full dose of heartwarming tradition and you'll have the feeling of the day... Beaming farmers and tired families and cows magnificently crowned with flowers as queens of the day... The rhythmic clang of cowbells and creak of carts and children calling the goats... Alpine horns and all ages in costumes... Market stalls selling bread and sweet-smelling fruit concoctions... Wooden platters of cheese and meat savored at long tables... French and laughter and wine in plastic cups flowing freely...

A beautiful day in a beautiful world. We need reminders...

:: "All things on earth point home in old October; sailors to sea, travellers to walls and fences, hunters to field and hollow and the long voice of the hounds, the lover to the love he has forsaken." – Thomas Wolfe