The Linger

I’m rapidly approaching the two-year mark since the death of Natalie. I wish I could say that time has made it easier, and I guess in a way it has, but I still find moments when the loss of her feels shockingly fresh. She still shows up in my dreams and I bolt awake with a knot in my throat and tears in my eyes. The other night I woke up crying because I dreamed of the floor-to-ceiling bookcase in her house, the one just at the top of the stairs. I dreamed of the smell of the books.

I miss her voice. I miss it every day. I have this list in my head of all the things I want to talk to her about, as if we haven’t spoken because we’ve just been busy. I know this isn’t true, but in those brief moments when I forget she’s dead, I exuberantly anticipate her thoughts and opinions.

I miss the way she’d say my name.

I know she’s dead. I do. She’s gone. There are the parts of me where her absence hasn’t yet settled. Two years later, those places are smaller now. And I hate them for shrinking. I hate the places that have come to grips with her loss; hate how my life has kept on going at a steady clip without her in it. I hate every holiday, every occasion for a hug or a call, every big moment where the weight of her presence isn’t. Those moments propel me forward and she’s stays in the same place.

 I hate having to let go.

 But I am letting go.

 I’m resigned to do it. I hate it.   

A Person Unexpected

This post unabashedly brags about one of my nearest and dearest friends.

We met shortly after college graduation, nearly 9 years ago. Erin was the new Young Life intern in my hometown and was moving in with Natalie and Mike. Nat had me come over to clean this new girl's apartment in the attic of the Old Stone House and then one Sunday informed me that I was to be friends with the new girl until she learned her way around and, "made some real friends." Nat did not have high hopes for our friendship. To be honest, I didn't either.

Erin had gone to a private Christian high school in Virginia Beach, then to JMU. She knew several people I'd grown up with that had gone there. She was on YL staff (immediate distrust); she was conservative. The odds were against us.

But that summer I didn't have any girl friends around. She was it. And through the Venn diagram of boredom and approximation, we became friends. I remember driving around in my old 1987 Tempo (Shout out, Roy) with her that first Sunday thinking, "This girl isn't half bad!" We became speed dials; me because I was bored and Erin because she was disorganized.

Her 23rd birthday we threw her a surprise party at the Pizza Hut in Leesburg, then went bowling. There was a reason it was there, I just don't remember now.

Bowling after Pizza Hut. Grafton provides background.

When the doctors thought I had cancer, it was Erin who drove me to my appointment almost two hours away to get my bone scan. I didn't ask her to, but she insisted. When I think of an image of friendship, that is what I see.

When I was so frustrated at where I was, with how my life was looking, I'd constantly be surprised to look up and find Erin there with me. We lived our Stag 20s together. We did a lot of listening (she probably more than me). There were nights hiking through snow or watching DVDs of "Gilmore Girls". There was the random party after Chris & Rachel's wedding. There was the time Erin yelled, "GOD DAMMIT, SPOONER, I WROTE YOU A GOOD RECOMMENDATION SO YOU BETTER LIVE UP TO IT!" which may have been the first and only time I've ever heard those words come out of her Good Christian mouth. There were breakups and more than a few moments of self-shattering doubt. She was a wise voice of truth; I was the wild voice of cutting loose. She'd initiate the heart-to-heart; I'd bring over the wine.

A true sign of friendship is believing you've incredible luck. I feel like I'm cheating something to call her my friend.

Fall 2008 I met Erin for a 48-hour ridiculous adventure in Paris. It was the most geographically lost I've ever been, and yet I was never stressed or annoyed; I was with my friend. We still laugh about that trip. We provided each other with a face of familiarity.

And so it was only fitting that she's the one who told me Nat was dying; she's the one who called me when Nat had passed. She's the hand I held at Nat's memorial. She is my sister.

Natalie's death cemented something in us. I don't quite know how to explain it; she was the only friend in my life who knew Nat like I did, who understood why that woman was so vital and we spent more than a few hours on the phone in various states of grief. I don't think we're done with those calls just yet. I actually spent Christmas 2010 with Erin and her then boyfriend (now husband) Awesome Awesome Jon, and Erin and I stayed up incredibly late, talking through our grief under the glow of Christmas lights. Selfishly, being near her makes me a better person.

Awesome Awesome Jon and Erin graciously allowed me to fulfill my not-so-secret ambition and serve as a DJ for their wedding. It was nuptials for the ages. It is still discussed in those revered, hushed tones and I'm sad to say it's not because of my mad DJ skillz. It's because it was a ceremony full of wisdom and wonder, whimsy and life. They didn't shy away from the seriousness of the commitment but captured the joy of the moment. I cried. Often. I wish every wedding was like theirs.

