Where the heart is...

It'll be no secret to anyone who's remotely read this blog or anything else I've written that I found home about three or four years ago, when I left my old home in Illinois, packed everything up in the back of my Jeep, and moved to New Mexico, which I feel like was where I found my true home.

I think everywhere you live gets a piece of your heart, and right now, my heart is aching a little more than it usually does for NM.  The Las Conchas fire has gone from 6000 acres when it started yesterday to 43000 acres today.  They've evacuated Los Alamos, including the hospital. This is the same area that in 2000 had another huge fire, 47k acres burned up, plenty of homes and structures destroyed. It's ten and some change years later, and again, people are in danger.  This is the same town that I sometimes HATED because it was so WEIRD and so EXPENSIVE and it was SO HARD to be so far away from home and trying to make my way.  Sometimes I felt so alone.  But it's where I got a new start.  It's where I'd run to the overlook, sometimes to cry and feel like I'd failed and made a huge mistake, sometimes to sketch, sometimes to try and capture the amazing sunsets through a camera lens...sometimes just to think.  It's the place that gave me some of the coolest jobs and random opportunities that I've had.  There is NOTHING I liked more than the morning break when I was working at Ruby K's bagel cafe.  I'd take my cup of coffee out with me while the dough for the day's bread was in the mixer, after the bagels were done, and take a cherry turnover, and I'd sit on the steps of the Parasol restaurant in our same complex, facing the mountains and watch the sun rise.  As much as I'm against morning...the sunrise over the mountains will change all that.

When I really took a moment to breathe it all in, no matter how awful my day was, or what kinds of things I was facing, all I could really feel was blessed. Lucky to be able to live somewhere like this.  It's a gorgeous, amazing, wild place.

And as much as I say I was lonely there, there were special people there.  Ruby and Kelly who gave me a shot baking, something I never thought I'd get a chance to do professionally. My buddy Jeremiah, the baker I apprenticed under.  The produce guy who was always so kind to me and made it a point to talk to me on lunches up in the employee area, who I later found out was an AMAZING poet...when he came to read what he'd written at the cafe one evening.  Marilyn, who was nice to me from the get-go, and who gave me a second job I desperately needed, but also a sort of mother figure in town.   The next door neighbor, a man who showed great care and love for all the things he put his hands to. He had the craziest garden for someone who lives in the high desert, and he used to water it like, three times a day. It showed.  I'm pretty sure it seems crazy, trying to keep something like that alive, but he was SO. faithful to it.  And then one day when I stumbled over to his house, one big mess of wet hair in the snow, barely able to stand because (unknown to me) I was in the midst of a massive, really dangerous kidney infection, he dropped everything and drove my Jeep up the mesa (30 minute drive) in the snow, to get me to the emergency room. He held my hand and said a prayer and talked to me and told me it was gonna be ok.  And honestly? I didn't know what was happening. He may have saved my life.  I may not have been able to make the drive,  I know I wouldn't have. And I may not have known it was that serious and just waited.  It's hard to thank someone properly for that.

Some of these people live in White Rock, which has not yet been evacuated (at least not last I checked) and some live right in Los Alamos.  But they're facing the same things.

And this is what they're facing again. This picture was taken 6 years after the fire, still scorched earth at the top of the peaks.  Still recovering.

But tonight, these people are being evacuated from their homes, their businesses are standing in the path of a huge fire.  They've been called and told to get what they can get and leave. Make sure you bring what you can't live without, plan for not being able to come back.  Bring your most precious belongings.  Nobody knows what's going to happen next.  I so very much pray for rain for them, so that the fire can stop, so that the town doesn't have to face the losses it did ten years ago. But at this point all that's left is to wait and see.

And yeah, I didn't live there for long, and it was a battle the WHOLE time I lived there. But there are people and places I love, things I needed to learn that that place taught me.  People that cared about some random girl from IL.
Well, this random girl from Illinois has a piece of her heart back in Los Alamos, too.

I hope everyone gets out safely, and all I can think of is that I wish it would pour down rain.

What I learned...

So today, I "learned" some things.
I say "learned" because I am certain I already knew them at one point or another, but every so often, we need to re-learn, and be reminded of the things that really make a difference. I keep thinking about whether or not I'm going to say something here, but I guess I've been trying to...be a little different, a little more open here than what I was. Non sum qualis eram, I guess?

So today I saw the things people learned from their fathers on Twitter, of all places. 

And at first it made me pretty sad.  But there were lots of things going on today, lots of family was around, and we were exhausted from a full weekend that was for the most part full of love and happiness.

