Wunderkind

Oh perilous place
Walk backwards toward you
Blink disbelieving eyes chilled to the bone
Most visibly brave
No apprehended gloom
First to take this foot to virgin snow

I am a magnet for all kinds of deeper wonderment
I am a wunderkind ohwowoh
I live the envelope pushed far enough to believe this
I am a princess on the way to my throne
destined to serve
destined to roam

Oh ominous place
Spellbound and un-childproofed
My least favorite chill to bear alone

Compatriots in place
They’d cringe if I told you
Our best back pocket secret: our bond full blown

I am a magnet for all kinds of deeper wonderment
I am a wunderkind ohwowoh
I am a pioneer naïve enough to believe this
I am a princess on the way to my throne
destined to seek
destined to know

Most beautiful place
Reborn and blown off roof
My view: about face whether, great will be done

I am a magnet for all kinds of deeper wonderment
I am a wunderkind ohwowoh
I am a groundbreaker naïve enough to believe this
I am a princess on the way to my throne

I am a magnet for all kinds of deeper wonderment
I am a wunderkind ohwowoh
I am a Joan of Arc and smart enough to believe this
I am a princess on the way to my throne

Destined to reign, destined to roam
Destined to reign, destined to roam

"Wunderkind" by Alanis Morssettee

My current favorite song. It's on the Prince Caspian soundtrack.

"You have listened to fears, Child," said Aslan. "Come, let me breathe on you. Forget them. Are you brave again?"
Aslan to Susan, Ch. 7

We'll talk more soon,
LC

On this snowy morning...

I’ve been starting at the blinking cursor on a blank page before me for about 7 minutes now trying to summon the words that will adequately capture my current moment. Because Seattle is under a heavy blanket of ice and snow right now, there is no work. I mean, I could probably make it in but is it really worth the risk? Especially since downtown is basically one huge, icy slip n’ slide that leads straight into the water? No. I don’t want to die before I get my test scores back. So, no, no work today.

I have a lot to do, of course. Pack, laundry, clean, applications, emails. I’m heading to the airport tonight in hopes of actually getting to fly to Denver tonight. My odds are looking slimmer as the day begins to pass, however. Sigh. Not going home for Christmas would be devastating, I daresay. I got my 9 year-old sister the most awesome explosion of all the makeup a girl could ever need in a suitcase covered entirely with pink sparkles. She’s going to LOVE it, and I’m going to LOVE giving it to her. I love that I get to be the one to teach her about makeup and hair and boys and sparkles and all things girly. Additionally, not going home for Christmas would mean missing the best meal of the year. My Grandma’s Christmas breakfast could obliterate anything your Top Chef’s and Rachel Ray’s will come up with. Breakfast enchiladas, cinnamon rolls, sticky buns, potatoes, fruit, scones, and Martha Stewart’s newest holiday recommendation. Oh my LORD I hope I can fly out tonight.

I digress.

Back to now. I’m sitting by the fire, snuggled under blankets in a Christmas-lit room, Americano in-hand. Christmas is here and I can’t believe it. Something about the snowy week and the excitement of the holidays has made me feel like a kid. I’m giddy. Giddy with expectancy…I am about to go home, about to see the ones I love most, about to find out my scores and whether or not I got into school. I’m about to settle into a job and about to feel like a real adult for the first time, perhaps. And maybe I’m about to find myself in the midst of my own love story. Maybe.

This is why I love Advent. This giddy expectancy is exactly what we’re supposed to feel. Granted, everything I just listed is somewhat superficial in the Grand Story. But it helps me to understand what it means to feel the season. Giddy expectancy. Wonder. Hope. Hope that the Kingdom has come, the Kingdom is come today and the Kingdom will come. Hope that in my own imperfections, shortcomings and utter failure, I have only to look at Jesus:

“One day Saint Franci and Brother Leo were walking down the road. Noticing that Leo was depressed, Francis turned and asked: ‘Leo, do you know what it means to be pure of heart?’

‘Of course. It means to have no sins, faults or weaknesses to reproach myself for.’

‘Ah,’ said Francis, ‘now I understand why you’re sad. We will always have something to reproach ourselves for.’

‘Right,’ said Leo. ‘That’s why I despair of ever arriving at purity of heart.’

‘Leo, listen carefully to me. Don’t be so preoccupied with the purity of your own heart. Turn and look at Jesus. Admire him. Rejoice that he is what he is- your Brother, your Friend, your Lord and Savior. That, little brother, is what it means to be pure of heart. And once you’ve turned to Jesus, don’t turn back and look at yourself. Don’t wonder where you stand with him.’

‘The sadness of not being perfect, the discovery, that you really are sinful, is a feeling much too human, even borders on idolatry. Focus your vision outside yourself on the beauty, graciousness, and compassion of Jesus Christ. This pure of heart praise him from sunrise to sundown. Even when they feel broken, feeble, distracted, insecure and uncertain, they are able to release it into his peace. A heart like that is stripped and filled- stripped of self and filled with the fullness of God. It is enough that Jesus is Lord.’”

Amen and amen.

A little simplistic and mildly cheesy, perhaps. But for now, on this snowy morning, it suffices. I didn’t mean to get all theological or introspective on you. I really was just going to recommend a few great artists that I have found myself listening to over and over as the snow keeps falling. Maybe that’ll be this afternoon’s project when I’m bored and still snowed in. Thanks for making it through a long post, if you have.

With hope and wonder and sparkles-
LC

This goes out to Washington D.C….

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=adYbFQFXG0U

You’ve probably seen it but it turns out that I’m usually behind the YouTube trend bus. I got a little teary the first time I saw it for two reasons. First, and obviously, the video is pretty amazing. Syrsly. Love knows no species, apparently. Maybe I should get a lion instead of a dog. Hmmm…

Second, it made me miss you, Washington D.C. Rest assured, if I do happen to see you, I will maul and lick you, just like Christian licked the humans. I might even pee a little. I will be that excited.

XOXO,
LC

Back!

It’s been a long time. Obviously. As I think back over the many things that have happened in the time since I last wrote, I can’t help but marvel at the fact that pretty much everything has changed. Seriously, everything.

There’s big stuff. Like, that I live in Seattle now. Not Washington D.C., not Denver. And when I say live here I mean live here, live here, like, for good. I’m officially a resident of Washington. It feels great. I love this town, always have, always will. But you already knew that.

Also big…I took my LSAT. Studying was my full-time job for about 10 weeks. I feel like I would have liked three more weeks but oh well, I gave it my best, that’s all you can do, right? I’ll find out results in two weeks. I hope it comes quick because I seriously dream something LSAT related every single night. And not in a good way. For example, I have 5 minutes left and have only done three questions. Or I show up to take the test naked. Or I am literally trapped inside a logic game, trying endlessly to place myself correctly amongst the other entities. I wish I could say that I was making that up.

And, my final piece of big news…I GOT A JOB! Finally. Good heavens, it’s been a long time. I’m finally a full-fledged adult, mostly. I work at a downtown law firm basically as a clerk doing admin stuff. It’s not glamorous, trust me. But I will learn a ton, get to work with highly intelligent people, get my own desk and finally have the one thing I’ve been coveting most….an email signature. Yes friends, I have a cubicle and an email signature and couldn’t be happier. And that is a sentence I NEVER EVER EVER thought I would utter.

Other, less significant things have changed since I last wrote too. Like, for example, I am newly obsessed with Taylor Swift. If this whole law school thing doesn’t work out, I think I’m gonna go on the road with Taylor as a groupie or something. I already know all her songs and have cowboy boots so I’m pretty much set. I also have bangs now. Thick ones. Like the kind everyone my age had in 1990. And I LOVE them. I got a new bed. I don’t work out anymore. I got really sick and puked 6 times in 12 hours. I know how to cook tofu.

Sorry, it’s hard to catch you up on three months of stuff. Funny the things that come to mind as it try. Suffice it to say that there have been breakups and makeups, happy days doing nothing with my favorite girls, lake walks, long conversations with old friends, Gossip Girl marathons, fantastic parties, weekend trips, and on and on and on. It’s not all perfect by any means. Yes, things finally feel like they’re coming together a little bit. But the old self-doubt is still there, accompanied by his friends loneliness and sadness, as always. I think they’ll always be around. Isn’t that what C.S. Lewis calls “our longing for heaven” or something?

I guess the bottom line is this: Everything has changed in the past few months…everything. The biggest change isn’t tangible, though. The biggest change is that every night when I get in bed, I am happy that I get to wake up and do tomorrow. I don’t want to be anywhere or anyone else. I am content. It’s been a hell of a year and I’ll be honest when I say that I won’t be sad to see 2008 go. It was absolutely a year of learning and barely hanging on. But I made it.

