The ugly business of refining

Newton’s first law of motion states that the velocity of a body remains constant unless the body is acted upon by an external force. How funny that life works the same way. Just when we think we’re on a steady coarse; on a constant path, life zigs, and we find ourselves in a situation completely our of our control. Control is a funny thing, because what we want most is to feel safe, secure, and in control. God, however, does not call us to this same practice. He calls us to come, find rest, and let go. This is no easy feat, as it defies every fiber in our bodies (at least mine, not sure about yours).

I suppose God either has a sick sense of humor, or (and much more likely) He acts upon us, just like Newton’s first law of motion, on purpose…to refine us. To make us better than we were before. I’ll be honest, I don’t like being refined. It hurts sometimes, and it’s always a little ugly during the in-between parts. The only thing I know for sure is this: Jesus changes everything. He is fighting for me, and I have assurance that He will not leave me in want. Everything else will work itself out.

I had the privilege of seeing Aaron Strumpel this week at a house show, and this song has hauntd me since.

Arise Oh Lord
Lift up Your eyes
Don’t forget I’m helpless
Oh You lead me to waters and pastures so green
Oh You pour out Your oil and choose goodness and mercy for me
No I will not be in want
You’re with me
I will not fear
You comfort me
I will not fear

Twenty Three lyrics by Aaron Strumpel

Enter the Worship Circle: Chair and Microphone, Volume 2

Experiments in Expired Film

Big thanks to Aubrey Park for sharing her expired film with me, which led to many experiments with my Holga. Enjoy!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Top Ten: Favorite Fall Fashions for the male persuasion

Welcome to the first of what I hope to be many Monday Top Ten lists. This one goes out to all you gentlemen out there. While everyone has different opinions on mens fashion, I’m of the opinion that men shouldn’t look like they’re trying too hard (straight men for sure), nor should they look like male models (apologies if you’re a male model). There is something to be said for a subtle elegance, even in a t-shirt and jeans. Really, it’s the man that makes the clothes regardless of what he’s wearing, whether that be a great cardigan or a pair of Warby Parker glasses, but I won’t lie that I say a man in a plaid shirt makes my heart skip a beat. Women should not be the only ones that can have a little fun with their wardrobes…

10. Nothing’s better than a good leather watch on a man. Delightfully understated.

9. Glasses. Thank you Warby Parker for making glasses cool again. And for every pair you buy,  they give a pair to someone in need.

8. The Sport Jacket. Thank you and good night. Jersey, Knit, Cotton..it honestly doesn’t matter. Men look good in jackets. I love this one with the professor patches on the elbows.

7. Colored socks. Seriously so fun! There is definitely a manly way to pull this off without looking like a circus clown. The key is to be subtle so that just a little sock peeks out. These are super fun!

6. The Cardigan. Bring it on. Stripes, cable knit, weird bunnies, reindeer, aztec print. I love them all. This one is very dude-ly.

5. Scarves. Not the girly frilly ones. The very manly kind.

4. Layering. Ladies have been mastering this for some time, but men have been on board in recent years. Be affirmed gentlemen, it’s a good good thing.

3. Boots with cuffed jeans. Yes. Always yes.

2. Plaid, in all its glorious forms. The thing about plaid is that everyone looks good in it. You can be a lumberjack or the cashier at the local mini-mart. Plaid is always a win-win.

1. Drum roll please…the number one fall fashion is the ever evolving mustache. It has made its way to the top of the list because it’s distinctly male. Tom Selleck made it famous, and men everywhere are bringing it back, and I’m a huge fan.

W-A-I-T.

When all else fails, Terri Riehl sends out an email. I have no idea how she knows…every time.

“We want what we think we need. We want what we think will make us happy.  And then, God does what we struggle with so often…He doesn’t give us what we “need,” but calls us to WAIT for what is best. Often when God does not readily give us what we want, it is because He knows what our desire would cost us. Faith sometimes means forgoing our desires because we trust Christ to have a better plan for our lives.”