And not just because of the most amazing balloon man EVER.

For New Years I went down to Jacksonville to visit Erin and Awesome Awesome Jon in their new home. It was such a relief to be around my friend who knows me well; who delves into the deep conversations as if they were held in the cups of coffee in our hands, who laughs easily and encourages humor without stressing it. I pray that Erin is a lifelong friend. I pray I'm the sort of friend who is worth it.

Erin and I will probably never live in the same city again; the seven hours apart we are now is the closest we will be in the foreseeable future. That feels so final. It physically hurts to realize I can't swing by her place when I've the best or worst news, even as we've not lived near each other in almost six years.

It's easy to not believe in God.

Easy to believe that chance, hormones and gravity are all that's at work in our lives.

But I find it hard to ignore when specific needs have been so meticulously met; when a friend I'd never choose becomes a friend I can't do without, when the voice most needed comes through a person unexpected.

And for that--and so many other things--I'm grateful.

(Posts about Erin: here and here and here and here. There are probably more but I'm feeling lazy)

Two Months Out

I make no illusions about grief. It has now been almost two months to the day of Natalie's death, and I can't say I've begun to learn this language at all. If anything I'm discovering more words I didn't know I didn't know. Grief comes in such tiny splinters that I don't expect them until they are in me—under my fingernails come tiny shards of a life I so dearly miss and they do their best to double me over in pain. The other week I cried for an hour about an AOL email address. Seriously. I realize it sounds ridiculous but that is the thing with splinters: outside of us they are so tiny, but when they are where they are they are monumental. The night I got back to Virginia from a very hard trip to Canada I went over to Nat and Mike's to try on some of her old clothes (yeah nothing emotional about that endeavor) and in all my mental fortitudes I wasn't prepared for the coats to smell like her.
They smelled like her. Her hands were in the pockets.
I felt them there.
I can't touch those coats now because they feel like a hug and I lose it. They are on a chair.

The trip to Canada was agonizing because I was with men who didn't seem too keen on the business of living. All of them had gone through divorces or rough marriages or wars or other losses, all of them exhibited no signs of zest. At times it felt like I spent the trip trying to convince them to keep living. Maybe I am more sensitive to it right now because of Natalie, but to them life was more a chore to be endured than a gift to be enjoyed. I just watched a woman with a love of life lose it and then to spend 10 days with men who have life and seem so keen to trash it was, in a way, utterly profane. It was offensive. I wanted to scream at them for being so careless with something I know others have fought so hard to keep. I didn't.

There is much to say about the trip to Canada but I don't think this is the place to do it. Coming back I felt like my heart was sunburned, rough, raw, flaking and peeling, hot and sore to the touch. I felt like I left pieces of my heart strewn along the highway, on the shoulders of those I hugged, on pillows where I slept. I picked at it in moments of quiet and regretted it in moments of movement. It was never comfortable.

I realize that living can be unsexy; it is by its very nature., because living is sustained and sexy isn't. Living isn't some big constant adventure, it isn't one high after another, because living is real, and to be real, it needs to be rooted and there is nothing sexy about rooting. Roots aren't pretty. They are dirty, they are unseen, they get no glory. But they endure.
And lord, when roots are true, do they produce some beautiful flowers.

May the Mind

May the mind of Christ, my Savior,
Live in me from day to day,
By His love and power controlling
All I do and say.

Natalie’s memorial service was lovely. Michelle and Dave did a great job organizing it, and, in deference to Natalie’s ever-present faith, the service was God-filled. No one there was surprised that it was a service about her faith. The second song sung was a hymn I didn’t know, but its words captured so well the life and prayer of such a dear woman.

May the Word of God dwell richly
In my heart from hour to hour,
So that all may see I triumph
Only through His power.

The words spoken about her were true and imperfect, stories of cancer and remission and cancer again. There had to be 300 people there on a mild and bright Saturday afternoon. I sat between Erin and Megan, two friends who have loved me wisely and well throughout the years. I know Erin because of Natalie; I was so thankful for their hands and hearts. We all needed to touch each other, to keep moored. Grief was pounding.

May the peace of God my Father
Rule my life in everything,
That I may be calm to comfort
Sick and sorrowing.

I was the last to speak. I didn’t know what I wanted to say except that she taught me irrational and unconditional love, that she was my hero and mentor, and that I am who I am because of what she gave. Her investment in me is my daily breath. I don’t remember what I said. I hope that my thoughts came out. Words can't capture the biggest gratitudes.

May the love of Jesus fill me
As the waters fill the sea;
Him exalting, self abasing,
This is victory.