WE made it:

Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be terrified; do not be discouraged, for the LORD your God will be with you wherever you go." (Joshua 1:9)

All love,
LC

i will be back. i promise. if i have any readers left, i beg you, don't give up on me. if i don't have any readers left and no one will ever read this, it still makes me feel better to apologize to the internet and clear my guilty conscious.

peace, love, and logic.
LC

Why I'm Happy

One day I woke up and life in Colorado was suddenly abundantly happy. I don’t think I realized it immediately. It took a couple days for me to actually notice my lurking happiness. But, I noticed and here it is, still.

I love being with my family. Although the patio at my parents’ new house doesn’t compare to the patio at our old house, which was my most favorite place in the world, we’ve really enjoyed some beautiful Colorado summer nights on this one. Imagine…a fantastic Wine Woot wine, tofu stir fry, and two huge dogs eating each other’s poop, all while watching the sunset. Wish you were here, don’t cha? Seriously, though. I love it.

I love my siblings. Last night I let Anna, aka the China Babe, dye my hair. She totally got into it. My underage stylist made sure every root of every strand had been touched. Twice. What happens when you leave hair dye in for a really long time? It turns dark, really dark. Some might call it emo, I call it mysterious, dark and mysterious. This morning Chad let me cut his hair. He probably should have let Anna do it.

Time with the brothers has been great, too. We’ve been down to Eric and Amy’s a few times. You should see Denver right now. The DNC is totally nuts. We walked around and looked for famous people Sunday night. All we found was the entire SWAT team, including their moms, a guy selling “Ooooooooobama buttons” and MSNBC. Sorta anti-climactic. You know those protesters that hold up the signs that say, “This is what a police state looks like?” It’s true. Only, I don’t understand why they’re protest signs. I mean, it’s true, this is really probably what a police state looks like. Okay. I’m fine with that. If it brings Oprah, Kanye and Bradjalina to town, then sure, why not?

I love time with my cousins. I’ve gotten up to the mountains a couple times to stay at the Winters’ new house. I say it every time but I’m pretty convinced that just breathing mountain air has soul-healing properties. I still laugh when we walk around Keystone among the summer bikers, hippies and people with absolutely nothing to do. It’s about as far from DC as you can get. Sometimes I can’t believe I lived there. (Still love ya, DC.)

It was walking through Keystone about 5 weeks ago that our (me, brother and cousin) tattoo idea was officially born. And it was last Friday that we finally went under the needle. It was terrible. I had the shakes, the cold sweats, the jimmy legs. Remember that Offspring song with the lyrics that went “now he’s getting a tattoo, yeah, he’s getting ink done/he asked for a 13 but they drew a 31…” That was stuck in my head for an entire week before. It took all my willpower not to sing it in front of Fritz, our surprisingly nurturing artist. It actually took all my willpower not to sprint out the back door. Somehow I didn’t and found myself on the table with the sweet sounds of James Taylor in the background (what?), listening to Fritz talk about slasher films and Mexican food while suppressing the screams and squeals that needed so desperately to come out. “It’ll get easier,” Fritz said when he started, the others nodding in agreement. Bull. If anyone tells you “it just feels like a cat scratch,” hit them, they’ve just lied to your face. I might post a picture later, when I don’t have to put that goo on it that makes it all shiny and gross looking. For now, let this suffice:



Finally, I love my friends. It’s been so great to get to spend time with people who had so much to do with who I am. Margot remains one of my best friends, across the time and distance. Friends like that are such a gift.

So that’s about it. As always there’s more I can say but don’t want to bore you guys. Minnesota tomorrow. The party hat and little black bachlorette dress are packed and ready. I can’t wait to be in a room full of 80% of my favorite people on the planet (holla attcha New Zealand).

Yours-
LC

Hi.

I’m back. My apologies to the Internet for our long separation. I can assure you, it hasn’t been for lack of substance. Oh no. Life in Colorado has been so full of the raw content- joy and sorrow, depth and foolishness, comedy and tragedy- that make up these empty offerings to the Internet that no one really reads (thank you Google analytics). Where to start? Hmmm…

Today, while we were driving to kickboxing and the China Babe informed that she knows what she’s going to do for the talent show next year. That’s right, next year. Why? She needs practice. Because she’s going to jump rope. With her eyes closed. You read that right, I have an eyes-closed jump roping sister. Well, next year anyway. If she practices. She’s also Rihanna’s newest #1 fan, thank you very much.

I got to spend a couple days in the mountains with my cousins and aunt and uncle at their condo. That’s what the pictures are from. It was fantastic. There’s nothing like sitting around a table full of people who’ve know and loved you from the moment you took your first breath and will continue to do so no matter how weird you get. I realized how much I’d missed that elusive safe feeling that sort of lingers heavily and silently as evening turns to dusk turns to night unnoticed in the rhythm of conversation.

The conversation actually lasted almost all night. My Linds and I laid in bed talking like we did when we were little girls, rebelling against bedtime. The conversation has changed a lot except for the part about boys (though even that's a lot different as the running definition of a mean boy has dramatically changed). Through tears and laughter we both recounted the hells of years we’ve both had, sprinkled with pieces of heaven, to be sure. Oh, the sweet, sweet freedom of true and loyal sisterhood.

And then, as if life needed to get any more perfect, we woke up to fresh coffee, Rocky Mountain blue skies, a patio swing, and the Bible my uncle literally dropped in my lap: In his heart a man plans his course, but the LORD determines his steps (Pr. 16:9). Dear God, I hope so because while I have points for trying, I suck.

So, I got a job. Coffee shoppin’ it again. Yep. I’m at least 3 years older than everyone that works there, minus management, which is mildly humiliating. If I let my guard down, I find my thoughts going something like… “Laura Colby this is your life. Another sugar-free vanilla nonfat latte for another lady that thinks her drink is really tricky. Another four hours til I get to go home. Home to my house with a dog in heat and a room with a rainbow. You’re 23 years old, living in your parents’ house, in a room with a rainbow, with no money and only a theology degree to show for yourself. Yes, Laura Colby, this is your life.”

But, can I really complain? No. I mean, sure things haven’t gone how I’d hoped in a lot of ways. There is very real sadness and very real disappointment, very real issues to wade through. But that’s life and no one said it would be easy. I don’t know exactly where I’m going with all of this other than to say that despite, or maybe because of it all, I am happy.

One more story to leave you with. I won’t go into much detail because after much consideration, I have decided that the witty and biting comments are just too easy here, I’ll leave it up to you to draw your own conclusions.

So, like I said, we have a dog in heat. We thought she was spayed but it turns out, well, (disgusting) surprise! We have another dog who is old and we always took for having same-sex tendencies (which I am fine with) given his continued infatuation with Winky, a one-eyed Beagle at the dog park. It’s been a very interesting glimpse into the male psyche, watching this whole boy dog + girl dog in heat thing play out. Let it suffice to say that male dog has been busy and happy, too happy. It pisses me off to watch him go to town whenever and wherever he damn well pleases. Leave her alone for one friggin’ minute, Toby, she just wants to chew her rope for 3 seconds without you doing…that! Well, Toby got his when he overdid himself and cramped up in er…forward position, if you know what I mean. He was completely stuck and crying. I’m not making this up. He waddled outside, still crying, and walked around in er…forward position for a good 10 minutes. Poor dog? No. I think he learned a valuable lesson.

Maybe she's onto something...

Driving home from the grocery store, the conversation went like this...

Anna: What's a cashier?
Me: That lady that scanned all our food and then told us how much we had to pay was a cashier.
(long pause)
Anna: Wara, do you think I could be a cashier someday, like, when I grow up?
Me: Trust me, love, you're way to smart to be a cashier. You'd maybe like it for a day but you're smart enough that you could be anything you want when you grow up. Like an astronaut. Or a doctor.
Anna: I don't know. I don't like the gross stuff. Like blood and hearts and stuff.
Me: Well, there's lots of different kinds of doctors. You could be a doctor that does surgery. Or saves kids' lives. Don't you think it would be cool to save people's lives?
Anna: I dunno. I kinda think I wanna be a zoo keeper instead.
Me: A zoo keeper? Why?
Anna: Well, I know you have to shovel poop. But at least maybe the lion would know me and we could be friends. You know, sorta.
Me: Well said.

Life On The Other Side

Right now I’m sitting in the basement with a China Baby, a married brother and his, um, excited dog and Daddy-o watching Shrek the Third on a screen that renders a life-sized ogre and a Puss in Boots the size of a Great Dane.

Toto, we’re not in Kansas anymore.

Life at home is a far cry from life on Maryland Ave. Case in point, this is my new room:



See, my parents moved about three weeks ago and I’ve been demoted from my so-called Shrine (as my brothers called my room in the old house) to the baby’s old room. Actually, I don’t mind at all. It’s happy, and happy is exactly what I need right now. As much of it as I can get.

