Car Talk and Coming of Age

I am taking one large step toward some semblance of adulthood- I am becoming a car owner. I haven't even signed the title nor driven the car more than a couple of miles here in Moscow, but here I am already stressed out and writing in my blog at 1:25 am. There's a lot of details to have to think about when you own a car. I'm not that great with details.

I want to be careful not to give the impression that I am somehow ungrateful for the privelege of car ownership (in reality, "my" car is a gift from my mother, her old car). I am excited at the prospect of being able to steal away to the Smokies, drive through the Blue Ridge Mountains in North Carolina, not to mention at least one trip down to New Orleans (I'm pretty sure it's only like 9 hours). Anyhow, I guess I have lived such a seemingly simple, but ultimately somewhat responsibility-avoiding life. That is, part of my riding a bike and relying on the bus for this long has been largely motivated by financial and responsibility-related reasoning (i.e. avoiding) and 20 percent environmental and health thinking (i.e. just enough to make me feel like I'm doing a good thing and really justify the avoidance). Avoidance of responsibility and commitment continues to be a theme for me.

Most things that "normal" kids do when they are 18 (i.e. date girls and buy cars- not necessarily in that order), I am finally getting around to as a near 30 year-old. I guess I have always been a late bloomer (literally), so why would this be any different. There's just this part of me that gets so annoyed that I have allowed myself to avoid responsibility and commitment and not just simply face the realities of adulthood. Part of me feels so relieved to finally be participating in what, though perhaps somewhat sadly, has become a rite of passage in our culture. And like I said, though I do still have a part of me (which on a long-term use level is much higher than 20 percent of my thinking) that believes both in keeping one's life simple (not to mention minimizing one's impact on our Mother), there's part of me that really connects with the American sense of discovery and exploration that is inextricably linked to car travel. I think of all the beautiful places that I now have access to that I may never again have the chance to explore (if you couldn't tell by all of my gushy facebook posts and increase in blogging that I will be moving back out west when I'm done with grad school then now let it be known that I plan to be living out here in the wild(er) west). In fact, I got a list of natural wonders and beauty spots (as granny would call them) from a guy here in Moscow to go and check out while living in East Tennessee.

Like I said, I am grateful to my mother for my new vessel of exploration. For our grand Mother's sake, I wish this vessel was carbon-emission free (and that someday soon I'll live in a world and in an income bracket allowing for the purchase of such a vehicle), but as Edward Abbey used to say, the wild spirit of exploration and discovery calls us to get out and enjoy what natural beauty remains for as long as it remains. But it's not like I'm driving an SUV; it's a freaking Toyota Echo.

One small step for most. One giant leap for shitball, responsibility-avoiders everywhere. After all, real discovery can only come from exploring the roads of life. And the way I figure it, I hope to do as much exploring as I possibly can. Open road here I come.

Simple Pleasures

I am sipping coffee and looking out the big windows of my favorite cafe in Moscow, ID. I've got that funny post-workout blend of tiredness and energy. There are four young girls (can't be much older than 10 0r 11) sitting in the circle of chairs next to me, eating bagels and teasing each other. The usual blend of moscow locals are here: old hippies, students, professors, pseudo-hipsters, and downtown professionals. It's December 21st- the shortest day of the year.

Maybe it's that I've just finished my first semester of grad school and now find myself with absolutely no obligations for a whole month. Maybe it's that it's winter and I'm more aware of putting the daylight hours to the most efficient use. Maybe it's both. Maybe. Whatever the case may be, I feel like I've been more aware of the simple little pleasures of life this last week and days.

Last night, mom and I had Granny and Gramps up for dinner; nothing fancy, just soup, salad, and bread. We broke out a bottle of merlot to spice things up a bit, and Gramps even had a little glass (though he didn't finish it). I rubbed Granny's back and listened to Gramps tell Ole and Lena jokes (some I'd heard and some I wish I hadn't). Mom flitted about making things look nice and picked out poems from the Christmas poem book that she loves so much. She got Granny to read a few out loud. We just sat around and, as Granny likes to say, "just chatted". Simple.

Then when Granny's energy reserves had been fully drained (I think it was about an hour and a half), they left and mom and I plopped down for some Muppets. Mom purchased Season 1 of the original Muppet Show, and it is priceless. We laughed and laughed and laughed. Simple. Then we switched over to a full length movie,The Sea Inside, and for those of you who haven't seen this one, please do. Simple and powerful.

There's something so powerful about simplicity. I think this especially so in the crazy, chaotic, ever-moving, ever-evolving, melodramatic, endless-entertainment-seeking world we find ourselves in. Sitting down and and reading a book is profound. Going for a walk and simply breathing fresh air is extraordinary. Taking time to cook a meal from scratch brings us back closer to the rhythms of the earth. The simple and powerful pleasures of life.

Creation vs. Consumption

I am quickly realizing how little time I take to truly be creative and how much consumption has become my default mode.

Instead of writing I watch a movie. Instead of taking the time to learn a new recipe, chop, and cook- I fry up a quesadilla. Instead of writing a friend a letter (or more realistically, a heart-felt email), I aimlessly wander The Facebook. What's up with that?

I guess the simplest and honest answer for my choosing consumption over creation is that it clearly takes no brain power. In the words of my hilarious grandma, "I just don't like to think...I let your grandpa do that." Seriously!? Am I so lazy that I'd just rather not think, make the minimal mental effort, and simply consume rather than creat!? I don't know.

Alfred Adler argued that the driving force behind all human behavior was creativity. That is, that we are creative by nature. But if that's true, we are we also so clearly driven by consumption?

Anyhow, I'm going to finish watching All About My Mother...I'll get back to you with the answer.

Bill Callahan

Anyone ever seen Bill Callahan live? For those of you who have, you need no explanation as to what his presence and performance is like. For those who haven't, you should know, he's weird.
Not like bad weird, necessarily. For me, his music is like the kind of artsy, twisted, unique foreign film you watch and afterward can't really figure out if you enjoyed it or not. If anything, he's absolutely unique: there is no one like Bill Callahan.

He played at the Pilot Light. This place is equally artsy, twisted, and unique. It's the kind of place that could very easily be mislabeled as hipster. While it definitely attracts the hipster crowd, I never felt that "we're to cool for life" vibe. It's the kind of place that sells Schlitz in a can. I mean, it's crusty. It's also tiny. The bar has 5 stools and then there's benches around the perimeter of the already narrow and intimate space. It's the kind of place where you can be a wallflower (literally) AND be right up front; very laid back.

The opening act was a dude from Portland whose sound made Elliot Smith sound like a bubbly cheerleader. This guy was a solo act, playing drums and singing (though this may be a somewhat generous use of the verb). His lyrics were pained, painful, and filled with despair. In fact, at one point, he kept repeating "despair" over and over- playing with his "voice". This guy next to me saw me start to laugh and leaned in to share in the fun. He confided in me that he was glad someone else found this guy humorous. I told him: "it rains a lot in Portland...I mean, ALOT!!!"
That got him going. We laughed and chatted to keep ourselves entertained. Steve was from Milwaukee and in town on business. He drank Schlitz from a can.

The next act was an all women rock band called "The Lights". I teased Steve that they looked like a Spinal Tap version of Heart- they had these funny sequined shirts, big hair, and tights. Actually, they had a couple of numbers that were entertaining, not to mention their sound was a huge breath of fresh air compared to the suicidal smell still lingering in the air from Portland boy. Anyhow, we continued to make funny, sarcastic comments to each other. Then, Bill showed up.

Bill was fairly plain and unassuming in appearance- tall white dude, ostensibly in his mid-30's with salt and pepper gray hair, a white button up (with the top few left open), a pair of blue jeans with a slightly off-center leather belt. But his voice was unmistakable. His voice is this deep, penetrating baritone that, along with his deep and intense face, has this strangely stunning effect. I mean, it's not so much that you feel that you can't move. It's more like you are simply pulled into his presence; like he's put you into a trance and you had no choice. His sound is dark (though nothing like the spoon-gouging-out-eyeballs sound of the other dude) but it belies his obvious funny bone (which I really liked). One of the best lines was his twist on Amazing Grace:
"once i was kinda blind, now I can sorta see". Loved it.

Anyhow, I should say that the only reason I even knew/know about Bill is my friend Nikki's husband Chris whom I saw the show with. Chris, thanks for introducing me to Bill. It was kinda weird, by I sorta enjoyed it.

Refections on Semester One

I am done with my first semester of grad school...well, almost. I do have to proctor (who made up that word anyway!?- sounds like a medical procedure involving gloves and bending over) an exam on Thursday. But for all intents and purposes, the workload is done. Some of you may ask- so why the hell are you sitting down and doing more of what you've been doing for the last 4 weeks (that being writing on my laptop)? Good question. The simplest and perhaps most honest answer is that my life is really quite boring and that sitting at my favorite cafe with a cup of coffee and writing a reflection on the semester sounded actually quite nice. It's also something (writing) that I've found I enjoy when I don't have to write with any real deadline or purpose. I should also say that my decision was presumably largely influenced by the fact that my heater (though quite effective in pumping out waves of heat) sounds like there's a Mack truck idling (and, strangely enough, smells a bit like that-it's natural gas). Anyhow, here I sit.

Something that's still quite fresh on my mind is my recent, inaugural visit to UT's recreation center. I call this reflection "Just do it".

After a full semester of surviving on somewhat irregular runs and my mostly daily bike commute (except for when it rains, then it's bus and walk) for my exercise fix, I was ready to go do something that was both aerobic and at least partly social. I did attempt to play Ultimate with the local crew here in Knoxville sometime around mid-semester, but, ultimately (couldn't resist) found myself needing to work on Sundays on homework. So I stuck with the convenient, however solitary, nature of running and counted my bike commute as "good enough". I thought about going to a yoga class. I thought about seeing if there's a master's swimming group. I thought, "I should do something that's more social." I thought that pretty much all semester. I finally went and played some pick up ball last week.