I cried. Lord did I cry. I haven’t stopped crying. I have no strength or energy to care about much else. I want so badly to be a good representation of who she was, to honor her, but thinking of her is suffocating. I am bone tired from carrying weight. She would tell me that I was loved far beyond her own capacity to love, and that that love endures. Her steadfast reminders I will miss.

May His beauty rest upon me,
As I seek the lost to win,
And may they forget the channel,
Seeing only Him.

"The Compass Rests"

My friend Kari wrote a lovely blog post about those who act as compasses in our life, an entry based on our conversations about the illness and loss of Natalie (here). I am so thankful to have had such a compass through the hurricane of my youth.

Thanks, lovely friend, for the thoughts and words. I'm learning grief isn't a bullet, rather it is buckshot. There isn't one big hole, there are thousands of them. I feel like I find a new fragment almost every moment.

"Love and friendship carry with them great pain sometimes but it is such a comfort to know that the Lord is with us in the midst of our suffering." --Natalie in a email to me, 2007.

Own Tales to Tell

I've had the same email address since 1998, and have saved a file of the email correspondence I shared with Natalie over these 12 years. I started going through them today.

This is an email Natalie sent me in January, 2001. We had gone out for her birthday the night before, and I had sent her an email essentially telling her I was lying about who I was: I was pretending to be the same person I was in high school when I was home but in college I wasn’t like that at all. I was afraid to tell her, because I thought she’d reject me, or tell me I’d let her down, or judge me. Instead, this is the email I got.

Sarah,

As I said earlier, your friendship is a privilege and I am so grateful that you trusted me enough to send that e-mail. You were right, it didn't shock me...I've sensed a lot of what you said but it doesn't change how I feel about you. There are some advantages to "old age", one being that I REALLY know that we are people in process and sometimes the process ain't pretty. I have my own tales to tell--truly. And I trust you enough to share them with you sometime. From where I stand today I am at peace with the knowledge that nothing I've done has shocked God or made Him stop loving or forgiving me, ever. As for you, what matters to me is that you know I love you and will always be here for you. Much of what you are thinking, feeling, living is SO normal for folks your age--Christian or not. Believe me, I was part of the Christian college environment but I think our stories would parallel one another.

You and I have so much in common despite our places in time...I lived for many years trying to reconcile my emotional needs with how I wanted but was unable to live consistently. I don't wish the pain and isolation I experienced on anyone yet God has redeemed those years as only He can. That is just one of my stories.

We deceive ourselves in thinking that we are closer to God than we really are...it is He who stays close to us. You are His child and always will be--with or without your anger, questions and self-doubt.

I treasure your friendship Sarah...I don't know why I've been so blessed but I will never take this gift for granted. Anyone who crosses paths with you is privileged. It is such a joy for me to be part of your life, your adventures, your heartaches...whatever.

I really hope that picture we took at the restaurant turns out well...last night will remain amidst my very special memories.

I'll talk to you soon,
love always,
Nat

The Truck

For the past nine months or so, I’ve been standing in the middle of a road. There was a truck coming; I knew it is coming. There were times when I saw the dust from its tires; I heard the sound of its rumble. It was coming and I could not stop it, could not step out of its path. I tried to prepare for it, tried to steel myself for the collision, to brace for the impact. A truck was coming. I just didn't know when.
The truck hit on Friday night, when Erin called and tearfully said, “Sarah, it’s the call.”

Natalie has died.

She was 53.

I was prepared for the shock of her death. I wasn’t prepared for the grief.

There Came A Whisper

Friday night I retreated to my own mountain with three friends. We got to the summit of Max Patch just as the sun was setting and we sat in the grass and watched as the sunset took on the hues that only come from done days. It was quiet.
As the light faded we lay on our backs; the stars appeared when they were ready.

The mountain breeze blew sweetly across the summit and we bundled together in the elevated chill. I felt God on my face.

There is a lovely passage in 1 Kings where Elijah is running from the law; he’s a hunted man and it seems everyone wants to kill him. He flees, hides in a cave in a mountain and gives up on life, asking God to kill him and put him out of his misery. God seems to ignore him and says, “Go out and stand on the mountain in the presence of the Lord, for the Lord is about to pass by."
So Elijah does. He’s not doing anything else except waiting to die. A great and powerful wind tore the mountains apart around him and shattered rocks. But, it says, the Lord was not in the wind. After the wind came an earthquake; the Lord was not in the earthquake. And after the earthquake there came a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire. And after the fire there came a gentle whisper.

That was God.

I’ve joked previously that sometimes when I pray I feel like I’m talking to God while he’s snacking, and he doesn’t hear certain things because maybe he’s eating loud Fritos or something.