Highlights so far:

#1. Our drive home was pretty easy, almost enjoyable. We did DC to Omaha the first day and when we tried to stop and sleep at the typical roadside fare, we like Mary and Joseph, were repeatedly denied room at the inn. We, however, did not end up in a barn. Quite the opposite actually: the Omaha Hilton, probably one of the nicest hotels in the city. It was the best night’s sleep I’ve had in months for a mere $110/night. Definitely not in Kansas anymore.

Chad and I only had one minor tiff in the course of the drive, which was really my fault. I was allotted 10 minutes to sing each hour. In Nebraska, our ninth state, I went over the allotted time because I made sure to sing the new Katy Perry single (you know the one I’m talking about) in each state. I guess he just doesn’t like the song as much as me and tried to throw the CD out the window. Luckily the windows were down and it landed in the backseat. No harm, no foul. And I shut up, til Colorado at least.

#2. Today Grandma and Grandpa stopped by when Eric’s dog, 7 month old Moby, happened to be here humping another dog in the neighbor’s driveway. The conversation went like this:
Grandpa: There’s something wrong with your dog there, E.
Eric: Yea, it’s about that time to get him fixed.
Grandpa: That or you could get him some p*&?#.
Epic Grandpa comment. Wow.

#3. Kickboxing. I haven’t exactly worked consistently for a while, which is a big deal for me. DC’s soul sucking humidity made eating rocks sound better than going for a jog. But I’m back and given the fact that working out is my coping mechanism for life, kickboxing couldn’t be a more fitting for this chapter. Hitting stuff, hard, has proven to be the best kind of morning quiet time on the planet.. It’s a spiritual experience. And it makes muscles I’ve never known I had hate me in the best way. In the last week I’ve probably doubled my lifetime pushup total.

#4. Job searching. Still. Same activity, different state. Only this time, I don’t have to wear a suit in said soul sucking humidity. Enough said.

#5. Suburbia. Swim meet on a Thursday afternoon. Little girls in baggy swimsuits with “Eat my bubbles” sharpied all over their tan little bodies. Poorly (or perfectly) timed sprinklers in the parent section. Cameras. Yelling. Participation ribbons. Awesome.

I’ll be honest, this has been a different kind of homecoming for me. Normally I either come home for a holiday/event. I’m not home for anything in particular and am mostly just figuring out how I fit into summer’s routine in the Colby house, a routine that takes some getting used to for sure. Normally I come home on the tail end of some venture- school, camp, travel- where I’ve accomplished something Now I come home with nothing to show for myself but an alarmingly emptier bank account and some slightly used suits. Although I’ve been assured otherwise, it’s hard to not see the past couple months as a colossal failure. I mean, I didn’t actually let anyone down, I didn’t fail to fulfill a given responsibility, no one died, no one is waiting on me for anything. It could have been a lot worse. But still, maybe for the first time in my life, I failed to do something I set out to do: love DC, obtain gainful employment, create a new life for myself. I didn’t. And I couldn’t.

I don’t really have a clean wrap-up for this post. Life doesn’t seem to have any sort of clean wrap-ups ever, does it? It’s messy. And beautiful. And excruciating. And fairly monotonous sometimes. Right now, I’m ready for the overarching theme of transition to be over. It seems like it’s been a year of uncertainty and semi-homelessness. Maybe it’s an overarching theme of patience. Still, not that fun, really.

Psalm 40 is one of my top three favorites (and #1 favorite U2 song):

I waited patiently for the LORD; he turned to me and heard my cry. He lifted me out of the slimy pit, out of the mud and mire; he set my feet on a rock and gave me a firm place to stand. He put a new song in my mouth, a hymn of praise to our God. Many will see and fear and put their trust in the LORD.

There will by a crying. There will be mud and mire. But there is always solid ground and a new song. How many times have I been through this cycle before? How many more times will I find myself in the midst of it? And how often will I forget that ultimately, I am not the point? Don’t answer that. As we were reminded in church today, wait for it, my friends, wait for it. What else is there to do? Wait for the new song, the hope that we profess to manifest itself in our lives and the lives of others. It will. Until then, wait for it. I am.

Your-
LC

So Long, Farewell

To My Dear Washington DC:

It’s time I’m honest with you. This might not be easy for you to hear but I have to say that it’s just not working out between us. I’m writing to tell you goodbye. I know this might come as a bit of a shock to you. I mean, it seems like days ago that I flew in on that cold Saturday in January, just yesterday when I sat looking out over a spring sunset across the Mall and made the decision to give you another shot. I didn’t expect this sudden departure and you shouldn’t feel bad- it’s not you, it’s me. Really.

I blame the distance between us on the fact that you just weren’t giving me anything to work with. I mean, I tried and tried and tried to become an employed member of you, District. But it just wasn’t happening. We both know this is true. How long did you think I would wait around for you to give me some kind of affirmation, some kind of monetary support? I’m a sensible girl and at a certain point a sensible girl has to stop hoping and act on the facts. That’s why I’m leaving you.

There were good times, and they were real, to be sure. I will never forget them. We had some beautiful times alone, you and me, our evening runs when we could just be together. But I think we were always best when we were with people. You have such beautiful friends who I will miss dearly: A, B and B who took me in and literally kept me going day in and day out for so long and became so important to me, C.ROB and CH who always, always, always made me laugh and are responsible for my “y’all’s,” HS my partner in the high highs and the low lows, PC my favorite preppy boy in the District, KMK I will never eat another cupcake and not think of you, and LJ, my constant companion, my strength and my newest best friend. Thank you, District, for sharing those parts of you with me. I am changed because of those relationships and deeply sad to see them go. I hope you don’t mind if I keep in touch with those friends, I don’t want the whole friend’s with the ex’s friends thing to be awkward.

Where will I go, you ask? I guess you could say that I’ve rekindled an old flame. He’s charming, he believes in me, and has taken me back with open arms. He’s everything I love, it just took me a bit longer to realize it. He said that if I move back now, I can go to school there in a year and save lots of money. He also said that I could live with my very best friends and see my younger brother on a regular basis. His name is Seattle, District and I have to be honest, you have nothing on him. He has my heart, always has.

I truly wish things had turned out different between us. We tried our best to make things work and I feel good about the effort we gave it. In the end though, our differences are just irreconcilable. I can’t keep trying to make it work when it’s clearly not going to. Please don’t forget me, as I won’t forget you. Don’t forget all the tears I leave scattered inside and outside of your Beltway, because I won’t. You haven’t made this easy on me. I leave you a different person I was, for the better I think. You represent equal parts success and failure in my life. Thank you for that.

A couple more thoughts, things I just need to get off my chest…

Will you tell all the females you know that leggings do not count as pants. I don’t know who told all of them it’s okay, because its not.
Will you also tell the customer service industry that they’re really mean sometimes. I’d like to give them the benefit of the doubt and think that they just don’t fully understand their job descriptions, serving customers. You might want to talk to somebody about that.
Also, I would have a talk with GoogleMaps to work out a few kinks in the system. I don’t think she fully understands your complexity.
Finally, if you can, will you please have a talk with the people who publish the Senate Employment Bulletin because it’s total crap. No one gets hired from that thing. It’s just cruel.

Thanks, District, it was real.
For the last time,
Your-
LC in DC

Seattle (again)

I blame Elise.

I was talking to her Thursday evening at around 5. She was filling me in on all that had to be done over the weekend to move out of my old house, the Greenlake house. She knows I’m a compassionate person and totally used it against me. I mean, of course I wasn’t going to let her do it all by herself. Thirty minutes later I found myself staring at the “Confirm Purchase” button on Travelocity’s all-to-easy website totally freaking out. Given that I was home all by myself with no one to help me through the all out inner battle between Practical Laura and Adventurous Laura, you can probably guess which won out in the end.

After a sleepless night I found myself running to catch the 5:40 Metro to Rosslyn so I could catch the 5A bus to Dulles where I’d grab my flight that would put me in Seattle by 11am. I’ll leave out the details but it will suffice to say that it was a stressful morning. Not only was I scrambling and sweating to make it to the airport, there was the gnawing thought in the back of my mind that said our plane was going to get hijacked and my family wouldn’t know I was dead for like, a week and they’d probably be mad about that. Practical Laura was hadn’t been completely silenced either and mocked me with my eternal joblessness the entire flight.

Don’t worry. It only took about 10 seconds of screaming and giggling with Elise to forget every hesitation I had. We drove straight to TJ’s, grabbed sushi and headed to our favorite spot (picture below taken from my phone, it was that clear!). It’s at this spot we’ve sat and spit cherry seeds after a long day and talked about nothing, said goodbye, worked out our differences, cried about boys and now, add to the list, had the best homecoming ever. It was a perfect day in Seattle and at this point, I didn’t even remember that Practical Laura ever existed. Would you:


I love Seattle. I know it is my home. It is here that I feel the most alive. Maybe it’s the city. To me, it feels so full of things yet to be discovered, to fresh, so full of potential. Maybe it’s the fact that I’ve become myself there, it’s part of who I’ve become. I think most of all, I think I love it for it’s familiarity, both the place and the people. Obviously, I don’t mind stepping into the unknown. I’ve learned more about myself and who I wanna be during my time in the DC unknown and that makes it completely worth it. But it’s also exhausting. Being around those who know you (and love you anyway) is truly life-giving for me.

