NPM Day 24 {Barefoot}

--This doesn't have to be one of your favorites, but it is one of mine.

Barefoot
September 29, 2016

When I was younger,
I lived in the rain;
pain held no beauty or treasure,
and no one ever spoke of
the stillness
brought in with summer’s end.
Autumn in Auburn
was damp and evergreen,
not like here where
I can stand in the parking lot
suddenly silent
without the hum of a thousand
air conditioners
and then I can move
in any direction
to crush a leaf beneath my feet.
The crisp noise resonates
off those bricks, still sore
from the cicadas’ song.
No one ever told me
the falling leaves
among ill-tempered winds
would break my heart,
would whisper my name
back against a wall of memory
until I was just a little girl again
running in the rain,
fearless of any consequences
–even barefoot.
I feel it coming every year
like the hushed breath
before a storm,
and I catch myself
longing for it and
dreading it all the same,
but can never quite prepare
for the falling
beautiful ache.

That Midsummer Life

For the lack of bustle in my business, I haven't written here often. At least not lately. It's been nearly a month and you might think I just became busy, or was overwhelmed with some project. None of that is accurate--not entirely.

The truth about writing, for me, is that when I have appropriate sources for support I am less inclined to express my deepest feelings on the internet. It means that even in the middle of an emotional crisis or some sort of trauma, if I have enough outlets in real life then I don't feel I need an outlet anywhere else. My blog (and even sometimes my journal) can grow dusty during those times. 

Basically I have beautiful friends. I have had enough people to talk me through things that it didn't seem like my blog was my only chance to vent. Thanks, friends. 

Nevertheless, I have a loyal audience somewhere, albeit a small one, and my summer has been full of excellent adventures. 

Last month was full of love and laughter. I celebrated four years of marriage to my wonderful husband. We celebrated at Six Flags, because the whole, "eating at a restaurant for every special occasion" thing can get old pretty quickly. 

We also finally got smart phones. (^That pictures was taken with Instagram! I'm so cool!) I know, some of you are probably recalling all those times I said, "I don't have a smart phone, and I probably never will." Well, it finally became cheaper for us to switch, rather than stay with our old, broken phones at our old, pricey phone company. We now pay a fraction of the cost, but get so much more. We agreed not to download and/or play endless games and really only use the phones for talking, texting (a feature we didn't actually have before), and taking pictures. The husband uses his to obsessively play music. 

Shortly after that I celebrated Independence Day with some friends. Joey had to work, so I hooked up with some of my favorite Parsonage House people for a David Crowder concert and later some fireworks over Lake Michigan. 

I also opened an Etsy store last week. It's called Foxwild Studio and so far it's been fairly successful. I've really enjoyed learning about business tactics--the first being that if you put physical things into your store's name, it will be more memorable. It's also given me the chance to really branch out creatively. Over the years I've accumulated a lot of beading materials and supplies, but aside from gifts for people and things I make for myself, I haven't had much opportunity to make anything. It's been such a blast. Check out the shop, if you haven't already!

Here's an example of some of the things I sell. (I promise not everything is fox-related.) The pendant on the left sold literally an hour ago! Business will hopefully really get going in the next few weeks. I've been making new items all week, and I just made a lightbox, which should make the photographing of items easier and therefore the items will look prettier. 

In less wonderful news, I'm finally up for another visit to my cancer doctor. I just finished round four of my super fun cancer drugs, and now I get to wait (ever so patiently) for my appointment on the 28th. There will be a biopsy this time, as the good doctor promised. I am not looking forward to it. I know it might not be anywhere near as painful as the first time, but I'm still a little scared. However, in light of my fear, there is also hope. I also know that if the cancerous cells are nowhere to be found and the biopsy is all clear, I can move on from cancer drugs and begin fertility drugs. 

I'm going to just put it all out there. I actually thought I was pregnant last month. In fact, I had several positive pregnancy tests at home. I had all the other crazy symptoms, and was so sick on our anniversary that we actually left Six Flags early. Knowing that false positives are extremely rare, I went to the doctor. She confirmed I was not pregnant. Surprisingly, I am not heartbroken. Confused, but not defeated.

So inside all the anxiety of thinking I was pregnant and then not being pregnant (and a new doctor basically accusing me that if I was pregnant I didn't care about my baby because I shouldn't get pregnant while taking this certain drug) I am hopeful. Whatever the outcome, I am hopeful.

And August isn't even here yet, so we've got lots of time to just sit around and hope. :)

The Worst Wonderful Time of the Year

I love summer as much as the next season-loving grown up. I love the trees and the flowers and the grass, all flushed with sunlight. I love the beach at night and bonfires and camping. I love making iced tea and getting fresh fruit from the farmers' market. I love sleeping with the window open, and picnics, and the squalls of children running wild and free. But I could do away with the rest of summer--obnoxiously peppy music, girls (or women) not wearing enough clothing, the heat, the humidity, the inappropriate volume of hair my dog sheds each day, and the "air pollution level" warnings, More than anything, though, I hate that in the summer each person seems to be screaming, "YOLO!" as they flounce around in swimsuits smaller than napkins with cocktails in one hand and smart phones in the other. 

The summer mentality is, "Live for the moment." This is a great mentality... but I'm usually over it in exactly one moment. I'm not a square, or a fuddy-duddy, and it has nothing to do with being introverted. I just prefer to live without the expectation that everything will be sunny and impressive and fun for an entire three months.

I am the sort of person who wakes up mid-October, notices that summer's splendor is gone, and am shamelessly grateful. Summer and it's shallow mindset is gone. The sunset of the year is upon us, during which my soul sighs and I can enjoy things simply because they are beautiful, not because the sun is shining and I have to fit in all the fun before it goes down.

 My husband and I practically melt into the sidewalk each time we step outside, taking it all in. I am constantly in love, with every tree burst into orange flame, with every watercolor leaf on the ground (which I enthusiastically crunch beneath my feet.) The mornings and evenings are both their own variation of crisp. The smells, more than anything, send us reeling. Apple cider. Pumpkin pie. Frosted dry grass. The scent of the burning dust as the heater comes humming to life. 

But it is also in this season I begin to truly miss home. Autumn in the Midwest is so much different from Washington. In Illinois, the weather can go from 80°F to 45°F in just one day. An Indian summer might last until mid-November, and then it will snow. There are few evergreens here, so the trees are brilliantly colored. In Washington, the colorful trees are more noticeable, because they are so few. It rains, but the temperature is much steadier and there is no humidity. People are much more keen to light fires in their backyard or burn leaves. 

They are different, and I love both places. But that's why it's hard. I have come to accept that I'm here, and have been here for three years, and might be here even longer. And yet I miss home, more and more every day. And every time I go into a grocery story, or a craft store, or just walk down the street, everything reminds me of home. I know that somewhere else in the world there's a Starbucks sitting in the rain, just a couple miles from the ocean, and inside the Starbucks no one is griping about the Dan-Ryan or $45 city stickers or the smog. The world is simpler, with mountains as a backdrop, and evergreens growing out of sidewalk cracks, and nobody carries an umbrella. 

Year after year, I rediscover, it's my favorite season to miss home.