I showed up at the gym with my backpack bursting at the seams with all of my gear stuffed in it. When I came up to the check out desk, I got the look I've gotten pretty much all semester. Sometimes it's like: "dude, what the hell do you have in your pack?". Other times it's more like: "dude, do you need a place to stay?". So far, the latter question has been in the minority and not been asked by any cute and available women. Anyhow, I checked out a lock, a ball, put my gear on, and hit the courts. I was pleased to find that not only were there 4 full well cared for courts, but that the gym actually had some windows large enough to erase a lot of that gross, claustrophobic, fluorescent feel that gyms usually have. I was pleasantly surprised.

Then I got another surprise. The gym has work study students (and apparently cameras) whose job it is to watch out for hippies with backpacks who look like they may actually try to sleep in the locker room. Apparently I had that look, because my particular little gym elf came over to enforce the critical "gym shorts only policy". My KAVU, cotton shorts weren't the mesh polyester that everyone else was playing in, and apparently, this is law down here in TN. In retrospect, I'm surprised they didn't bust me on my shirt. I had on my gross Gap t-shirt with bike grease, holes, and cherry stains (one of my favorite mementos from Gabriela). But my shorts, really? So I told him that I wanted to talk to his bosses. He looked like I had just eaten a large portion of his soul (he looked like he was 15, and to be fair, he'd probably never seen a large, sweaty hippy capable of anger). He came back two minutes later to say that everything was fine. Then the balling began.

They say that with basketball, once you've got the touch, you never lose it. What they don't hear them say is that while that may be true, sometimes the touch gets hidden under a couple extra beers, significant vertical leaping loss, as well as good old fashioned muscle atrophy. I think I must have missed like 10 layups. But I made up for it with hard d and some sweet passes. What the hell is my point? My point is that I had so much fun playing ball. I was reminded of much I love running with the ball, looking for the open pass, hitting the back cut, and making a sneaky steal. I like that when you can play the game well, you can just jump on a court, and start playing. I know it's easier said than done, but, next semester I'm gonna play at least once a week.
I need to play once a week.

Being as I'll be in Moscow next week at this time, home is on my mind. Perhaps for the first time in my life, I feel like I have a relatively clear sense of what and where home is for me. So why now? And what and where are home for me?

I know that much of my sense of home has to do with that I am truly living off on my own, away from everything familiar, really by myself for the first time in my life. It's that annoying but truth-holding adage about how you have to leave home to be able to fully appreciate it. I remember having some small sense of homesickness and longing for home as an exchange student in Germany. But I was only 16 and I was completely taken care of by my host families (not to mention that I didn't have to do anything other than simply attend my high school classes). Now, twelve years later, I'm living in Knoxville, TN, living alone, and doing the grad school thing. Never before have I felt such a clear sense of where and who my people are; where home is.

Now I'm sure that much of this is (clearly if I'm spending hours on a Monday afternoon writing about this) good ole fashioned homesickness. It's not so much that I'm clear that Idaho is my home so much as it is that I miss it. Though how can anyone every really separate homesickness from sense of home. Maybe it's these feelings that act as our inner compass; guiding us back in the right direction when we've wandered afar. Perhaps experiencing the feelings of being away from home is truly the only means to discover our inner sense of home. Ok, I'm starting to sound like a wanna-be Buddha. Sorry. But really, what is home? And how do I get there?

I think that much of my geographical sense of being away from home overlaps with my sense of being away from the people I love most. My sense of home has always been about people. I think this has been especially poignant for me being so close to Phil, Ali, and Gabriela these last months. Of course my feelings are especially strong right now, seeing as how they are planning on moving here next month!!!! But aside from that, my time with them this summer and this past fall have left a deep impression on me as to how important it is to make time for the really important people in our lives. When I'm with Phil, I know that I'm with someone who knows all of my quirks, insecurities, dreams, hopes, and fears. With Phil, specifically, I have the best of both worlds- he is both good friend and great family.Being with him, I'm reminded that I have been blessed with both an immediate and extended family (as well as an amazing group of friends) who love me for all that I am. But home is place too.

One of my password reminders is the question: "Where would you most like to live?". My answer, "Near the mountains". I am forced to recognized that I'm actually in a place right this very moment that is close to "the mountains". But the mountains out here ain't the mountains I grew up with. The Smokies are wooded hills- beautiful, deciduously decorated, remarkably accessible. I definitely connect my sense of home to the rugged, evergreen, still mostly wild Rockies (specifically in Idaho and Montana). There's something entirely unique and unmistakable about the scale and sense of wildness still present in those mountains. And maybe that's another part of my connection to sense of home- wildness.

Deep down, I believe that all of us are wild. I KNOW that I'm wild. I was born wild. I I think that I feel more alive, more free when I'm in a place that nurtures a sense of wildness. I can still remember running up the hill behind the parsonage on riverside, swinging on the big ole rope swing, dropping off of it and rolling through the underbrush. I remember intertubing through the rapids just across the road from our house. I remember waterskiing, naked under the full-moon on Dworshak reservoir. I am happy when I'm wild. Never before in my life have I realized how much I love Idaho. Never before have I realized how blessed and charmed my childhood was (and my life now is) because of Idaho.

What was my point? Oh yeah, home. In the end, at least for me, it comes down to two things: people and place. I'm sure that much of all this rambling is largely romanticized. In the same way that I was born wild, I was born a romantic and the grass has always been greener somewhere else than where I am. While I recognize that this may well be the case and that after being in Idaho (especially during the cold and gray of december/january) with family and friends for a couple of weeks, the tone of my blog may be quite different. Maybe having a sense that home is elsewhere is also a way to cope with that I still feel somewhat unhome here. I'm sure that's part of it. But something deep tells me that I'm discovering (or perhaps simply rediscovering) another aspect to my sense of home. That aspect I think is rooted-ness.

My life has been a bouncing from one place to the next. I've lived in a lot of different places. I've worked a lot of different jobs. Not since my days growing up in Idaho, have I been in one spot for longer than 4 years. I think my roots are starting to sprout.

Thankful Things

I just got back in to Knoxville and I am thankful for the most basic thing any of us can be thankful for- life.

Holy shit. I thought for a second I was back in Mexico. I mean, we are driving on straight freeway and the bus driver made it feel like we were winding through the death defying turns of the Sierra del Sur. Maybe it was because I was in the back of the bus, maybe it was because I was trying to work on my ethics take home final and staring down at a computer screen in a cramped seat for a rather extended period of time- whatever the case, I felt like the whole bus was fish tailing. In all my previous greyhound adventures, I don't every recall feeling unsafe. In fact, much the opposite. It's like the bus drivers get paid by the smoke break. Usually the rate of speed is more than comfortable (I even remember once thinking that I could probably jump off of the bus, roll, run it down, and get back on without the driver noticing). The real irony is that we got back a full hour early. Hey, I'm here and I'm alive, and I'm thankful.

I am also thankful time together with family. I just can't believe the serendipity of having applied to 9 schools, been accepted to one, and having it be the one that's across the country from the rest of my family, yet only 3 and a half hours away from Phil, Ali, and Gabriela. There's something palpably sacred about spending time with people who have known you your whole life, know all your quirks, and love you just the same- is pretty special. All this past week I have felt that sense of ease that only come with being in the presence of people like this. I am fortunate enough to call these people my family.

When I pulled in to Atlanta on Tuesday night, Phil was there, his usual smiling, handsome self ready to assume our summertime ritual of drinking beer and playing WII golf. We participated in this ritual most nights together, after the rest of the crew was down for the count. We even got Uncle Mark to play with us one night. I enjoyed hearing from Ali how nice it is to be able to see the finishing line with graduate school. She always amazes me with how she has the energy to be a mom, wife, full-time student, and seemingly have as much energy as Gabriela at any given time. I am also amazed at her ability to tell customer service people exactly what she's feeling (I really do admire this Als). And of course, I loved just getting to be around the little one. She is true to her biblical, angelic name. She is true, radiant, glowing joy (except for at night, when she is a force to be reckoned with) and so curious and smart. She is getting good with words she's known for a while (i.e. mommy, daddy, agua, up, cheese, please, and pavo) and she even learned to say abuelo and abuela over the break. And she calls me "tike". Dear lord, if that isn't enough to melt your heart.

It was extra special to have Uncle Mark and Cynthia out as well. I love the familiarity of Uncle Mark's dry wit and sense of sarcasm (as well as his unbelievable talent for baking- we had a triple layer chocolate mousse cake that my body and taste buds are still processing). I love Cynthia's gentle kindness and easy-going way. I really enjoyed talking about books, school, and how we as people find rootedness. She's a very in tune person.

Now I'm back in Knoxville and back for a push to the finish before X-mas break starts. I have my last two classes of the semester on Tuesday. All of my schoolwork is supposed to be done by Tuesday! I still have an ethics final to crank out, as well as one last short paper for my personality theories class. Even though I feel a little pressured to get that all done in the next two days (and wish I would've worked more on them over the break), I am even thankful for having the opportunity to be a graduate student.

Lots of love and gratitude to you all-

Moments of Clarity

I have no idea who of you (except for you mom) still read this thing.

But I hope some of you still do.

You ever just get flooded with a powerful sense of clarity?

Yeah, it's gonna be one of THOSE kind of blogs. So if you can't deal with that, I respect that.

It's near 2:30 in the morning (which arguably may have something to do with my perceived state of clarity), and I was just laying in bed after a more or less normal day when it just hit me. I just wanted to start crying. It was like this wave of pure gratitude washed straight over my prostrate body, and in one feel swoop I felt clean and clear. All at once I felt how lucky I am to have such a wonderful family, such kind, loyal friends, and to have the opportunity to pursue something I am passionate about.

