101

The cold autumn air bit my cheeks as I walked out of the arts building. A glance up at the sky revealed hardly any cloud cover so it would not rain at the very least on the walk home. Sighing softly, I took the first dizzying step homeward, a sentimental song sounding from the phone I held close to my chest. My mind wandered as I walked past trees with heart shaped leaves, the colors thereof varying from spring green to burnished gold, the last rays of sunlight catching their edges. 

I brushed the cold metal of the cross walk button and stood, joined by a stranger to await the "go" signal. He took off before the light turned green, my eyebrows furrowing in disapproval. "Does he want to be killed?" I asked myself, waiting properly for my turn to cross without danger of being hit by a car. 

I passed a corporate building, glancing in as I usually did when passing the glass and briefly acknowledged a newbie worker with a pleasant face--the worker with his hair swept into a low ponytail absent. This thought busied my thoughts as I waited to be able to cross the street, this time at a non-monitored crosswalk. A car stopped to allow my crossing, and I obligingly picked up my pace to jog across doing my best not to keep the passengers longer than needed. 

That is when it registered that the car coming from the other direction was still rolling forward, slowly compared to the usual traffic, but rolling nonetheless. Hadn't they seen me? Of course they must have--I kept up my jogging pace... but they kept rolling. 

I half-managed cry strangled from my throat as my momentum carried me into the path of the white car that had still managed to be unaware of my presence in the middle of the road. They stopped after my feet managed to carry me in an arc around their front bumper. 

Hand to my heart, I did not dare look back. I did not want to see their accusing faces focusing in on my stupid and reckless expression. My steps wobbled as I walked further down the street my breathing uneven as one's breathing is in such a situation. 

The struggles of the past week suddenly loomed in my mind as I considered what might have happened had I not maneuvered as quickly in evasion of the car or if they had continued in spite of my best but less smart of efforts. 

Why didn't I just allow myself to be hit? I wasn't in the wrong. It would have been the big bad car's fault not the idiot bird who flew into their way. 

Tears, trembling frown, and self-reprimanding thoughts followed like a storm cloud over my head the rest of the way home. How could I possibly consider having continued on the path and allowing myself to be hurt? At the expense of those around me? Monetary/emotional expense?

Curled up in bed, I worry at my lower lip. "Save me," echoes in the hollowness of my heart. "Help me..."

100

The rustle of the wind through the trees... ah. What peace it brings to the mind, the tumultuous heart, and the ruffled spirit. The scent of rain is in the air and my pillow beckons me to lay my dizzy head upon it but first I felt I must write.
I am most grateful for my Father's mindfulness and attention to my life. I have been quite distressed as of late in the matters of love and knowing one's heart as well as one's mind. Hatred bloomed without my knowledge and the flames were fanned into such a roar that I could barely hear my heart whispering that it was alright. It was broken, but it knows how to mend because it has been lovingly taught by its maker.
I very nearly wrote a post the other day for your reading pleasure in which I planned to allow the venom of my pain to scorch the eyes of any who in bored leisure happened upon it. There are still many things that my spite would utter if I would but unleash it however I know that in hindsight I would regret it--not for the sake of those who might find their names illustrated by it in false accountability but for my sake. Perhaps it is a selfish notion, but recently I have realized that I have been tossing my heart into the wind without the protection of a sound mind and steady sensibility.
I have allowed myself to be hurt multiple times in the last few months and have been soundly admonished by word and experience that, in the end, I am the one to blame.
Forgiveness is taking place in my heart, slowly but surely. But this forgiveness is not to be treated as synonymous with forgetfulness. Plans are being laid and structured to shut out the toxicity that lingers from certain experiences, bitter though instructive as they were, so that I might not continue the cyclical downswing into the depths of anger that should never have had place in my heart to begin with.
Please forgive my boldness of speech if it has ever hurt you but I will not change in my forthrightness as far as it keeps those around me from misreading my interactions with them and where I stand in my affection for them. Honesty. It is a virtue that continues to churn in my mind and will forever hold sway in my regard of those around me.

As some of you may have read in my recent statuses on Facebook, I have been watching quite a few period dramas as of late. Tonight's feature was Mansfield Park. Something occurred to me that has always been true though had only been acknowledged on a partially subconscious level. When everything is said and done, I am quite terrified of ending up with a man who hasn't been completely honest with me from the start. Admittedly, I have known a few men that were able to disarm me completely with their charm and some of those I have fallen into like with. Be wary of charm, my friends, for it covers up many defects that could hurt in the long run. If a man's temper is such that it is tossed with every breath of wind, I tremble to think where his anger might turn. When a man raises his voice around me in any degree of harshness I become very frightened. Physically I am not strong. If I feel threatened or that a man's attention is more pointed than it should be, I am quick to remove myself from the situation or, if given warning of it before the situation of being alone with him arises, I keep the situation from happening.
Call it instinct, a gut-feeling if you will.