The weekend was a mix of all my favorite things- adventure, good friends, timelessness, surprises, being outside, laughing, long meals, spontaneity, freedom and best of all, the certainty I (finally) feel about where I wanna be.

Now, I’m back in DC taking a huge, deep, cleansing breath of gratitude. My life is filled with such beauty. Beauty in life-long friendships, in my ever-supportive family. (My Mom said she was proud of me for going and not telling her. Ha!) Beauty in the broken and rocky path that has brought me to this day, beauty in the ways I see myself becoming who I want to be. Beauty in the unknown that lies before me yet. Yes, my life is beautiful in big and small ways. It’s all Grace. All of it..

I know this is kind of a sappy post and I’m sorry. I assure you that this weekend will lead to some great stories. I mean, the Smithsonian Folklife Festival happening on the Mall is themed Texas, Bhutan, and NASA. What? That alone will deserve a post of its own. Plus, another dear friend is coming into town in about an hour. I'm so happy.

Thanks for reading.
May you find some freedom and adventure in your day today.

Yours,
LC

i'm so irresponsible.
i went to seattle for the weekend.
it's been great.
more to come.

one update: i received a message from my papa on friday morning. it was very insightful, as he usually is. i'd like to share as it modifys a previous post. recently, i wrote on wanting to be a german shepard when i grow up. papa said he'd been thinking about it and decided i was right, i would make a great german shepard. (thank you). however, i might, more realistically, think about wanting to be a german shepard/chessapeke bay retriever mix instead. why? because you train german shepards with hand signals. you teach chessie's with two by fours. i'm somewhere in between, he said. i fully agree.

like i said, i went to seattle for the weekend.
i'm so irresponsible.

happily your-
LC

I Know, Alright

Last night I accidentally went on a date to a gay bar with a man I met on Craigslist when I bought his bed and then hung out with drunk UVA law students that wore belts with fish on them.

I promise I can explain.

If you remember a few posts ago, I talked about Jean Pierre, aka Eric, the guy that tied the bed to the top of my car with a speaker wire in the pouring rain. Well, a few days later he asked me out. And then asked me out a few days after that. And a few days after that. When I couldn’t avoid any longer I said yes because, well, for one, I have a hard time saying no sometimes and the guy really did bail me out . What’s one drink and some surfacy conversation for an hour?

So, last night was the night. While I do know that each and every one of my decisions up to this point have been sketchy at best, I do think I deserve some credit for begging my roommate LJ to come on my date with me. We met my/our date in Dupont- us in summer dresses having just come from Friday jazz in the park, him sportin’ the white linen suit. Obviously, he was taking this seriously. I shot LJ the “I so owe you look” while she shot back the “you’re such an idiot” look. Fair enough.

Eric, born in Cameroon and schooled in France, really wanted to go Adams Morgan. We hopped in his car (I know!) and drove up the road about 5 minutes and then in circles for 10 looking for parking. Again, why I agreed to this, I don’t know. Already thinking escape route, I suggested the first bar we saw upon parking the car. In my desperation, I failed to notice the rainbows and multi-colored Christmas lights decorating the patio outside. It actually didn’t even don on me til we’d been in there for at least 10 minutes. I won’t tell you how I figured it out. Again, LJ shot the “you’re such an idiot” my way. (I know, okay!)

Long story short, he talked the whole hour and fifteen we were with him. And he really is a nice guy. Really. Just, not my type. We made our escape right as one of his friends showed up, presumably for LJ. I didn’t realize it until we were on our way to meet my Craigslist prince that while I was making LJ go with me, I would also be repaying her that night by going with her to a party where she only knew this one guy her cousin had introduced her to…begin scene two.

We walked a few blocks to the house bracing ourselves for another would-be good story. The good news about the rest of the night is that there is really no awkwardness to report. The UVA/Baylor crowd in attendance was welcoming and interesting. Conversation flowed. New friends everywhere. At one point, LJ and I were talking to Ben who had had maybe one margarita too many. After demonstrating his knowledge of Darren’s Dance Grooves, somehow, we got on the topic of slavery. (Warning: this is what happens when you invite IJMers to parties.) I really hope he remembers what he learned because I must say that LJ and I gave a very informative and passionate tag-team presentation. I think I even saw a tear forming in his left eye at one point. Maybe he was just tired.

It was about 30 minutes into our slavery speech that I glanced over and realized that there was a guy, my age, with a fish belt and boat shoes, khaki shorts that hit above the knee and a button-down shirt tucked it. But let me reiterate, he had a fish belt. A belt with fish on it. I looked around and started noticing what other guys were wearing. It was more or less the same variation that outfit. A UVA belt. Tan boat shoes, brown boat shoes. Pastels. Khaki shorts, no pleats. Everything tucked in. Maybe you’re used to southern frat boy culture, but I’m telling you, I cannot get used to it. It makes me laugh out lout almost every time I see it. I used to wonder how in the world L.L. Bean stays in business. Now I know. I also know, even more shockingly, that it is those born in the same year as me keeping it in business.

We decided to grab a cab home and the night was officially topped off when the cabbie’s radio blared “It’s Rainin’ Men, Hallelujah!” all the way back to Maryland Ave. Hallelujah, indeed.

Safe, sound and happy-
Your, LC

HELP

I’m feeling a lot of pressure right now for a number of reasons. My mom said I have to blog three times a week if I want to keep readers. That’s a lot. My friend started blogging three days ago and has already written more than I have in this whole month. And you guys gave me such great and unexpected feedback (thank you SO much!) after my last post that I don’t quite know how to follow that.

…sigh…

Well, here’s what I’ve been thinking about, take it or leave it.

It all started on Saturday when I finally broke and decided to get a haircut, even though I had told myself I would wait to do it until I had a job. Given that my bangs were down to my shoulders, I clearly didn’t think getting a job would take this long. Anyway, I met Jasmine, my Bubbles Salon stylist. She’s the best kind of hairdresser because she does most of the talking., I’m just not good at making salon conversation. I sat down and once the niceties had been exchanged she cut right to it: “Giiirl. Daang. What is goin’ ON with yo color?” I proceeded to mumble something to the effect of “I didn’t know it was bad” and “I’m kinda really poor right now so I can’t actually do anything about it.” From there the conversation drifted from her own (amazing) story, she is from the British Virgin Islands, to going to church vs watching Joel Osteen, to men and why we love/hate them, to what it’s like to live in DC, and on and on. She gave me the best haircut I’ve had in probably years and as I was at the counter paying, she told the girl to write me down for color on Tuesday at noon (“you’re not doing anything, right?” “right.”). She wanted to do my color, for FREE. Jasmine said she’s been there, she knows that sometimes you need help, and that people actually take joy in helping.

So that’s it, that’s what I’ve been thinking about. Help. Looking back over the past 6(!) months in DC I am just so floored by the amount of help I’ve received. I hope it goes without saying that I am incredibly, incredibly grateful. It’s all been one long outpouring of Grace in different ways, shapes, and forms. Maybe that should be whole post in itself. But looking back, I also realize that it’s been hard. Constantly being the one on the receiving end of things is new for me. Because I’ve started from scratch here, all of the roles in which I’ve learned to define myself don’t necessarily exist, which means I don’t know exactly where or how to be needed. I can’t offer any help yet, I just need it.

Does that make sense? This is harder to articulate than I thought.

Basically, I’ve realized that as much as it a gift to receive, it is also a gift to have something to give. I don’t know that I’ve really appreciated this before now, as I've always had something to give, more or less. I still don’t have a job which means that I don’t have an income. Friendships are still new and I don’t know exactly how to best love the people that I’m doing life with. I’m just starting to get involved in a church but still, no one would notice if I missed a Sunday. All of which to say, not a lot to give yet. But I’m close. Closer, at least. Even if it's just directions to tourists. Ha.

This isn’t an incredibly insightful realization. It’s just that it’s allowed me a new perspective. I pray that when I do actually have help to offer, I never forget this season of my life, what it's like to have nothing to give. I hope I remember what a blessing it is to be able to bless others. (Helloooooo, Christianese.)

Well, I went back on Tuesday and Jasmine did my hair free of charge. She said my true color was dark blonde, who knew? And she did a great job, if I do say so myself. Thank you Jasmine, for teaching me that it’s okay to be helped, that it’s a gift to be able to help.