Here I should also note that it is the end of the first semester out here. I have been pretty much drinking coffee and writing papers for the last week and a half. The coffee may have something to do with my being up at this hour, which, again, I'm sure has something to do with my current state of "clarity". Maybe someday really smart neuroscientists out there will be able to identify just exactly why and how these moments come (presumably being tired, stressed, lonely, and, oh yeah I forgot to mention that I also was reading Mary Pipher's "Letters to a Young Therapist" as I was laying in bed). Secretly I hope they never do.

While I'm sure that in the same way the make up of any experience (specifically attempting to be able to precisely pinpoint causality) is almost always more complex than we can understand right away, I think much of this comes from the paradox of having to be far away from home to realize how truly important it is. I don't think I've been as in love with (or at least in gratitude for) my homeland- Idaho (and really the great Northwest). I'm such a lucky little fart to have been born into my family, to have grown up in beautiful northern Idaho, to have gone off to a small college where I met both professors and friends (some of them professors who are now friends) who are some of the brightest and best human beings on this planet, and to be old enough and aware enough to be able to appreciate this...is now actually making me cry.

I guess I just felt the need to say just how much I love my family, my friends, and my beloved home country.

I'll leave you with a couple of quotations from Robert Frost (as quoted in Mary Pipher's "Letters to a Young Therapist"):

"Home is where when you go there they have to take you in."

"Families are something you haven't to deserve."


That was my moment of clarity. I hope it lasts until I fall asleep and that maybe, just maybe it sparks one for you.

A Little Churching Up

I went to church today.

I haven't been to church since I moved here. Before that, I think it must have been my visit to Nez Perce with Granny and Gramps. I don't know how much is some sort of ingrained Lutheran Pastor's Kid sense for needing to feel like I'm a good boy. I don't know how much is just my need for a sense of community. Perhaps it's even more basic than either of these. Maybe it's just the need to something other than school. Truth is, I think I have always felt a sense of longing for church when I'm in period of transition.

I got it when I lived in Seattle. I got it more in Bozeman. I have it even more in just the short time I've been here in Knoxville. The past few Sundays, I've simply opted for late sleeping, strong coffee, and the New York Times. While this CAN be a spiritual experience (especially on the mornings Maureen Dowd is really on fire), it's different from sitting in a big old beautiful church, singing songs, and giving thanks to God with fellow human beings. I woke up this morning, and just felt the need to go. So, I went.

In classic fashion, I forgot exactly where the church was and got mildly lost (which is hilarious when you consider how large St. John's Lutheran Church is). I showed up right as the service was starting, and was somewhat surprised to find the pews more or less packed. I had to ask a sweet old lady with her cane hanging off the pew if she would be willing to let me sit next to her. She sweetly smiled and let me in. She even gave me a hug at the sharing of the peace.

I debated whether to go to the Unitarian Universalist (the hippest, most liberal, and furthest option), the Episcopal (the closest), or the ELCA Lutheran (the most familiar and most beautiful building). After getting up at the last possible second and thinking that really I'd like to feel some sense of familiarity with the service, songs, and people- I went to St. John's.

So after finding my place next to the sweet old lady, I jumped in with the prayers, hymns (mostly familiar- but classically written in keys that only real singers can read), and just enjoyed being in a holy place. Today was a cloudless, bright, beautiful Fall day, and this meant that the huge stained glass windows in the church were in full splendor. The imagery with Jesus and the lambs and that still creeps me out a little. But I think stained glass is beautiful. The pastor was a woman whose accent seemed to place her locally (I'm still learning how to distinguish between Georgia, Tennessee, North Carolina, etc.). She preached on what it means to be good stewards. Its quality was about on par with what I think of as the general quality of Lutheran potluck cuisine- mostly filling, fairly satisfying, just nothing spectacular. And for today, that was all I really needed.

I enjoyed the simplicity of prayer. I connected with my need for a sense of community. In the words of Garrison Keilor- "once you're Lutheran, you're never not Lutheran." Something like that anyway. Anyhow- I thought about staying afterward for coffee and fellowship and then as my memories of potlucks and the questionable quality of both food and conversation, I rode home.

I still don't know exactly where I stand with all this church stuff, other'n I do feel the need to spend time in church now and again. I think I'll try out a few more churches here. Who knows, maybe there are some real good potlucks out here!?

Speak Loudly and Carry a Humble Stick

I gave my first lecture today.

I knew I would speak too fast at the beginning. I did.

I knew that I would, at some point, discover that I had made and uncaught mistake on one of my slides. I did.

What I didn't know was that I talked a bit too much with my back to the group. I kept the students to time on a Friday (which is one of the 7 deadly sins of teaching). And I tried to cram things in at the end, because I felt that it was my obligation to get through all of the material.

What I was confident in was that I was about as prepared for a speech as I have ever been. This is both exciting and a bit scary. By this I mean that I definitely could've been more prepared. I could've run through things once more. But as the great Goethe once said, "Life is lived forward, but understood backward." On a side note, I also wish that I had made some notes before giving my best man speech at Jens' wedding. If only I'd done it in powerpoint.

But to those of you who were/are not able to see me going through this stretching, challenging, humbling experience of graduate school, I want to do by best to share these kinds of moments with you all.

That said, this week is ending (with this successful, mostly well-prepared lecture) on a very appropriate note. That is on a note of growth.

Last weekend was fall break, and marked, more or less, the mid-way point of this first semester here. I don't know how well my first and few posts during these first few months conveyed my sense of unbelonging, questioning, and wondering if I could really do this. Well, I'm telling you know, I definitely had my doubts. I doubted whether I could organize my scattered self enough to present a clear presentation. I doubted whether I could stay on top of all the scheduling details involved in managing classes, being a ta, living on my own, and all in a totally new place. I doubted myself.

This isn't to say the the nagging voice of doubt doesn't still occasionally whisper sour somethings in my mind's ear. But after this week, I have started to feel that sense of confidence that really can only come with experience of actually doing something. Despite of my doubt, I have been here for half a semester, and I'm still here. Additionally, I am doing well in my classes. Despite my old habits of flying by the seat of my pants, doing things off the top of my head, and simply just getting by by the skin of my teeth- I am actually doing quite well. I am doing it. And perhaps more important than that, I am starting to feel like I belong here.

Confidence is a strange thing. I mean, when you feel unconfident, people react to you the way I think most of us naturally react to people with depression. That is, with a feeling something like "dude, just be more confident in yourself". I am learning that confidence (much like with depression) can come only with the experience(s) of things which allow us to experience ourselves as confident. This can be a kind friend who sees us for who we are truly are. This can be finally working a job that you are good at. This can be getting even just a bit better at something that is quite difficult for you.

The tricky part is that we also have to allow ourselves to experience these things as confident experiences. It's always possible to brush off a friend's kind words with- "oh they're just saying that." Or to finally make that public speech, and think, "that was just one time- I was just lucky."
Ok, I'm starting to sound like Dr. Phil. But you get what I'm saying.

Anyhow, with the experiences of living on my own, figuring out a busy schedule, and making organized presentations- I am beginning to experience some sense of confidence.

One of my favorite little, but profound thoughts comes from the Buddhist community. I'm not sure of the exact origins, or where I heard it, but it's powerful. As I can best recall, it was some Western psychotherapists consulting with some Buddhist monks on the recent influence of Eastern thought on psychotherapy and the implications of its applicability. More specifically, the topic of conversation was the widespread experience of self-hatred for Western people. The monks couldn't understand. Literally, they could NOT conceive of HOW someone could hate themselves. The holistic, interconnected foundation of Buddhist thought, prevented them from even having the option to have anything other than holy regard for themselves. I love that.

Fall Break: Simple Pleasures and Duties

Hopped on the good ole Greyhound Bus yesterday around 6pm and pulled into Atlanta last night around 10pm. Watched about half of the dvd my friend Nikki loaned me ("Singles"), as my computer's battery wasn't fully charged. Had a couple of nice chats with different folks (mom, michael fox, and the grandparents). Finished off the last hour with some Ipod. Four hours? No problem.

Phil picked me up at the expectedly sketchy bus depot in downtown Atlanta. Seriously though-there's a strip club right across the street- not to mention the 50 or so businesses dedicated solely to bail bonds. Funny. We got home and, of course, Phil had prepared extra dinner for me. Could I have a better cousin? We re-instituted our summer evening ritual of a round of Wii Golf. I was rusty.

I had good night's sleep (thanks Gabriella for sleeping through the night). Woke up this morning and sipped coffee while watching the little one run around and be cute- she was loving jumping on the air mattress. Went for a nice run. Had a hot shower. I pretty much decided prior to coming down here that I wanted relaxing mornings such as this (with plenty of watching and playing with the little one) followed by productive afternoons (ethics test and presentation due next week).

I have now been working more or less for the last 4 hours. Got some good ground covered on my presentation. Got a good start on studying for my Ethics Test. And now I'm ready for an evening with the Atlanta crew. It's so nice to have family so close. What a blessing.

The power of facebook and a well-placed kick in the ass

You know how to tell the great friends from the good friends? The good ones are sweet, kind, there when you need a boost or a hug. The great friends are the ones who know you so well and love you so much that they aren't afraid to kick you square in the ass and tell you to snap out of it. Dana Anderson- my mentor and former professor from PLU- is one such friend.

Despite feeling like I have gotten a little more confident and competent each week that I've been here, it's not been a perfectly linear process. Apparently some of my posts on facebook have indicated that my attitude toward grad school has been somewhat less than enthusiastic. I mean we all need a place to vent and get out our frustrations. I guess that my operating within a much more demanding time-management framework, I've begun to opt for the quick public quip on facebook instead of the more in-depth, more private rant on the blog.

