Nature (and some Robert Frost)

Each season, which is lovely in its own way, speaks to me--in tiny smudges of color and brushstrokes of darkness or light. It's why the half dead flower is still remarkable in springtime and the ashen tree branches midwinter still look delicately poetic. Fall holds a special place in my heart because everything turns the color of a sunset.

So today I am thankful for nature... for the leaves, the birds, the comforting wamrth of a summer day or the nostalgic bite of frosty winter air.

Nature's first green is gold,

Her hardest hue to hold.

Her early leaf's a flower;

But only so an hour.

Then leaf subsides to leaf,

So Eden sank to grief,

So dawn goes down to day,

Nothing gold can stay.

Nothing Gold Can Stay, Robert Frost

Women.

Much of my adolescence was spent fighting against a tomboyish nature. Alone, I thrived on femininity, I loved books about adventurous young girls (especially Laura Ingalls Wilder), I played with dolls and could spend a lifetime picking flowers. Among others, I wanted to hide myself, to blend with the population of my peers in such a way that gathered no attention, negative or positive. Even while being praised for some accomplishment I somehow felt the eyes of judgement on me, the eyes of every other girl my age.

Then one day, some uneventful and unmemorable moment between the age of 20 and 21, I bloomed--not just for the world, but for myself. I not only felt like what I thought a woman should feel like, but I believed it. I believed I could be whatever woman I wanted to be, and I didn't need to hide myself, I didn't fear the judging gazes of other so-called women.

So today, November 4th, I am thankful for women. Not because they are all beautiful, created in God's eyes to be powerful and sensuous and wise, but because I have had just the right women to show me the way. I am thankful for the women who have walked beside me on the journey of "become a real person," a journey that is difficult to take alone. I am thankful for the women in my life, and for who they are. I am thankful for their love, their support, their wisdom. I am thankful that they see me.

I could list them... but something tells me, they know who they are.

"There is in every true woman's heart a spark of heavenly fire, which lies
dormant in the broad daylight of prosperity but which kindles up and
beams and blazes in the dark hour of adversity." - Washington Irving

Receipts, Soup, & My Dog

When we were young, perhaps not so long ago, in other (simpler) Novembers, we sat in classrooms full of other littlies or maybe at our own kitchen table and at the request of teachers or parents we made quaint little crafts expressing what we were thankful for. I remember with fondness construction paper turkeys, each orange, red or yellow feather inscribed with something I cherished--usually my parents, my church, sometimes my big brothers. 

We all made them as children. Now as adults we all take this time, each of these "less simple" Novembers, and tell the world what we're thankful for every single day in social media fashion. I could resist, out of an immature resistance to be part of the crowd. (Oh no! I'm doing the same thing that so many other people are doing! I'm a conformist and I'm not unique and I'm not special!) Or, I could just do it anyways because I want to. Yep, goin' with the latter.

Every day this month I will be thankful for specific things. Some of them will be expected--my family, my church, sometimes my big brothers. Some of them will be absurd or bizarre and you will laugh, because I told you to. Or because I'm actually quite crazy!

Today you get three things, because I'm going to be out of town until Monday, so I chose one normal thing and two not-so-normal things.

1. I am thankful for Receipts. 

Back in January, my husband went to buy new tires. He was working as a Domino's delivery guy, and we live in the North Suburbs of Chicago, so there was lots of snow. A month after we got the tires he ran over a nail. So, that was February. Today, in November, he is finally going back to get the flat tire fixed so that we can take the spare (now quite useless) off. Having the receipt right now is crucial, because in addition to proving we bought said tires, it's stapled to a piece of paper explaining what happens if one of the tires goes flat or breaks in half or some other brainless thing tires do to themselves. 