Speaking of asking for help, I still need a J.O.B. Anyone?
Your-
LC

P.S. Fireflies live on my street!

What I Want To Be When I Grow Up: A Brief History

Go with me, if you will, on a little trip, a little journey through my development from as an innocent and starry-eyed little girl to the mature, well-rounded (ahem) adult I am today. Today’s journey revolves around that question we’ve all been getting since we could talk, a question that for the first time in years, doesn’t make me throw up in my mouth a little bit and break into a cold sweat every time it’s casually thrown my way: “What do YOU wanna be when you grow up?”

I’ve always been, well, different. My brother, for example, is one of those ones that has always just known what he was put on this planet for, more or less. This was obvious when we were kids and it became apparent that he couldn’t do math problems (3+4) unless you posed it to him in terms of money ($3+$4). Seriously, the kid was made to move money around. I, from what I can remember, took a different route right from the beginning when I initially wanted to be a German Shepard when I grew up. Laugh if you will, but I think it takes a pretty smart kid to look around herself, weigh the options, and pick the most desirable lifestyle of the bunch and go for that. Anyway, that didn’t work out in the long run.

So I did a lot of jumping around. For a while, I wanted to do things boys did- be an astronaut, go to the Air Force Academy so I could fly planes, play soccer or street hockey for ever and ever. Then puberty hit and I began to go in a different direction. For a long time, a legitimate long time, I wanted to be a writer/director in Hollywood. I even wrote and produced a series of plays that were performed annually in the underground theater scene, a.k.a. Grandma’s basement every Christmas. I realized I didn’t want to do that anymore when I figured out actors (my cousins) can be so damn demanding and that just stifles the creative process. So then I decided I wanted to be a model. Ha. I did some modeling for RedKard clothing, a line of soccer clothes that never quite got off the ground. Maybe they should have featured more than my BACK in their catalog. Whatever, not bitter.

Then came high school and I honestly can’t tell you what I wanted to be at that point. A youth leader, maybe? That’s what everyone in my circle wanted to be so I’m sure I wanted to be that too. But youth ministry is a lot harder than it looks. No thanks.

I entered college a Soc major with the intention of going into social work. Somehow that morphed into a desire to be a nurse which morphed into a strong desire to be a P.E. teacher, which made me really bored and led to a mid-college crisis. Enter my decision to be a Theology major and the throw up in my mouth, nervous tick phase of life. I mean, I LOVED studying theology. Loved it, don’t get me wrong. I got to read and write on stuff that mattered. You can’t beat that. But when I got the question, I became totally and utterly tongue-tied, completely at a loss. I mean, I knew I didn’t want to do ministry full time. Or counseling. Or teach. With one quick swipe I completely eliminated the most common career paths for us Theo majors. Crap. The only thing I knew is that I wanted to change the world, somehow. And the only thing about that I knew was that it was really hard. And that it didn’t pay well.

So then there was graduation and a phase where I thought I’d be a barista when I grew up because well, after all, I had been a friggin’ Theology major at an obscure Christian college in a quiet Seattle neighborhood. And I was really, really good at it.

That brings me up to my stint in Washington DC. If I went into all the things I’ve wanted to be since being here, not even my mom would make it through this whole post. Some of the highlights include documentary photographer, First Lady and screw it all, a barista. But now, now my friends, I know what I want to be when I grow up. Drumroll, please. I want to be a cross between Abraham Lincoln, Samantha Power and “Viva la Vida,” the Coldplay single. A brief explanation:

• Abe: No, I don’t want to be the president. I don’t want a monument. I want to be an abolitionist. Everyday when I run by him sitting there at the far end of the Mall, I throw up the same little prayer: Lord, make me an abolitionist, whatever that means.

• Samantha Power: writer, journalist, Harvard prof and foreign policy analyst extraordinaire. She’s brilliant. If I could have even a fraction of the career and influence and adventures she’s had, especially in the writing department, I would be a happy, happy lady.

• “Viva la Vida:” I know right!? If you’ve heard it, you know what I’m talking about. The melody sounds like hope and sparkles and laughter are about to burst out of it. Its what I want the melody of my life to be. Hope and sparkles and laughter.

So, not a concrete answer, I know. If you skimmed just to see what I think I’m going to be, sorry, I don’t know yet. I have some good ideas and am going to throw my whole self into becoming that. I think, what I’ve come to is this: when I grow up, I want to be brave. And brave not on my own accord. The bravery that I muster up inevitably fails. I’ve learned that the hard way, for sure. I want to be brave like the One who has already won the battle is brave. Brave whatever the cost, whatever the risk, whatever the disappointment.

So that’s it. I want to be brave when I grow up. And, I still want to be a German Shepard. Who doesn’t?

Life on Maryland Ave.

My life is so weird right now. Not bad weird. Just, weird weird.

Case in point: I am writing this from my new room on my new bed, only, my new room consists of four walls containing a dresser and my new bed actually belonged to Jean Pierre, my French-Cameroonian craigslist seller and new hero a mere 45 minutes ago. He took pity on me and my too-small SUV and tied the frame to the top of my car with a stereo wire and sent me on my way. Weird, right?

Also weird: I’m a temp right now at IJM. I think it’s kinda like purgatory. I’m not in intern hell, nor am I experiencing the yearly salary, full-benefited promised land of real employment. I’m 9-5 and suited but paid hourly, like working the coffee bar. I have my own desk and phone but my name plate is a sticky note. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m SO thankful for the paycheck coming my way. And I love IJM. It’s just weird, you know, like purgatory.

Our neighbors that live above us are cute little Georgian girls that hang out with southern frat boys. They (the frat boys) wear pink seersucker shorts and boat shoes. The blend of east coast and southern fashion that makes up the District is still and will stay weird to me. Get some creativity and some courage to branch out of the Land’s End catalog people, seriously.

I’m reading Freakonomics. There’s lots of weird stuff in that. If you haven’t read it, you should. I read it on my morning commute, which is also weird. If you ever need the confidence boost, the rush of flattery that comes from being blatantly checked out, ride the metro. I’m not talking about being checked out. I’m talking about the fact that there is something about shiny, clean, pretty men in suits everywhere that just makes me glad I live in DC. Ha.

Humidity is also a weird thing. It’s like a vampire or a leech. You walk outside and it literally sucks the life right our of your soul. You can’t think, you can’t move quickly, your senses are all but turned off. This weekend was the first time it’s been bad. I mean real bad. Like, probably hotter that hell bad. I swear, I walked outside and could actually see the humidity. You feel like you need a machete to hack your way through the air to your car. If anyone knows of a female that needs a great place to live in DC, she can have my spot because I’m leaving. Geez.

It’s weird that I think I finally know what I want to do, finally have a plan. Reread that sentence because it’s a big deal. I didn’t think the day would ever come. It will probably change in the details, but I know what I want. It’s a great feeling, having goals and stuff. I’m not going to tell you here though, you’re gonna have to call and talk to me.

Yea, my life is weird. So completely and utterly different that it was a few short months ago. I’ve almost been in DC for 6 months now. Still, not a day goes by that I don’t miss my Seattle life and to be honest, I hope I keep missing it. Missing something means you’ve loved deeply and I’m okay with that. Though I am starting to feel settled here, I know that it is a temporary sort of settled. I know that this is where I’m supposed to be right now but not where I’m meant to stay. It’s, you guessed it, a weird sort of limbo to live in.

Finally, I think I should let you all know about my new goal. On the Metro each morning I, along with thousands of other District commuters, grab our free daily copy of the Express- a condensed version of the newspaper. The best part of this little morning addiction is on the second to last page. It’s called the “Blog Log.” It’s someone’s job to scan the likes of DC bloggers and pull out something quotable: something stupid or hilarious or just plain “we’ve totally been there too.” My goal, before I leave this city, is to be quoted in the “Blog Log.” What more could an obscure blogger ask for, really? It would be the pinnacle of my .blogspot career. Plus, wouldn’t that be weird?

Denver

To the ones I love:

Another plane ride means another post. Probably overly emotional, reflective and fragmented like the last one. But, let’s be honest, that’s pretty much my mode of operation right now.

I have a great family.
And, not to sound redundant, I’m so tired.
It’s because I have a great family.

Some trip highlights:

1. Dinner on Tuesday night on the patio. Off all the places I’ve been, that patio is one of my three favorite places on earth. It is there that I feel the veil to heaven is the thinnest it gets for me. However, we may have moved a bit closer to hell this time around when the China Babe dropped some ketchup and followed it up with a subtle but well-placed “damn it.” Classic. It took about 10 seconds for all of us to go through the wait, did she really just say that? thought process.
Dad: “Anna, what did you just say?”
Chad and I: (muffled laughter)
Anna: “Oh, just, yam it.” (shrugs)
Chad and I: (unmuffled laughter)
Dad: “No, that’s not what you said is it?”
Anna: “Well...I…(laughs)…no…I was just saying…no…yea, I said damn it.”
Mom: “Where did you learn that?”
Anna: “I didn’t learn it. I just know it.”
Good girl, I would have sold Daddy out.

