More Thoughts on the Barn

The time at the Big Blue Barn blessed on many levels.

It reminded me how much I love my friends; how they let me be my nerdy self and just accept it; that they too are nerdy and highly intelligent but still can sing all the words to Celine Dion’s “My Heart Will Go On” and will willingly spend at least an hour racing along a hardwood floor in socks, seeing who can slide the farthest.

It was carte blanche to temporarily be the Lost Boys from Neverland. We ate what we wanted, didn’t go anywhere, invented games and adventures and knowingly threw ourselves down steep icy hills toward fences and cows. We slept where we fell when we grew too tired to move.

Most of the time, I want to feel more grown up. I want my own place; I want to nest and shop for the week and make dinner for someone I love. I want to be part of a pair (2010 is the year of finally admitting this).

But during that snowstorm I got to live in a little microcosm of community as part of a posse—I wasn’t a single entity on my own—I was standing with loves. It was fleeting but so sweet to me and will be a time I recall fondly for years to come.

(photos stolen from Jenna, who, unlike me, has actually uploaded her photos)

Speak Through the Snow

I’m from Virginia and I learned from an early age that snow was God’s sign you stay home.

No exceptions.

If there is snow, God gave you a bonus Sabbath or two—take the time off, read a book, sled, nap; it’s a gimmie day. Don’t drive, don’t move too quickly; don’t attempt anything that could be construed as chores.

In New York, snow isn’t a sign of anything but a season. God didn’t speak through snow. Life doesn’t slow down, schools don’t close; offices stay open and work keeps happening. My years up there taught me how to drive in snow but made me lose some of my love of the fluffy white stuff. The common things lose their wonder.

This winter has changed and brought a bit of that love back; this past weekend helped.

The snow started on Friday afternoon. There were threats of 8 to 12 inches and the whole area was buzzing with anticipation. Grocery stores were selling out of eggs, milk, bread and beer; liquor stores did business like it was the holidays. I left work at 3, jettisoned home to quickly pack and begin the trek to the Big Blue Barn, a converted barn that is now a beautiful apartment housing three brave friends.

It took me one hour to go 8 miles.

8.
Miles.
GAH.

I was joined at the barn by the usual suspects of Doug, Justin and Tara (who brought her 3-month old puppy, Rooney) and with barn residents Jenna, Betsy and Emily (and a few other characters who popped in and out) and we settled in for our own version of a winter wonderland in a landscape covered in 12” of snow.

We cooked huge meals of spaghetti, pizza and lasagna. We had bacon and eggs and cinnamon rolls and knockoff captain crunch; we ate way too many cookies and chips and dips and we drank leisurely.

We watched movies. Lots of movies. And TV.

We played games like Scattergories and Farkle. We made unreasonable consequences for losing.

We went sledding. A lot. We injured ourselves in the process. We laughed so hard we snorted. We chased the puppy through the house and through the snow and gushed over him when he’d pass out from exhaustion.

Saturday night was the full moon and when it would pop out from behind the clouds the sledding track would be lit as if a spotlight had been shone upon it.

As if God was enjoying the snow right along with us.

A Weekend of Mirrors

The year is winding down. How has time sped up with age? Years go by like breaths; I cannot comprehend this passage of time so flippantly.
Friday we were to get our first snowfall of the season, and as usual all of Asheville was electric with excitement and fear. Why does even the suggestion of snow turn adults into dancing kids? I woke Friday to a slight snow cover with much more falling. Neither roommate was home so I had the place to myself and snuggled in for a winter’s quiet.

Around 2:30 Justin and Doug came to the house to get snowed in with me; what great friends. We watched movies, made drinks, ate lots of snacks and watched the snow fall. A snowman was successfully undertaken and just as we came inside, a large tree came down in our neighbor’s yard, blocking the road and taking out the power lines. There went our heat, our lights and our movie-marathon agenda. Justin, Doug and I spent the rest of the night playing Trivial Pursuit by candlelight. It was as fun/more fun than it sounds.

The rest of the weekend was filled with sledding, hot toddies, “My Cousin Vinny” and the rare opportunity to use my snowshoes in Asheville. Since my house had no heat, Saturday night was spent playing the infamous karaoke PS3 game at Nathan’s before finally passing out on the couch at 4am with Justin. Sunday found a slow-food solstice party with friends in West Asheville in a home full of kids, dogs, friends and really ridiculously good food/beer.

Sunday night my little sister and I had a text conversation about accountability that I loved. I believe with my whole body that it is imperative that we (as people) live in community; that is, we surround ourselves with people who love us well enough to tell us the truth and that we love and respect enough to listen. I have been innumerably and inexplicably blessed in this regard and I wanted her to know how important it is. Growing up neither of my parents had social circles to speak of and I wonder how much of that imposed solitude impacted them negatively. It is something about them that I haven’t thought about before. If we aren’t loved in community, I fear we tend toward emotional and societal entropy. I know I do. I can talk myself into and out of anything; if I don’t have mirrors then the only person checking me is me, and often I am not wise or good to myself. But those people who love me wisely and well are, in their own way, the voice of God, steadfastly affirming while lovingly desiring the very best, even when it isn’t what I want to hear. And during this holiday season, it is them that I am most blessed to love.