University at Albany State University of New York...

...has got to be the longest name for a University. 

Headed out tomorrow evening from Spokane, WA for the fourth of the four interviews I've been granted. To be honest, I'm not particularly excited about this one, but I'm also not tied up in knots nervous either. That's nice. So I'm treating this trip as an adventure unto itself and another opportunity to hone my interviewing skills. They'd really have to hit a home run to get me to come- and home runs do get hit. We'll see- it's a good lesson in keeping an open mind about things for me- which is really much harder than it might seem. I think with all this waiting and wondering about where I'll actually go, I'm craving the taste of certainty. I just want to know- you know? 

Today was another day of news. I got the official letter form offer from UT and I got a phone call from Colorado State saying that I'm at the top of their alternate list. I drove early to work just so I could sit in the truck with my coffee and slowly sip it all in. That is the offer. The initial finding out about the program was kinda anti-climactic and I wanted to have some kind of a moment just to myself. So I read the letter and sipped. It was nice. Actually, truth be told, it was a bit anti-climactic. But that paired with a phone message from CSU (apparently they had 200 applicants this year) was one more reminder that this dream of mine is happening. Feels good to have worked so hard for something and see it start to take shape. Hard part is waiting for it to take its shape. 

Well, who better than my dear old Granny to give perspective on all this? Granny and I had a nice morning just the two of us. I didn't have to be at work until noon, and Gramps was, of course, at Good Sam. She felt good this morning, and was up and and at em washing dishes, scrubbing the cupboards (her favorite), and chatting with me all the while. 'Oh Ikey, you know if you hadn't got in, you would've figured it all out too!', she says in her inimitable voice (well, mostly inimitable). She wanted to talk about the fact that I opted to NOT get my haircut for this interview (which took up quite some time). And I allowed her to trim my neck which is like her favorite thing (next to scrubbing the cupboards- obviously). We had a gay old time. I continually realize how important and profound it is to just simply BE and BE together. I think this is a secret wisdom that Grannies and Mom's have always possessed and passed on. When you sit down to think of how little time we truly get to simply be together with the people we love-it's kinda sobering. I'm so glad I made the choice I did to come and be here.

Granny had a good enough day today that she went with Grandps, Uncle Mark, and Cynthia to the Jazz Festival Friday night concert. She loves choirs and vocal performances. And from the look on her face when I came home tonight, she absolutely loved it. So nice of Cynthia and Mark to come down and spend time with them. Tomorrow Cynthia will be going with Gramps to the Cougar/Arizona State game, and Coby will stay with Granny for the day. How cute is that? I'm sorry to just miss them, but I did get to catch up with Coby and Cynthia a bit tonight- and will presumably a bit more in the morning. They're such good people.

Well, I should finish packing for New York. I know for a fact that I won't be taking off my suit jacket and rolling up my shirt sleeves due to heat on the campus tour like in Knoxville. It'll probably be more like blowing on my hands and putting them Joel Soden style down my pants to warm them up (sorry Sodes- had to bust you). Who knows what awaits in Albany? It's all adventure anyway. 

The Boys are Back in Town

The crazy college boys I lived with and shared some of the most memorable moments of my life with are getting together.

Jens- my Norwegian brother from a different mother- has got his Spring Break from Med School here in mid-March and put out the poll for interest in a weekend get together in Spokane. Joel, the first of us to go to Grad school, has just moved into his first apartment and has the perfect space to play host. Bradley, the first of us to actually just go out and do his own thing, is flying all the way from Minneapolis for the weekend. He gets the travel warrior award. Michael (who actually lived across the street from us four), the first of us to have a truly sweet job will be coming from Seattle. So I'm writing this not only because I'm excited, but also to warn anyone in the Spokane area that on the March 14th and 15th weekend- anything could happen.

There could be a rash of Night Panda sightings. There's sure to be some naked activities involving multiple people (and potentially props). With Michael being a cameraman (which, now that I think of it, kinda makes me nervous) there will be ample documentation. Hopefully not too ample. 

Just writing this has be smiling from ear to ear. I won't bore you all with the details of the stupid, hilarious, and juvenile shit we pulled in our days in PLU. I will say that when I chatted with one of my recommending professors recently, that he was actually scared on several occasions by what Jens and I wore to class. I will also say that- for those of you who don't know this story about us-we streaked campus on bikes and were, at one point, chased by the local police department. I will also say that one time Jens and Bradley put on all black clothing and masks and attempted to walk out of historic Harstad Hall with the ginormous painting of PLU's founder (some dude named Bjug or some Norwegian shit like that) IN THE MIDDLE OF THE DAY. 

I'd like to think that each of us has matured since those sophomoric days. And I can only speak for myself, but I think I've come a long way since the days of pooping in a bowl on the porch of the Frisbee house. I cook. I clean. I even like taking showers and brushing my teeth. That's right. And though I can only speak for myself, I also know that one of the joys of being a dude is that we are sort of hardwired to enjoy basic stupid shit like pushing each other into hard things, telling horribly inappropriate jokes, and scheming the next limit-pushing practical joke. It might be a cop-out to blame evolution for these behaviors- but I do think that somewhere deep, down, and dark- we dudes need to be immature. I would even argue that a little immaturity is a sign of maturity (notice Michael that I used the word "little"). 

Whatever the case may be, I am so excited to have the kind of friends who are willing to make things happen. I am blessed to have the kind of friends who are just as eager to give a hug as throw a tennis ball at someone's charms. We all know that the friends that plan for a whole month how to inconspicuously stick a garden hose through someone's window so as to properly soak them while they sleep are the kind of friends you really want.

Poop

Poop is a funny thing. Most people realize this- I think. But really, it's one of those things you don't realize how fundamentally amazing it really is. That is, the whole process really. That are bodies so efficiently and effectively filter out all of our shit and keep us moving forward- pretty damned amazing.

Granny pooped this morning. First time in three days. Amazing. She looks like a human again. This is her second real lengthy bout with constipation. And this one was only a three day stint. Thankfully. 

This morning I woke to find the house to myself. Granny and Gramps went to the Breakfast Club to be with their church friends from Genessee. Gramps didn't get what ordered, but ate it anyway. He said it wasn't very good either. Grandma had two eggs scrambled with toast and coffee. She was glad she had the energy to go out. 