2. I am thankful for Soup. 

I love soup. Not all soups! But hearty, brothy, good-without-saltine-crackers soup full of veggies and good stuff. My mother still makes the best soup I've ever tasted, especially turkey or chicken soup (or even better, baked potato & bacon soup), and it was a staple of my growing up years. Eating her soup was like consuming a physical manifestation of my mother's love. And the biscuits that went with the soup--heavenly! Since being married I have made similar turkey & chicken soups, never quite reaching perfection but still feeling that same warmth I did as a kid. I made soup two days ago, and ate the final broth for breakfast this morning because I felt sick all night. It still made me feel safe, and loved, even though I made it for myself. I think it's the bayleaf.

3. I am thankful for My Dog.

A year ago right now my dog, Holly, was still in Washington, trying to find a new home for when my parents moved. On December 10th, they somehow found the funds to fly her to me, and she has been my best companion since then. Currently she is under the desk, warming my feet. When Joey leaves for work on the mornings I stay here, she crawls into bed with me and won't leave until I've woken up. I've had Holly since she was a puppy--a Christmas present when I was 16. She's always been an incredibly smart dog, often too smart for her own good, and very sweet and crazy excited about people. It was hard to be here in Illinois without her, and even more difficult was not knowing if I'd ever see her again last year. Having her back has been such a blessing. 

She turned 9 on Tuesday! That's 57 in dog years.

So, Happy November, everyone! I look forward to finding more things to be thankful about in a public way that makes me not special, not stand out from the crowd, and doesn't make me unique, but in fact makes me a part of something beautiful.

Shameless

I might have mentioned a few times how much I miss my family. I miss them... quite a lot. Intensely. Let me try to get you to understand the feeling.

I'd like you to imagine for a moment that you have to move far away from everyone you love. You're not moving to a place where other family members live, or are nearby. You move someplace so far away that you feel pretty alone most of the time. You have a few good friends close by, but for holidays they go spend time with their families, so on the most important days of the year they're not around.

Now, add to that "circumstance" the inability to visit home--at all. You don't know when you'll be able to go back permanently, and you definitely don't know if you will ever get to visit home while you're gone.And I'm not talking about a couple of months. I'm not talking about one year. I'm talking about years. YEARS. Years of just phone conversations, just Internet communication, just letters sent back and forth.

Driving home is not an option, because it would cost upwards of $1000, and your car--while it isn't quite a clunker--probably would need extra maintenance to survive the trip, which you can't afford. It would also take three days to get there, three days to get back, so you'd be taking a lot of time off of work. Flying would also cost about $1000--because, I forgot to mention, you're married, so there are TWO people that need to get back to see their families. Two roundtrip tickets for that great of a distance (approx. 2000 miles) are at least $400 each. Taking the train or bus is out of the question. The train is slightly less than flying or driving, but you have to buy food no matter which you choose. These are definitely more cost-effective options, but like driving, they take too much extra time.

Every time you have a birthday, every time something fantastic happens, you can only talk about it. At Thanksgiving and Christmas you can Skype, or send presents in the mail. You can take lots of pictures and e-mail them back and forth and obsess about Facebook in a way you never wanted to but now you have to because it's the only way you can keep in touch with 90% of your family (because Grandma doesn't have one.)

...Now, before I get ahead of myself, I know what some of you will say. Get an extra job. Sell stuff on eBay (which I've done). Be more frugal, blah blah blah. Or, as one friend so blithely put it during our first Christmas here, "Make your own memories!" (We spend 90% of our time with each other and only each other, we've got plenty of "happy newlywed" memories.)

But my husband has had so many jobs in Illinois I don't know how to describe that chaos to you. Right now he's working 40+ hours as a manager at one job, but will soon be adding a second job (both paying just over $10 an hour.) And do you know what those jobs have amounted to?

Last year, I spent half of Christmas Day alone. That's right, I sat in the apartment all by myself because he was at work. He also worked on New Years Day. And the day I graduated from college, I didn't have anyone to celebrate with except for my husband, but at the last minute he got called in to work. So I, again, spent the day alone in the apartment. I also spent my 25th birthday... alone in the apartment.