The man I marry, I pray, will have an even temper. Have an empathetic disposition. Be of an honest nature. And I pray he is strong without being frightening to me in any way. I suppose this might be a lot to hope for and perhaps in the coming years I will become stronger and be able to handle someone who is a bit more moody but at this moment in time... but then, perhaps that is why my situation is the way it is at the moment. Growing up is difficult--and taking a lot longer than I thought it would.
I pray that I will be worthy of him when the time comes--when we finally meet. And that I will understand why I had to fight my way through these years meeting such men as had good qualities but not the ones that complimented me well enough to stand the test of time--no matter how short their allotted time with me happened to be.

And now a "treat" for any of you who have trudged through this post.

His attention snapped from the ground to the woman who approached him. The wind had whisked its way past her form and brought the scent of autumn in the mountains. It mingled in the air with the petrichor and brought back the ache that he thought had been diminished by time. She had, after all, left him on a day very similar to this one five years before. 
The memory played for him as though it had happened just yesterday. The tears in her eyes as she admitted to being unsure of her feelings for him. They had been seated under the roof of the gazebo in his parents' backyard while it had rained. They both knew he would ask for they had talked about the prospect of a future together multiple times--so how could he not?
Just as the rain had lifted, he slipped down to one knee before her and opened the small velvet box to show the small sparkle that he had been able to afford then. She had begun to cry. He had anticipated it, having been told by his friends that they had cried or that their wives had cried. 
But the "no" had been a surprise. 
"Hello, Nathan," she said softly, bringing him back to the present. Her hair had gotten longer. Had her face always looked so mature? She was dressed smartly in her black pea coat that obscured any glimpse of the dress she must have been wearing underneath. 
His heart pricked again as he took in her appearance--she had matured. The very air about her was confident. He might have thought her a completely different person but... he would never forget that smell.
"Margaret," he finally said, his voice huskier than he anticipated. Did pain flicker across her brow? "Or do you still go by Maggie?" he asked. Ah, yes. The tenseness in her shoulders dispersed and her smile grew more genuine. 
"Maggie," she affirmed taking another step closer and he turned, offering his arm to her. She slipped her hand into his, tentative at first but more assured as they walked back down the way he had come. 
"We didn't expect you for another day or so," he began glancing down at her curly brown hair to see her nodding. 
"Yes, well, I guess I couldn't stand being away for even a day more," she said casting a smile up at him. He nodded in his turn and they continued to walk in silence. He gazed about at the dewy grass and autumn leaves that strewed the ground and he wondered how much longer they had until it would start to snow in their little town. "There hasn't been a day that I haven't thought about you, Nathan," Maggie said suddenly causing him to refocus his attention on her. He wondered why she had brought such a topic up. Hadn't she seen the announcement? "I realized soon after I left that I had done wrongly, Nathan. But you know me... too proud for my own good!" she rattled on and he stopped walking which only caused her to slip easily from his arm and turn to look at him as she continued but as his horrified expression finally registered in her mind her words drifted off and she looked perplexed. 
"What's wrong...?" she asked after a small time, the wind picking up and tossing her curls as washing his senses with the old but cherished scent. He had been so sure that he was over her--or at least that her arrival back in town had been only the casual visit to her parents. 
"Maggie... didn't anyone mention....? Didn't you see....?" he stuttered not being able to put the truth into words the problem only causing more discomfort when she slowly shook her head to indicate the negative. He wet his lips nervously before taking her hand in his and he felt or rather acknowledged the sensation of the metal band that kept the contact of her fingers upon his from being complete and she looked down at their joined hands before slowly turning Nathan's hand, his left hand, over. The silver gleamed bright even in the overcast light. 
"Oh Nate..." she said, the tremor in her voice glaringly evident and only amplified by her embarrassment. He felt her tears before he saw them. But when she tilted her face up it held a self-deprecating smile. The wind kicked up one more time and he pursed his lips before turning his face away. He would never forget that smell. 
"I guess I should congratulate you..." she managed before pressing her hand firmly but gently against his arm. He couldn't find his voice and he didn't watch as he heard the click of her boots as she ran. 