2. Anna’s field day. For all of you who don’t know, we Colby’s pride ourselves in our long and successful athletic careers. I mean, each of us has dominated various field day events and recess pick-up games on through state championship games and school records. I am happy to report that my little sister upheld the legacy. I mean, she may not have won the 50 yard dash or “jump the brook.” She may have cried after a tug-o-war loss. She may have gone down over a couple of hurdles. But, by God, if anyone has ever dominated the shoe flick, it’s my China Baby. That’s right. After a first disappointing flick of about 2 feet, Anna rebounded to go undefeated in the flicks that followed. She even hit her teacher with her pink and grey Merrell. Obviously, the name lives on, the Colby name still reigns, for now at least.

3. We went to the Rockies game on Wednesday. My Dad’s lawyers gave us some great seats, four rows behind home plate. Something about the ballgame is just so true. I love Coors field. Granted, it doesn’t have the Dingleberries and Sushi and trans fat free goodness Safeco boasts but that’s okay. I managed to find a fantastic Gardenburger and watered down beer. The sun beat down on our backs, we danced between innings, cheered for the Jumbotron racecars and felt as American as they come. If that’s not the good life, I don’t know what is.

4. My parents spent the weekend trying to bribe me into moving home. It’s a good thing we’ve put down our first months rent in DC, otherwise, I may have given into the temptation. Seriously. They offered me a DOG. I think I’ve narrowed it down to a Chesapeake Retriever or a Rhodesian Ridgeback (they make black ones!). After seeing Moby Colby’s sterling character, I’m pretty sold on the Ridgebacks. They were bred to kill lions in Africa, which is pretty friggin' sweet. Unlike Pitbulls, which are also friggin' tough dogs, they don’t kill people. Just lions. All I have to do is get off this plane, load up my car and drive home. I could be a happy puppy owner in less than two weeks. The dream is within my reach. Oh the inner turmoil.

5. David Cook won American Idol. He and I are going to be great friends someday. I just have a feeling.

There’s more but I fear only my Mom has made it to this point in this lengthy post (thanks, Mom). If you will, allow me just a few more thoughts.

Just as I flew away from Seattle overflowing with gratitude and glowing with pride for my friends, I fly away from Denver with the same sense of deep, deep love for my family. While you pick your friends, you don’t pick your family. I don’t think I could have picked better friends than those I have in my family.

I have cousins going all different places. Cousins who are best friends, confidants, my forever partners in crime. I am so proud of each and every one of them. We have grown into such good friends, people who are very different but can deeply respect the others. Linds and I won’t stop dreaming together, Em and Hil won’t stop amazing me with their strength, Ky and Cayles won’t stop impressing me with their deep desire to do what is right.

I have brothers who are, hands down, the best men I know. They make me happy. They make me smarter. They make me better. They teach me to laugh at myself and at the world. I wish you could know them too.

Finally, I have parents who have loved me fiercely, believed in me at every turn, and given me every resource both physically and emotionally to follow my dreams. This is the problem with great parents. They make you believe that you can be great too, somehow. Sometimes I think life would be a lot simpler if they hadn’t loved me so well. Maybe I wouldn’t be living out of boxes, fighting myself and the unknown, chasing a dream. But they have given me wings, allowed me to chase after the life that is truly life. Leaving this time was so hard. So hard. I don’t know that I can pinpoint exactly what’s different but something is. I don’t know how I will ever make up to them all they’ve given, all they’ve sacrificed. I can’t. They’ve sacrificed me. To me, they are Trinity personified. They are my best friends.

I have a great family.
Yours-
LC.

Seattle

I have great friends.

I’m sitting in 27F somewhere between Seattle and Denver, trying to process the weekend- the events, the conversations, the emotions. But I can’t. I am SO tired. And it’s because I have great friends. The last days were quite possibly four of my happiest days in Seattle. Ever. I have never been so happy to see the tattoos and body piercings, Utilikilts and man capris, real dogs and real coffee shops, artists, athletes, vegans, rollerskate dancers, work hard, live hard kind of performance outdoor gear wearing people that make up my favorite place on earth. And that isn’t even counting my time with my favorite people on earth.

Here’s the abbreviated weekend recap. (If you want further details, you’re either going to have to call me or look at the Facebook album that will inevitably be posted soon.) Ready? Go.

Landed at Seatac I got the news that we have a house in DC. Thank the Lord. Cait made $80 at a garage sale and got a sunburn. I met Miyoung for the first time but it didn’t really feel like the first time at all. Bryan’s birthday warranted drinks at Cactus, homemade carrot cake, a dark and stormy that made my stomach hurt, a trampoline and s’mores. Not bad for day #1.

Friday started at 7:30 by choice. We were that excited to see each other. My old bakery for coffee and breakfast. I love those guys there. Threw on the swimming suits and headed out on Ben’s boat for an afternoon on the water soundtracked by Moby and laughter. Walked the lake with Trav, which turned out to be sweet calm before the bachlorette storm. Danced the night away at Tia Lou’s, thwarted for only a short time when I was escorted out. (It was cause my heels were really tall, I promise.) Katie argued me back in in time to enjoy Cait on a table. Thank goodness for Carly’s hand. Blurry, half-memories from there on out.

Long, slow, late breakfast with good friends and even better stories. Packing and breakdown #1. Lake walk with Elise and all the pasty-skinned Seattle crazies (two separate men in their underwear). BBQ at our house during which I sat back, soaked it all in and sold my bed. Swam and hottubbed. The Hillards made me feel so safe: just yell Oklahoma if you find yourself in distress. The beginning of goodbyes. Esh.

Early morning packing. Bakery. Lake house wedding shower with toilet paper lingerie and naked nachos. Killed Luke in Horse. Another spin on the boat, this time around Lake Union where I’ve taken so many spins before. Breakdown #2. Sweet, sweet Katie time. Another hard goodbye.

More packing. Kitchen floor conversation with Cait. Breakdown #3. Shipping store. 5 Spot, my spot, with my girls. Airport. Breakdown #4.

Why am I moving again? I love Seattle.

The thing is, the Seattle we all love so much has changed, a lot. And while I absolutely loved every second of the time I had with my amazing friends, the absence of those scattered across the world was almost tangible. It’s so bittersweet. It’s bittersweet because I know that everyone is doing exactly what they need to do. It wouldn’t work if we were all still there, if it were “just like it was.” This is the problem with being friends with great people. They do great things which takes them to the ends of the earth.

I don’t know if what I’m doing in DC can be considered great, by any means. It’s just that, even in my continued grief of losing all the things that were, I know I have to do what I’m going to do. In the loss, there is the peace that only comes with obedience. Otherwise I just couldn’t do it. Plus, I know to the core of me that just because we’ve scattered and will continue to do so, we won’t stop doing life together. There is something so sacred about being known and loved anyway. Distance is simply irrelevant.

This weekend has left me really confused. So much happy mixed with so much sad. Writing this post was really hard and my creativity is feeling a little stunted, so sorry if I jump around. The one thing I do know for sure is this:

I have great friends.
Love,
LC

With love, from Franklin

Franklin nailed it for the day:

"He started to sing as he tackled the thing
That couldn't be done, and he did it."
-Edgar A. Guest

Sing today. Life's a lot more fun that way.
(If you don't know who Franklin is, well, just wait because you will and he will change your life. Quadrant 2...holla!)

P.S. Seattle in 2 days!

Mother's Day

On this day, Sunday, Mother’s Day, it only seems appropriate that this post be dedicated solely to my Mom and most loyal reader. I promise not to talk about running, make a pathetic effort to weave an outdated song through my post, or give a shout out to HS. (Well, we’ll shoot for 2 of 3.) I want to talk about her because a) unemployment doesn’t pay well and this is about all I have to offer as a gift b) I can’t be there, though I desperately wish I was and c) I’ve gotten to know my mom everyday of my life and I think it’s about time I share. You want me to share, trust me. Let’s start with some stories.

My problem set as a kid looked a lot different than it does now, naturally. Now, I’m worry for my basic survival: food, shelter, a job to pay for said food and shelter. Then, I remember the things that kept me up at night back then: the fear of splinters (my mom once removed one from my butt), swimming lessons (I never could backfloat), and the chance that Eric might wise up and realize that he didn’t actually have to do what I said. Another of our constant dilemmas was the fact that the fries at McDonald’s were way better than Burger King’s while BK had the corner on the chicken nugget market. You just couldn’t win. But then, WE DID. My brilliant mudder figured out the key to unlocking the perfect meal: we went to both. I will never forget sitting at the counter in our house on Nichols Dr. eating what is still the best meal of my life, with the sudden realization that my mom just might be my hero.