Somewhere out there, some military spouse is probably growling at my blog because they have to live without their loved ones all the time. I have a few things to say about that too.

A. You probably still have more ability to see the rest of your family than I do..
B. The average length of deployment for the military are as follows:
-Air Force 4-12 months (120-360 days)
-Army 12-15 months (National Guard & Reserve is only 12 months) (350-450 days)
-Navy 6-12 months (180-360 days)
-Marines 7 months (210 days)

As of right now we have been away from our families for 819 days.

This is the last time I hugged my mom, 819 days ago.
Also, check out my pasty white legs.

I'm not writing this to complain. I have a good life and I love my tutoring job and my husband and my church. But I want to go home for Christmas. WE want to go home for Christmas. I'm not afraid of shameless self-promotion.

So I'm asking you again, to watch this video. I'm asking you AGAIN to please visit our GoFundMe page and to donate--even a small amount helps. I'm telling you again, that there are awesome prizes handmade/handwritten by me if you donate. Please watch the video, please share the site with your friends, and please consider donating. And pretty, pretty please with a gingerbread man on top... share, share, share!

Home for Christmas

I know. It's only October.

But every year I'm here without going home is another year you have to hear me whine on this blog about how much I miss my family.

So here's the deal. I stared a GoFundMe account. I made a fantastic video with Sufjan Stevens music in the background and lots of cute pictures, so that you know what's up. On the GoFundMe account, there are PRIZES for donating certain amounts! And most of them are HANDMADE by ME! I make awesome stuff, and you know it.

Here's the video. It's nothing spectacular, but it gets the message across.

Please click on the link, watch the video, and consider donating. We're not asking for anything fancy. We just want to go home for Christmas. And the link is below, again, just in case!

-----> Click here! GoFundMe! <---- p="">
Share the link with your friends, ask them to donate! If guys can get a GoFundMe account asking for donations so that he can go on a basketball tour in Europe, then SURELY someone wants to send me and my husband home for Christmas.

Please. Click the link. I love you all.

A Patient Heart

I am a creative soul. I thrive on both the act of creation, and appreciating the creations I am surrounded with--whether they are sculptures at the Tacoma Museum of Glass or the desolate beauty of the South Dakota desert.

Like this, but with colors, and a rattlesnake or two. Courtesy of Toothpaste for Dinner.

The other thing I am, quite often, is an introvert. Technically I am an ENFJ (emphasis on the E = Extrovert!) but I definitely "recharge" in solitude and tranquility, with lots of books and not so much human interaction. I try not to focus on this--I'm a person, I'm not just an introvert, and it doesn't keep me from functioning so in all honesty it matters very little. But, in some circumstances, it matters quite a lot.

Being both of these things (a creative semi-introvert) can cause me to be intensely critical of myself. Katie, you don't have enough warm colors in this doodle. Katie, stop staring at your phone (you don't even have texting!) and smile at that acquaintance who's walking by. Katie, write more sonnets. Katie, stop reading and make new friends. Katie, if you really loved sitting in a meadow full of daisies you wouldn't be so prone to getting ants in your socks. Katie, be this, do that, this isn't good enough, you are not good enough, blah blah blah blah blah.... 

We, as in human beings, are ALL our own worst critics. We are not patient with ourselves. We encounter self-hatred in myriad ways on a daily basis, in circumstances grandiose and mundane, so much that we don't even notice. And when we don't notice, we don't stop ourselves. We have patience with our friends and spouses and children (or at least we try) but for some reason it's simply too "weak" to be patient with ourselves. I am not patient with my creative self. I am not patient with my social self.

But this last weekend, I got to be both.

I went on my church's women's retreat in Lake Geneva, Wisconsin. This is terrifying on a few levels because women have always intimidated me more than men. I've grown out of that, for the most part, but I was a little anxious about the weekend.