I had the morning to myself and I soaked it up. Walked around in my robe until about 10:30 am. Listened to music as loud as I wanted (anyone on Pandora should look up Dan Reeder). I cooked my eggs and toast just like I like and then headed out before G and G showed back up. Walked downtown to have some fresh air and to find a continuous and secure internet connection to do my turbo tax thing. 

The rain started coming down this morning and stopped just as soon as I left the house, so it smelled like it does after the rain; sweet, musty, and pure. I love that. And I enjoyed the song of the birds all the way to the One World Cafe. Ordered up a cup of coffee and sat down to organize my thoughts, think about my day off, and figure out what I'd like to get done. Mostly when I go to the cafe, I stare out the window while listening to whatever Pandora station fits me best at that particular moment. It's nice. 

But back to poop. I like the metaphor of poop. Maybe that's self-evident. It's just that we all have it and have to deal with it. You know? Some are regular as clocks. Some go for days. Some irregular. Some are somewhere in between.  We have to continually deal with it. It's not like you drop a huge one, and then you're done for the next month (except for the rare cases like Granny's ten day stint). You gotta always be processing. That is, a healthy system needs to be regular. Whatever the pattern may be. I think you smell my drift.

Anyhow, the continual process of processing and struggle to find regularity and health at 489 Paradise Dr. continues. Gramps and I had a nice chat while getting wood today about his plan for if (when) Granny dies. That being his notion of staying here for a year and then moving to Sandpoint to be closer to family. We also chatted about the reality of Granny doing some level of assisted care. He definitely knows that she'd be miserable pretty much anywhere other than here at the house. He expressed interest in having you mom come when you're done in July for another "month or two" (his words). And he mentioned the possibility of Ruth Ann coming out for a stint as well. It sure does seem like some sort of in home care-taking makes the most sense. I asked Gramps about his level of stress vs. enjoyment having to do everything around the house- and he still mostly enjoys puttering and taking care of things. It's the constant needing to be available to Granny that drives him bonkers. I do my best to cover and get him to go out for a bike ride, ski, or whatever- but, honestly, I can only handle her for so long. She's a damned handful and she's just so emotionally confused and I think pretty much either tired or in some level of discomfort most of the time. 

Anyhow, back to poop. One of the things I have truly learned to admire about Gramps is his sense of regularity and discipline. The dude is so predictable- he gets up at the same time, does his exercises, and poops three times every morning (and, hilariously, sneezes while doing so). I realize that this may be more info than Gramps would care I share (not to mention you all reading), but that's amazing. I think Granny has always thrived and felt so safe in Gramp's predictability. I mean, we still eat at exactly 5:30pm. But as her body falls apart, the irregularity of things has her extra confused and feeling out of sorts. 

But, back to poop. If nothing else, this whole ordeal makes me appreciate the simple, seemingly mundane, and completely amazing palindrome we all know as: POOP.

Halftime

It's Halftime-

Arizona State and Arizona. Good game so far. Gramps is putting together a puzzle, Grams is obsessing about some memory of picking up Hannah somewhere (quite loudly), and I am, well, here I am. 

Today was another funny day in this hilarious chapter. I sold more shoes today than  I have in the last three weeks of work. I was 'in the zone'. A woman walked in for Dansko's. Boom. A dude walked in wanting some sweet trail running shoes. Boom. I think if there were video of me today it would look something like Keaunu Reeves in the Matrix, but instead of bullets coming at him, there'd be shoes flying from his hands at the thousands of 'Mr. Andersons' around him. Bad analogy. Anyhow, it was strangely enjoyable to have a productive day at work.

I got to catch up with Joel and Bradley on my lunch break. They both remind me how funny my friends are. Especially those two guys. A good laugh goes a long way.

And speaking of friends, I got to catch up with an old childhood buddy, Quinn Costello, last night. So nice to see him. He's a documentary filmmaker in San Francisco. He looked the part last night- what with a stitched Giraffe hand sewn onto a blue sweatshirt and his funky little hip pants. We picked up with out missing a beat- him giving me a hard time for liking movies like Garden State and Love Actually and me giving him a hard time for not being able to let go his elitist tastes and enjoy simple movies. We caught each other up on both of our families and talked a little about love lives (mine's kinda not really alive or dead- I think it qualifies as mostly dead ala Princess Bride). I couldn't quite tell Quinn how nice it was to let loose, have several glasses of good wine, and reminisce. I definitely realize how amazing it was to live with my best friend all of last year. I don't have much of a social life right now. Though I think this very blog (not to mention the frequency and length of these entries) might have given that away a long time ago.

On that note, I want to say 'thanks' to you Jeanne. It was so nice just to chat with you if even for just  a short few minutes about things here in the house. As you well know, it's just such a weird process, and not having gone through anything like this, I definitely realized how important it is to actually call you and Dave and Janeen. Not that there's some clear solution, but just to share the process and share with each other. I really appreciate how sensitive and sweet you are. I got lucky with the family I got.

Spring keeps teasing us with her slightly warmer temperatures and rain. It was real pleasant the last few days and then today it got a bit chilly again with rain in the afternoon. But one of the things I have truly learned to love about 489 Paradise Dr. is the tropical climate of the first floor. One thing is for sure- I am never cold here. Granny likes that I like the fire so much. 

Halftime's over. Back to the game.

Little Moments

Today was one of those funny days filled with hilarious little moments.

At 8:30 am I had to go into work for a 'clinic' on a new line of shoes. Classic small town store shit. I show up thinking I'll be the late one, walking through the door at 8:30 on the dot. Nope. I'm the first.  And the salesman and my supervisor, Sean, are eating donuts and shooting the bull. It's only supposed to take 30 minutes (so said Sean)- but I can already see where this is heading.The guy was nice, but in that classic salesman sort of folksy-I-can't-take-you-seriously kinda way. After an hour, several cheesy salesman jokes, and an apple fritter- we were done. At least I got paid.