But in this season where grief is surrounding me, I thirst so mightily for that whisper. There is this closeness, an intimacy and a little bit of secrecy to a whisper—it is a conversation between me and God, for no one else but us. He is the breeze that kisses my face. I feel in those moments that I am heard, I am loved, and I am held.

Not What I Would Have You Be

Notes:

* Last night I had a dream in which Natalie drove up to me in her Volvo wagon. We were in Hamilton and she looked happy and healthy and as I was running toward her car I was yelling to the people around to take a photo of me with her, to show the world her happy and healthy face, to have proof of her there with me. It was so vivid. I woke up exhausted.

* I got a new phone the other week, an HTC Droid. I am in love with this device. I was already in a very serious, almost unhealthy relationship with my old phone and now that I've upgraded to Verizon's version of the iPhone I am hopelessly committed to my tiny technology. A few weeks ago I had several friends in town and we did the massive brewery tour known as Ducks & Bears. At the first brewery I got up to get samples and while I was gone, my friends decided to hide my phone and see how long it took for me to notice. Verdict? 120 seconds. Actually it was about 45 seconds, but it took me those extra seconds to ask them about it. See? Possibly unhealthy.

* I'm trying to get better about being honest about how I feel. For a few years I've been trying to be someone who was more relaxed than I actually am, someone who was good with maybes and "let's see where this goes" and know what? I'm not. I'm terrible at that. No mas! I'm embracing my need for definition!

* I know I'm not too funny on my blog, but I swear I'm pretty funny in real life. At least I think I'm funny. I crack myself up every single day. I had a thought about Miami Sound Machine like four days ago that I'm still laughing about.

* My cubicle is a serious shitshow. I need to put away some files; it looks like a box of papers vomited all over my desk. That is both truthful and kinda metaphorical.

* Know what is a great damn song? "Alligator" by Tegan and Sara. I've said it before and I'll say it again: I love those wonder twins. My current favorite song to play on guitar is "Call it Off" by them; the line "Maybe I would've been something you'd be good at" just kills me. Also: they are wicked funny.

* There is a game on my phone called Drop. Betsy currently has the high score between the two of us. I finally beat her last night but this morning she pulled ahead again. It is slightly embarrassing how badly I want to beat her at this (guess who needs a new hobby).

* Natalie Merchant, yes she of 10,000 Maniacs fame, is back with a new concept album and what I've heard of it I've really enjoyed. She's taken poems from the 19th and early 20th centuries and turned them into song. Check it out.

* I'm exchanging social media classes for free wine. I met the general manager of a local wine bar, talked to her about Twitter and here we are. Best idea ever.

* 29 is coming up quick. What do I do about that?

* Last week I had a speed Scrabble/margarita night with the ladies. These are entirely necessary and should happen as often as possible. I pulled muscles laughing. Please note: jahats is not a word. Ahem.

* Friday night my friend Andrew's band had a show at the Grey Eagle. It was fabulous. I was super impressed with their opening act, Boys of Summer. Reminds me of Hem with a dash of Innocence Mission. Check 'em. Seriously great.

* Saw this quote today from Madeline L'Engle and I love it: "Because you are not what I would have you be, I bind myself to who, in truth, you are." That sounds like what I suspect love is but I don't know.

* My father called me the other day to hear my analysis on the Redskins signing McNabb. I talked for 10 minutes straight about it and he said, "Yup, can always count on you for better analysis than the commentators." Football is a way we connect, a language we both speak, so that was a huge compliment.

* I'm missing people even when they are standing next to me. Is there a name for this?

* This blog is brought to you by the letter N and the number 9.

One of Us In a Boat

So my blog is now seven years old. I've said a lot of things over and over during those seven years. And yes, very often my blog does act like a second grader.
One of the hard parts of blogging right now is that much of what I want to write I don’t even say aloud. I do a lot of twittering (shameless plug: www.twitter.com/ssspoonah) because it is easy to keep it light, keep it funny, keep the dog and pony show going, keep the bowling pins in the air.

In reality, it’s been a lonely year. I haven’t been alone, I’ve been lonely. I’m far from alone: I’ve had more visitors than I’ve ever hosted, attended dinners and parties weekly, had wine nights and mimosa mornings, camping trips, hikes, paddling adventures; I’ve met dozens of new friends and spent more time laughing than crying.

For the most part, my life is full. I have a great job. I have a good community. I have friends all over the country that love and support me. In this way, I am blessed.

But I am also very lonely. It’s hit me more this year than in years past. When I attend events, it is as a solo entity; I am not part of some dynamic duo. I am single. It has become more obvious to me as less and less of my peers are in the same boat. I am among the waning few that show up alone.

