"Hello you long-shots, you dark horse runners, Hair brush singers, dash-board drummers, Hello you wild magnolias, just waiting to bloom. There's a little bit of all that inside of me and you,
Thank God even crazy dreams come true." ~Carrie Underwood, "Crazy Dreams"
After going almost nonstop since four o'clock this morning and turning in my English essay 15 minutes before it was due, I finally had the opportunity at five o'clock this evening to sit on the hill, drink Happy Belly tea, eat some of Mom's homemade cookies that arrived in the mail today, and read heartfelt quotes from Brian Andreas' book, Trusting Soul. The book is filled with rough sketches of people and quotes about uncertainty, change, growing up, and other ideas related to trust and the future. In the introduction to his book, he writes,
The future is what you bring with you & you get to choose. I think of the stories & drawings in this book as the things I have chosen, the suitcase I've packed for the future. It's only the essentials, because I know you'll bring stuff, too. I packed the lilt of a voice, the curve of a neck in laughter, the glance between people who have wrapped up in each other in the soft night. I've put memories of my grandparents & other made-up people because it seemed like they'd be fun to have around. I've thrown in more than enough packages of love & play & chocolate because the future can always use extra of those & I sneaked in a few unexpected gifts, simply because there is no greater joy than an unexpected gift to a trusting soul. (Andreas)
The things I try to include on my blog are what I've chosen to pack for my future––pictures and quotes and musings and questions and stories and moments that fill me with inspiration and joy. I try to avoid rambling complaints or conclusions that end with bitter emotions, because these aren't what I want to bring along with me in the future. I'd rather leave them behind.
What's even more fun than packing the suitcase is opening it up and sharing it with others, which is why I get such joy out of posting. It's a space for the collective relish of big questions and small moments.
So for you, today, I'm sharing a picture of the autumn trees on campus and one of my favorite poems by Mary Oliver.
Morning
Salt shining behind its glass cylinder.
Milk in a blue bowl. The yellow linoleum.
The cat stretching her black body from the pillow.
The way she makes her curvaceous response to the small, kind gesture.
Then laps the bowl clean.
Then wants to go out into the world
where she leaps lightly and for no apparent reason across the lawn,
then sits, perfectly still, in the grass.
I watch her a little while, thinking:
what more could I do with wild words?
I stand in the cold kitchen, bowing down to her.
I stand in the cold kitchen, everything wonderful around me.
If I painted with a white dandelion puff, I'd get a smattering of dots, a constellation of stars––sponged constellations on the page.
But I don't want to always sponge. Sometimes I want a paintbrush to make big, long, passionate brushstrokes. Sometimes life is a constellation of moments, but other times it's a passionate sweep.
I dreamt about this idea a few weeks ago. It has been a sampling semester for me in college. Although I came to Denison fully anticipating to dive right into theatre, I've found myself wading in, afraid of what I might miss above the surface if I'm underwater. There are so many things to do all the time, and I'm surrounded by so many different styles of living and hobbies and paths of life. Considering that all of my classes have touched somewhat upon the question, "What is the self?" my brain is spinning with existential questions like, "What is life?" and "Who am I?" I've dabbled in a lot of different areas this semester, between talking with a variety of people, trying out different clubs (I'm trying fencing this week!), and going to unique campus events, like a lecture on policing. I'm used to fully committing myself to a few areas that I'm passionate about, so not doing that has made me feel somewhat scattered. This, in conjunction with the dandelion puff I found at a park off campus a few weeks ago, is what I think led to my dandelion puff dream.
I returned to the park this morning. The river and the swings and the trees make it a nice getaway from campus. As I was running over the bridge, I noticed that the trees looked like painted dandelion puffs with their colored leaves. I so badly wanted to stand on the bridge, gather all my breath, and make a wish on the trees, seeing their leaves scatter in the wind.
I also expressed the desire in my dream, though, to paint with a paintbrush. I don't want to always sponge constellations. I want to paint cirrus clouds. I want to dive in.
These are cirrus uncinus clouds, taken from Wikimedia Commons, a public domain.
Somehow egg yolks also leaked into my dream. The only explanation I can think of is that sometimes I want to crack the "egg" and see where the yolk (paint) runs. (Although, I'm not usually one to just crack an egg.)
The thing is, whether I sponge constellations, take bold brushstrokes, or let the paint run, it's all still a work of art. More importantly, it's the contrast of all these that makes for an interesting composition.
My first semester of college has not been what I expected so far. I'm starting to be more bold with my painting, but it's a process. I think I've repeated that phrase–"It's a process"–every day to myself since I've been here. There are some parts I wish I could paint over, but there are other parts that shimmer. When I step back and I look at the whole picture, I like what I see.
We run along cappuccino dunes, steam rising from their foamed milk tops. The wind blows the sand in cinnamon swirls. It's appetizing. It makes me crave the whistle of the tea kettle back home. I can almost feel the hot mug in my hands, feel the coffee slide down my throat and into my stomach, smell it on my breathe as I puff, puff, puff in this frigid air.
