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.