 I was in a room with four other young women, three of whom I was already friends. When I got back to the room on Friday night they were all getting ready to sleep on the roof outside our window. Naturally, they invited me to go with them while they excitedly pulled on layers of socks and hoodies, and insisted that it would be worth it. 

Honestly, I had to fight myself to go out there. I thought, I'm feeling shy, and I'll have to spend the whole night with these girls. But, I know, I KNOW, that if I stay inside by myself I will feel immensely depressed and miserable. I will regret not going with them. So I climbed out the window, which took strain and stretching and twisting my body in ten directions at once, thinking that I would come outside just to "test the waters" and then make my decision. I wasn't pushing myself, or forcing myself to do or be anything just yet--I only knew I needed to try.

It was beautiful. The stars were in these textured clusters like a kid's sloppy glitter-glue art, and the air was cool and calming. I wanted to be there. By not forcing myself to think I had to do it, I allowed myself to want to do it.

The next challenge was getting five mattresses out the window, as well as getting myself back inside to get ready for an outdoor sleepover and then returning to the roof. But once we were settled in I was extremely grateful, to myself, and to my friends, for letting me be adventurous and intrepid. With friends on all sides we stared up at the sky, breathing in the autumn night and marinating in the glory of creation.

But there was one last thing I wanted--something I've always wanted. A photo of the night sky--and this sky, let me tell you, was photographically desirable by anyone's standards. So I whipped out my camera, because I was prepared and brought it onto the roof, and tried for half an hour to get a good photo. I took probably thirty pictures, on different settings, zooming in and out, desperately aiming upward in hopes that I could capture the night I'd given to myself.

In the back of my mind I could hear that voice, telling me to try harder, to be a better photographer with my unimpressive point-and-shoot camera, to be somehow more artistically skilled with this small, digital device. I pushed the belligerent voice away. I thought, if I just keep trying, it might happen. And if it doesn't, I still got to sleep out here, I will still remember the experience even if I can't show it to anyone.

And then it happened.

These photos don't capture even 1/100th of the beauty we saw that night.

Two photos. Seven shooting stars. One patient heart.

Dreams. And a short letter.

When you hear somebody complain about trouble sleeping it's likely you don't think much of it. I mean, we're adults , and adults can't possible have a problem falling asleep--adults are hard-working and tired people. Unlike toddlers, we like taking naps, and we don't cry about it if someone says we're too tired to be social or share our toys. I myself am an avid fan of naps, and would take them often, except that they seem to add to my very-real, very-adult problem of not being able to fall asleep, not being able to stay asleep, and then not being able to sleep peacefully if and when I actually experience the glory of slumber--I'm talking about intense dreams.

Most grown-ups will probably tell you they have nightmares every now and then, but not ones that sincerely scare them, or even wake them up in the middle of the night. I might also add that the majority of adults I've talked to A. Unless they're experiencing some traumatic stress, don't dream that often. B. Don't remember their dreams when they happen. C. Don't talk about their dreams if they have them and remember them.

I don't fit into any of those categories. I dream often, intensely, and usually remember my dreams for several days, and (if I think it might interest others) I talk about my dreams. I don't mean "I dreamed that I could fly" or "I dreamed that I was falling" sort of things. I once had a dream that I was Superman, flying around in my boxers and a white-collared button-up shirt. (As Superman) I stopped at a hotel, took the elevator to the top floor without anyone making a fuss about my attire, and once there a grungy, leather-clad biker pushed me out of a window and I died. At the age of 10 I dreamed that I was Brendan Fraser (whom I've realized it actually quite creepy looking) but the dream was a little more complicated, and I was decapitated at the end.

And yes, it had an end. All of my dreams have a beginning, a middle, and an end. I can blame this on my love for books, or stories, the fact that I'm a writer, blah blah blah. Or, I can blame it on the fact that my father is the same way and somehow dreaming in this manner is hereditary. Personally, I'm not really sure, but it's important to know that we dream the same way, and also have nightmares the same way.