Every. single. time.

Holding your breath…

For most of my life, I’ve had those moments. You know, the situations that make you hold your breath, waiting expectantly for the rabbit to appear from the hat, or for car one to impact car two, or for a sentence to be uttered; one which you may or may not want to hear. These moments  usually leave me with questions (lots of them) which swim around aimlessly in my head, waiting to be answered as all good questions do. I will also admit that I don’t like unanswered questions. The tension tends to make me want to crawl out of my skin, or more likely curl up in my bed wearing very bad sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt (very sexy I know…don’t be jealous). Then life kicked me in the butt this weekend when I was reading.

“…I would like to beg you dear Sir, as well as I can, to have patience with everything unresolved in your heart and to try to love the questions themselves as if they were locked rooms or books written in a very foreign language. Don’t search for the answers, which could not be given to you now, because you would not be able to live them. And the point is to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps then, someday far in the future, you will gradually, without even noticing it, live your way into the answer.”

Rainer Maria Rilke, 1903
in Letters to a Young Poet

In all things life, love, work, passions, interests, frustrations, and friendships, I have a strong suspicion that I have been trying to get answers, not live them (see previously referenced sweatpants moment).

So I pose the question, what does it look like to live the questions?

I’m on a mission to find out. Come along with me if you’d like. All are welcome.

Match made in heaven

In all honesty I usually write these with no title in mind, and the title usually finds its way out in the end. It’s one of the most exciting parts of the writing process for me.

Today was it. The very first day of Portland boot weather! (That sentence rightly deserves the seemingly superfluous exclamation point). This is one of my all-time favorite parts of this fine time of year. It’s almost magical how the air suddenly turns crisper, the nights seems a little longer (or really are but let’s keep up the illusion that we have no idea why), and the trees instinctively know to start shedding their leaves one at a time (even if they think it’s funny to do it all over my car) in a very slow fashion, much like the old couples that walk my street every dawn and dusk.

Boots are the best part about this slow process of change. They ring in the era of night rain and all things pumpkin flavored (seriously pumpkin if getting around these days, it you know what I mean). This year I decided to venture into the world of “real” boots. Now, I know what you’re thinking, what have you been wearing all these years? Well, not real boots apparently. I have, however, been wearing fake leather want-to-be boots that masqueraded as real boots with their fake brown leather sheen and easy style appeal. They were not, however, durable, comfortable, or weatherproof. Boots should be at least those things, if not also stylish and lets just face it, fun. Boots should show off a little personality. Buttons, zippers, buckles, black, brown, short, long, over-the-knee, flat, heeled…you name it, boots usually have it. They’re the one way to make a statement without being too over the top (in most cases).

Here’s the awesome thing about boots, you can wear them with ANYTHING; jeans, shorts, jean shorts, dresses, rompers, leggings… the list is endless. This year I was in search of the illusive “perfect boot”; one that was the prefect combo of stylish, comfortable, modern, but not too modern, fun, but not too showy, and above all classy. If I can offer one piece of advice, when spending a small fortune (which is defined differently in each woman’s mind), always go classy. I could say the same for men I suppose. You don’t want something that will sit in the back of your closet for 3 years, never to be brought out for this special time because you bought a pair of black short boots with fringe thinking it would be “so fun”, when really you knew only 20 year-old baristas with guitarist boyfriends can pull that off when you pulled out your credit card to pay. And now, all you have left is sad feeling of regret and a pair of really, really bad boots taking up precious closet space.