I have to be honest: it hurts.

I’ve been friends with several girls (and I use that term intentionally) who seemed resolute in the belief that their life couldn’t really “start” until they were paired up. They couldn’t make decisions about what to do or where to go until the marriage license was signed. It was as if the whole of their lives was actually the one dimension of matrimony.

I am not waiting for my life to start; I’m living my life. I’m just growing tired of doing it without company, of having a fabulous night, then driving home and sleeping alone. I am finally ready to admit that.

Natalie’s illness has only exacerbated this. I haven’t heard her voice or seen her beautiful face in almost six months and it kills the core of me. It is a physical ache. Erin used the best metaphor and I’ll plagiarize it: my heart is a compass and Natalie is my magnetic north. She steadfastly points in the right direction; she gives bearing when the sky is too dark to see stars. Without her, I feel unmoored; adrift, heartbroken and alone.

2009 has been a good year; a great year in some respects. But to my heart it has been most cruel.

This Bitter Heart

Usually when my life is in turmoil and tragedy has struck and I don’t know what to do or where to turn, I go to Natalie. When good things happen, she is my first call. Default, no question. I call her, I stop by, I sit on that couch with tea and we talk and things are ok. I talk to her at least once a week. She has loved me so well. It’s been this way for 14 years. She attended my high school graduation, my college graduation.We were discussing a trip to Asheville.

So what do I do now that she is the tragedy?

Walking to my car this morning, that was my shock. I thought, “I’m so heartbroken; I really need to be loved and comforted; I need to call Nat” only to literally stop in my tracks and realize I couldn’t. I won’t hear her voice again. Nothing like showing up to work after sobbing for ten minutes.

Driving away from her house yesterday after dropping off my goodbye letter (she hasn’t the strength for a visit) I wondered if it was the last time I’d be in that driveway, in that kitchen. The word shattered doesn’t begin to describe my selfish little heart.

I don’t know how to grieve without it seeming selfish. Is there a way to do it? The person I’d normally ask that question to is Natalie.

I’m lost.

Fancy Free

It seems like every time I speak to my mother some new revelation pops up. Last week I was catching her up on trips, etc when she asked me quizzically and in all sincerity, "What exactly do you DO with your time?"
I realized that my mom doesn't really know anyone my age who isn't/wasn't married and/or has children.
At my age she had three children.
Me? I have Cranium tear-away calendar.
Just a somewhat hilarious revelation.
How does she relate to me? I worry about money and where I should go get dinner and what I'm doing with my life just like most people but that marriage/children thing is quite the chasm.
I told her, "Well, I go out to dinner a lot, hang out with friends a lot, go on spontaneous adventures fairly often, sleep in as late as I want on my weekends, I'm terrible at cooking full meals for one person, I read, I waste time online, I'm not good at getting back to my leftovers...that's about it."
And she told me I was footloose and fancy-free.
Trust me, nothing fancy I own was free. That shit expensive.


Photo of the week: Mike and Natalie and Mike's new smartcar. He's been drooling over one for almost two years and finally got off the waiting list and got his own! He's about 6'2" and says it's roomy. Natalie is my dear mentor and friend and all good things. This photo made my day.

My Tended Earth

Wow, whadda whirlwind. I drove back to VA last Wednesday, stopping to have dinner with Matt and Megan, two friends I have known literally my entire life (I met Matt when I was five and Megan has been a dear friend since I was 15. I actually introduced the two of them; amazing people) and got to have dinner with Megan out at Brubaker's in Old Town Winchester. I was getting ready to leave when they said, “Just stay! You've been in the car for 7 hours already!” so I did. Great time with lovely friends and their sweet daughters. Finally got to my dad's house on Thursday morning in time to have some quality coffee and Washington Post time with my dad before driving up to Natalie's and then driving her Volvo Cross-Country out to Wegman's for the best lunch one could ever fathom getting at a grocery store. Wegmans=Heavenly experience. If you ever have the chance to go to a Wegmans, just go. Do not ask questions. And of course Natalie somehow has a chunk of my very soul and is one of the people I love most on this planet, so any time at all spent with her is a gift straight from the heavens. Needless to say it was a lovely afternoon. I got home in time for a very quick nap and then shower before delicious BBQ dinner with my dad and uncle. Love meals with bitter old men...makes me feel youthful and optimistic. Then I headed out to Arlington to hop the Metro to the home of the incomparable Emile, a friend I met literally the first night of college; someone I want to figure out a way to have in my life even more. You would do well to have her in your life in any capacity. Sitting out on her front porch in NW, drinking Sierra Nevadas and mocking her pea-sized bladder: it was priceless.