Fast forward a few years. A lot actually (unfortunately). I peed my mom. It’s true, I did. I had to have been 13 or 14. In my defense, I gave a fair warning. I was being tickled without mercy and well, a girl can only hold it so long. My mom was the first one to realize what was happening and screamed. The room cleared and I was left to figure it out. But she came back. I knew she would. She didn’t even change her shirt with the wet spot first. When I think about having kids of my own, I wonder if I’ll be able to stomach them. Kids are gross, even at 13. Somehow though, she’s managed to be there for every foul kid-nastiness we’ve managed to produce.

I’ll also never forget the time we went school shopping mid-7th grade. It might be safe to say that I was trouble, a snot maybe. Why do kids start making their parents’ lives miserable in middle school? Maybe it was just me. I don’t know. Anyway, we were shopping and of course disagreed on everything. I’m sure she was right, she usually is. We were driving home and suddenly she was crying. There’s nothing like making your mom cry to make you feel like the world’s biggest ball of scum. Timidly, I asked her what’s wrong and I’ll never forget her answer: “I makes me so sad that you don’t let me buy you the best things. If it were up to me I would dress you in gold and silver. But you’re choosing to look cheap and it just makes me sad.” It felt like I got punched. She cut right to the heart of it. She wasn’t trying to dress me in clothes to ensure that I’d never climb the social ladder, she knew me, my heart on my best days, and wanted the world to see nothing less when they looked at me. And, I didn’t realize it at the time, but isn’t this exactly the reason One who wants to dress us in kingdomly-splendor weeps?

I could go on. The stories are endless, as I’m sure yours are too. Somewhere in that long string of stories, at least in mine, there is this gradual, beautiful shift that takes place. At some point you learn that your mom is so much more than just your mom. She is a woman, a person with a past and present and a future in the same way that I have a past, a present and a future. And at some point during this shift, she becomes your friend, your best friend. At least, that’s what happened for us. No one on this planet knows me better, and amazingly, no one on this planet loves me more. It’s truly a mystery to me. We’ve both seen each other at our worst- my crying fits, her cold silence. We’ve fought. We’ve misunderstood each other. But that’s what friendship is, fighting through the fights to come out better than you were before.

I couldn’t imagine my life without her. I would not be who I am. I would not know who I want to be. I want to be strong and authentic and endlessly hospitable like she is. I want to always keep searching, keep trying to be better, to know more just like she does. I want to be her. I realize that in a world of broken families, this might put me in the minority but it’s absolutely true: I want to be her. If you can say the same, make sure to tell her today.

Other great things about my Mudder…
1. She used to call us in sick from school to take us snowboarding. The best part is that she rode with us. That’s right, my mom shreds.

2. She is absolutely the best cook I know. If you see her, ask her what she used to do for our proms.

3. All my quirky comes from my mom. All of it. As does my rescue complex. Currently, we have three rescued dogs (two of which are Great Danes) and one 8-year-old China baby wreaking havoc on our house. It’s awesome.

4. She let me be the first one in the 5th grade to shave my legs. Also awesome.

5. When I surprise attack her with a sobbing phone call she never fails. She brings her A-game every time. Which, thankfully, has been particularly outstanding over these past months in DC.

Happy Mother’s Day.
All love.
LC

Carolina On My Mind, Along With A Lot of Other Stuff

I need to do this one in list form to start.
Sorry to both of you who read this.

Top six things about the rest of our Carolina trip:

#6) The sunburn faded to tan quickly. So much so that the swimming suit stays on even when you take it off. Glorious.

#5) I had an animated political discussion with my fantastic Vietnamese pedicurist. Our McCain feelings were mutual. I like Obama. He likes Hilary. Why? Because she’s seen it all before, having been the First Lady. Obviously, she already knows how to be el presidente (la presidenta?). Point taken. I’m still getting used to the fact that when you tell someone you live in DC, you are also obligated to tell them your political views.

#4) Trigger fish: Anne made it for dinner on Thursday night. It will go down as one of the best meals I’ve ever eaten. I don’t know what Trigger fish is. Apparently it’s a North Carolina thing. If anyone has any information about where to buy it or what restaurants serve it, please let me know.

#3) Gary. Gary saved us. We were driving back in the middle of nowhere (thank you, Googlemaps) singing happily to our new favorite man-hating Celine ballad when our tire suddenly exploded. Not went flat, exploded. We were in big trouble. Gary must have sensed that when he drove by and saw two girls in sundresses and flip flops, cell phones out, staring at the side of the car. The long and the short of it is that Gary saved us. “Good thing I’m already dirty,” he said. Thank you, Gary. Thank you, God. (I would like to say, for the record, that I could have changed it. It just would have taken significantly longer.)

#2) We got in the car to drive back on Friday at about 1 and I realized that I was ready to cruise. On our way down, we REALLY needed a Starbucks stop. You know you’ve been well cared for when caffeine at the beginning of a 6 hour road trip just isn’t necessary.

#1) On Thursday night while Anne cooked the Trigger fish she kicked us out of the kitchen with a glass of Pinot Noir and a stern warning to not come back until we had thoroughly enjoyed the best part of the day on the beach. Fine. HS and I went out, cameras, and journals in tow and enjoyed the sunset over the Atlantic. Utter and undeserved kindness. Again. Another “how in the world did I get here” moment. Another parting moment of peace and happiness in the face of the swirling unknown that is my life right now. Another good day. “Here’s to grace,” we said.

Right now, life teeters in this weird place between the already and the almost. Sometimes its great. The hope, the possibility, the adrenaline of it all. Sometimes, I plain hate it. This weekend I hate it. I want to know what my life is going to look like for the next year. I want something sure. We may have found a house, which is excellent news. Cross your fingers and shoot up a prayer. Pray for things on the job front too. Representing the best of yourself on an 8½ x 11 sheet of paper is really unfair and really scary. I’ll have updates there soon.

So that’s it. Back to my bitter indie music in my trendy coffee shop to keep working on cover letters. Endless cover letters. Gotta love the post-college roller coaster. Ugh.

Love you guys.

Blackbeard EXISTS!

It's true. I found out last night talking to Annie B, our incredibly hospitable and incredibly southern host for the week. I did some reading before bed because I was so intrigued and learned this:

Blackbeard, real name Edward Teach, was in fact a real pirate who terrorized the eastern seaboard in the early years of the 1700s. At one point, he gave up the pirate's life of plundering to settle down and live the gentleman's life. He married his 14th wife, a 16-year-old girl. (Sooo gentlemanly.) Unfortunately, he quickly became bored and took to the seas again. He was eventually taken out by the U.S. Navy off the coast of Ocracoke Island. It took 5 gunshots and 20 severe stab wounds to bring the brotha down. Oh, and, when they would plunder stuff, he put wicks in his gnarly black beard and lit them on fire. Yea. I know.

Now, I don't know why this altered my world so much but it did. Kind of like learning that Santa Claus doesn't exist but in reverse. I'm doing all I can to hold my dreams of being Johnny's Kiera Knightly in Pirates of the Caribbean at bay. sigh.

This is only one of the many things I have learned in the day and a half I've spent at the Outer Banks of North Carolina. I have also learned that the houses pictured in Coastal Living are real. I know this because I am currently sitting in a yellow room with all white furniture that has double doors that leading to the Atlantic Ocean. I have learned why James Taylor wanted to go to Carolina in his mind. Its absolutely beautiful and bursting with personality. Our drive through the backroads revealed a whole new world to us: human hair is for sale, profanity is apparently not allowed at the gas station, and men here are starved for pretty girls. Acutually, any girls, really.

Finally, I have learned the meaning of true hospitality. Annie B and Big B have basically showed us the bikes and the beach, fed us and have told us to do whatever we want. What a gift. I don't think I realize how crazy the city makes me until I step out of it for a minute and can hear the sound of the ocean again. This is exactly what I need. Space. Time to think. Wise counsel.

And some aloe. I really need some aloe.
I love my life.

Bittersweet Symphony and Boots With the Furr

Bittersweet Symphony gets me every time. I lost it when it came on at the Seahawks game while they shot off fireworks and the players ran out and the hawk circled the stadium. Who wouldn't, really? Totally overwhelming. In 6th grade my mom wouldn't let me listen to it because she thought it was about masturbation.

It's not.

It's actually the reoccurring story of my life, my cantus firmus, the bittersweet symphony.

Thursday was the last day of the internship. It's over. Already. Finally. I know, I can't believe I've already been here for four months. In many ways, it's starting to feel like home: now, I've finally outgrown GoogleMaps, I have people, places and traditions. Tourists ask me for directions. I answer, whether or not I know the answer. At the same time, the "home" I know is dissolving. People are leaving. Home always has a lot to with people. I'm really going to miss my people.