For me, this meant classic calf length cognac brown riding boots. I was looking for something in the department of flat, and came out with a 1″ heel (so kill me). Ladies who are 5’10″ (and a half but I always round down), have a tendency to gravitate to flat shoes, unless you’re my friend Dayspring who can’t stand the thought of flat and almost always goes with a heel, and I love her dearly for it. I also desired something in the realm of “real” leather, which I happily found. Then there was the aspect of comfort. For me, I needed a boot that would be able to withstand bicycle riding, urban walking, and lots of rainy winter months, all while maintaining shape, color, and water resistance. Check part 3 off the list. Part 4 was a bit harder to pin-point. Style. It needed to have style, maintain that classic look, but have a little twist (I always need a little twist to keep things interesting). Salvation apparently came in the form of a buckle placed very intelligently at the base of the boot where the foot meets the leg, making it look like a biker boot without the biker…or the bike. My perfect boot weather boot. I had found you. Classy, stylish, hip, young (but not too young), and can be worn for years to come without any regret or appearance of trying to be a 20-year-old barista with a guitarist boyfriend.

My perfect boot for my perfect fall boot weather. A match made in heaven.

Yes please.

I’m not sure how this happened, but I think I just had the best date of my life. I had been excited about it all week. This was a date with what has turned out to be my first love. Like a moth to the flame, I couldn’t stay away.

I was on a date with my city.

Yes, just as ladies before me (when I say ladies I mostly mean my favorite fictional fashionista, Carrie Bradshaw), I prepared my heart for my much anticipated date, Portland. Now I know what you’re thinking, what kind of person dates their city? Well, for that I have a few very good answers.

1. Portland will always call you back. There is no waiting by the phone or questioning his motives. He’s always there, waiting with open arms to fill your belly with delicious confections and good drink.

2. Portland is always available. Tuesday night Bingo. Thursday night masons at Swift. Friday night dancing. Saturday Farmers Market. There is never a shortage of awesome date ideas.

3. Portland lets you be exactly who are you. No need for pretension or primping. Make-up. No make-up. Dressed up. Dressed down. Portland is the Switzerland of cities. 4. Portland is never boring. NEVER. I don’t care if you’re standing on the street corner or riding the Max, there is a plethora of exciting, interesting, and wild things to do in this fair city.

So in reality, Portland is the perfect date. Always punctual, will offer to hold my hand at any time, calls me back, and has an endless supply of good food and conversation to offer.

We went out several times this weekend, Portland and I. Friday we had hit Lola’s room to help work the door in exchange for a free Musicfest NW wristband. (Dating Portland does have its perks). I’m not sure exactly how alcohol affects judgment, but it certainly does affect your ability to discern your right wrist from your left wrist. If I had a nickel for every time I had to say, “No, your other left wrist” to scantily clad 20-year-old Cindy Lauper look-a-likes I would be able to fund my retirement. Portland was so kind to me, and took me out for a drink at Scooters after all my hard work stamping the hands of his drunken hipster trendsetter friends. If you’re unfamiliar with Scooters, they poor the stiffest drinks in town. With one sip my weary body screamed “Hello, I’m drunk.” I, however, had great confidence that Portland would not take advantage of me in my fragile state. As I biked home across the bridge, my contented heart looked out to the South down the Willamette River to the twinkly city lights cascading into the calm dark waters, and I thought to myself, “beauty and brains; a double threat.”

To my delight, Portland was ready the very next day to hang out again. Delightful. The good news is he didn’t call until 11am so I had a lot of time to sleep after our rendezvous the night before. I will say I needed some time to recover from our tryst, but I was able to muster a shower and some breakfast before we hit the town again and ventured over to NoPo for the Annual Widmer Oktoberfest. Portland has lots of friends in low places, and I found myself with a VIP pass. H yeah. PLUS, I was able to take in a wide variety of very entertaining people. My favorite was the shirtless gentlemen who kept hitting on what appeared to be slightly tipsy cougars, who were consequently flattered I imagine, as that’s usually how the cougs roll. For some odd reason I was morbidly curious about what would happen if I engaged these fine lases (for the record I did not but I strongly considered it). I felt like I’d be cheating on my beau with what is an obviously lesser man, so I refrained. As if that weren’t enough, Portland wanted to continue the fun with a quick trip to Montage followed by Helio Sequence at Doug Fir. Taste and class. What can I say; I’ve got myself a good man. The surprise treat at the end of the night was tickets to the Musicfest NW after party, which was held at an oh-so-underrated-yet-completely overrated inner SE warehouse. Filled with trendy hipsters drinking beverages aptly named after Portland bands and a DJ who was obviously trying a little too hard, the warehouse had the feel of a shady New York basement club party (which may have been what they were going for). The stench of sweetly teens was only masked by there desperate desire to be completely original, whereby making them just like everyone else in the room.