29 minutes into the new year, and I have already heard the ocean, ran the sands, and breathed the salty air. After toasting with sparkling pomegranate juice in wine glasses, my family piled into the car--my mom and I still wearing our big comfy sweaters and fuzzy socks--for a midnight run on the beach. Sometimes there are others we find parked in the parking lot of Nauset Beach, but tonight it was just us. We felt our way along the path to the sand, our eyes adjusting just in time for us to dodge around the wooden benches and poles. There was no moon tonight, but the stars were bright and promising.
The sand was iced with snow. It crunched beneath our feet as we ran. I love the cold because it makes me feel like I'm running fast. My stride length was nothing to brag about, but it sure felt like my legs were turning over quickly. I will choose to believe that they were.
I could have run forever like that, beneath the stars with the ocean cheering me on, the cool sea breeze blowing in my face. The whole time I ran with my neck craned up and swiveling like the lighthouse light that passed over us every minute. I think the feeling can be summed up in Mary Oliver's poem, "The Storm."
The Storm
By Mary Oliver
Now through the white orchard my little dog
romps, breaking the new snow
with wild feet.
Running here running there, excited,
hardly able to stop, he leaps, he spins
until the white snow is written upon
in large, exuberant letters,
a long sentence, expressing
the pleasures of the body in the world.
Oh, I could not have said it better
myself.
Out there by the ocean, with no one around, it is impossible not to want to leap and spin and throw your arms out like an airplane and pretend to fly. In fact, it almost feels like you can.
To fully welcome 2014, we did twenty jumping jacks and a fourteen second sprint. We returned to the car with our rosy cheeks and foggy glasses, our hearts beating, our minds clear, and our spirits invigorated.
One would think that after a week-long intensive writing camp, I would be posting every day. Or at least writing every day. But I am ashamed to admit...I am not. Leaving camp, I had this grand idea that I would sit down and write every day. I made a document called "Writing Exercises," where, for three consecutive days, I gave myself a prompt and free-wrote, non-stop for five to ten minutes. Five minutes a day...how hard can that be?
Mind you, I said three consecutive days, meaning that after the third day I skipped two, then remembered and went back to it, then skipped another. It's not that I don't want to write. It's certainly not that I don't have anything to write about. In fact, I have too much to write about, between all the inspiration from camp and Les Mis rehearsals and work and the beach. I think a big problem is that I don't know what to choose. I have all these scattered snippets in random documents and on scrap pieces of paper and notebooks and sticky notes on my desktop. They are all just seeds floating in the wind, waiting for someone to grab them and plant them in the ground. Unfortunately there is only one of me, and I have a history of being slightly indecisive.
But that doesn't explain why I can't sit down for five minutes to just "dump write." And I think it's because I haven't made it part of my routine yet. At camp, it was amazing to have it naturally built into my daily routine. I don't have that at home. I don't have class to go to or an assignment to complete. I only have my own self-motivation, and let's face it, it's a lot easier to say "no" to yourself than it is to someone else.
So does that mean I'm not a writer? Does that mean I'm not "serious enough" to be one? I would like to think that I still am a writer, because I am always thinking about writing. I think about writing when I read and analyze other people's work. I think about writing when I'm onstage, and I think about the words I am saying, and I ask myself, "Why did the author choose these specific words? What do they convey about my character?" I think about writing when I see a little crab stand on his hind legs and pinch the air while I squat to meet him eye to eye, and I think, "What would he be saying right now if he could talk?" And for whatever reason, all I can imagine is an angry, swearing foreigner.
I believe I am a writer because I am always noticing. I don't think the true gift of a writer is how they use words; I believe it is the things they choose to bring to light: the dead fox on the side of the road, the bruised apple, the ripped flag...all the things others may not blink twice over. I believe the true gift of a writer is his/her ability to make the ordinary, extraordinary.
The title of this post is inspired by a poem my friend shared with me, called "So You Want To Be A Writer" by Charles Bukowski. Bukowski begins his poem with the following lines:
if it doesn't come bursting out of you in spite of everything, don't do it.
Although these moments may not happen all the time, I have experienced the moments when it does come bursting out of me, like those times before bed when I turn my light off and on four times as I think of another note to jot down in my notebook.
He later writes:
unless being still would drive you to madness or suicide or murder, don't do it.
And this is why I know I am a writer, because I love to share what I notice. I know I am a writer because I love to share things with you on this blog.
The majority of Bukowski's poem highlights the passion you must have if you want to be a writer. I agreed with most of Bukowski's points, except for the following lines:
if you have to sit there and rewrite it again and again, don't do it. if it's hard work just thinking about doing it, don't do it.
Writing is hard work and I don't think any published author could say that there are never days when they don't want to write. I think the same is true of any profession.
I guess the underlying message of this long ramble is that, no matter what profession you are interested in, there will always be days when you don't want to do it. There will be periods in your life when you aren't able to do it as much as you like. You will always meet people who practice more than you do and do whatever it is, better than you do––believe me, I learned from camp. No matter if you lose touch with it at some point, know that, if you truly are meant to be in that profession, you will always return. That is when you will know you have passion. And that is when you will know that you have what it takes.
A dandelion seed floated over my notebook. Over my Pilot G-2 07 ink pen that stains my hand blue. Over the plastic spoon in my Chobani cup. It was like an exotic fairy with a white peacock headdress. It asked me to follow it. I stood on the brick wall and leaned forward on my tip-toes, but I couldn't fly and I wasn't light enough to be carried in the breeze.