Funny part was I didn't have to work until 12. So back to Granny and Gramps' for a real breakfast. Gramps, come to find out, is heading over to his duties at Good Sam. Some weeks he's over there like 4 days out of the week, and then some it's pretty dead. So basically I forgot that he was going, which meant that Granny and I just sat and chatted over breakfast. We shared a rare lucid conversation. I expressed to her my honest feelings about seeing her the way she is. And more suprisingly, she was able to listen to me express my fears, frustrations, and sadness without turning to sobs. Which seems to be how it goes mostly these days. But, it was nice to hear her be honest about that it seems like there are more bad days than good ones. This is especially hard for her as she forever tries to put a good spin on everything. Those of you who know Granny know this well. It could be worse she says a lot. But today she was able, in some small way, to recognize that it does seem like the bad days seem to be around more than the good ones. It's just tough.

After straightening shoe boxes for another several hours (which is suprisingly very soothing), I came home to find Gramps watching the Huskies playing UCLA. His usual cute self, he had the 'hearing ears' for the TV on so that he wouldn't wake Granny. She apparently cashed in her chips early due to just being worn out from being worn out. He asked if I wanted to watch with him upstairs, or if I'd like to go downstairs for my usual evening routine. I could tell he'd like company- sane company- so I obliged. Nice to just sit and watch the game and catch up between the commercials. Just sitting there gave Grampy the space to talk more about Granny and how he sees things evolving. He, on a positive note, seems to be less weepy too. He told me that he realizes that there's nothing he can do; that he can't take away what Granny is going through. So, in his thinking, he just focuses on his philosophy of doing the right thing, being sincere, and then letting it "just be the way it is". He's such a good man. Granny really lucked out with him. 

Anyway, he brought up that he can't continue to care for her in this manner and he talked about wondering about assistance with Granny. 

This is where I got real interested and am writing this specifically to all members of the Braun clan. Gramps expressed that he's open to having Ruth Ann come for a while. He said specifically that he'd only want her to come for a week, as she as duties at home, etc. I asked about consulting with you Mom, Jeanne, and Dave about all of this- Gramps gave his I'm-still-thinking-about-all-this look. But I bring it up too, because he told me he's planning on not getting his usual golf pass for the summer. I don't mean to sound the alarm- but I think Gramps is obviously saying "I can't do this all"- and with me leaving in April, and working full-time, I am wondering about the longer term vision for care for Granny. I guess I'm hoping to hear your thoughts on all of this. 

Love to you all-

Sitting Here in Limbo

For any of you who have never listened to the "Harder they Come" Soundtrack- do so. Actually, watch the movie first. It's a classic.

I'm sitting here on a foggy Tuesday morning in sleepy Moscow, Idaho. Just had a lovely morning chat with Granny. We talked for a solid hour and a half. We covered everything from nutrition, growing up on a farm, her dad getting remarried, what my decision making process for grad school will be, to one of her favorite subjects- her records. She wanted me to listen to the "Amen" song. I love how much she loves those cheesy ass records. It used to annoy me, but now it just makes me laugh.

And if this isn't a metaphor for progress- I successfully put wood into the fireplace- without it smoking or Granny losing her mind! Huge. I notice that the more willing I am to compromise and accept Granny's idiosyncracies, the more she is willing to listen to what I say about nutrition, death, essentially all of the real conversations she has always seemed unable to have. 

You all may be saying 'duh', but I think with Granny  and her somewhat adolescent behavior it's always just so easily justifiable to get frustrated, mad, and basically tell her what to do. But like with the delicate dance of discipline with a teenager- I've had to learn to respect her independence (what she has left) and to try to put myself in her shoes. Ok, probably another 'duh', but a lot of this is experiential. 

Sitting with her this morning, I learned about her longtime desire to be a pastor's wife. She told about knowing pretty early on that she'd like to be a pastor's wife. Of course, when I asked more pointed questions, she couldn't really come up with any real experience or specific reason for why. She did mention that her pastor's wife was a real stand-up woman- someone she looked up to. Granny also talked about how free she felt growing up on the farm. She told of being able "to holler as loud as I wanted" and that "we had everything". I think of her experience growing up and how almost polar opposite it was for Gramps and his family.  In her words, "God makes us all so different!" 

Well, I'm rocking out to Josh Ritter on Pandora and waiting for Gramps to come back from Good Sam. He was up bright and early to go to the monthly men's breakfast that he loves so much. Last night I asked him what would be on the menu (knowing that pretty much it's the same thing everytime, but that Gramps loves listing things); "sausage, toast, eggs, orange juice, and hot chocolate", he listed. I love listening to him list things. He's so damned cute.

Speaking of cute, last night when I got back from work, Granny and Gramps both said they felt bad that they didn't have a cake or something waiting- so they would be taking me out to dinner tonight. Cute. Problem, of course, is I know that they want me to go where I want- but they don't want to spend money. Granny loves Applebees. Gramps loves anything cheap made at home. And then there's the aspiring, money-less epicure- me. So, as per the sort of spirit of compromise and collaboration that seems to be growing here at 489 Paradise Dr., I'm trying to think of something that would mostly fit for all of us. The Alehouse would be nice- but it's a bit loud. Nectar is where I'd really like to go- but, of course, it's spendier and kinda groovy. But the thought of stepping out with them there is very tempting and hilarious. We'll see. 

I'm enjoying the simple joy of being home, warm by the fire, still in my robe at 11 am. Sweet. Thinking about getting outside for some disc golf after the run to the dump. And thinking about the crazy, hilarious theatre students I met on the plane ride from Denver to Spokane who invited me to come out with them on Thursday night. There's a huge theatre competition going on this week at the U of I, and I'd love to catch some of it. It'd be a shame not to.

I have to share what my nerdy, hilarious celebration of getting into a PhD program entailed. My first reaction yesterday was to go out and celebrate with friends, champagne, and dancing- the sort of It's a Wonderful Life- kinda of thing. Then I realized- I don't have friends here. I don't want to drink champagne by myself. And, well...actually I did do some dancing by myself. But mostly I just felt exhausted. So I went right to my usual favorite thing to unwind- cheesy, uplifting cinema. So I made a fire in the basement. Had a beer. And then I snuggled into the green chair in the basement with my laptop and Billy Elliot. I laughed. I cried. And then I went to bed. Perfect. Totally perfect. That's such a great movie. Yes I know I am a huge movie dork- and I love it. 