Just when I thought my blissful weekend of loveliness was over, Portland called yet again on Sunday. Oh joy of joys! This is what most women feel when their man is so attentive to their needs and desires. After a patio brunch at my humble abode, I hit the trails in Forest Park (however did Portland know that’s my favorite of all favorites as far as parks go?! He’s such a good listener), and meandered my way up the Wildwood trail to Pittock Mansion (when I say meander what I really mean is hauled butt up the trail, sweating profusely and loving every minute of it). The roses in the gardens surrounding the mansion filled the air with the fragrance of summer (or the fragrance of love, much like aftershave…my man’s gotta smell nice). If I had trekked a camera up with me, I would have taken advantage of the picture perfect view of the city from the top (everyone knows you need a good picture of you and your special man), but alas it slipped my mind, along with bringing water on said adventure. The cherry on the sundae that was my amazing date was the admittedly ever-so-hipster bike ride down to Pioneer Courthouse Square to watch Band of Horses dole out some eargasmic pleasure. I’m not going to lie when I say I acted like they were singing just to me. In my heart of hearts I know somehow it was true.

And now, exhausted yet energized, I await with baited breath the next big date. Hopefully Portland can top itself next weekend.

Projects, Protests, and Perceptions Part 2

It’s 2011. OMG. IT’S 2011. When did this happen. This is the year I turn 30. The magical (or not-so-magical) year that one decade blends into the next and I enter the next phase of my life. Here’s to hoping this phase includes the same amount of joy, love, grace, tension, and growth.

To celebrate the last few months of my 20′s, I decided to revise my list of new years projects (I dislike the word resolution). 30 in year 30.  

1. Get a Multnomah County public library card.

2. Read at least two biographies this year, including but not limited to memoirs.

3. Write and send at least one physical letter a month. It can’t be that hard. People have been doing it for centuries, why should I break the habit just because email is easier.

4. Go camping in Oregon somewhere.

5. Write a short story. I have no idea if this will ever actually come to being, but putting it on the list at least takes me one step closer to completing the task.

6. This one is a doosey, but I’m dying to try it. I want to visit every coffee shop in Portland proper at least once and order either an Americano, or whatever the place is “known for”. I shall, however, not include any chains…starbucks, peets, seattles best, etc, or places that simply serve coffee, but are not an actual coffee shop.

7. See the Decemberists at a home town show.

8. Have waffles for breakfast at least once a month

9. Go to the Portland Zoo, the Rose Garden, and…insert other v touristy things.

10.  Attend a Trailblazer Game.

11. Learn how to make scones, and then make them…and perhaps eat them too.

12. Create a new slang term.

13. Make someone laugh…often if possible.

14. Call someone out of the blue to encourage them at least once a month.

15. Buy vegetables from the farmers market…once it opens again of course.

16. Learn how to play the spoons and join the Zollners’ jug band. I’m serious. I’m doing it.

17. Take at least one roll of pictures for each month of the year in 2011. (I’m half way there!)

18. Find the White Christmas soundtrack on vinyl. We always listened to it when I was little and I think I lost our family copy in my move and it just wasn’t Christmas without it this year.

19. Live on less.

20. After my first successful attempt to make a dress via my sewing machine, I vow to make more dresses, tops, even hoodies via Susie my singer sewing machine.