(Emilie and I at the college version of a cocktail party, Fall 2002)

I stayed there Thursday night and got back to my car early enough to not have to pay for my overnight Metro parking (gates are open til 10:30am, holla!) on the way home I dropped my car off to get inspected and piddled around the house while I waited for my car. Once I got it back I drove out to Michelle and Dave's house for an all too brief visit before cutting down Snickersville Turnpike for my trip up the mountain and back to Adventure Links. What a treat that was. I can't tell you how much I love those people. Like my insides literally flipped in joy just hearing their voices. I got a physical ache; these are people who know and love me well. Anna, Austin, Audrey, Autumn, Shelby, Dave and Scott made for the perfect sort of dinner companions and we played some entertaining board games til very late. Leaving there is never easy. I can't believe I've known them for seven years. Anna Birch is a friend to my core. I am so lucky to have her in my world.

(Anna in her natural habitat)

Saturday morning I tried to talk my dad into going out to my sister's house with me but to no avail; I made the hour trek solo to see my older sister and her four (count 'em, four) children and the new house. The house was a DISASTER. I can't blame her, the woman does have four kids and her husband works a lot but still...it reminded me so much of how cluttered my mom was with us and I got immediately angry at it. I hate that I do that; we just have different tastes and different standards (I know I am an EXTREME packrat, but compared to my family I'm SPARSE.). But I did get to see my niece and three nephews, whom I simply love and adore so it was worth it. I don't know how those boys are so genuinely nice...I hope they keep that. I got back from Bubby's and drove straight to my mother's house for a late dinner. Got to see my mom and my little sister and pick up a trunk full of my old stuff which was wonderful. My little sister is growing up and away and it breaks my heart. I got back to my Dad's in time to watch a little TV with him and then go to bed. I slept in on Sunday and took a traditional Spooner Sunday morning, which consists of reading the entire Washington Post Sunday Edition and drinking at least three cups of coffee the consistency of tar. My uncle came over again later in the afternoon and then I went and grabbed my little sister, took her to dinner, came back to dad's, dropped off the beer he asked to pick up then drove the 30 minutes out to South Riding to have drinks with the one-of-a-kind cynicism that is Amber and Mark. Two people I wish lived in Asheville with me: those two. Seriously. I could be so lucky.

So now, 833.7 miles later, I'm finishing up my trip to the VA and heading back south. North Carolina is home now and for the immediate future, but there is something so bittersweet about coming back to an area and a people so intimate to me; it's a watering of the roots in a way. This is my soil, my tended earth, these are the places and the people that made so much of me and I love them unabashedly for that. I am so blessed in every faction of living.

(Speaking of blessed and past: someone who left my life five years ago has very suddenly returned in a very full way. I am ecstatic about this. I've prayed for this person daily for five years; to have them back in the picture in any capacity is tear-inducing. We'll see where that goes in the redux.)

Job Searching for Dummies

* Why does every single job posting in Asheville involve "be your own boss!!!!!!" or a nursing position? Are we really a town of diseased entrepreneurs? I had no idea, I better catch up.
* Charleston, SC = Awesome.
* People really work 6pm-4am shifts? Who are these people?
* Hardee's still exists? Really?
*I hate this. It all makes me want to vomit.
* "There is no lapse in God's goodness." Thanks for that, Natabee.
*I could be a park ranger. I'd get a hat. That's awesome.

Bullet Points

Hello friend, been a long time. Not really but it just seems like it's been a long time, and the appearance of distance is enough to make me feel neglectful. The interweb of America told me so. Things that have happened since the last time I blogged:

• Robin and I made Leslie the best/worst care package to ever be mailed. We deserve high fives and/or smacks upside the head. Anyone want a Misty cigarette?

• Josh and I got Mamacita's burritos and drove up to Craggy Gardens to watch the sunset. It was imperfect and a moment of time I pray will never lose it's sweetness. That is what I love about summer: memories imperfect and delicious. Like homegrown fruit.

• Took car in to have transmission rebuilt. Do not pass go, do not collect any money, but give away a lot. Car once again really, really fun to drive.

• Flew to VA for Amber and Mark's wedding. God bless open bars and gin and tonics, cuz that was a HOT evening. I did actually cheer and fist pump when they were pronounced; that should happen at more weddings. Another chock full visit to the LoCo—time out driving around with my oldest sister in the 1987 F-150 pickup that was my first car that my Dad still keeps around, dinner with Dad and Lori, riding back roads with Amy Jones, drinks with the Bafton, a brief visit with Romano, some quality time on Natalie's couch, etc. Stayed with Michelle and Dave; I'm truly blessed.