I watched it.
My first thought was to make a wish, but I feared I would overwrite a wish it perhaps already carried. I thought about what that wish may be. Maybe a wish for love. For a message from God. Time. "I forgive you." A call from a daughter or son. A job. A puppy. A Barbie Color-Change Mermaid doll. A college acceptance letter. A text. A hundred more wishes.
Maybe it was a message that I'm okay. That everything will be okay. A reassuring pat on the shoulder.
Maybe it was a sign to move on. Forget about what could have been or might have been. Enjoy summer.
Maybe it was just a dandelion seed, detached by the breeze. And maybe I shouldn't analyze so much.
I watched until it disappeared from sight, off to catch a ride on a shooting star.
The trees become shorter, but I grow taller. The pack digs into my back, my shoulders, my hips. I crawl on hands and knees, wedge the toe of my boot into a crevice. Stay low to the ground, pray I don't slip. We cross a rushing river streaming down from a waterfall.
Photo courtesy of Melissa Morris.
One person crosses, extends a hand, and waits for the next person to go. We continue like this, extending a hand for each other. Cloud vapor melts on my face like cotton candy, rain drips down my forehead and plasters my stray hairs to my skin. The last quarter mile drags on forever.
Photo courtesy of Melissa Morris.
Finally we spot a chimney over the head of a tall rock––only 100 steps away from a warm hut and food. We are half right. The hut has food but no heat, so we eat to stay warm. Fresh salad with goat cheese and cranberries, chili and rice and green beans with cheese and sour cream and cashews. Warm pumpkin pie for dessert. Homemade bread to munch on. I fill up but still all I can think about is breakfast the next morning.
Photo courtesy of Melissa Morris.
As an end-of-the-year celebration, my school does something called "Endersession," (it's a made-up word) in which every student selects an activity for the week. I chose hiking in the White Mountains. We set out Tuesday and stayed at a hut near the summit of Mt. Washington. Tuesday, I felt so invincible. We planned to summit Mt. Washington Wednesday, and hike along the presidential range and stay at another hut. Alas, the mountain reminded us who was the almighty. It trapped us in the hut Wednesday, forcing us to spend another night at our first hut, where we exhausted every card and improv game imaginable.
Photo courtesy of Corey Bova.
The next morning we rose to greet the first sunlight we had seen in nearly 24 hours. We rose at 4:20am, slipped on our boots and rain jackets, and trudged off into the morning mist. We raced against the sunrise (5:04am) and made it in a record fifteen minutes. We crouched behind a giant rock and watched as the sun's rays melted away the gray-blue of a foggy night, and then as it finally peaked its baby's bonnet over Mt. Washington.
I was so happy to be there without my parents. Here I was, hundreds of miles away, taking life into my own hands and experiencing the world for myself. No cell phone or Facebook calling for my attention. No temptation to see who texted me back or who liked my status. Just me and no one else's opinion of me or expectations of me.
I know I will find many more mountains to climb in life. Some mountains I will climb solo; some mountains I will climb with others; and some mountains I will carry someone on my back.
Photo courtesy of Melissa Morris.
As I stood at the bottom of Mt. Washington on Thursday afternoon, I was humbled as I looked at the Cog Railway travelling the vertical distance of the mountain we had just climbed. I remembered when we had stood up there only hours previous, and I felt so tall and regal. Here I was, no longer tall like the mountain or with the mountain, but at the base, reminded of the mountain's majesty. I only have to close my eyes, though, and I will again be standing on its summit, feeling tall and capable of anything.
I made a friend today. As I held my bouquet of wilting flowers (and some fresh ones) on the bus to school this morning–I would be playing crazy Ophelia in Act IV, Scene V of William Shakespeare's tragedy, Hamlet, later that night at school–I parted the leaves to sniff the lilacs and I found a little wormy friend.
There he was, all curled up like a baby in a crib. I probably woke him from some deep slumber. The polite thing would've been to gently replace the leaf and let him sleep. But I was curious. It had been a long time since I had seen an inch worm. I was almost tempted to take it off the leaf and let it inch up my arm, like I used to do when I was younger. Then I remembered someone I didn't know was sitting next to me, and perhaps they would think I really had gone mad. So I satisfied myself with observing.
I felt like I was going to "Show & Tell." I think for "Show & Tell" in kindergarten I brought in my mom's old teddy bear. No offense Teddy, but I think the inch worm would've beaten you.
I should've realized from the holes in the leaves that I might have a friend along for the bus ride. I couldn't help but think how far I was bringing him from home. Literally millions of miles farther than he would probably ever have travelled in his lifetime. I don't know if he should've thanked me or hated me.
It reminded me of a children's story. I can picture it now:
Ian the Inchwormwas just an ordinary inchworm, but he craved the unordinary. The green leaves didn't satisfy him; he was hungry for adventure. One starry night, Ian was lounging on his leaf when he saw a shooting star. He wasn't the superstitious type, but he figured he might as well make a wish anyway. He wished for an adventure. Then, he went to sleep and dreamt about the world beyond his little lilac bush. When Ian awoke, he was on some big moving, well,something. And a young girl with really big blue eyes was staring at him. He didn't know what to make of it. How did he get there? Who was this girl? Where was he going? Regardless of any of this, Ian knew one thing: he was in for an adventure.