Anyhow, I'm savoring the fact that today I will actually be writing Arkansas to let them know "thanks but no thanks". I will be writing Oregon to let them know I've been made an offer and that their program is still tops on my list. I will begin the next chapter of this crazy book I seem to be writing. Wild to think that last year (actually almost exactly) was when I took the GRE. I can still remember the gut-wrenching feelings of preparing, taking practice tests, wondering if I would, like so many, have to take the bloody thing over to get the kind of score that would be sufficient for PhD programs. And then the gut-wrenching feeling of sitting in the stodgy computer room in Bozeman taking the bloody thing for like 4 hours, the whole time having no real clue if things were going well or not, and then, at the end of the 4 hours, staring at the button saying "Would You Like to Accept Your Score?". Me thinking something like "holy shit", and really feeling clueless about what kind of a score I'd get. I moved the cursor on to the button and clicked. No way. No frickin' way was that my score, I thought. But it was. It is and I'm so blown away by the humbling process of pursuing a dream that's brought me here right now. 

Everyday I see Granny I'm reminded of the simple miracle of life. None of us know if we'll wake up. None of us know how the day will go. None of us know what lies in store. Everyone has their own relationship to the daily miracle of life- and that's what makes it so profound to share with each other. But having her (and Gramps) is such a blessing because it makes me confront the reality that it's not about whether we exactly achieve our specific dreams so much as it as about pursuing them, living each day fully, and openly sharing the experiences with the people in our lives. Of course, that's easy for me to say now that I've gotten my butt into Grad School. But it's also not not about achieving our dreams. But what the hell do I know?

I'll Gladly Volunteer

Yesterday was one of the best Valentines Days that I have ever had.

Joel and Michael picked me up from the airport with a perfectly tacky, hilarious helium balloon saying "Welcome Home". Michael promptly handed me the balloon and then Joel gave me a fake flower lei in classic Hawaiian fashion. Awesome. I have the best friends in the world.

We drove back to Joel's apartment in Grandpa's truck (they chose to come pick me up in the truck to try to be funny with all three of us having to cram in) and made the plan for the day. We decided (actually Joel and Michael decided several days ago that we'd follow one of Joel and Becca's V-day traditions and make pizza) to make heart shaped pizza. I suggested we put a twist on things and make a second, penis-shaped pizza. Awesome. So Joel whipped out his iPhone and made a list of ingredients we'd need, and we walked over to Rosauers (super close to his apartment- like 3 blocks). We made everything from scratch- dough, sauce, the works. And save for the dough being a bit thick- everything tasted great. 

We starting drinking beer at 3:00pm and just hung out chopping veggies, rolling dough, and sharing stories. Joel and Michael started several wrestling matches. Michael followed through with his usual persistent barrage of lame jokes. And I, of course, was focus of much of the teasing throughout the evening. So nice to be with the kind of friends you can just sit around in the kitchen with a beer and lose total track of everything. We laughed, and laughed, and laughed some more. After filling up on pizza, we headed out to the bars. 

The Swamp was the first stop. This bar is hilarious. It's right off of the freeway- about 5 blocks from Sodes' place, and it's one of those hip because it's not kinda places. We, naturally, were hoping for some cute girls to kiss, but alas, at 8pm  (yes that's when we decided to go out) there wasn't a whole lot goin' on. Anyhow, Jens called right when we showed up, and it couldn't have been a more timely call. 

So I should probably back up and say that for pretty much the whole flight back, I was thinking about all of the possible outcomes and the possible permutations of decisions to be made in the next weeks. I mean shit, my life is about to seriously take off in another direction. And with the sort of exciting, yet unofficial news from the UT professor I stayed with, I'd been a bit tied up in knots. Hearing this guy pretty much give me the "hey, kid you're in" ala some 1930's Humphrey Bogart movie was a weird thing to process. At first of course I was pumped. I felt cool. I felt like I was in. I felt wanted. After all this waiting business, that felt great. But after a while I started thinking like "well, that's not in writing, it's not official, I don't want to take anything for granted". So I have more or less been questioning, doubting, wondering, and hoping to have the official offer in hand on Monday- tomorrow. 

When Jens called yesterday, I had also been thinking about maybe just waiting another year and reapplying to U of O- where I really really want to get in. And when I actually told him that I had more or less gotten in at UT- he put me square in my place. He kindly but firmly reminded me that I have, for the last 4 years or so been searching, seeking, complaining about having a focus. He also reminded me that nowhere was going to be perfect, and that what had happened is that I got tempted by the filet mignon on the menu- when I already had a free coupon for the sirloin. You get my drift. He told me that it was my job to go and deliver my first lecture to Michael and Joel on the future of Dr. Brandt- and that we were to begin celebrating post haste. I have the best friends in the world. I am so blessed to have the kind of friends that just tell me exactly what they think. I love that. And I needed to hear that. And I feel so much better sitting where I am right now.

So, to the title of this post. I am hoping that tomorrow I will be able to let you all know that I have been accepted into a PhD program!!!!!! Holy Poop. So cross your fingers, do a little dance, and pray to the God's that it comes tomorrow. Seriously, the waiting thing is getting old fast.

Who really ever knows anything?

I know I don't.

Anyhow, the interview day went well. I was suprisingly energetic throughout the entire day. Which was a true miracle given the 4 hours of cumulative sleep I got. But I guess that I have been used to sleep deprivation for the last year; you never know what experiences will end up being sources of strength.

I was better prepared, asked more pointed questions, and was still as much myself as I can imagine anyone can be under the circumstances. This is a growing program. The faculty are young, eager, and motivated to try to create something new and unique- and that's palpable. That said, it's also a bit ambiguous, a bit disorganized. Pros and Cons at every place I'm sure, but I definitely still feel like U of O is my top choice. Yet, I think having been put on the alternate list, I am more prepared to be open to an opportunity like this here in Knoxville. 

So after the interview day (8am-4pm) and the barrage of answering and asking questions, we all went out to the local beer and pizza joint- Barley's. Cool spot. Old warehouse building with vaulted ceilings and live music, fresh brew (Rogue Shakespeare Stout-totally made me think about Oregon), and some funky Southern hipsters. One of them actually looked uncannily like Bradley Campbell. And Soup, I should have taken a picture. But, on my way out for the evening festivities, my host, Dr. John Lounsbury pulled me aside and gave me the not-so-subtle "hey dude, all the professors really liked you" message. This was super hilarious because I thought he was pulling me aside to make sure that I wasn't going to be coming home drunk. And then, when I realized what he was saying, I was sort of like "what the hell!?". I mean, who does that? Kinda flattering, but totally unprofessional. So I'm a bit perplexed by that strange interaction, but mostly feel like it does confirm at least that I did a good job interviewing today. 