At any rate, I got an email this morning from Dana that quite clearly and powerfully reminded me that I chose to do this. Additionally, he reminded me, that even more than that this experience is supposed to be tough. To truly become the kind of person who can work well and competently with peoples particular pain, suffering, diverse experience, and their corresponding journey to better deal with these things, doesn't that ask of all us potential practitioners, that we do likewise?! If we are to talk the talk, we better walk the walk. Perhaps most poignantly, he reminded me that the sooner I'm able to view the challenges as hurdles to master (not just hoops that must be jumped through)- I'll be better able to appreciate the process of graduate school growth.

As fate would have it, I was just waking up in my morning mental fog, when I started reading Dana's email. As I began my day with my usual French-press ritual, I realized while reading his sharp but timely words, that I was drinking out of my PLU coffee mug! I love little moments like that.

Thanks for the well-placed kick Dana-

What a difference a week makes

It's 7pm on a beautiful Tennessee evening- and I'm taking it all in. Had my usual graduate student/bachelor meal of quesadillas and carrots, and am rewarding myself for actually being mostly productive this evening with a cold beer (Yuengling- weird name- never seen it before coming down South-but quite good at the end of a long day).

It's been a weird, wild, and wonderful week in Lake Woebegone (as Garrison would say). I'm very happy to say that I feel much less like the inexperienced big wave surfer of last week. I'm feeling much more like I'm a beginning dancer in a very established dance company, and I'm finally getting some of the basic steps. Still mostly feeling like a painfully obvious beginner, but showing some signs of progress. Except for one hilarious incident involving me sending an email to an incorrect address (and forgetting a particular evaluation sheet today), I've managed to minimize my usual forgetfulness and general spaciness.

Today I conducted my first semi-real pseudo counseling session. In preparation for the voluntary Pscyh 110 students that I and the other 6 first-years will be seeing as clients in about two weeks, this week we were all asked to conduct a mini-session (although it was a full 50 minutes) with a third-year student. I worked with a very considerate gal named Marci who did a great job making a pseudo session real. She had some very good, concrete feedback for me as a beginning therapist. She said that because I am naturally warm and good at making someone feel welcome, I don't need to try so hard at letting the client know that they are safe. She also said that she could tell I wanted to make her feel better about things, and that while it's easy as a beginner to want to do this, it's not our job. In fact, it may be just the opposite. That is, therapy is a place where people have the opportunity to experience fully, and without judgment, whatever they are experiencing. I really liked that.

It's so true for me. I really like making people laugh and helping them to laugh at the darkness and grossness of life. But the reality is that if those dark and gross feelings aren't fully experienced, they fester. The hard truth is that as a therapist one has to continually do their best to get better at allowing whatever comes up for a client to be experienced directly for themselves in themselves. It's like how parents shelter their kids from the certain hard parts of life- sadness, grief, conflict, and death to name a few. To truly be helpful, sometimes the best thing to do is simply be there. That's hard.

But after our interaction today, I felt both affirmed and ready to continue with getting better at this challenging line of work. She made my whole day when responding to an email of mine with a comment about that she'd forgotten to tell me that she thought I was a real natural and definitely in the right line of work. Nice to have confirmation that I'm on the right path. It's a long way to go...


...but I'm heading in the right direction.

Waiting for the Wave to Come

I'm sitting upright on my board on a beautiful bright day. The waves are coming in consistently but calmly. I ride a few at my choosing and enjoy feeling like I'm able to ride how and when I want. Then I feel it. You know how you can sense the presence of someone from behind you or something looming amorphously in the future? Well, that sense is screaming at me. 

I turn, look, and see the largest wave I've ever seen. It's still far enough out that I'm pretty sure I could beat it to shore and escape. But there's a small and real chance that I'll get picked up right before making it to safety and thrown into the sand like a rag doll. I'm not so excited about that possibility, so I take a moment to breathe deep, close my eyes, and say a little prayer. The prayer goes something like: "Dear lord baby Jesus (not really- just threw that in), give me the courage to ride this one out." 

Then I take another deep breath, properly position myself on my board, and get ready to ride the wave of my life. 

OK I know this may seem melodramatic (of course it is), but this is the perfect analogy for my current graduate school experience.  I promise I'll drop the surfing analogy- just give me a second.  Seriously, today I finally saw and fully appreciated the power of the PhD ocean. The time for hanging out on the small waves is done. Time to dig deep and find the courage to ride the waves that really challenge me as a rider. Ok I'm done.

This is all to say that the amount of work that goes into successfully navigating a PhD program (specifcally when you are 6 yeas removed from school and have only just learned how to use Microsoft Excel as well as Powerpoint). Jesus Lord. That's become my new go-to phrase. Sorry if I offend anyone. Actually, now that I think about it, I probably should stop using that. My ethics class has me paying much more attention to everything I say, communicate, and do. Which, I think, is a good thing.

OK back to the analogy...I knew this wave was gonna be a big one. I even chose it. Truth is, I'm ready to do my best Laird Hamilton. I just hope that I don't chip my tooth on my board.

Short But Sweet

Get to go down to Atlanta this morning.

I am so excited to see Gabriela and the crew. It truly blows my mind how fast things seem to be moving. Today marks one month here in Knoxville and I left Atlanta back almost two months ago. It already seems like lifetimes ago. I have a feeling that this sense of things moving quickly is not only here to stay, but will continue to grow as each year includes a little bit more.

Regardless, sitting here looking out the window on a sleepy, misty, beautiful Saturday morning- I am so grateful to get some time in with family. Get to see Gabriella. Get to hang on the deck with Phil. Get to hear the updated Midwife stories from Ali. And get to talk sports with Judy. 

A quick note specifically to you Mom- sorry the phone thing didn't work out. But I'm excited to have you back in the states next week!!!! We'll be able to catch up a bit more easily and I look forward to hearing all about this adventure you've been on. Safe travels and thank Pete for his great updates.

Love to you all

Getting Adjusted and Connected

It's Thursday night and it's almost 9:30pm.

I have been reading about attachment theory and its potential researchable application to healthy romantic relationships for the past 3 hours approximately. I did drink a couple of beers while doing said reading. Then I really started to generate some ideas for my pre-dissertation. I can't believe that after a week of school, I am actually somewhat specifically formulating ideas for the thesis I must complete by the end of year 2. Holy poop.

The truth is that I am still figuring out the rhythms of being a graduate student, living on my own, and learning to deal with the balance of work, rest, being social, and being alone. My goal has been to be productive enough during the hours of 9am-5pm that there's nothing I NEED to do when I get home. Well, I'm trying. The reality is that somedays I'll have things to work on when I get home.  The other reality is that today I was totally distracted and undisciplined with my balance of socializing and focusing on school work. Like I said- I'm trying.

The good news continues to be that I've got a couple of great folks in my program and we have a thing. Like an understanding. Nikki and Justina. They're great. We spent our first office hours (Thursdays from 1-3pm for any of you with questions regarding the psychological field) together, trying to be productive. It's just nice to feel some sense of connectedness to a couple of the people that I'll be spending the next 4 years with. 

Speaking of connectedness, as of tomorrow morning, I will have internet in my apartment. Meaning I will no longer be hoping that the neighbor's wifi is strong enough for me to check email, chat with folks, and, most importantly, update my Facebook page. But seriously, I'm happy to announce that I will be connected here at the apartment. 

Lots of love to you all

 

First Week Update

Sitting here in my apartment with the smells of my first baking attempt filling the air, waiting for my first guests to come over, and feeling so grateful to be here. 

I can't believe that it's already been a full week. In many ways it feels like way longer. During the course of this first week I have managed to get my apartment filled with enough things to make it feel lived in (though tonight's adventure in the kitchen made me want to buy at least one real chopping knife), get to all of the classes and meetings I needed to be at (granted some of them I wasn't exactly on time for), get some homework done, and start building some relationships with people I hope will be not only great people to study and train with but good friends as well. 

All in all- it has been a great week. I really like my advisor Brent (he was described by someone outside of the program who met him as a big teddy bear- with which I agree). The six other students in my program are a great mix (a gal named Gaa- Hee from South Korea, a young man named Philip from Germany, a gal from Saint Lucia named Nikki, a gal from U at Albany named Justina, a gal from Indiana named Amber, and a great gal from NYU named Nikki)- great diversity with young folks straight outta undergrad, 3 folks with Masters, and clearly some very real ethnic diversity as well. We have the opportunity to have some great discussions. We feel like a good group.

Anyhow- tonight I'm just feeling grateful to already have Nikki from NYU and her great husband (with whom I played tennis yesterday) over to my place for dessert and drinks. I am grateful for this amazing opportunity that I have been given. I look forward to the first full week.

Calm Before the Storm, Last Week's Wanderings, And Present

Yesterday we had our program orientation. Tomorrow is the first day of class. I'm taking care of little details today and enjoying the calm before the storm. I'm really excited because I've already made friends with one of the husbands in my program (his wife Nikki is in my cohort)- and he's a tennis coach. We are hitting today at one o'clock. Tonight the student leadership from the psych department have organized a night of drinks and conversation at a spot downtown. Should be a mostly relaxing day.

I'm proud to say that my apartment looks pretty good and settled. Granted, I did notice that I left some of the stickers on the pots I bought from Target that I used to cook last night (not to mention that I have like 5 plates, 4 bowls, and still need a bookshelf...but hey, it's me. I mean, I have all the things I need and I'll add things as they come. 

I promise to take pictures of the place for you all to see- I just haven't fully figured out the camera yet. That is to say I've not been to a store to get the piece necessary for connecting the camera to my computer. But they'll be coming soon.