• Learning the sweetness and love involved in discipline. Understanding lines and boundaries are meant to be out of love, not out of spite. Mulling over Hebrews 12:12-13. “Therefore, strengthen your feeble arms and weak knees. Make level paths for your feet, so that the lame may not be disabled, but rather healed.” Trying to make level paths.

• Still no idea what I'm doing for work in, oh, three weeks. Any suggestions?

• Sustained drama in one's life is a choice. Choose no.

• Would punch you in the face for a chicken biscuit right now. Sorry, honest craving.

Mile Wide and an Inch Deep, part 3

Story #3:
I was driving Nathan's jeep to Natalie's house, to spend the afternoon with her and have the chance to see Michelle, my old YL leader, and her son Dylan. I was nervous about seeing Natalie; I can't stand to see people I love in pain, or looking frail. I lose words. I don't know what to do with my hands.
I exit off rt 7 to turn onto 287 when Nathan's jeep just shuts off. And won't restart. And smoke is pouring from under the hood. crap. Immediately this nice old man in a Cadillac comes over and looks at it, points out the obvious overheating/leaking, and offers me a ride into town for a towtruck. This is in my hometown, which until a few years ago only had one stoplight. It is a very small town and I was basically born and raised there. This first became evident when in the two minute drive I had with this guy we discovered he knew my older sister, was friends with my mom (who has a different last name than me) and had actually been to my house when I was a kid. He drops me off at Bridge's towing in downtown. I go in and talk to Mrs. Bridges, who used to be my favorite nurse and the mother of a schoolmate of mine from K through 5. While I'm waiting another kid from elementary school walks in the front door. We say hello. Oh jeez again. A State Trooper sitting in the shop asks where the jeep is. I tell him and he tells me I need to move it or it might get towed. I tell him I'm by myself, it won't start and I'm strong but can't push it and steer at the same time.
Next thing I know I'm riding in the front seat of his patrol car, on our way back to the jeep. That thing has got quite the pickup. We get back to the jeep and he thinks its gross outside so instead of getting out to push me, he thinks it'll be better if he just rams me off the side of the road. Gently. So I'm sitting in the jeep in neutral with no power steering, cranking the wheel all the way to the right and laughing so hard I can't breathe while State Trooper man is positioning his patrol car to ram me repeatedly. His lights are blaring and he's just ramming me. Seriously.
I call a tow truck and who comes but the guy who now owns the shop, yet another person from ELEMENTARY SCHOOL (now my school was 100 kids in K-5. total. 100 kids.) so I ride with him back to the shop with the jeep and we do some catching up. Back at the shop I talk to his mom for ten minutes. Such a bizarre day at this point.
Natalie ends up picking me up (even though she's not supposed to be driving) and it was a hard time for me. I was distracted by the jeep events and then seeing her like that...she just looks smaller. And she's already so small. My heart sort of feels itchy at it all.
Needless to say I didn't get to Charlottesville to see Seth and Ellen, as the car I had was at the shop. Nathan was cool about it; apparently the jeep had that problem previously. Woops.

February

Lots going on in this head at the moment. It's that period of time when I simply have to tell myself what I should be thinking in order to quell all that my pessimistic mind would have me dwell upon. Part of this I blame on the impending doom of February.
I'm serious. February is that time of year when everything sort of looks grey, there is little that brings joy or hope or promise. Spring is an eternity away, daylight is as dull as a textbook and skin is dry and cracked. It just makes those things that are less than ideal even more disheartening. Dar Williams has an old song about February that I don't particularly like, but it does capture the time well, the freezing and the forgetting.

What I've been listening to lately:
Old school Hole, like "Doll Parts" and "Miss World". Why I don't know
"These Friends of Mine" album by Rosie Thomas, featuring Denison Whitmer and Sufjan Stevens
Old Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers
"Fisherman's Woman" album by Emiliana Torrini
And, randomly, Styx. Like "Mr. Roboto" Styx. "Come Sail Away" Styx.
And then "Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots, Pt. 1" by the Flaming Lips.
(So songs about robots)
The Indigo Girls first album. I think this brings me comfort, since I've had it since I was 8.