And who really ever knows anything? I have no idea how all this works out. I do feel grateful to be a part of this process, and feel good about having cultivated a better attitude of openness. So I should hear back on Monday, and we'll go from there. Love to all you folks crazy enough to read my scribblings. Keep me in your prayers- and know that you're in mine.

The Waiting's the Hardest Part

Well, it's 3 am and I'm writing on my computer. I feel alright because I actually got about three and a half hours of sleep before waking up to empty my squirrel sized bladder. Then the thoughts start racing: what if I'd said that; I could of said it like that; shit, I shouldn't of said that. Can you tell that this whole grad school interview thing is stressing me out!?

Truth be told, I'm mostly excited. It's just that all of this interviewing, auditioning, waiting, wondering is nerve wracking. So much so, I've started reading the Alchemist for the second time in several months. You know, just read something that so perfectly captures "The Journey"- the quest for one's "Personal Legend". One of the parts that stands out to me is how Paulo Coehlo describes the space before realizing a dream as being a bit like the moment before dawn. That is, it's darkest right before the dawn (also, strangely, one of my favorite Bob Dylan lines). More specifically, right before realizing a dream, that one's resolve to reach that dream is most tested. I find this to be very true of my experience. 

And it's that going to Grad school somehow will forever define me as a person, or that my self-worth is contingent on getting in to school, or that by choosing this path I'm saying: this is what I want to do with the rest of my life. But kind of. I mean, the reality is that this choice will drastically shape the course of my young life. I feel as though I'm writing the prologue for the book of my life. I've been gathering experiences, insight, developing my voice and sense of purpose for the previous 27 years, and now I'm preparing to create something coherent, clear, and contributive (is that even a word?). Speaking of creating something coherent, clear, and contributive (sounds good at least)...

...so I'm in Knoxville, Tennessee. After getting into the airport, there was a small contingent of interviewees waiting to be picked up by one of the current students to be driven to our various destinations. We did some small talking and then piled into this awesome, old Lincoln towncar. The thing's hood was actually not fully latched (we were informed of this "sticky" situation by our driver). So here we are cruising down the road with the hood "nodding" in tacit approval. Awesome. After 20 minutes or so of more small talk, we pull off onto this wooded drive way. It's pretty steep, long, and heavily forested by the barren varieties of deciduous indigenous species here. A bit eery and strangely beautiful. And then we come to the house. There's a fountain, a big round-a-bout style parking area, and this sort of viny, brick, three-story estate reminiscent of "Sunset Boulevard". Turns out the inside is no different. 

I say thanks to my welcoming crew and chaueffer and greet my new hosts. John is a professor at the program- he's about six four, graying, and gracious. He introduces me to his wife, Lucy, who works from home as an Industrial Psychologist managing an online website-based assessment business. Lucy shows me the house. Marble countertops, vaulted ceilings, open deck, veranda, you name it- it's here. I'm shown to my room up the stairway and I truly feel like a prince. I'm followed by the 20 or so dogs that live here. Most of them more closely resembling rat pedigree than anything canine. But I love dogs. I really do. I actually found myself asking at the casual dinner this evening asking about the "dog friendliness" of Knoxville. Sounds like it is. 

So after settling in here, I promptly layed down for a nap. I, as per my writing this at what is now almost 4 am, was exhausted from early morning, obsessive reading of my "how to master the interview manual", and my general level of anxiety (which I find keeps my hands quite soft, if not a bit moist). Nice to have a whole room to myself for a mid-afternoon nap. I got in a solid 20 minutes. Got up and walked around the grounds with the dogs following and enjoyed the smells of red earth, water, and the sounds of birds. Didn't even need a coat, with it being 55 degrees today- this felt soooooooo nice. 

Then off to the "get-to-know-you" dinner. These situations are such a set-up. Let's keep it casual; but all of us are nervous as hell, we are supposed to act all cool and collected, and none of us know each other. But Phil (and this may be an inside joke between us) you know how I've always teased about being an awkward position specialist? I think I somehow thrive off these sorts of situations. I love being the guy to put people at ease. I love being the guy who says something ridiculous to break the tension. I love being that guy. I love it so much, that I have to be sure I don't overdo it. That much I'm sure you all already know (most of you probably knew it long before I did- for that I apologize).

Anyhow, it all went off real well. I chatted with the Program Director about spanish speaking opportunities. I chatted with another "non-trad" students about her interesting travels that have brought her back to Tennessee and living closer to her ill parents. On this note, I chatted with the Professor I have selected to be my initial advisor, Dr. Hector, who shared with me his own touching story of taking care of his 96 year-old dad for the last 3 years of his life. We shared a beautiful moment on this subject, and it so endeared me to him that I got excited about the potential of having an advisor who could just be so open and honest in a matter 0f the first 5 minutes.  He's an older man- presumably in his 60's. But he's got a fire in his belly. He lights up talking about existentialism, phenomenology, and simply "shutting up and listening to the wisdom each unique human being has" (he said that). I told him he was speaking to my heart and that I would look forward to continuing our conversation during our interview tomorrow. 

I get the feeling that this program is in an interesting phase of growth. There are the Dr. Hector's who have been here for 15 years and upward. And then there are the new folks who have all basically been here 3 years and who have worked hard to create something unique and new. This program has adopted the first social justice-based training model of its kind (and though some is semantics) and I think it's something that would be both exciting intellectually and beneficial professionally. I think it could be a fit. We'll see.

Wish me luck tomorrow...er, this morning. I am just so honored to be a part of all of this.

Third Time's a Charm

Well, things here in Moscow continue. Things with Granny and Gramps are actually, I think, in the sense of finding a balance and rhythm, getting good. We are communicating well, and despite some more hilarious fireplace drama, we are working through things when they come up. Granny even said "please" to me this morning. My new years motto-every day a little stronger- seems to be working.

And they are so great, necessary to have be my foundation and sanctuary during this Graduate School Gauntlet. I am running through the third portion of said gauntlet this Friday in Knoxville, TN. I have taken the time this week to prepare. My suit is dry-cleaned. My answers are tight and brief. I printed out the UT program handbook (50 pages) and will be using it as my reading material on the flight tomorrow. I am still nervous, but feeling like I've prepared much better than I did for the previous two interviews. 