We (my fellow interns) spent Friday, our first day of freedom, cruising through DC on single speed cruiser bikes dodging tourists and pissed off staffers, chasing birds, and jumping curbs. It was awesome. If anyone had ever taken me on that date on their own initiative, I would be a married woman today, I'm sure of it. There's something about being on a bike that makes you feel this blissful combination of being 10 years old and carefree, wanting to cause trouble, and needing to sing. I can't explain it but I think it's safe to say we successfully hit all three. ("Boots with the furr...") I was so happy.

But it's so bittersweet. As the day wore on we knew that time was winding down together, forever. I remember looking around the room at my assigned "friends" on one of my first days at IJM, wondering if any of us would actually click. It was difficult to tell at first, as all the usual, convenient ways of judging someone's exterior were gone and I was surrounded by twentysomethings in black suits. Was I the only one hating the fact that my nylons were up to my boobs? The only one having to use all the focus I could muster so as not to fall in my heels? Did these people actually like the office coffee? I felt alone in my pinstripes.

Little by little, we felt each other out and began to bond over the things that make nine to five world hilarious- nametag disasters, office stalking that only interns are capable of, the bad email farewell lines we all adopted. Then we started needing each other. Really needing each other. We were and still are all in the midst of big changes. You need people for that. Fast forward to our day cruising the streets of DC. The bliss I felt was in fact, partly from the graduer of my single speed, obviously, but was also, undeniably, mostly due to the fact that I was with my friends. All of whom I deeply respect, enjoy and am so grateful to. I walk out of this side of the internship changed, completely. I know I owe a great deal of that to them.

Why do I keep signing up for these 3-4 month experiences? They afford you just enough time to fall in love with people, then you have to say goodbye. It's killer. I never thought I'd say it but I'm ready for roots. Somewhere. Maybe it's here. I don't know. Only time and the upcoming job search will tell. Wish me luck on that, by the way.

I don't quite know how to tie together all my thoughts. This week has been so overwhelming. Dinner with the Haugens was one of the highlights of my life, I think. I'm not even going to try and touch that here. It's all just so bittersweet. More sweet than bitter right now. I feel like I'm at that part of the song where its just the violin and you know that in about 5 seconds, the rest of the band is going to come in and its going to be amazing. So amazing that you probably tear up a little. Or a lot, if you're me. Though a lot is changing right now, I know I'm on the verge. I'm excited. Scared, as always. But excited.

Before I end it a couple disclaimers:
1. HS did not make it onto the blog this week. We got made fun of for only blogging about each other.
2. I promise this will be my last entry based on a song. I will get more creative.
3. Leave my mom alone about the masturbation thing. She probably got if from Dobson.
4. Leave me alone for blogging this song.

Peace and love.

Even the Effed Up Baristas Couldn't Ruin This Day

So, I have quickly realized that blogging is one of those things in life that can easily go into life’s dreaded “I should” category. It now joins the ranks of such “shoulds” as prayer, broccoli, Dostoyevsky and showering. It’s a tricky situation, though. I mean, don’t blog enough and everyone forgets that you exist in the www; blog too much and you run the risk of seemingly portraying an over-inflated sense of self-importance. There are some things that no one really cares to know. Obviously, I’m putting too much thought into this. Whatever.

Saturday was epic on a number of levels. I knew it was going to be epic about half way to the Washington Monument on my morning run when I had already seen a Goldendoodle, the aforementioned Library of Congress mermaid statue turned fountain (Google it, it’s crazy), a man with his kid doing yard work together in front of a white house with blue shutters in a scene straight from “Leave it to Beaver:”

Kid, in baseball cap and khakis: “Gee, Dad. What are you doing?
Dad, in baseball cap and khakis: “Come here buddy, I’ll show you.”

I’m not exaggerating. I may or may not have teared up.

Sweaty and happy, I arrived at Eastern Market to meet the normal Saturday crew. I stopped at a trendy-enough looking coffee shop to grab an iced soy latte and, not to whine, but do baristas here hate their customers? Are they trying to ruin all the perfectly good espresso they can get their untrained hands on? This town needs me, even if just to revive coffee culture. KMK says “its just the effed up minds of those anarchist baristas at work.” Ugh. Anyway, breakfast with friends, old(ish) and new. The new was Patrick and I can say with confidence that I don’t think I’ve ever met a Patrick I didn’t immediately love. He brought his longboard, which brings back fond memories of getting cussed out with Bethany. The crew of us- HS, KMK, Alex, Patrick + longboard, and I- headed back down to the Mall among the picnicking Amish and protesting skinheads to play some Frisbee. I love this town.

I’m convinced that there is something that is heals the soul whenever a Frisbee is tossed. But today was extra heavenly because over the duration of our game, I got hit on by Neo (famous B-list rapper, Mom), ate a Firecracker popsicle in the shadow of the Capitol, and took some great action shots of HS running, arms straight out, after that pesky Frisbee that was perpetually just out of reach. Those long days indoors in front of a computer are almost worth it because it makes long days outdoors with nothing to do downright magical. Best of all, when I got home, Bethany was in the process of baking these amazing chocolate chip cookies and I am happy to report that by the time they came out of the oven, my sunburn was in full bloom.

Really, what did I do to deserve a day like this? I mean, as you can see there was actually nothing epic about it. It was just a really good day. But it felt epic. HS and I kept looking at each other with the knowing “this is really our life” look.
There are still about a gillion unknowns. But I’m okay with that, for now.
Really.
We’ll see how long it lasts.
For now, wishing you all days of epic nothingness.

Times Like These

I must say that I don't quite know how to start this. I mean, firstblog post ever. Its something you can't get back. Something thatcould potentially stand as evidence against the calm, cool, collected front I hope one day to present. It's something I never thought I'd do either- blogging. But I realize that as life is moving forward, as it inevitably does, I am leaving a trail of people that I love scattered across this great country, across the world, really. And it finally dawned on me that for as much as I like reading other people's updates from the ends of the earth- the brave Ethiopians, the forever traveler, the pastor in New England, the Kiwis in a van, the sweatshop apprentice and of course, my best girl from Seattle- it finally dawned on me that I'm in an interesting place too- that the stories that have and will come from this place are priceless. I mean, I saw George W. riding his bike by the Pentagon. (Well, I know he was in the pack of spandex-wearing secret service somewhere.) AND, my friend has a paper clip straight from the desk of Obama himself! (Okay, so she didn't actually meet him. And may or may not have stolen it. But still.)

Not interested yet? Me either. I'll work on it.

Last night I went for a run down the National Mall, as I've gotten accustomed to doing after work. I arrived frustrated. Had to drive more than I wanted, sat in traffic, got there later, which would meanit would get darker faster and I would have to shorten my run. But it only took a few short strides in the almost-spring air before I felt the bitterness roll off my back. This is why I run. Those things-the bitterness, the self-doubt, the fear- that so often creeps its way into my days can't keep up with me. I run to feel like myself.

Last night I made it a point to soak it all in, seeing as this is my new home and all. Yes, after an intense internal wrestling match,I've decided to move here. For a year or two at least. More on that later. I ran down the Mall, around the Reflecting Pool (lots of bugs on Constitution side, note to self), up past the Washington Monument,dodging the grumpy high school trip kids and the kickballers that gather most evenings after work. I passed the carousel that I thinkis straight out of a nightmare, anonymous in the trickle of otherrunners also lost in their own thoughts. I approached the Capitol,where I usually stop beneath a monument of pack of horses, one of many monuments still unknown to me. (Among this group is the mer-people fountain right below the Library of Congress. If anyone has any insight on this slightly disturbing sight, I'd appreciate it.) So,when I finally stopped at my spot, just below the Capitol, and turned around, I was overwhelmed by the most beautiful, hot pink sunset perfectly silhouetting the Washington Monument and turning the pool infront of me into a pink and orange fire. It's one of those moments I can't quite explain, except to say that I knew I was home again. I knew I could and would love this home too, as I have loved all the places I've lived. Denver, Uganda, Santa Cruz and of course, Seattle. My Seattle. I miss each of those places for the things that make them unique to me. But I knew then, standing looking at that sunset, sweating and feeling supremely alive, that I was going to love this place too. That I was going to be okay here.

As if on cue, (sometimes I think my iPod knows me) my shuffle clicked to the Foo Fighter's "Times Like These." I couldn't have picked amore perfect song:

it's times like these you learn to live again
it's times like these you give and give again
it's times like these you learn to love again
it's times like these time and time again

Times like these. Running into the sunset, finally decided, resolved. Finally home.

I promise all my posts won't be this reflective. Events of the pastweek have left me more introspective that usual. I can assure you that the shallow, the random, and the "why would anyone write about that" will find its way onto the pages to come.

And there are a lot of pages to come.