Last week I was waking up in Bozeman, MT after my first full day of driving. Today I am returning the Uhaul here in Knoxville. Holy poop. Here are a few of the little highlights/hilarities/classic Ike moments from the trip:

1. Monday, August, 10th 8:35 am in Moscow, Idaho: Left nearly an hour later than I had planned (classic) and realized at the gas station that I had forgotten my sunglasses in Atlanta with Phil and Ali. Attempted to buy cheapos at the Conoco with no success (complete dearth of large head options). Decided to drive Hwy12 to Missoula as it is such a beautiful stretch of road and such went towards Lewiston. Stopped at Flying J (which brought back all kinds of memories) took a pee and bought some sweet large-headed aviators. Started down the ole familiar Hwy 12 to the ole familiar smell of pulp mill- mmmmmm.

Drove past Orofino and stopped in at the city park to take another pee. Seriously- I have a squirrel's bladder (plus I had a lot of coffee). Said a little prayer of gratitude to Orofino for having been such a great place to grow up. Then I got the hell out of there.

My plan was to have lunch with Easton in Missoula around 12:30pm. It was 10 o'clock as I was rolling out of Orofino. I thought- "it'll be closer to 1pm- but I can just shoot her a text." Well I forgot three important things. One- Missoula is an hour ahead. Two- Highway 12 doesn't have cell reception...the whole way from Kamiah to 8 miles outside of Missoula. Three- Hwy 12 is slow and it's even slower when there's construction. Those three things added up to equal me showing up on the other side of the mountains, finally in cell range, after a circa 4 hour trip, eight miles outside of Missoula...at around 2:30pm Mountain Time. Shit. Easton sent me a very appropriately curt and confused text...something to the effect of- "I hope that you are still alive-wherever you are. I can't stand wasting such a beautiful day waiting around inside- so I'm heading out. Gimmee a ring to let me know that you are alive." Shit.

So I let her know I was alive and that I was clearly the same ole forgetful shitball (I'm hoping to do some good work on this habit during grad school). Then, I realized that, though I'd hoped for a nice relaxing time in Missoula (going for a walk down by the river and catching some lunch with a friend), because of the current time situation, I needed to pick up something quick and hit the road. I had planned to be having dinner with friends in Bozeman. Shit.

I hit up the "Break"- where almost two years ago to the day, I serendipitously met Josh Olson and more or less got my job at Three Rivers Montana. Scored a strong cup of coffee and bagel sandwich, and, of course, took a pee. Back on the road.

I pulled into Bozeman, somehow, exactly per my estimate- 6:30pm. Sometimes I'm on time. Pulled into the Heeb's parking lot and picked op a bottle of wine for dinner with my hosts. Justin, Kari, and their two hilarious and handsome kids- Marley (3 1/2) and Freia (2) were gracious and fun. We got caught up on all the good stuff and Justin and I even got to have a couple of great games of ping pong out in the garage. 

Went to the Nova Cafe with my ole Three Rivers crew- Colter and Hannah. Was good to see the two of them. Colter brought his girlfriend Erika whom I'd gotten to know pretty well during my stay in Bozeman as well, and we had a nice time drinking coffee and catching up. I walked with Hannah back to her new apartment (just across the street from my old place) and poked my head over at my old neighbor's Marty and Dana. Their littlest (now much bigger than the last time I saw him), Kai, was naked (no different than last time I saw him) and wandering around outside the house with no one in sight (also no different than usual). I asked Kai if he remembered me, to which he responded with a clear but confused smile, "yes"- though clearly he didn't. Cute. Anyhow- turned out Dana was downstairs wrestling with Bryce in the tub- and Kai led me inside to find them. Dana and I had a great time hanging on the back porch reminiscing and getting caught up. 

Took a nice run up on Pete's hill. Took a great shower at Justin and Kari's. Had some lunch with the host fam and hit the road. Bozeman was sunny and beautiful as always. Nice to remember how powerful and important that place was for me during this last chapter of my life. This was the place that I found myself again. I said a little prayer of thanks to the people and places who helped me with that process (Jens, Tina, Three Rivers, the Mountains). 

2. Billings:

I pulled into Billings around 5:3o pm. Miraculously, I found my way right to my good friends' Adam and Sarah's place without directions. I'd been there before and sort of used a blend of intuition and dead reckoning based off of landmarks. Sweet.

I snuck in a delicious nap before Adam showed up to take me to the barbeque his in-laws were putting together. We got caught up on the drive over and marveled at how much can happen in such a short time. When last we saw each other- his oldest, Nora, was barely walking around. Now, she is running, and she has a brother. We had a ton of fun at Granny and Grampy's place- I got to play with Nora and little Erik. I got to catch up with Sarah, her sister Mary (who also went to PLU), and get caught up. We headed home early for the little ones which was OK with me. I had to hit the road early.

3. Moorhead:

I had planned to drive all the way to Minneapolis to visit Bradley. When I pulled into Bismarck at 6pm and realized I had about 5 more hours and I was starting to hallucinate from sleep deprivation- I threw in the towel to the road gods, drank a stiff cup, and did my best to get to Moorhead. Got a cheap Super 8 motel and had a great night's sleep. 

4. Waupun:

Pulled in here and was greeted so sweetly by my great aunt Ardell. Had dinner with her and her ailing husband Milon (he's hooked up to oxygen- was a cigarette smoker for a long time). Had a great sleep, delicious brunch with all of Granny's siblings (save Byron) at Ruth Ann's (she put up a serious spread), and had a classic tour of Brandon and Fairwater with Grandpa Gordy's childhood buddy Ralph Dammerau. Milon drove us around which was its own adventure as he is pretty frail and I don't think should be driving. I had a great time cruising through these sleepy little towns and seeing where Grandpa's church, house (used to be), and favorite play places (the mill pond) were. 

5. Super 8:

I left Wisconsin after a nice lunch of pizza with Ardell's beautiful great granddaughters. The two youngest (Abby and Amaya) were curious in my van and they came outside while I was rearranging my packing- they were sooooo cute. It felt so nice to have seen and experienced the small town Wisconsin life that I've heard so many stories about from Granny and Grandpa. Anyhow- I hit the road around 1pm and made it to Indianapolis around 10pm (one final time zone passing). I staid in a Super 8 in Moorhead as well- and I must say that for the price- it's just right. I will also say that I was so excited to finally be here in Knoxville that I didn't sleep real well that night. But the free HBO special on Segregation in Southern Football Programs was very interesting.

6. Knoxville, TN:

I didn't leave my beloved bed at Super 8 until around 10 am. So I hit the road about 10:30 am and drove the beautiful miles through Kentucky and on into Tennessee from the north on I-75. Coming into Tennessee, it was quite remarkable just how lush and verdant the Smokies looked. I found the local bluegrass station and enjoyed taking in this new scenery with the appropriate music. I pulled into my new place about 5:30 pm. Home at last. Felt so good to finally be here, not worried about driving long days, and to start things up. I called one of the third year students who I'd been assigned as my mentor student and asked if he had time and energy to help me with a quick unpack- Aaron obliged me. 

Took us about 45 minutes to introduce ourselves. Took about 30 minutes to unpack. Aaron is a great guy. I could tell right away we'd have a good time together. I offered to by dinner as per his services- and he knew a great mexican place within walking distance from my place. We had some decent Mexican food, good beer, and fun conversation. It was a great way to be welcomed into town.

I am writing this on Thursday. I have now been here for 5 full days and am still figuring out this game they call grad school. I continue to be impressed with just how encouraging, kind, and supportive the environment is in my program. I've already got a few connections with folks that I can tell will be amazing classmates and fun friends too. I can already tell that these blogs will be becoming much shorter and more sporadic in nature very soon-there's a lot to get done with all this school stuff. I will tell you all right now that I will be purchasing a Blackberry. How about that? But I'll be doing my best to keep ya'll updated as best I can. 

Holy Poop I'm in Indianapolis

It's amazing how far you can drive if you put in eight hour days for 5 days in a Uhaul moving van.

I'm writing this from a Super 8 motel about 10 miles west of Indianapolis (which my Dad described as a "hole"). I'll have more objectivity about that particular assessment tomorrow in the morning- nonetheless- I'm grateful for being here.

I've got enough stores from the last 5 days of this adventure to justify a much lengthier blog than I have energy for. But I know that my mom (who is riding her bike through Europe for the next 6 weeks- way to go mom!) uses this thing to make sure I'm still alive. So, mom, I'm alive.

I actually feel pretty good after a restful and enjoyable stop in Waupun, WI to my Grandma Mary Nell's darling family. I got to see nearly all of her siblings and meet many of their great grandchildren as well. I had a nice brunch with all of them, followed by a tour of the tiny towns Grandma and Grandpa grew up in. I got to see the two farm houses Granny grew up in. I got to see the plot where Grandpa's house used to be and the Mill Pond where he used to swim with the Dammerau boys. 

Anyhow- I just wanted to write a quick blurb and say that I am safe and mostly sound. I will be in Knoxville, TN tomorrow in my new home!!!! Keep me in your prayers and thoughts. Almost there.

What a trip.

More to come.

Hot, Hilarious, and How Things Go From Here

We just moved my Grandparents into their new place at Good Samaritan village. Uncle Dave and Aunt Janeen showed up last night; two dudes from Good Sam came at 10 to 7 this morning to pick up a few items in the basement to take to the annual Good Sam garage sale; Aunt Jeanne and Dave Dacar came this morning around 8 am to join the 5 or so other friends and neighbors who graciously volunteered their time and backs for the move. Grandpa thought we'd be done at noon. We had everything unloaded and were eating watermelon at 11 am.

I am sitting at One World Cafe in retreat from the stress of the unpacking process not to mention the near 100-degree heat. I'm kinda stunned at how relatively smoothly the last few hours went.  Grandma was, as I expected, pretty agitated and stressed out by all of the activity (not to mention having very little say in any part of this particular part of the moving process). When I got up- she was all over me for not helping before drinking my morning coffee. Of course she was up at 5 am- anxious to get things done and over with. Despite having slept like a big piece of poo myself- I applied all of my acquired Mary Nell-neutralizing zen (which is more or less focused ignoring of her word salad blended with calling out the egregiously inappropriate behaviors- like saying "that's really mature" to her throwing towels at me because I wasn't helping the way she wanted). And though Jeanne also reported some Mary Nell malice, it could've been a lot worse I think. 