Okay, so now you see why I don't write fiction. But seriously...kids would love it.
Anyway, I didn't keep Ian. To be honest, I wasn't too keen on having him spend the day in my locker...I don't think he would've liked it either. I placed him on a leaf and found a safe spot for him when I got to school.
I know...I sound like I'm five. But hey, sometimes it's fun to be a kid again.
It's the perfect day for a wedding. The sky is blue and clear, the air is balmy, and our magnolia tree is in bloom.
When my friend and I were younger, we used to marry our stuffed animals under this tree. Teddy and Mocha one Saturday, Blueberry and Choco the next. We gathered all the dish towels and laid out a pathway. As the groom leaned proudly against the tree waiting for his bride, one of us walked the bride down the aisle while the other followed behind, tossing magnolia petals.
Teddy and Mocha renewed their vows many a time under this tree. They seem to still be going strong. They never argue. Then again, Teddy is quite an agreeable fellow. All the stuffing in his neck went down to his stomach; it's turned him into quite the "yes man."
With the magnolia tree in bloom, I'm reminded of where I am in my life right now. I see the magnolia flowers, so full and confident. I'm still a bud, inching my way open. One of these springs I will bloom with the magnolia flowers. That will be a glorious spring.
I don't know why I took off my sweatshirt today to put on Owen's. Maybe it's because Mother Nature once again swept spring out from under our feet and guy sweatshirts are so much better than girl sweatshirts––baggy, warm, big enough to curl up into a ball under. Owen's now big enough that I can fit into his sweatshirts, even though he's younger than me. Maybe it's because he's my brother, and it was comforting. Maybe it's both.
Tonight was one of those nights I love my brother, and I feel like I need to say it because there are times I have to remind myself that I do. Last night was one of those nights, too. The saying, "Can't live with 'em, can't live without 'em" seems to be written for siblings. I don't know what it was last night or tonight, but I just appreciated him.
I've realized that I like taking care of Owen, but only when he doesn't expect it. I like the mornings when I make him his PB&J on Scali bread with Skippy® peanut butter, sealed in a ziplock bag instead of plastic wrap. Two lemonade juice boxes chilled in the freezer. Something crunchy. Something sweet. Peanut butter crackers or a granola bar if he's staying after school. I like making him eggs at 11:30pm when he's gotten home late from a basketball game. I like when he asks me what sneakers he should wear in the morning, even though I don't have an opinion. Usually, I even like struggling over a math problem together.
I guess what I liked the past two days is that he didn't have any of his friends to act cool around. He didn't have to act like he was too cool for his big sister.
66º today and sunny. My little cousin was over, and I decided to take advantage of the nice weather to have some quality cousin-bonding time––or maybe just to put off cleaning my room for another few hours. No...it was the bonding time.
She ran ahead and wanted to balance on every curb, pick every flower, and say hello to everyone. She asked everyone their names and then proceeded to introduce herself and me to all those who stopped to acknowledge her chirpy three-year-old voice. She grew tired on the way home, so I carried her. She was fascinated by our moving shadows as we walked under the sun.
"Look, it's us!" she exclaimed. We waved to our shadows and then made bunny hand puppets, narrating as they hopped along.
"I got to go!" she voiced.
"Me too. I need to go eat some carrots!" I said, playing along.
"I need...I need...I need to go eat some carrot cake!" She laughed.
"That's right, you liked the carrot cake Yaya made at Easter," I said.
"Yup. I ate it all up. I want some when we get home."
"Carrot cake?"
"Yeah!"
"I don't think there's any carrot cake at home," I said.
"Yes there is. Yaya gave me some to take home after Easter!" Easter was two and half weeks ago, mind you.
"I don't think it will be there anymore," I said.
"Yes there is. I believe!" she said, throwing her grass-stained arms up in the air.
In the mind of a three-year-old, if you believe hard enough, anything can happen. What a wonderful idea.
"Every time you get on that stage, you dance your heart out. Because you will never dance the same exact dance on the same exact stage with the same exact people ever again," my friend's mom said. Every moment is like a snowflake; no two are alike.
Home from school today on a snowy afternoon. Smoothies this morning, with a ginger zing. Bread rises on the stovetop; it takes a long inhale and exhales at the slightest touch. Grandma's homemade soup keeps me warm as I'm curled up on the couch in my baggy sweats. We went outside to help my grandfather shovel this morning, and we made a snowman and a snow dog (a tribute to our dog Mocha). Our cheeks were rosy and our throats cold and it made our house seem so much warmer. I love snowbound days when I am forced to stay home. It makes me notice the things in my own environment that I forget otherwise. There's so many places I want to travel and explore, but I forget what's right outside my door. I need to know my own home before I know anywhere else. Before I know anything else, I need to know myself.
If I told you this was a moonrise, would you believe me? The picture quality isn't great. My phone camera always makes things appear so much smaller than they actually are. We finally found the charger to my brother's camera, so it's about time we charged it and started taking some real pictures!