Shooting hoops out in the driveway last night, I had somewhat of an epiphany. But before I share that, I've got set the stage a little and let you in on one of my totally nerdy/hilarious obsessive mental games I play. Well, I guess it's more of a superstition. But, whatever. So when I would play basketball growing up, I wouldn't allow myself to go home before I'd made whatever series of three-point shots, free-throws, jump shots I'd decided on that particular day. Sometimes it was 10 three's. Sometimes 30 free-throws. You get the picture. So, I'm shooting around yesterday and as I'm getting ready to come back in the house to check on dinner, I make sure to make my last three point shot. And it hits me (prepare for slightly hilarious/somewhat pathetic obsessiveness) that it's completely antithetical to the "game" to be worried about making sure you make every single shot. As I pulled up for the "last" three, I felt a twinge of anxiety as I watched my shot rim out. But I ran toward the rebound, picked it up, put it back up for a lay-up. Now here's the super cheesy part- I thought, "that's it". Making the shot is irrelevant. That's fear making me worry about if it's just right, perfect, will drop. The truest spirit of the game is always scrapping for the rebound and putting it right back up. We all miss shots. We just gotta be ready to scrap for the rebound.

Turn the Beat Upside Down

It's 3:00 in the afternoon. Gloria Estefan is pumping out of the speakers. And I'm drinking a Vanilla Bourbon Stout at the Couer d'Alene Brewing Co. Awesome.

After putting in some quality time with Grandma this morning so that Gramps could go to Church, I needed badly to get out of the house. It's been one of those mornings. Granny seems to be having more bad days than good ones. She takes a long time to "wake up" in the mornings. That is she doesn't seem to have the capacity for anything resembling thought until about 10:30 am. Although I think this could be said of her for the last 10 years. And then when she does finally wake up, she starts in with complaints of pain, dizziness, and just feeling out of it. When she feels like this, she clings ever closer to Gramps. 

Good news this morning was that I didn't have to a work a Sunday for the first time since I've been here. This meant that Gordy could actually go to Emmanuel today- which he loved. He mentioned to me that people were giving him hugs as he showed up. He also mentioned that he snuck out as quickly as he could afterward to avoid said hugs as they were making him too emotional. You all know how quick to cry Gramps has always been- now it's even quicker. The good news is I think, in some small way, both he and Granny are better able to just cry in the moment and not let it build up so much. Like I said- they're getting better. The other good news is that we have had some very candid and relatively cogent conversations on topics ranging from faith to caretaking (Granny mentioned specifically that Ruth Ann might want to come and be her caretaker) to resolving conflicts in the house.  I think there's a healthier sense of talking about things as they come up than were Granny and Gramps to be completely on their own. With this new openness, both of them have been sharing more and more stories from their lives...specifically from childhood. 

I was somewhat blown away yesterday, when during my lunch break Grandpa started talking about how he NEVER believed he would go to college. And he proceeded to tell the story of how his pastor got him to go to Wartburg and then to the Seminary. At one point he said, "All I knew about going to college was that you needed two things: money and smarts. And I didn't have either." He got teary bringing it up. I was touched. And he kept talking about working hard through college, supporting himself, and the harsh reality of his family "support" (specifically in the form of a twenty dollar bill from his dad- all he got from the family for college). Talk about another much needed dose of reality for me. I sat there admiring the enormous strength of spirit in this small and simple man. I was so proud to be his Grandson.

Grandma as you know is a different story. She doesn't share as much nor as easily. But, as I did mention, she started talking to me about that Ruth Ann had expressed some desire to come and be her caretaker at some point down the road. I was blown away by two things here. One, that she was even openly bringing this topic up. Two, that she, after some prodding by me, seemed like she could be open to that possibility at some point. And who knows the reality of that situation materializing, but for Grandma to be talking rationally about somebody taking care of her- huge. 

So as I spend more time with my Grandparents and truly know their stories, better understand what they have experienced, and more clearly appreciate how truly transcendent (relative to their generation, background, and upbringing) their lives have been. Here they are- two kids from rural Wisconsin who have lived in three different parts of the country, traveled to the Middle east, Europe, and finally found "paradise" in Moscow, Idaho. Not bad when you think about that most from both of their families haven't seen nor done even close to that. I guess I have never really fully appreciated all that they have done with their lives.

This brings me to my most recent serendipitous encounter at Tri-State (Idaho's Most Interesting Store)- my wonderful place of work. I'm straightening in the aisles and notice a woman with black hair who I instantly recognize: Gwen Lyons. I walk up to her and say, "Gwen Lyons; Ike Brandt." She takes a second to sort through the recognition files in her brain, and after a few blinks, comes up with the correct folder. "Oh my Gosh," she says, "I haven't seen you since you were a little boy!"

We chatted in the aisle for about twenty minutes. She caught me up to speed with that she is no longer Gwen Lyons, but rather Gwen Mitchell (I think this is right). She and Roger divorced several years ago and she is now remarried. Sadly, she informed me that Tyler has been through hell the past 10 years. He, at one point, was addicted to Oxycotton. He and the family went through all of the horrors that go along with an addict's behavior: stealing, lying, and trouble with the law. Thankfully, he has been sober for 3ish years, and is married to a woman who stuck with him through the hardest of the hard times. Ironically, Gwen works at a Practicum site for the WSU Counseling Psychology Program (to which I've applied) and does assessment work with school children. She was incredibly wise, intuitive, and easy to chat with. Another reminder of just how blessed my life, and strangely enough, my work at Tristate is. She reminded me before we parted how lucky I am to have Gordy and Mary Nell as my Grandparents. She made sure I knew that her kids still talk about them both as their own. She mentioned that she had stopped by 489 Paradise Dr. last week (while I was gone) just to say hello. And I asked her if she thought we were doing what is right for Mary Nell. She said, "If you are being loving and kind to her, that's all you can do." We hugged and said goodbye. Such an unexpected moment of beauty.

So here I am back to reality...or my version of it. Sitting here looking out the window the sun, I'm smiling because there's another Gloria Estefan song playing. Talk about perfect full circle. I hope all is well with all you folks who are crazy and patient enough to read this. I love you all and always appreciate little posts on the blog. Thanks mom for yours.