Anyhow- everything is out of 489 Paradise Dr. and either in 617 Einsenhower (or in the Garage). That is, everything except all of my crap (which is in the basement storage area at 489).  Just looking at it all compiled in one place- it actually looks like enough stuff to fill an apartment (and more pressingly- a Uhaul). I may actually have to ditch a few things to get it all to fit into the 10 footer that I have reserved for August 9th. Strange and serendipitous that my move should coincide with Gordy and Mary Nell's. I am so thankful to have enough things to more or less show up in Knoxville and NOT have to run around looking at garage sales, craigslist, and thrift stores. 

I am spending one last night here in Moscow tonight (interestingly over at the old place- it was sleep on the couch at the new place or on my bed at the old place). I am hopping the Dirty Dog (Greyhound) for Spokane, WA tomorrow at 2:30 pm and spending the night with Joel before flying out to Seattle on Monday for the week. I am so excited to have 5 full days to see my dearest friends out there before heading out east. I'm carpooling back to Spokane with my buddy Michael Fox and his girlfriend Brooke on Friday. We're planning on an overnight in the Leavenworth area that night and then they'll drop me off at the Gorge on Saturday for Phish. That's right- I'm going to catch Phish at the Gorge with Jens Norman Olsgaard and Joel Edward Soden. Look out. It's going to be a riot. 

Then, on Sunday morning, when we get fried out of our tent at the Gorge-  the three of us hosers will drive back to Spokane. I pick up my Uhaul in the early afternoon and drive for Moscow to load things up in the cool of the late afternoon and early evening (hopefully it's cool). And then I'll crash with Granny and Gramps that night, and then hit the road bright and early on August the 10th. Holy Poop-one adventure after another. 

This morning- after a poopy night's sleep, being immediately attacked by Grandma's anxiety, not to mention thinking about all of the little details of final packing, making my own next big move, and generally worrying about how it will all come together- I was feeling stressed. Sitting here after a successful morning of moving, a satisfying last trip to the Goodwill and Recycling center- I feel reassured and am reminded of one of my favorite Tom Petty lyrics from my favorite Tom Petty Album (Wildflowers)- "most things we worry about, never happen anyway". 

Calm in the Chaos

You ever just sat and marveled at how the water going over a waterfall just keeps coming-ostensibly infinite and continuous in supply. I'm feeling like that with all of the things that are going on right now. I'm here in Moscow, Idaho watching my Grandparents go through the process of moving out of their home of 14 years and into Good Samaritan village. I am preparing for my own move- a 4- night, 5 -day cross-country drive in a Uhaul starting in Moscow and ending in Knoxville, TN. And I am attempting to see as many of the wonderful people I am blessed to call friends here in the Northwest before I leave here for the next 4 years. 

Let me just say that my Uncle Dave, Aunt Janeen, Aunt Jeanne, and Dave Dacar (spelling?- sorry Dave) are saints. The amount of time, energy, and real work you all put into getting 489 Paradise Drive looking like it looks right now is phenomenal. I can only imagine all of the boxing up, wiping down, and throwing away that needed to happen. Thank you all sooooooooo much for that. I know that you all know- better than any of us- how much you put into helping Mary Nell and Gordon- but I wanted to just acknowledge how much you all have done to help them with this huge transition. 

Grandma is, as to be expected, quite agitated and stressed out. I imagine that once all of the big moving is done, and they are completely out of the old place and into the new, that she will slowly begin to feel more settled. She, as some of you may know, has again been "experimenting" with her insulin- which we all means that she is not taking her insulin. In a more tense moment yesterday (and after Grandpa in his cute, sweet way asked if I'd put a word in with Grandma)- Granny was directing me as to how to properly steam green beans (and after having ignored such coommands for the better part of the day), she started telling me that I wasn't open to doing things that people told me to do. I pounced. I quite loudly confronted her with the glaring truth that she was also quite unskilled with being told what to do- I think my exact words were: "oh yeah, well how do you do with listening to the things other people tell you what to do? how about you take your damned insulin?" Somewhat unfortunate that I was upset and I more or less yelled at Granny- but she shut up pretty quick and she's actually been more cautious with barking orders at me. 

Anyhow- it's just intense seeing how hard this whole process is for her. Change. Big Change. Change for the better- but change nonetheless.  

My move seems like the yin to their yang. I mean I can fit my whole life into one ten-foot van. How hilarious is that? Actually, even more hilarious for me, has been when I tell people who know me about that I am renting a Uhaul and they say- "you have enough stuff for a Uhaul?"

I know- I only acquired a bed this year. I have two bikes, a drum, and enough clothes to fill half a closet. I think calling myself a minimalist is still a stretch. But the irony is, what with my grandparent's moving, I am getting a couch, a lazy boy chair, two bookshelves, a filing cabinet, and some basic kitchen stuff. It feels both strange and right that I should be getting the stuff that they don't need. 

The funny thing that I seem to be realizing more and more is how much I strangely thrive off this drama. I don't feel like I get sucked into so much as it keeps me feeling like I have something to balance against. It's almost like when there's tons of intense things going on all around, it forces me to be more calm inside. I mean, whatever, clearly I am not immune to getting sucked in and yelling at Grandma. But I do think I that I am finding some strange sense of calm in all this chaos. And, as the boys from Spinal Tap say...

...why not?

Don't Fight It

I learn something simple and profound from Gabriela every day.

I just put her down for nap number two. Nap number two is always the most difficult of the day. I don't know why exactly...but my paradoxical perspective is that she's usually soooo tired during this part of the day that she gets a little bit agitated, she feels the blanket of sleep being laid upon her against her will, and she fights. When she really wants to, she can fight right through even the most exhausted of states. 

Most days, I can get her to fall asleep on my shoulder. However, some days this can take up to a half and hour. She does this thing where she suddenly pops straight up from my shoulder and looks around for something to point at, and equally quickly rests her head back down on my shoulder. She'll then lay there for a few minutes, and just as she's approaching sleep, she'll pop back up like a little gopher. But, usually, eventually, she will slip into slumber. But not always.

These are the days when I feel like I am reminded/taught the most about patience and acceptance. Because I know how exhausted she is, I do everything I can to get her to sleep. This can include everything from singing made- up  lullabyes to removing every possible inaminate distractor from the room to even providing a somewhat strong but cradling hand on the back (to prevent previously mentioned gopher behavior).  But if she doesn't want to sleep...she ain't gonna sleep. And I swear to God that she can sense when I'm frustrated and she fights even harder when I'm frustrated by her not sleeping. 

Don't worry Ali- she's sleeping right now. Actually, ironically, I had to get up about 10 minutes ago to go rub her back, hoping desperately that she'd go back to sleep (which she did). 

She reminds me that I don't get to control her. I am in charge- but not in control. This is quite a profound lesson  coming from a one-year old. She also reminds me how hard it can be to simple accept things. Ok maybe it's a stretch to try to extrapolate this from a one-year old's refusal to sleep. I mean, clearly there's a lot more going on than simple defiance and refusal to accept. But I think there's some truth in it. Hang with me.

So for us larger people, we know we should take a saturday and just relax, we should stop trying to be somebody that we're not, we should stop fighting whatever you may choose to call the underlying force and/or flow of life. Funny thing is, in my observation, is that when I accept things- my own exhaustion, disappoinment, sadness, less than ideal circumstance- it's always better than fighting it. And I imagine that everyone has their own experience with that. For me, acceptance is like stretching- it always feels good and it always reminds me that I don't do it enough. 

I've now been here in Atlanta for a month and a half- and I only have three days left here. It feels like a total blur. Part of that is that there's been a lot more than just the basic duties of nannying going on for me. During these last weeks- I came back from a trip to Mexico, went to New Orleans to follow my heart and a dear woman named Caroline, went to Knoxville for 5 days to get a better feel for my new hometown and to find an apartment. I still feel somewhat bad about the fact that I have brought all this transition and chaos into Phil and Ali's home. But what has become apparent to me is not only how grounded they are and have to be and how Gabriela grounds everybody she meets. 

Gabriela is just beginning to use words to communicate. And though her words aren't always clear (and she doesn't always follow it herself), what she is saying does- 

Don't fight it. 

And don't forget-

pooping is so much fun.

Sorry- that's what I say.

Hit the Nail on the Head

I have for the last half an hour trying to say what Tom Robbins says so much better than I could-

"When we're incomplete, we're always searching for somebody to complete us. When, after a few years or a few months of a relationship, we find that we're still unfulfilled, we blame our partners and take up with somebody more promising. This can go on and on--series polygamy--until we admit that while a partner can add sweet dimensions to our lives, we, each of us, are responsible for our own fulfillment. Nobody else can provide it for us, and to believe otherwise is to delude ourselves dangerously and to program for eventual failure every relationship we enter."

Isn't that right on?

-Isaac "Attempting Brevity" Brandt

Two and a Half Weeks of Summer

My life is cake.

I wake up to the sounds of the cutest one year-old in the world. When I get up, the coffee's already been made. I pick up the cutest on year-old in the world and feed her. Then we go to the park and play. We come back and I put her down for her first nap and watch the Tour de France with the last, yet surprisingly fresh cup still left in the pot. She wakes up an hour and a half later, and then we play, eat, and change diapers until nap number two. After this, we more or less repeat step four (I can't remember which step the play, eat, and change diaper one is). This brings us to 5pmish, when mom and/or dad show up. Like I said- cake. 