In my 15 years, I've had the privilege of experiencing several sunrises and sunsets, and I've seen many a full moon. But I never gave the moon much thought as to how it actually got there. It's just always...appeared. It's like God just flicks the switch and there it is, nature's nightlight.
This evening, as Mom and I were changing for what would end up being a moonlight run on the beach, Michael ran in. "Quick!" he said. "You've got to check out the moon!" And there it was, but a baby's bonnet on the horizon. It rose, just like the sun. The moon full in her brilliant orange evening gown. We took off for our run and it guided us all the way home.
I suppose the moon has always risen, but I've never taken the time to notice it. It reminded me to slow down and take more time to notice. I have lived 5760 nights; the moon has risen every one of those nights. And I've never noticed it until now. It encouraged me to take the time to reflect upon other things I've noticed. What have you noticed lately?
That cloud looks like an anteater, that one a teapot, that one a genie lamp. There's a cat playing with yarn, Santa's sleigh parked over the treetops, an elephant with angel wings, a duck flying South five months too early. All this I try to capture on the page as quick as I can, before the wind blows it all away. Already I look up and the elephant is blind, enveloped by angel wings. Santa's sleigh has taken flight, the genie's three wishes are expired. The yarn has rolled downstream, and with it followed the cat. There were no ants to be found for the anteater, no one jumped for tea, and the duck has left the vicinity. Now that cloud looks like a cardinal's head, that one like a long-neck dinosaur. A teddy bear tans on its back, a skinny okra whale paddles through the blue of the sky, lost, unsure of how to get to the rushing water below. The wind blows. The kayaks slam against the rocks and hip-check each other; the waves crash like dominoes. I look up again. The cardinal found a mate somewhere, the long-neck realized it's only a few million centuries in the wrong era. The teddy bear has flipped onto its stomach to give its backside some color, and the skinny orka has moved upstream, looking for its mother.
Everything is constantly changing, although we may not always notice it. We notice not the change in the tides until we look back twenty minutes later and find the sea has taken a fancy to our flip-flops and sand buckets. Neither do we notice how tall our little brother has grown or how his voice has changed; it is always the relatives we see once a year at the family gatherings who pinch his cheeks and marvel at how big he's grown. Yet there are some things, like the clouds, that remind us of how fast time flies, and therefore remind us to not take any moment for granted.
It made me think of what the priest said at my church last week. "To dwell on life's big questions––who am I? why am I here? where am I going?" he said, "––would make the act of living an unbearably tedious and tiring job." Likewise, to dwell on the gradual and inevitable process of changing and aging, would be enough to make one either A) Shut themselves in a dark room to keep from seeing the passing of day to night or night to day or B) Spend their entire life on a hopeless journey searching for some Harry Potterish Elixir of Life.
Perhaps change is so scary because the majority of the time, it seems sudden. Yet I can look at the sky and see the clouds moving, merging, separating...anxious critters, childhood heroes, inanimate objects anxious to be on their way, and I am reminded that life is always moving forward. A few days ago we had our annual back-to-school ice cream social. It's a fun time, with lots of hugging and reunions and chatter about summer adventures. Another summer has come and gone, leaving me, as always, wondering where did the summer go?
Once again, here's hoping you're all enjoying these final days of summer!
Hello, this is Megan Lovely coming to you LIVE from San Diego! As I sit outside our hotel room typing away, the sun is breaking through the clouds, joggers, runners, and bikers take advantage of the morning air before the humidity kicks in, and a palm tree sways ever so slightly. It seems strange to have nothing to do. Rather, it seems strange to have nothing I need to do. The past few weeks have been filled with "I should do this," and "I should get ahead," but I can do all that at home. Being able to sit and just chat in the car, not trying to scribble out a few math problems or get ahead on my Art honors, has seemed unreal, uncomfortable, even.
This trip has certainly given me lots of writing time. Every day I've been treated to over an hour of writing time, something I may be lucky to get once a week back home. And boy, am I glad, because there's so much to write about! I can hardly finish one entry before something else snags my attention, jumping, begging, pleading to be written about. "Memememe! Write about me!" they all shout. I am like a mother of triplets, quadruplets, quintuplets, being pulled in a million and one directions. If only I were an octopus...
I promise I have many journals (and pictures!) to share with you, but I thought this post would be a good little introduction. There's just too many things to notice here to put only on the "Did you notice..." page, so I thought this post would be a preview for all those journals by highlighting just the little moments which the journals sprouted from. Starting from the airport, everything that has caught my eye...
Did you notice on the plane ride...
See: 35,000ft in the air and the mountain ranges look like sand flats, chipmunk cheeks and a bowl haircut, white everywhere (Owen says it looks like heaven up here) Hear: the roar of an airplane on the runway, two chatty blue-eyed blondies in the seat behind me (I've never heard "hi" so many times in my life), "Patrick, you've got round hair," the ding! of the bathroom light Smell: fried food two rows ahead Taste: ginger ale, trail mix, mango-flavored pineapple in the trail mix (why don't they just have dried pineapple?) Feel: the plane take flight
Did you notice in the airport...