21. Drink more water.

22. Learn how to love my friends better. This one’s a biggie for me. If I can’t get this one right I should just stop trying and sit home alone on Saturday nights sobbing into my pillow about how I failed miserably…at life.

23. Start a bag company, finally.

24. Go on a date that I actually want to go on.

25. Take myself to lunch at least once a month. Alone time equals awesomeness.

26. Learn better conversation skills, including how to really listen and ask questions.

27. Fold laundry and PUT IT AWAY as soon as it comes out of the dryer.

28. Buy more socks.

29. Plan a triffecta reunion.

30. Improve at Wii tennis.

Cuisinart and the art of…

I have a confession. I can hide it no more. I have become a bit of a serial dater. Not the good kind, where you meet a guy in a coffee shop and hang out a few times and move one. I’m talking about the worst kind…the internet dating world. You name if I’ve probably tried it, mostly because of my families nagging insistence that I “put myself out there.” I assure you this is no desperate plea of a woman scorned. This is me being honest. At some point honesty makes tells the best story, so I’m officially airing my dirty laundry.

Men, I promise this isn’t a bashing session. I applaud your attempts to lure women with your “oops I lost my shirt” profile pictures and “this is my dog and he’s great” blurbs. It’s all smoke and mirrors my friends. Ninety percent of any relationship, whether romantic or not, is just showing up. And I’m not talking about just physical presence, I’m talking about your head, your brain, your guts, your soul. Be there. Invest, even if for just an hour. This isn’t a dating problem, but a human problem. I’m convinced we don’t invest enough in other people, and find ourselves lonely and isolated and wondering why. I am not stranger to this phenomenon.

I think we owe it to each other as people of the world to show up. Be counted. Make a connection. Even if it’s just 5 minutes, or an hour, or five. Don’t we owe it to each other to to at least try?

I can offer no hope in this except to say that if I know it’s happening, and I know I’m a part of the problem, then knowing is at least half the battle. What I do about it now is an entirely different story.

Post #2 revisited

Quite possibly one of my most favorite moments. Original post: 03.26.2006

She’ll never forget the moment. It was the first time she really felt like a woman. His worn, once-white Stryper baseball tee hung from her tall frame, hitting her mid-thigh.

Downstairs, the typical college party raged onward. The smell of stale beer mixed with sweat and a semester of big gulps and sandwiches filled his bedroom. Boys. College boys to say the least. Distant music mingled with murmers was all she could hear as she slid into his twin bed. She was surprised. The sheets smelled like mountain freshness, most likely, she concluded from his dryer sheets. Impressive.

The Milwakees Best she had downed right before coming upstairs was lingering on her breath. She was tired from socializing. All she wanted was a good nights rest and an embrace from the owner of the t-shirt.

Things had been awkward. They had stopped talking. There was more polite banter than real conversation. He was holding something back. What it was she couldn’t quite tell yet.

Nieve. That’s what she was. She was afraid to push-afraid to ask the tough questions.

She pulled the thin plaid blanket up to her chin, turned on her side, and laid there for a few minutes, letting the sounds of the party below wash over her weary body. She heard his footsteps up the stairs, then in the hall. He was in front of the door. The hall light crept in as he snuck hussedly into the room. She heard him slid off his pants and tug at his shirt.

He slid into the bed next to her and drapped his arm over her. She could feel his breath on her neck. Chills. The all over kind. Up and down her spin. She wanted to hold onto this moment for an eternity.

She let her hand fall over his drapped arm and squeezed his hand as if to signal that she recognized his presence. She wanted more than anything to turn over and kiss him, but something in her wouldn’t allow it. There were no rings, no vows, no assurances of a forever. Two were not one. None-the-less, maybe this was a good sign. She felt hope well up in her chest as they lay there in the mountain fresh twin bed.

She would never forget that night. That was the night she felt real.