I Love Writing, I Love You

I have passion for many things. Dance, music, theater are definitely the first to come to mind. But when it comes down to it, I find it sort of funny how the thing I am most passionate about is the quietest form. It is writing. 

I find I have always been able to express myself best in writing. Don't get me wrong--the playing loudly of the piano may release stress but there is just something relaxing in being able to put what you are feeling and thinking into words. Into these little symbols we call letters that everyone associates with the same meaning or a similar feeling. 

I may not have ever had the chance to go to a dance conservatory, an acting school, or a musical institution but I did get to go to school. A school where the learning of both sexes was deemed equal and good. I learned how to form my letters in rough chicken scratch that I eventually molded and practiced into the handwriting fewer and fewer people get the chance to see. But whether it's pretty to look at or blank of any instantaneous emotion in a set font the fact remains the same--that I was taught and then was encouraged to practice. 

Writing has given me wings like no other medium has. In those days when I feel like I am not worth very much (regardless of how many people tell me otherwise and as opposing as the very thought is to the upbringing of my family) there is a place in me that reminds me of all the fictions and even non-fictional material that I have written and shared. And people have been able to relate to it. Some have even called it powerful. And that is something. 

I also have a capacity to love that astounds even myself--scares me sometimes. And to realize that that ability will only be enhanced with my future experiences is stunning and quietly humbling. 

Now, what do these two things have to do with one another? I am sure you will understand by the end of this.

Hello Darling.

I wonder what you are up to at this very moment. Are you studying? Socializing? Sleeping, perhaps or maybe working? I just wanted you to know that I have been thinking about you... I have been thinking about you for a while, actually. 

I also want you to know that I am working. I am striving to become the best, happiest person I can possibly be on my own. I am practicing my talents and building up my patience. I am experiencing new things every week. I have had a few heartbreaks, too. But there has been such triumph that it mostly makes up for the thud of those moments when I realize that once again I was mistaken and that I had not actually found you. 

I am encouraged daily that you are out there, searching just as I am. That you, too, are striving to be deserving of me when that day comes and we finally meet--whether that means we're meeting for the first time or are simply, finally having a meeting of hearts and paths. 

I hope you haven't completely given up on me as I haven't given up on you. Soon we will find that final, elusive corner and chances are, I am going fall flat on my butt. Unless of course you have the reaction time of a superhero, in which case you might just catch me and allow me one less bruise.

I have had a hard time, dearest, but I know when I look back on it, I will realize just how much I needed those experiences to become the woman I am today.

I love you. So very much. 

Good luck on whatever trials the Lord is blessing you with now. And know that I am waiting at the end of them and at the beginning of Us. 

Until then, pray for me as I pray for you.

Stay close to your family and I will do better in regards to mine. 

Enjoy the autumn colors and weather. I hope your hands stay as warm as your heart. 