See: a college student very concentrated on eating his sandwich, iPhones, iPads, iPods and other Steve Jobs memorials, iced coffee, headphones, cheap souvenirs Hear: suitcases rolling on tile, angry passengers who missed their flight, planes taking off on the runway, planes landing on the runway Smell: pizza, hamburgers, coffee Taste: excitement, anticipation (1 hour 'til takeoff!) Feel: the ground vibrate
Did you notice in San Diego... (what isn't there to notice?)
See: palm tree dancers with pineapple hats, seals inching their way up the beach like big, fat inch worms, lovers initials carved in rock (Mom calls them "hieroglyphics"), Tiki torches, mallard ducks in the hallway, the amusement park upside down, Pop-Art feet (who knew feet could be art?), houses with character, California surfer dudes (long hair, bare feet, no shirt), 40 aspiring triathlon Olympians cross the finish line, 20+ country flags Hear: Cornell the Parrot, the waves crashing, the achy creak of an old roller coaster (1925), the same man playing guitar on the beach at 7:30am, the Great Britain National Anthem Smell: seaweed, saltwater, tacos, burritos, tacos (tacos are like hamburgers here), sunscreen on my skin, Taste: fish tacos from two places (not a fan), an avocado and honey smoothie (interesting), a mission-accomplished chocolate milkshake after an hour walk and an extra two blocks Feel: the Pacific Ocean waves lap at my feet, Pacific Ocean sand between my toes and fingers, California sun warm my shoulders, the surfboard lift with the swell of the wave, my stomach in my throat, a pretty flower in my hair, sunglasses on my head
And we still have two more days here, so this list will certainly get bigger! But I couldn't wait to share :) Sending warm thoughts your way!
Did you notice the sky today? So perfectly blue and not a single cloud in the sky. The Dogwood tree blooms pretty pink in the front yard and the petals open their faces to soak up the sun. The air is cool but refreshing like a dip in the ocean. The oatmeal this morning was especially tasty and particularly pretty with mango and bananas and strawberries. Owen was ever so charming this morning and our cat Maya wasn't so loud and snotty. I smiled at the sun, I smiled at the grass. Said, "How do you do?" to the dandelions and waved to the dog walkers. I ate breakfast with Grandma and took my sweet time. I sang to the dishes and danced in bare feet. 11:11 comes along, and I can't think of a wish. My life is complete.
What do you wish for when you see 11:11 light up on the clock? Or when you blow out your birthday candles? What do you wish for on an eyelash? Or a dandelion puff? Or a shooting star? Don't answer out loud. Do you usually wish for the same thing? Or something different every time? Wishes are the perfect time to ask for guidance with your crazy dreams. It's a wish, after all. Cinderella wanted to go to the ball in a pumpkin carriage. No dream, no wish, is too crazy. All you need is a little bibbity-boppity-boo.
My friend shared this quote with me once and when I typed it into Google to get the exact words, I found it on a magnet. Figures. It's the type of quote that should be on a magnet or a card or a sign in Hallmark. What I love about this quote is that it can apply to so many different people. Whether it be a best friend, a boyfriend or girlfriend, a parent, a sibling, another relative...I hope you all have that one person whom it doesn't matter what you're doing with them. Chores, eating ice cream, watching a movie, going for a walk, just talking, or even just sitting there in silence. After all, "A real friend is someone who you can sit in complete silence with and still walk away feeling like you just had the best conversation in your life." In the silence, you can appreciate the moment you're sharing together. Notice. Sit on a porch swing and hear a dog barking, the birds chirping, the annoying squeak of an achy swing.
Between really good friends ("carrot friends", my mom calls them), you don't need to say anything. There's no need to entertain. There's no need to carefully word everything you say. There's no need to be embarrassed. You can just be yourself.
"A friend is one who knows you and loves you just the same."
~Elbert Hubbard
They love you for all your quirks and goofy smirks. All your flaws and blah blah blahs. They'll never judge, but will keep you straight. No matter what, they think you're great. (Like I know this "poem" was really corny, but that's okay!) With good friends, you value their opinion and care what they think of you. But you don't need to try so hard to get their approval.
Being a friend is a 24/7, around-the-clock job. And it's not always a walk in the park, but it's worth every extra step of the way.
Do you have any friendship quotes that you love? Or songs? (Like Taylor Swift's, "I'm Only Me When I'm With You.") I love quotes. They can so perfectly summarize a situation, a feeling, a moment, whatever it may be, all in a simple phrase. Sometimes they're like a fortune cookie, strangely appearing at very apropos moments. They're comforting, too, because you know that someone out there is thinking the same thing you are. You're not alone in this big scary world, even though sometimes it may feel like you are. And they can be interpreted in so many ways, applied to so many different situations. What I may connect to my dog, you may connect to your best friend. I love responding to quotes, too. They make perfect writing prompts. Just select a random quote, set the timer for 10 minutes or so, and write whatever comes to mind! Like a good friend, your journal won't judge you! For Christmas two years ago, my friend decorated this box and filled it with quotes. She said she had looked up online the best gifts for a writer, and she said she read that the best thing to give a writer was inspiration. So she gave me a year's worth of quotes! It was such a thoughtful gift. For awhile I chose a quote every day and responded to it in a little journal she gave me. When I was done with the quote, I glued it to the border of my vanity mirror.
Thanks to all my friends who listen to me ramble and all you readers who take the time to read it!