Plus Gabriela is THE cutest, funniest little booger. She loves to mimic bird sounds; perform her own headstand version of downward dog; push anything that is moveable; play in the spice drawer for 30 minutes at a time just taking them out of the droor; and fart. The last one is my favorite (big surprise there right?). She also loves to give kisses. Seriously- could it get any more adorable than a one- year old giving you kisses (although this is particularly hilarious as well as she does it with her mouth wide open and tongue sticking out) !? 

This weekend begins my search for an apartment in Knoxville and thus the rapid approaching process of beginning graduate school. And I think I'm writing this more to simply remind myself just how lucky I am to have this little window of time to experience the joyful being that Gabriela is, simply chill out, and do things like watch My Best Friend's Wedding at 3 in the afternoon on a Wednesday (oh yeah- that's right) and watch her wake up on my chest with her little smiling face. What a lucky schmuck I am.

I bought my ticket back to the Northwest for the beginning of my moving process- July 25th. I have two and a half weeks here. I plan on soaking it up. Summer is slipping away like a sunset.

Hope you all are soaking up your summers.

In The Journey

Once again I have stolen a song for my title. I know it's not very creative- but I always like noticing whatever song is playing when I sit down to write (I always listen to Pandora when I write). For those of you who know Martin Sexton, you know this song. It's a classic from Marty.

Damn can that guy sing.

Journey has become such a buzzword. Dude, it's all in the journey. It's been a journey. It's all about the journey. Dude, don't worry about the destination- the journey is the destination. Whoa- now that's deep. All of us know what's being described- I just think it's become an overused word. It's like awesome, or like, or dude (although- clearly I don't have any real beef with those particular words). I think the hard part is- there's not really a lot of other options. What other word can be used to describe "the journey". I guess "process" works. It's not as over-used; it's just sort of clinical. I like the word adventure, but it doesn't really describe the same thing. What the hell am I even talking about?

I'm sitting here on a hot Atlanta early evening thinking about what a journey and process this life can really be. So many things have to come together in such an intricate and delicate way in order for anything to happen in this life. The most basic and obvious example is the complex miracle of conception. Holy poop that's an amazing process when you really think about it (it's a "journey" too- sorry if that was gross). And then, for all of the cellular divisions, growth in the womb, through birth- wow. Maybe this is all coming up because I am nannying for a one year-old and living with a woman, studying to be a midwife (actually I think it has more to do with the fact that I am sleep deprived and only able to remain vertical because of the wonderful bean we call coffee)- but regardless of reason- life is one amazing journey. 

My life as a manny has afforded me a lot of time to think about how to most economically move myself across the country. I have thought about the PODS that seem so convenient and relatively inexpensive (the things the ship to you empty, you pack them up, and they ship them to your front door). I have thought about the good ole moving companies that drive your crap from one place to the next (these places were waaay more expensive than I imagined they'd be). And after pretty much finding nothing that worked with my budget, I checked in with the folks at Uhaul. To my great surprise, they were significantly cheaper (which I'm sure has to do with the fact that I have so little to actually move that I don't really even come close to the minimum weights for most moving companies). 

When planning this move initially, I thought I'd buy a car in Moscow and then drive out with my few earthly possessions on an epic, romantic road trip into the setting sun- destination Knoxville, Tennessee. Turns out that buying a car isn't quite like buying coffee for the week. So I had pretty much given up on the idea of a road trip. But when I saw that I could rent one of those great little orange vans ( presumably with some hilarious picture of a theme park in Florida on one side and a Manta Ray on the other) in Moscow, ID and drop it off in Knoxville, TN- within  a nine-day window- I was all like: "awesome dude" (and I fist pumped- seriously, who am I to be giving the word journey a hard time?). But you know when you inexplicably happen upon a solution to something you were certain would prove unsolvable? And you know how sometimes it comes right after you've given up hope? Ok so I'm a drama queen- but I was really excited that my dream to do a cross country drive was not only alive, but realizable. So there.

Anyhow-I also happen to really like the pace and process of making such a long and significant move in a more gradual and adventurous manner. For travel and vacation- air travel just makes sense. For a big move and transition, I think a mode of transport that allows for some level of processing (i am literally eating my words). Plus, this means that I can stop in on friends and family along the way. My general outline vision is to stop in Montana, Minnesota, Wisconsin, and Iowa, before heading off to Tennessee. So if you're one of the people crazy and patient enough to ready this rubbish- know that I will be contacting you soon. If you aren't, don't worry, you are probably better off not reading this- and I will be contacting you soon. 

I haven't been on a multi-day road trip since going to my Minnesota friends' Matt and Kirstens' wedding 4 years ago. And I have never done a road trip solo. I really like the thought of having the days to take in the scenery, listen to music, stop for running/skinny dip breaks- and then staying with friends at night. Should be a nice balance of solitude and shared time with good people. It'll be a journey.

So what the hell was my point? I really don't know. I guess I just wanted to let you all know of my moving plans. Take some time to make my obviously pointless perspective on the word "journey" be known. Mostly I just like knowing that I have a captive audience. Man do I feel sorry for those undergrads who end up in my Psych 101 class next Spring.

Just Do It

Phil, Alison, Gabriela, and I just got back from an overnight adventure to Oconee Lake (Reservoir). Ali booked a night at "The Lodge"- a nice hotel right on the banks of Lake Oconee as a father's day get away. It was just that.

I admit that I was a bit nervous about sharing a room with Gabriela for an entire night. When Ali invited me I thought about how many of the nights that I've been here, and how many of them the little one has woken up (sometimes for hours on end). I wanted to be respectful and be appreciative of the gesture to include me in the fun and time to celebrate father's day- but honestly- I have been in somewhat of a weird transitional space- and I thought seriously about just giving the three of them full freedom and time together as my gift both to myself and to them. But something deep inside me spoke up and said- "dude, you should just go and be with people you love." Sometimes when I feel like withdrawing and being alone, I actually really need to be with people. This was one of those times.

We got to the place yesterday in the early evening. After some classic misdirection with directions, we made it successfully to the "Lodge". All of us were quite tired, hungry, and ready to be out of the car. It being Phil's day, it was his choice for dinner. We asked the same woman at the front desk who had given us the directions that helped us correct my misdirection, and Phil decided on a surf and turf kinda place just next door to the hotel. It was great. 

Gabriela loved the live band that was setting up while we were ordering. Phil got a steak. Ali got grouper. And I, believe it or not, went for the grilled salmon caesar. Gabriela had cheese, bits of steamed veggies, and other random chunks of food from mom's plate. We shared food, conversation, and especially enjoyed watching Gabriela crawl all over the top of the table as well as single-handedly capture the attention of everyone on our side of the restaurant. I asked Phil about what stands out in his memory of being a first year dad. I loved what he said ( sorry if I misquote you here Phil).  

He said that those first weeks were amazing; getting to hold little Gabriela in his arms; listening to her sleep; and, of course, watching her grow. The other first firsts: seeing her recognize him, watching her laugh for the first time, clapping to her first steps. All the classics. But I especially loved what Phil had to say about just not worrying about the same things. That is to say reprioritizing. It's not so important that everything happens on time. It's not so important that things are always clean. Even little miscommunication and misunderstandings whether at work or other relationships- just don't cause the same kind of worry now. Now it's whether Gabriela is healthy, safe, and happy. I know I may be romanticizing things- but I love how Phil has embraced being a dad.

I want to thank Ali for including me on this little weekend tribute to Phil. I also admire her commitment to being such an ever present parent and considerate spouse (all while being a full-time grad student). Seriously, how do you do it Ali? Anyhow- I continue to be honored to be here and am grateful to be reminded that sometimes you gotta just do it. Just do it.

Not Much to Say

There's a title.

Makes me think of Joel giving me a hard time about using the expression "to make a long story short" while telling really long-winded, poorly-summarized stories.

Life down here continues to provide daily adventure. Things more or less follow the sleep patterns of Gabriela's fiercely rest-fighting spirit. She continues to wake up during the night and Alison with her- I don't know how either of them are not complete and utter zombies sometimes. Gabriela has the benefit of being able to make up for her fitful nights with days of napping. Alison not so much- she's got to go and be at the hospital for a twelve-hour shift today. Als is tough.

Phil's out working. I got a small taste of what it's like for him to do handy-work in this particular climate yesterday. He asked me to come and help out with clean-up at one of his work-sites. It took all of 5 minutes for my t-shirt to be completely saturated with sweat, and after 10 minutes, the humidity was so heavy that somehow the sweat had congealed like bacon grease in a pan. Seriously though- I had a layer of goo covering my skin from head to toe. I don't know how he does it. Phil is tough. 

Last night I got to play ultimate frisbee in this same swampiness. I attempted to be extra-pre-hydrated before starting. I think it made it worse. I was covered by the aforementioned goo in even less time (probably had to do with only having like two subs on the sidelines). Still, the team that Phil and I are on, Bush Divers (yeah, I know- you should hear our cheers), always has a cooler full of ice-cold beer. Most nights, this sounds completely revolting to me (ok, well, mostly). But when, you can't find respite from the invisible but very palpable heat- blanket that surrounds you, High-life is like 12 ounces of pure heaven. Well, maybe it's not heaven so much as it's a nice break from Hell. I am not tough.

Today is Friday and I will have officially been 'manny' for my first week. There have been many highlights. From Gabriela's constant stream of hilarious sounds (her favorite expression of joy and excitement sounds something like a cross between a monkey's howl and a bird's chirp) to her pooping on the floor in a brief diaper-less moment to her endless fascination with the spice droor (seriously, she can spend 10-15 minutes just digging through the thing)- she's made it a great first week. She seems to have mostly gotten used to me. I could tell that, especially in the mornings, she wasn't used to seeing me. But she let's me hold her, seems to know that I am part of the clan, and even seems to recognize me in the mornings now. She does such a great job reminding me of the basic, important things in life. 