Peace and Love to All

The Viking

So I found out yesterday that I'm on the "alternate list" at both U Arkansas and U Oregon. And for the last 24 hours I have been soaking in a tub of disappointment, bruised pride, and reevalutation. The alternate list means that I am still in the game- I'm just on the bench. I've been told that the starters have been picked and that they'd like me to be back up point guard...if the other guy decides to go somewhere else. And this is where the analogy breaks down. If the starting point guard decides he wants the job, then I gotta find a new team (and hope that one will take me). So, the schools typically tell the top candidates to make their decisions early so that we alternates don't go stir-crazy waiting and wondering. More than likely, I'll know by the end of the month.
But technically, the APA (American Psychological Association) says that applicants have until April 15th to make their decisions.

Needless to say I was hurt. I was cocky. So far I've thought- "If I can get an interview, I'm in". Apparently, not quite that easy. So I've been chatting with folks and letting out the disappointment and letting in the support. I've been doing my best to try to have a good attitude, and, I think, mostly succeeding. So- to the title of this post. The Viking. Trying to find past experiences to draw upon, trying to come up with some sort of inspiration and motivation- I chatted with my Dad this morning and it came to me- The Viking. Phil gave me this nickname and I think it a perfect metaphor that both honors my ancenstry and fits my fighting spirit. Somewhere embedded in my Nordic genetic code is the ability to persevere through snow storms, battles with Germanic Barbarians, and Lutefisk. I just needed to have a good dose of reality to remind me who I am and that all worthwhile endeavors must be fought for.

So it's all kind of perfect really that I should have been granted another interview with U Albany in the same week as all this other news. I am closing no doors. I am calling upon the fighting spirit of my ancestors and will be drawing upon the inspiration of the Viking. Just pray that I don't get too inspired and start pillaging and plundering...or decide to wear dad's Viking Helmet to any of the interviews.

First Frisbee

The snow is melting. The mud is sticking. And the season is starting for us nerds who like to throw circular pieces of plastic at metal baskets. For those of you haven't tried it, I highly recommend it. It's all of the focus and finesse of golf, without the goofy carts, clothes, and costs. 

Started out rough today: three bogeys in a row. This was especially frustrating as my drives were perfect right out of the gate. It's always the second shot that gets me. Too much opportunity. Too much thought- what if I can birdie, etc. Yes I'm a nerd. I am painfully aware. But where, in the past, I get frustrated and can't stop swearing, now I just laugh and take the bogey. 

I then had 5 straight pars. And finished with my one and only birdie of the day. Nice to have the course so close by- like 5 minutes away. And nice to have a more mellow, meditative alternative to my running. I like to give the knees and ankles a rest every other day. 

I've been trying to honor Grandma's request of me to not share everything that takes place here in the wonderfully weird world of 489 Paradise Dr. And though I'm pretty sure that she'll never read any of this (except for when she reads over my shoulder for the two seconds it holds her attention), I know I should do my best to honor that request. So suffice it to say that we had a great argument yesterday. Saying please would probably be the simple title of the discussion, were it to have had a title. A classic scene: Grandma holding court from the recliner by the sliding doors, Grandpa sitting at the kitchen table terribly uncomfortable look on his face, and me sitting squarely opposite Grandma at the little countertop in the kitchen. Basically I told Grandma that I would appreciate her saying please when I'm around. This went over well. Tempers flared. We both got mad. We both expressed ourselves. And while I got heated, I stayed calm enough to express myself well and clearly. Grandma actually understood that I wasn't accusing her of being mean; I was simply requesting that she do something that was nice and considerate. I told her I'm sure that I do things that she doesn't like and for her to tell me when they happen (although she pretty much does this constantly- they just have mostly to do with fuzz on my neck or stains on my coat). Small victories. 

Rhythm

Anybody who hasn't seen "The Visitor" should. I sat down last night and found out way I've been recommended this movie by multiple people over the last month. It's amazing. I don't know if Richard Jenkins is deserving of an individual Oscar, but the movie itself definitely is. Pure beauty. I plan on breaking out my drum today.

Rhythm. What a cool word. Rhythm. It's funky. It even has rhythm. I think that everyday has a sort of beat- a basic rhythm.  I also think that each person has this. If we are quiet and attentive enough to listen to how best blend our rhythms with those of the day, we make beautiful music. And some days are masterpieces. Some are just so so. Some days it's clear that the rhythms don't match up. Random thoughts.

Got to share some tender moments with both Granny and Gramps this morning. Granny, as previously mentioned, has been constipated for some time, and finally pooped last night. Though apparently this much anticipated movement didn't provide full relief. Gramps said that she slept like balls and she definitely looked like it. I also noticed that she smelled like a blend of sweat and urine. I mentioned this to her and she said that she hadn't showered in a while. I'm getting to the tender moments I swear. So as Grandpa went outside this morning to go work out in the yard, I plopped down on the couch with Grams. She asked me to rub her legs and began to cry. She just hates feeling like this. She's very clear on that. It's just so weird because she starts crying and then in between tears starts talking about what she's just seen on TV. I'm sure she's always been a bit scattered, but it does make it very difficult to take her seriously. Her volatility keeps us all a bit on edge...and I don't think that's accidental. I don't think it's conscious either, but that's evolved as a way for her to keep people close. But enough diagnosing, the hard part is watching her pretty much have no life outside of the couch and CNN. Harder still is watching Grandpa try to figure out how to help her. 

So I went for my usual 30 minute run and came back to the basement to stretch. While I'm stretching I hear Grandma doing her sort of slightly manipulative, mostly genuine weeping. I hear Grandpa start down the stairs. He's got that look on his face that's like: "What am I supposed to do God!?" Which probably isn't too far from what I imagine is running through his head. I stand up and ask him simply how he's doing and he starts to cry. I give him a hug and hold him close. Funny enough, in this tender moment he actually grabbed my butt with both hands. I think our height difference was mostly responsible for this (not to mention my butt is kinda grabable...that's right- grabable). He gathered himself slightly embarrassed to be needing his grandson's hug, and said he didn't think he should go skiing today. I assured him that I could stay here for the rest of the day so that he could feel good about getting outside for some good exercise and fresh air. I also reminded him that sometimes it's the times when he feels like he shouldn't go that he should. Take a break Gramps. Feel good about taking care of you. I told him all these things and acknowledged that it's clearly his choice, and that I'd help him out with whatever he wants to do. Tender.