Here's hoping you all have or find that person someday who you can completely be yourself around. Who you can share a comfortable silence with, mess up in front of, and can call at any time of the day for anything. As my mom would say, I hope you all find your "carrot friends."
This was a week of very happy things, making me regret not having posted more often. Honestly I have no good excuse for not posting more often, considering my homework load was particularly light this week, but I still probably only averaged seven hours of sleep every night. I got distracted somewhere, I suppose, perhaps with all the happy things going on around me! But it would seem quite silly to write a post about my regret for not posting more this week about my week of happy things, because who says I can't just share all my happy things in one post? Snippets of happy things combined into one big happy post?? Little vignettes, my favorite type of writing style: short and poetic and vivid and to the point, perfect for capturing little moments. (Although these are nowhere near polished, so please excuse their lack of poetic quality. I suppose they're more like little rambles of happy things.) If you're interested, Sandra Cisneros has beautiful vignettes in her book, "House on Mango Street." I still find myself returning to her book whenever I'm in need of inspiration.
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Happy Vignette #1: Pick Up the Heart
The sky is ocean and the ocean is sky. At this time of day, the horizon line blurs so it is just one big canvas. The air is cool but there's a warm breeze blowing off the water. It's probably not much colder there than it is out here. Everything is at equilibrium, serenity, peace. Everything is at a standstill. The ocean is like one big sheet of Plexi glass, the clouds hover in a blue/gray mass but do only that. It's like running through a still life, a television show on pause.
As I run, I watch my step, avoid tripping over the jagged rocks, when I see a heart rock, stretched from the sides with long wings and a squat torso. But by the time it has registered in my head it is a heart rock I am already past and too stubborn or non-caring to turn back. Immediately I scold myself. "Why'd you do that?! That was the perfect heart rock!" Whatever. It's not the end of the world. But then, less than a minute later, I stumble upon another heart rock; bigger, better, screaming louder to be picked. This one's full and hearty, like a big bowl of homemade oatmeal. Again, I run past. But no...back up. I force myself to turn around. This is a sign, almost as if saying, "You didn't take the first one. Here's your second chance." A second chance at love. A second chance to live in the moment. Because what reason is there not for me to turn around and get the rock? So I run back. At first I think it's too big to carry, but Mom and Michael say we'll manage. We do. We take turns carrying it all the way home, spreading and sharing and passing along the love.
Paddle, paddle. Swim, swim. Don't give up! You're almost there! "Just keep swimming, just keep swimming. Just keep swimming, swimming, swimming, that's what you do is swim, swim," Dorey's words of encouragement come back to me from a favorite childhood movie, "Finding Nemo." What a smart little fish, Dorey is! Despite her poor memory and sometimes harmful naiveness, she never loses hope. No matter what predator she and Marlin ran into, no matter where the current took them, she just kept swimming. Swimming through life.
As I watch the little herrings struggle up the ladder––the final leg of their journey––I am reminded of this song. Herring (also known as alewives) are one of the most abundant fishes in the world. Every year between April and May, the herring make their journey from the ocean to freshwater ponds and brooks to spawn, a sure sign of spring on the Cape. Their migrations are called a herring run, and assisting them in the final portion of their journey are ladders built at Stony Brook in Brewster, MA. (To read more about them, click on this link.)
After a week of 80º weather, the sun decided to take a break last weekend, so Sunday was cloudy and sleepy. But if you looked hard enough, you could see the little herring flapping their fins, swimming with all odds against them, and finally, when confidence was high enough, making the leap to the next level. Then they would swim to a corner to catch their breath, where they would rest awhile, building their anticipation. I couldn't help cheering for them every time one made a leap, and crying for them (not literally) when one would miss the jump and slide back down the levels like Chutes & Ladders. I also couldn't help feeling a bit angry at the seagulls who selfishly circled the perimeter of the brook, waiting to swoop for an easy meal. Other seagulls were so fat they couldn't even fly, so they perched on a nearby bench, eyes wide with greed. But to think these little fish had come all this way was admirable, and thinking of them swimming up that ladder made me think about the hardest workout I've ever done, and agree this journey was probably harder.
Happy Vignette #3: A New Recipe
Okay, so this recipe isn't ingenious. I didn't even have to turn on the stove or mix something in a blender. It simply combines all of my favorite foods in a nutritious and utterly delicious snack that is perfect for a post-workout, pre-workout, mood-booster, any time snack! There's no complicated directions or ingredients, and substitutions are welcome and highly recommended. During play rehearsal week I was eating and drinking honey like my body was made of it because it's supposed to be good for the vocal cords. So, to give myself an extra dose of honey, one morning I decided to squirt a little honey on my toasted English muffin with peanut butter. The honey melted like ice cream under hot fudge on the warm peanut butter, becoming runny and dripping over the edges (so this is a bit messy!) But, for those of you who have been following my weekly "Did you notice..." updates and who read my post about oatmeal, you know I love texture in my food. The crunch of granola in oatmeal, the hot and cold of a warm brownie with ice cream, you name it! I also love the presentation of food. One time I ordered French Toast at a restaurant and it was just four slices of yellow bread (cooked of course) on a plate; no strawberry, no whipped cream, no accessories. It had quite a bland personality. Anyways, the other night I was making myself my new peanut butter and honey English muffin obsession and I decided to slice up a banana on top (I used three slices on each), and for that extra crunch, a few almonds. And now I have a new obsession. The carbs from the English muffin, the potassium from the banana, the protein from the peanut butter, the sugar from the honey, and the fat from the almonds...you can't get better than that! I guess I could call this "invention" "Megan's Obsession." I encourage you to try some of your own variations with your own foods...maybe Nutella and honey? Nutella and jam? A different fruit? Pick your favorite foods and give it a whirl! I would love to hear what you come up with.