After all, what could be more important than loving, eating, playing, pooping, and sleeping? I guess we adults have to work so that we can provide these basic things. But the irony is that those things are the basic things that bring the most joy anyway. But what do I know- I'm just the manny.

Thanks for sharing Gabriela Phil and Ali-

Thanks for putting up with me Gabriela-

Priceless

Today was a nice calm Saturday.

Phil and I went to a 9:15 showing of The Hangover, so we were up decently late, and it felt great to sleep in. Phil and Ali don't have that luxury. I heard Ali get up and run out the door early this morning, and then I heard Phil and Peanut up around 8 having fun with breakfast and toys. My departure from my new room (I have the master bedroom with my own bathroom- far more than I deserve but not more than I appreciate- thanks Phil and Als) wasn't until 9:35. Man it feels good to sleep in. 

Phil and GRAE were having fun eating yogurt with rice crispies. There's a real art to feeding yogurt to a one year-old with a spoon. If you go straight in and out, usually there's a fair amount left in the bottom of the spoon (not to mention, that with Gabriela's speed, she usually chomps down fast enough to have the upper level squish all over the outside of her mouth. The most effective technique involves an angled approach followed by an oppositely angled exit- Phil's got the touch. I'm still working on it.

Anyhow- the highlight of the day today was most definitely watching Phil free Gabriela from her cloth bonds (otherwise known as her diaper) and seeing her usual joyous response. She climbed, crawled, and waddled around with this added look of freedom she gets when she's naked. Phil let her come into the laundry room for another one of her favorite activities- helping with laundry. Then I hear- "Ike I need your help!" My first reaction was one of fear and I ran quick over to Phil and Peanut. 

I asked Phil: "What can I help you with?" And as soon as I'd asked the question, I saw the pile of cute baby poop that Gabriela had dropped right on the hard wood in front of the washing machine. Phil looked up at me and said, "Wipes, get some wipes Ike." I ran, grabbed them, and we cleaned up the mess in no time flat- Phil and I laughing the whole time. Priceless.

The rest of the day was more or less the usual playing around the house with various toys, making eating fun, taking the daily nap, and picking up the house at the end of the day before Mom came home. It was a great day to be with Phil and Gabriela. Besides the adventure in poo, we (GRAE and I ) had a great nap together that was a definite highlight. I can't wait for more priceless moments.

Magic

New Orleans is magical.

For those of you who still haven't had the window of opportunity open itself- contemplate cracking it open. For anyone who loves great people, great food, great music, history, culture, and adventure- this city has it all. It's a place that every American needs to visit. 

Anyhow- I got to spend the past 4 days in the Big Easy and it was great. This trip was made possible mostly by the doings of others- for which I am very grateful. My girlfriend Caroline had a good friend getting married this past weekend. When we parted back in April, she mentioned that she would be flying down south for the ceremony and would I like to tag along for a few days afterward (so I did also plant some seeds about that I would make a great tour guide- but hey- can you blame me?). So I guess Maria and her husband Adam (the now married couple and friends of Caroline) are mostly responsible, and I thanked both of them for getting married (they both gave me looks like- "who are you and what are you doing in our house?"). But really I have Caroline to thank for inviting me along. 

We ate great food. We had long conversations in open air cafes. We listened to great music. We even went on a swamp tour. This was a memorable adventure. And I am pretty sure that it was my last swamp tour. We loaded up with herd of other tourists in the Cajun Encounters bus that drove us out over expansive Lake Ponchartrain (spelling?). It was a 45 minute drive filled with blessed air-conditioning and insightful commentary by our native driver Renee. He filled us in on a lot of things regarding the devastation of Katrina-  water lines on 10 foot high fences we drove past; pointing out temporary bridges built because their "permanent" predecessors were completely swept away when the water level rose; painting the picture of how the french quarter is more or less bowl shaped and how, like a sink bowl, the water just went right to the middle and sat there when the french quarter flooded. He had all kinds of interesting things to share. Made the ride go by fast.

We got to the Honey Swamp Wildlife Preserve and pulled up to this little trailer built on stilts and paid for our tickets and put sunscreen on (which we didn't really need because the boats were covered). When the guides rolled in from their first tour of the day, the grouped the herd of about 50 or so tourists into some semblance of order and pointed us down the raised deckway toward the boats. To my amazement- everyone fit into the three seemingly too small boats they had waiting for us. Our captain came to welcome us last (his buddy next to us divulged that Captn Ted was probably stealing a cigarette break- he also mentioned that he himself had already done all the drugs he needed to and was thus ready to go)- Captn Ted. This guy was/is a character. 

Captn Ted (that's what he calls himself)- grew up in the swamp. As we would learn- his grandpa lived in the swamp for 94 years and only poked his out into civilization 20 times during the course of his life. Capt Ted filled with Cajun pride when talking about his swamp roots, his grandpa, and his growing up knowing every square inch of the swamp. We heard stories about searching for beautiful pearls left by the oysters found in the brackish waters of the swamp. We got lots of information on indigenous and intrusive plants. We learned all about alligators- from how they regulate body temperature, how they eat, how they mate (this was his favorite process to describe)- they guy knew a ton about gators. We heard about how, for 500 bucks, you could get a private trip with some local native americans that required you living with them for a week and paddling kayaks in the middle of the night 18 miles out toward the Gulf of Mexico in order to see the famous Big Al- an 18 foot alligator (means he's over 150 years old!!!).  The guy talked about everything from how necessary alligator farming has become to how corrupt the federal government has been and continues to be in regards to stealing from the little guy. The guy didn't take a breath for the first hour.

I think that, at first, all of us in the boat were intrigued and grateful that we had gotten the true local Capt Ted. He had us in the palm of his hand with his gritty swamp anecdotes and his endearing stories about his grandpa. But when he launched into this conspiratorial government is the root of all evil sermon (the guy covered the fossil fuels industry, green energy, farming practices, and, of course, hurrican relief efforts)- I think a few folks were feeling like they had somehow ended up in First Cajun Church of the Swamp with Pastor Captn Ted. The guy preached about everything from big government to spiritual contentment to true love (he shared one totally inappropriate story about how women shouldn't buy perfume because he knows a flower from the swamp whose nectar when mixed with a drop of water smells better than anything on earth. I thought I could talk. This guy had us entertained, information-saturated, and ultimately exhausted at the end of our 3 hour service. But obviously it was an experience none of us in that boat will soon forget (that is except the large man at the end who- was somehow able to sleep sitting up for then entire three hours).

That was Tuesday. Yesterday was a nice, relaxing last day. We had a lovely and leisurely breakfast at this little French pastry shop- yummy croissants and coffee and conversation. Like Granny says- so nice to just sit and chat. We then took a walk over to the mighty Mississippi and dipped our toes in (looked gross but felt great). We found the used/antique bookstore that mom and I went to when she visited me in NOLA back in 2005- had a nice time looking at books and feeling the air conditioning. And then we wandered to Jackson Square and sat in an open air cafe and had a long lunch. By then it was time to catch the taxi to the airport. 

The time was short and sweet. I have no idea when my next visit to the city of magic. But I do know that I am grateful for the opportunity to feel her charm and share it with someone I love.

Thanks New Orleans. Thanks Caroline.

Phil- my cousin, brother, friend, and mentor- picked me up at the airport last night. Timed perfectly- I walked right outside to where he had just parked by the curbside pick up and we were back here at the house at around 11pm. We caught up on all things Gabriela. Appears that she is sleeping better- actually taking her two naps during the day, though her nights are still filled with fits of waking and wanting to nurse. Phil credits Grandma Judy with Gabriela's willingness to resume her napping. So it will be interesting to see how things go this week with the two of us. Grandma leaves today in the afternoon. Uncle Ike, otherwise known as the Manny, formally begins his duties tomorrow. 

I'm sitting here at the kitchen table, in the cool of the shaded house, listening to some slow blues preparing to savor this time here in Atlanta. 

Happy Birthday Gabriela

The cutest little girl on the earth turned one year old today.

Gabriela Rae Coburn (I hope I spelled that right)- is celebrating at the moment by actually, finally laying down for a nap. All of us here in Atlanta are hoping that she gives herself the gift of a nice long nap. She's been really struggling with getting back into a regular sleep rhythm. She and her Uncle have at least that much in common. But she's wayyyyyy cuter.

Today is day two here and Gabriela has already managed to pretty much laugh and smile the whole time. She is soooo much bigger than the last time I saw her. In fact, Ali gave me a picture of the last and first time I met Peanut (back in August at just two months). Back then, she was small enough to take a nap on my chest. Now, she has teeth, walks, and can even say "Bob" (she likes bob as a name for lots of things). She is super strong and can easily push things over, pull things down, and rip pages out of books. She is also incredibly fast. She can be out of your arms, crawl across the room, and have ten things in her mouth before you've finished picking the booger you were working on. Keeps you on your toes. 

Ali, Judy, and I were the first this morning to get to wish Gabriela happy birthday. We sang her the birthday song and clapped together (this is also one of her favorite things to do). We then got to witness the opening of the first present which was this totally great sand/water/train/sandcastle structure complete with shovels, removable (and thus throwable) trains. Grae was mostly interested in taking it apart. You gotta admit- there's totally something strangely cathartic about taking something apart. 

Anyhow- I learned from Ali that Gabriela was officially born at 1:05pm last year. And I still remember being in Bozeman with Granny when Phil's call came. I remember Grandma having almost laid down for her nap, but upon hearing my voice downstairs, her running down the stairs to grab the phone from me. That was awesome. I have never seen her move that fast. 

We celebrated in Bozeman with Grandpa, Grandma, Leah, and myself.

The crew here is getting ready for the birthday celebration that officially takes place tomorrow. Bunches of other little ones will be here (accompanied by the parental units of course). Ali's sister and her cute little ones will be here as well as other dear friends. In total I think there's going to be around 45! Gonna be great.

Happy Birthday Gabriela-