(the above photo is with Natalie at my college graduation. Nat has been my mentor, friend, and mother figure for close to ten years. I owe much of who I am currently to her and her strength, humility, honesty and integrity. Last week we found out her cancer has returned. Her spirits are great, she's ready to beat it for a third time. I'm not, I'm a friggin' mess. I have puffy eye syndrome from bursts of tears. I want to take four shots of cheap whiskey and then kick something)

Tuna and Puppy

Well here it is, my 230th post.
I wasn't sure what I wanted to say, given that 230th seems rather large and some sort of benchmark in a way, but I said screw it and decided to write whatever came to mind.
Last week I got an offer to be a freelance writer for the Loudoun-Times Mirror (a situation that requires a lot of background and a whole lot of what could be chalked up to dumb luck). Today was a day off so I was working on my writing samples, which, for some reason, is the most stressful thing for me. Today I got a phone call from an editor at the Times-Mirror, asking if I'd be interested in interviewing for a position as an editorial assistant, a full time position. Oh and by the way, the interview is tomorrow. Have everything ready at 9am. Gulp. So tomorrow I interview for that, then head to my other job. The resume was easy to get together, but the writing samples--why is it so damn intimidating? I only have a few pieces I've written that I can look at and say, "Yes, that is actually what I wanted it to be." everything else is like a parent and a child: I only started it--what it became is a mystery. After much struggling I went with slight changes to a paper I wrote in college on (I kid you not) the religious dimentions of the railroad, and a story I wrote last year about a friend and a fire. I don't even know what they want, so we shall soon see how it all pans out.
Gosh, 230 posts. What the hell have I been saying?
That first post came before Thanksgiving senior year of college. Here I am, almost three years later, in my warm little townhouse with my three girlfriends and two cats, one that looks like a fish ("Tuna" as I like to call her, who is currently pushing at my left arm) and "Puppy" the kitten that seriously acts like a dog (and I hate cats. They aren't mine). I have a great car, a decent job, my family is close (but not stifling), my friends are nearby and numerous. I have community, I have adventures, I have options and plans. What I have been through in those 230 posts has been both hilarious and tragic. But I'm happy.
Tonight I had dinner with Natalie, my old mentor from high school. We had a long conversation about fear, and eventually I admitted that my hesitancy to go back to a doctor about my back pain stems directly out of fear. The last time I went brought too much in the way of possibilities and tragedies: I hardly think myself capable of handling such weights again. I never realized it until tonight: I hate that fear is dictating such a large part of my life. But what of it?

Jordan to Gordon

Last year my friend Jenny told me that 23 was my Jordan year (as in Michael, THE #23 of basketball) and that it would prove to be great. This year Jenny, Grafton and I sat outside with cigars and beer, looking at the stars, smiling and laughing how time changes us.
23 had a great start to it, but proved to be probably the toughest year of my life so far.
23 was a very real cancer scare. 23 was quitting jobs and Summer staff. 23 was buying my first car. 23 was moving, lots of rejection, and heartache that I cannot begin to fully understand. 23 was the loss of dear friendships and the birth of relationships that are diamonds in the rough. 23 was another year of watching parental ambitions decay. 23 was just hard all around--it wasn't the monumental, it was the day to day hits. I have never felt so alone.
I wish I could say I have major goals and/or expectations for 24, but I really don't. Everything that I had planned to be at 24 has faded, faltered, or fallen away, and I'm gradually learning to be ok with having my perfect ideas not be the be all end all. I'm learning to place my ambitions and ideas above the not-so-even keel that is life. I do believe that there is a plan for my life; I'm just tired of trying to write my own roadmap to happiness.
So here's to you, 24! My Jeff Gordon year (whenever you say this, Grafton throws up a little bit in his mouth...I suggest you try it). will be grand, will foster growth, maturity, hilarity, tears, love, heartbreak, frustration, mistakes, embarrassment, anecdotes and nostalgia that I can only imagine right now. I'm cautiously optimistic.
Day synopsis:
It started out well--early this morning I was roused by the doorbell, and there was Hatcher with a feather boa and a crown that said "I RULE", waking me up, forcing me to get dressed and go out for coffee and breakfast with Natalie. It was wonderful, albeit a bit stressful for me pre-coffee. Not gonna lie, almost cried.
Got tons of voice mails, IMs, cards and thoughts from friends far and wide, and could feel the love, which was the best gift so far.
Went out for ice cream with youngest sister and oldest sister (age gap: 21 years), 2-year-old niece, mother and step-father. Niece is amazing. Love the niece.
Went to Graftons. Had cigars. Got goodie bag of glowing things from Jenny. Spent 20 minutes with the lights off, trying to play catch with a flashing red bouncy ball and matching strobe rings. Giggled incessantly. Knew then that the year of maturity would be at bay for just a little while longer.
And that, I think, is the most optimistic part of the whole process. At least I'm still giggling.

LoCo Ladies

LoCo Ladies Luncheon on Valentines Day at Natalie
and Mikes! Left to Right: The Tres Amigas Kristina,
Maskey and Hatcher, Natalie, Libby and Michelle.
Yay for salads, brie, mimosas, and Pink Cake!