Happy Vignette #4: Fifteen
This week, I am the girl in Taylor Swift's song "Fifteen." Dancing around my room, lost in giddiness (I think my character from Pirates of Penzance might be rubbing off on me). When I first turned fifteen, I didn't feel any different from fourteen. My friend told me fifteen was going to be my year. I laughed, hoping she was right, hoping that something interesting would happen! But I wasn't getting my hopes up. Now, something is finally happening! All week I've been adding to my playlist, picking songs to fit my mood and listening to them on repeat. What I love about music is how a song can perfectly sum up everything you're feeling. It's almost as if the song was written for you! And when you have someone in mind when listening to a song, it makes it all the better.
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What makes you happy? Do you like re-watching your favorite childhood movies? What's your comfort food? Do you collect anything? I would love to hear your stories, and as always thank you to those who participate in "Did you notice..." and to all those who comment. I love hearing from you! And of course, thank you to all of you who stop by and read. It's exciting for me to think who might be seeing this; it's exciting to have an audience! I hope your week is very happy and inspiring.
In a pretty pouffy petticoat I skip and spin and try not to trip.
I sing my notes high...whoops! Not that high!
Smile! Smile! Stretch it a mile!
Keep on beat, don't shuffle your feet
Again, again! Let's run it again!
Slow down, it's your turn now
Take your time and enjoy the bow.
This week has been a stressful yet very exciting week because tomorrow night is the opening night of our high school musical, Gilbert and Sullivan's "Pirates of Penzance!" Everyone's been working so hard and the show's really coming together. Even though dress rehearsal week is always stressful because we don't get home until 8 o'clock every night, meaning I don't get to really start my homework until then and also meaning I've probably been going on an average of six hours of sleep every night this week, I know as soon as I step on that stage tomorrow night and see a live audience, as soon as I step under that spotlight in my pretty pretty dress we rented that makes me feel like a princess and turns on the five-year-old instincts in me to twirl until I topple, it will all be worth it. When we all hold hands and take our bow as our family and friends cheer, I know all the stress and exhaustion I have felt all week will be replaced with the utmost adrenaline that keeps me up late into the night. To power me through the week, I've fueled myself with my favorite foods (purple cow ice cream with a brownie counts as fuel, right?). When you're stressed or have a lot on your plate, how do you keep yourself going and organized? A lot of the stress I think I create for myself. Somehow I always seem to take twice as long on my homework as I need to, often times because it's a lot easier than I make it out to be. I certainly could use a lesson or two about time management, and take a page out of how to "work smarter, not harder." Yet in all the insanity, I am happy to report that I have not forgotten to notice. Actually, it was pretty impossible not to notice in a week like this week with so much going on! After this weekend the play will be over and I will be taking off with track! Pretty soon I'll have a post saying "On your mark...set...go!" I hope you all had a fabulous week. It was beautiful weather around here; hard to believe it was winter!
Sometimes, either when I'm feeling especially inspired or particularly uninspired (especially inspired today), I like to go back and read through my weekly noticings (and as I'm typing, SpellCheck once again has brought to my attention my tendency to make up words). As I was scrolling through my reflections, I noticed that each week, they tend to have a common theme. The week of Valentine's day was filled with heart-shaped pancakes and perfect curls and a cupcake so sweet I have to close my eyes to enjoy it. Last week with the snowstorm made for noticing all things warm and comforting: an almond's crunch in my oatmeal, hot soup on my tongue, ginger tea tingling my nose. It's fun reading back on them, because it brings me back to those weeks as I remember where I was at, how I was feeling, why I noticed the things I noticed. Some weeks my eyes are strong, but other weeks they are blinded by the overpowering excitement of my nose or ears.
It's ironic considering last week was all about winter, but this week my reflections have a warmth about them: a pep, a an extra zing, for this morning I was woken not by my harsh and demanding alarm, but by the excited and welcoming call of birds. "Chop, chop, chop!" they chirp. "The time for rest is over, spring is here!"It's a little early for spring, but who says we can't celebrate early? I jump out of bed to get a closer view and see the snow has melted and with it the clouds, and just by the relaxed sway of the magnolia tree I can tell it is a warm breeze. "Hello! Hello!" the birds chatter. "Did you have a nice rest?" They greet old friends and open their beaks and sound more like frogs at first, croaking out the first notes until they finally warm up. Can you blame me for wanting to sing along?
With spring just around the corner, there's so much to notice. I encourage you to take this time to take a walk, go for a run, read outside, whatever it may be you love to do, do it outside! And if you get the chance, let me know what you find! I've loved reading the comments about what you've been noticing every week.