Now this may sound strange, but it felt so good to be there for Grandpa and Grandma. There's something profound about sharing this difficult situation with them- and I'm now clear that my presence here is in some small ways helpful to them. Up to this point, to be honest, I have felt like it's mostly good for me. But recently, I see how important it is to share this time together- all of us. For this I'm grateful, humbled, and challenged pretty much everyday in some small way. I think I also realize how short this time really is as well. I have already been here three months-more than half over. I feel the urgency of making the most of this time. 

What Do Groundhogs Know Anyway?

So the deal is that if the groundhog see's it's shadow, then there's supposed to be 6 more weeks of winter? Really? I mean, if it's sunny enough outside for there to even be a shadow cast, wouldn't it follow that spring is on the way? And why are we taking prognostic advice from a furry creature that lives in the ground? I guess in the end meteorologists aren't much more accurate. Random.

Regardless, it's super spring sunny here in Moscow. It's somewhere's near 50 degrees and not a cloud in the sky. And it's about 87 degrees here in the kitchen. Grandma just made her typical passive-aggressive fireplace command: "Ikey, would you like to get some wood for the fire?" Well, let's think about that. I am, mind you, in the process of cleaning the truck and only in the house to steal a drink of water. I respond,"Would you like me to Grandma?" To which I hear her giggle and then nothing but silence. So I proceed with my washing duties. So funny, to watch she and Grandpa and how they do things. Sometimes I can laugh at it. Others I want to scream and then go out on the porch for a cigarette. I'm being melodramatic- it's really actually not THAT bad. 

I think some of it is just watching Granny deteriorate and not have any real communication skills. That paired with Grandpa's near inability to hear is like some weird geriatric, marital version of Who's on First? And for me, I sort of vacillate between audience member and supporting cast. Weird. I think weird is the word of the week. 

Grandpa rode his bike to Good Sam. I'm always glad when he rides. He loves being outside so much. I love that about him. I love imagining him as a little boy growing up in Wisconsin, zooming around the neighborhood on his bike with his buddies. He's so simple and easily entertained- some of my favorite qualities- that it's easy to imagine him as a kid. He asked me if I'd be cool with hanging with Grandma tomorrow so he could go x-country skiing as well. I smiled and of course said yes.

I'm soaking up being in a place where I can totally just blob out. After having run around auditioning for the last week, it's real nice to walk around in a robe until 11 am. I've been watching The Daily Show and The Colbert Report. I took a nap at noon next to the basement fireplace in the sun. Now I'm chilling with a late afternoon cup of coffe, rocking out to some good tunes, and digging put all these little details down. Gonna do my usual Tuesday night cooking routine with another tasty, spicy tomato soup. Pick up some good bread (or at least decent) from WinCo and some real salad greens (Granny and Gramps still don't get it about iceberg lettuce). Mmmmm- I can already taste it. I love spicy soups when I'm sick.

Having the time and space to simply rejuvinate,  I notice how much of a mover and a doer I really have become. It's tough to just sit and chill. For me it is. But one of the joys of being a beginner at something, is that great, steep learning curve. And I think that, as mentioned, having the basement to myself, pirated wi-fi, and a sweet view from the house are all elements that come together to create an environment conducive to what I like to call "chillaxation". Sorry- I had to try to work that word into my blog somehow. Isn't that seriously the most hilarious word? But seriously, I'm getting better at "doing" things like cleaning (I can hear most of my family and friends laughing right now). Better. And, instead of running around, simply staying around the house and finding ways of making it comfortable here seems to help me feel more calm. Probably also helps that I live with two 79 year-0lds.

Anyhoo, Grandma still hasn't pooped- I have just been informed. She did, however, eat All Bran and drink Prune Juice this morning for breakfast. Better than her typical pancakes, bacon, and whiskey. Chatting with Gramps today while fetching more wood down at Lou's Garage, he mentioned that Dr. Ting (Gram's Doc here in town) leaned into her pretty good about apparently have tried to go around him with another Doc in the effort to score some more pain meds. Grandpa mentioned wanting to write Dr. Ting a letter to tell him how much he appreciates his being forthright and straight with Mary Nell. I said I'm sure he'd appreciate that. Sounds like the rest of the visit was a mix of same old reporting of pain and frustration from Grandpa, and new scolding regarding Grandma's unwillingness to take multiple meds for constipation. And so it goes. 

Well, I'm gonna take advantage of the weather and ride my bike to WinCo for groceries. And here's Grandpa back from Good Sam. He's home and I'm out.

Six More Weeks of Weirdness

My life is weird.

I think most people can say that. It's just that mine is so uniquely weird. It's wonderful too. But weird. I like that weird is a weird word. Is that weird?

Somebody asked me at the U of Oregon interview: what are you doing these days? Everybody else is either doing research, in graduate school getting their masters, or doing some sort of clinically related work. I could, of course, say that I'm doing a case study on a long-term relationship health and dysfunctional marital communication patterns. Which, weirdly, wouldn't be entirely false. But I am living with my grandparents and selling shoes. Which, weirdly, is kind of a sweet answer. Nobody else could say that.

Anyway, I woke up to discussions of constipation and missed medication. Grandma hasn't pooped for 7 days I was informed at 9 am. I asked Gramps if she's been taking her meds, to which he said no. Grandma said she had. Well, as it turns out, she's been taking one of the three she's supposed to when she gets real irregular. You can guess where this conversation/argument started to go. I do take them she says. No you don't he says. I am still waking up with my first cup of coffee. Grandma admits upon further questioning by me to that she doesn't want to take all of them- they taste terrible (she also used "Goddammit" as an adverb- weird). She started to cry- I just sat next to her holding her hand. She mentioned something along the lines of just wanting to be done with all of this. That is wanting to die. 

I just held her hand.

I think this is mostly what she needs: a blend of confrontation and hand holding. How exactly to do that is the million dollar question. It's just a weird time. W-E-I-R-D. But I give thanks everyday for the blessing of a healthy body, mind, and spirit. And really, when you think about what life really is...it's all kinda weird.

This was the weirdest post I've made.