Love,

Me

Contentment in Catastrophe

 So about two days ago now, I dropped my highly expensive touch screen phone with all the bells and whistles into The Water. Therefore, I have been basically phoneless for the past 48 or so hours. Now, most people would have a major freak out at this point being so attached to their phones that they cannot function without them.
Thankfully, I have a work schedule where I usually wake up with plenty of time to get ready and do my usual walk to work (about a 20 minute adventure) so the absence of my alarm device isn't really a huge issue--plus the fact that I have an awesome roommate that makes sure that I am awake with plenty of time to get ready for church on Sundays.
I am at work for a good portion of the afternoon and these are the hours that I am usually checking up on my social media anyway to pass the time between phone calls and walk-up customers.
As far as photography goes, if I really feel the urge to take a photo, I do have a good camera that I can pull out and snap a shot with and transfer to my computer to let everyone know what culinary masterpiece I have whipped up for myself! (Okay, perhaps not that so often as the usual "don't I look cute?" selfie... yeah.)
The point is, I can do everything I need to do without a phone except for making phone calls or shooting texts (which, let's be honest, I don't do a whole lot of to begin with--and those I do text I can just as easily shoot a facebook message to).
In fact the vast majority of my phone usage can actually be accredited to on-the-go music. Even when I have Spotify on my computer at the click of a button, I usually just let my phone play the music so my computer essentially goes a little more speedily since it doesn't have to think about playing music as well as everything else.
While I walk to and from work I usually have my own little life soundtrack playing from my phone which I felt made the walk to and from work quicker seeing as I had something to occupy my thoughts.
And then it happened.
The "catastrophe" that left me without my constant music.
Walking to work was quiet but it didn't feel as long as it usually does without music.
Walking from work however is where I noticed the difference most.
Yesterday was pretty chilly so I was bundled pretty good but I felt I looked pretty cute. There was a nice breeze that carried the leaves about me in an almost magical way as my hair was tossed this way and that. I couldn't stop smiling as I walked. It is autumn. And I nearly missed it because of the occupation that my constant music has had in my mind. As I walked, listening to the beauty that is Autumn, I decided that I would stop by the cafe for a hot chocolate.
About halfway to the cafe, my boss pulled up beside me and offered me a ride home. Normally I would jump at the idea for the sake of getting home more speedily but I declined saying I had plans to stop in for a drink anyway. He drove off and I continued on my merry way. I wasn't worried about time. I wasn't worried that someone would text me and suggest we do something. I was on a date, so to speak, with myself and everything and everyone else could wait.
I got a dark chocolate peppermint hot chocolate and, taking my time to slow down and just observe where I was walking, I took a lot longer than usual to get home but when I did my cheeks were pink with the kiss of cold, my fingers were warm from my drink, and I was content.
In my refusal to rush home, to continuously check my phone to see the time/for messages/for SOMETHING, I had allowed my thoughts to calm and just take in the joy that is Autumn.
You know those moments of quiet, peaceful thought where you really connect to the idea that there is a God and that He has created little moments like those just for you? That all the beauty that is our Earth was created because He loves us?
I believe He created autumn for people like me who take joy in the chill without snow. Who love long walks with crunchy leaves and nipping breezes. Who are content with cups of cocoa and bundling up in peacoats, boots, and scarves.
And if I HAD to drop my phone in The Water, I am glad it happened at the beginning of October in which Autumn lives.

"I'm so glad I live in a world where there are Octobers."

There and Back Again, a Single Woman's Travel Log

"Somewhere, something incredible is waiting to be known."- Carl Sagan

Ah, the wisdom I find on my refrigerator. I sometimes think the best part about moving into an apartment that has already been settled into is the little discoveries you make from day to day. There are a handful of quotes floating about our kitchen currently, none of which has anything to do with my contributed decor, and I will say that I have read this particular quote a time or two but only recently has it blossomed into meaning in my life. 

Let me explain.

Back on Monday, the 3rd day of the month of June, I decided that I would be going home to Oregon to surprise my younger sister who was graduating that Saturday from high school (some times referred to as the easiest part of life... which I must say is completely untrue and perhaps deserves a blog post all to itself). Now, on my part-time working wage this was no walk in the park for my account. However, the more I thought on it, the more sure I was that I would regret not making the trip more than the aftermath it would wreak. 

I laid out my plan, asked for the proper time off from work, booked my train tickets (for there were multiple for both the journey to Oregon and then back again) and I was off! 

The first leg of my trip started at 11:30 PM on Wednesday night and would last a little over 15 hours. Quite frankly, had I known the layout of a train better it might have passed a little more adventurously but as it is, I stayed in my seat (aside from the necessary trips to the lavatory) and drifted in and out of sleep. Just before getting on the train, I had struck up a conversation with a young man who looked about my age. I asked if he had ever ridden the train before and after admitting that, like me, he hadn't, I suggested we be friends and thus (once he found there were only shared seats to be found) he sat down beside me. 

I soon found that he was LDS (like myself) and affianced. Furthermore his trip was a surprise as well but for his fiancee. We passed the waking hours quite pleasantly talking about relationships and his area of study (not so much the math major part but the minor he received in Arabic and the influence his serving in Ethiopia and Uganda on his LDS mission had on this decision). 

The train arrived in Sacramento and Jamie was staying on for another couple of hours to travel further south toward Berkley. 

Sitting down in the train station at Sacramento, I let go of the breath I had not been aware I was holding and wondered what I would do for the next ten hours. Yes. That is right. 10 hour layover in Sacramento? Apparently it is a common occurrence when traveling by train. 

As I sat there wondering what in the world I was going to do, two young men approached me and asked if I would be staying at the station for long and if so would I watch over their belongings whilst they went to the mall and made some purchase. Figuring I had nothing else to do, I shrugged a shoulder and said sure though I was trying to see if my friend who lives in Sacramento would come spend time with me. 

The older of the two, Joel, gave me his phone number and said that if I needed to leave sooner than it took them to do their shopping I could call him. Assuming it would be a good idea that he know my number as well just in case he was the type not to answer his phone when an unknown number calls, I sent him a text. Before I knew it, we were having a pleasant conversation. 