I don't talk about my dad a lot in this blog, but today it's necessary. The next paragraph might embarrass him, but he can handle it. 

My dad has crazy nightmares. I don't know much about them, except that when your father starts screaming at 1:00 am, it might as well be a nightmare for you too. I only ever heard about one of them, in which he apparently was running from something and ran straight through a glass door, then woke up screaming.

(Dear Mom, if you read this, don't tell Dad unless you know he won't get upset. Dear Dad, if you read this, well... you're the one who woke up screaming, damaging my fragile psyche as a child, and this blog is cheaper than therapy.)

To be fair, my dad has also had plenty of crazy-awesome dreams, and we've talked about those together too. The point here is the intensity with which we dream, despite the fact that you only hear about adults dreaming in books or movies, or maybe on television when it can add to the hilarity of your favorite sitcom. 

Now, the last two nights I have had two very similar dreams. This might make sense if I had a normal sleep schedule, but I don't. I really, really, don't. Two nights ago I took 3mg of melatonin along with one PM acetaminophen. This allowed me to (miraculously!) fall asleep quickly and then stay asleep for a good 8 hours--typically taking both of those things allows me to stay asleep, but it takes me awhile to get there. Last night I decided to test my luck, so I didn't take anything. Fell asleep quickly, but woke up a few times.

Both nights each dream was about me and a friend--a "long-lost" friend, if you will--and how desperately I wanted to reconcile our friendship. This sounds juvenile, and dramatic. Except that it's part of real life. I have this dear friend who won't speak to me, won't respond to phone calls or e-mails, and won't tell me why we aren't friends anymore. Most of the time I try not to think about her, because as you can imagine, it's incredibly painful and sort of pointless to just focus on how horrible it feels. There are times when it's impossible not to think about her, because we were friends for many years, and there's this pen I still use--and she bought one to match mine. There are inside jokes that linger in other conversations, photos on my computer. Unless I make the effort to remove all memory of her, I will still think about her periodically. 

But two nights in a row, I dreamed of her--and I had not thought about her for perhaps a week or so. I dreamed she showed up somewhere with a group of other friends, and she wouldn't speak to me. The first dream it was in a church, the second dream it was at a Christmas party, but both times she appeared and would make eye contact but said nothing. Tears were streaming down her face, and I ran to her, I hugged her and held her and apologized--not because I've done anything wrong, to my knowledge, but because that always seems like a good course of action when someone is upset with you and you don't know why. In the first dream, she refused to hug me back and walked away, but was still within sight. In the second dream, she made some sort of random Christmas dessert, announced to the room, "It's a Christmas tradition!" When I ran to her, she returned my embrace, but she was still crying, and still wouldn't speak to me.

Both times, I awoke breathless and aching with a deep sort of sadness. Missing her. Overwhelmed and confused--especially today, because I still can't understand why I'm having these dreams. It's sort of similar to dreaming about someone after they die. There's nothing you can do about it. There is nothing I can do about this. I've given up on the ideas about calling her every single day, or messaging her every single day.

It would be different if I was home--being in the same state would give me more chances to possibly see my friend. But I'm here in the midwest, as I have been 100% of the time for the last 786 days. I've lost touch with a lot of people back home but usually if I call them or send them a message on FB they at least return my call or send a reply. At least to say hello. They don't delete me from their list of friends. They don't cut me out forever.

So, here's what I'm going to do. I'm just going to put this out there. This blog is about things I've lost--I've lost a friend. And it's about things you find--I want to find her again. If you know her, and you feel like it, you can tell her that I'm reaching out in the only way I can anymore.

Dear Alyssa,

I miss you terribly. I think about you all the time. I don't know what went wrong or why you won't talk to me. I don't know if it's something I did, or something you think I did, but whatever it is, I'm sorry. I miss you. Please talk to me.

Love,

Katie