I found out through observation that one could check in their bags for a small fee for a few hours at the Baggage Check and upon telling the guys this, they returned and though I had resolved to explore Old Sacramento alone, Joel suggested he come with me since he, too, wasn't planning on boarding a train anytime soon. We bid farewell to the other guy who had to get on the train in 30 minutes time and started our exploration of Sacramento. Of course I missed the sign that pointed to Old Sacramento (which I discovered on my trip back from Oregon...) we ended up walking through the mall (with a stop at Bath and Body Works of course) and passed both the Catholic Cathedral and the Capitol. 

Finally finding a map, we discovered that, indeed, Old Sacramento lie on the other side of the mall. Good heavens, I thought to myself. 

So we turned around and headed back. However the heat and humidity was killing me so we took a break and sat on a shady and grass-covered knoll and had some good discussion. He told me of his family and I told him of mine. I don't think you could have found any two pasts that were so contrasting. However, our pasts are what have made us who we are now and that is what we are given to work with. 

Old Sacramento. If you have a sweet tooth like mine, it's the best place to go. I am pretty confident in saying that we ran across 5 different candy shops within 2 square miles. He thought it was ridiculous and I thought it was fantastic. The architecture was pretty neat to look at and admire as well. 

It started to get dark and the wind was picking up in a rather chilly way. We walked back to the station and continued our conversations and were mistaken as a married couple multiple times. We had a good laugh at that. I cannot express how grateful I was to have such a companion there because, much to my anxiety's dismay, my train was nearly two hours behind schedule. 

He dropped me off on the platform and I felt rather torn knowing that he still had a few hours left in Sacramento (which turned into two days, I believe) but all good meetings must come to an end.

Well, I found myself on the train for 8 more hours as I headed up to Klamath Falls, seated beside a foreign gentleman who was quite polite and endearing making the ride easy and not so worrisome.

I was glad to get to Klamath to find the train had made up its lost time and I only had to wait an hour for my bus to Medford to arrive. Ironically, the best sleep I got was on the bus where I finally had two seats to myself and for some reason seemed infinitely more comfortable compared to the full day and half before. 2 hours has never passed so quickly in travel time before but when I tumbled off the vehicle and into the blessedly comfortable air of Medford, I only had to wait 5 minutes before my mother and aunt came rolling up in my aunt's newly acquired blue bug (she has had a green one for years but apparently it recently gave up the ghost, so to speak). 

I was thrilled when Mom suggested Olive Garden for lunch and we had quite a merry time at it too, catching up on all the news and my travels up until then.

However, it has become most apparent that when one is kept from traveling winding roads for too long, the immunity to car sickness that one builds up wears away. We stopped for a few minutes in Gasquet to use the restrooms and purchase some refreshment. Now, anyone who knows me, knows I will usually willing reach for a Root Beer or Cola when offered but my stomach was having none of it and I did a very Mikkaila thing (Mikkaila being my younger sister for whom the surprise of my visit was) and reached for bottled water. It surprised Mom a little bit but knowing I was feeling unwell deemed it a smart choice on my part. 

After removing my leftover pasta (which had smelled great at the restaurant but not so great to the woozy me) to the trunk and drinking about half of the water bottle, I cozied up in the back seat with my pillow (which I had brilliantly brought with me on the train ride, seriously) I dozed off, thankfully, until we rolled into the driveway, finally arriving home. 

As is usual, my younger siblings (except for Mikkaila who was still at work) came trampling out of the house and demanding hugs. Laden with my baggage and still feeling a little woozy, I told them to at least let me set my things down first in a more exasperated tone than they deserved seeing as it had been two months since they had last seen me and almost a year since I had last been home in Oregon. 

However, I obliged them with hugs and kisses once my things were set aside and was grateful for a shower that had been denied me for two full days by this point. (Probably the one true downside to traveling by train.) Soon, my older brother and father returned home from fishing on the open sea and a few hours after that Mikkaila was finally home.

I walked out quite calmly as she rolled into the driveway, the windows down, music blasting and (I wish I could have taken a picture of that face) she saw me. The windows couldn't roll up fast enough, the car turned off safely enough as I greeted her on the driver's side of the car. I nearly choked on some fly away hairs when she hugged me but that was the first brilliant sign that I was right in coming home.

This was all written about the 15th of June of last year (being 2013). How time sure does fly.