And tonight, I was alone. It wasn't exactly the plan, but I do tend to like to have some time alone to sort things out when they're hard.  So it wasn't all bad, though some of it was. 

I was driving home from the grocery store, trying to beat a storm when I thought about it again.

Things I've Learned From My Father.

I *do* have something to say here. Because just like teaching doesn't have to happen in a classroom or come from a teacher...just because he's gone does not mean I didn't learn things from him, through his writings, through the things I know about him, from the experiences people I love had with him. Pretty important things. 

So here it is. Here's my list. 

My father taught me to dream, because he dreamed first, and he dreamed big, from business ideas to houses he would build in the mountains some day. 

My father taught me to start making those things happen even if they seem impossible, because even though he never got to build that house, the plans are all there. I could build that house someday, because he didn't just sit on the dream, he took steps to make it a reality.

My father taught me to love the mountains and nature, because of the way he loved them, and because of the way he wrote about them, so much so that when I finally got out and experienced them, I felt like I was home again, and like I knew him better just for being out there.  And I fell in love then and there too.

My father taught me the beauty of writing. Because words are all I have of his...the ones he wrote, most of all, but the ones he said to others and others say about him. , but I do have words, and there can be such power in them. He wrote beautifully and wholeheartedly, and that's always my goal when I write. 

My father taught me to have a big heart. Because I have heard stories of his generosity, his love of people to even his own detriment and his kindness. 

And finally? And most importantly. My father taught me what love should be. Because he left me with a gift he didn't even know would be so necessary-a way for me to never be able to lose sight of his love for me.  I don't think I even realized its power until years later. 

Because I have a special way of knowing I'm loved that no one can come close to. And when I really get to thinking about that, it makes me feel amazing. It makes me feel hope, because that kind of love is out there, because it can last beyond even a person's life. It makes me aspire to that sort of love. It helps me remember not to settle for something less than that. 

So maybe it's not the way I wanted to learn these things.

But what's more important is that I know these things, and it's because of him. 

The diamond in the rough

I'm having Aladdin flashbacks due to what I titled this entry, but oh well. I'll make it out of the Cave of Wonders and back into...well, here.
So speaking of caves I've been in, my computer was sans a power cable since Memorial Day. Hence no writing. And of course, when you suddenly don't have a blog to post to, you want to post a million things and the writing comes out of you like an exhalation.

Memorial Day was fantastic. This is pretty much a picture of the perfect day.

I had decided earlier on in the week that I wanted to go do something just for me, in lieu of the picnic I usually hold. This came about because I didn't really have the time to plan a picnic in the midst of starting a new job and all of that- was too tired, too information overloaded, too off my game.  I've since recovered from the freaky life change freakout that my body and mind tend to go through, and I think that this weekend was a good reason why.

I may not hold much love for Illinois in general or even the suburbs, with Libertyville being the exception, of course, but Chicago? There's no place like it. It's a big glittery gem.  It's interesting, it's diverse, it's huge....the lakefront stretches out in front of you if you want to enjoy the beach, there's soft green grass and trees to hang out under, fancy restaurants and hotels if that's your bag...shopping, shows, culture and craziness. You want it, it's probably somewhere here.

I started the day off with my friend Erin, taking pictures and hanging out here at Olive Park. We had a nice lunch inside to get out of the heat and the crowds at an Irish pub called D4. The food was fantastic and the shandy was just right for the summer sun. After she had to leave for another event, I went back here and spent an hour plus in the shade of a beautiful set of trees reading my magazine, people-watching, and napping.  Read an awesome story about a man in the area who started to make violins and researched all the science behind the sound. Exactly the right story for me in exactly the right place.

I was feeling amazing so I continued my day.  I originally was going to skip by Navy Pier altogether but it was so hot I had to stop in for water. This led me to wander around some, even though it was crowded, just to get some AC and some hydration.  This also led me to the Billy Goat Tavern's Navy Pier location, because a long time ago on another fantastic Chicago trip, I'd had a drink called a Horny Goat that was awesome and I was feeling nostalgic. While I sat there, I watched a few men in pirate costumes climb the mast of a tall ship.  And I thought to myself...."I keep wanting to do these things...why not just go for it?"

I've been pushing myself to do that more often, if I have the means. It started with the audition I did for an improv comedy group. That was at the encouragement of my good friend Ezra one night after seeing the troupe. I'm not sure what made him so convincing that night but he just said "Look, no matter what happens, you won't regret trying. You said you always wanted to do something like that"
Well Ezra, it stuck. And the audition was fun, and though I didn't make it in, I did feel like I had some talent in that area (confirmed by the troupe) and could possibly work on it and do it in the future. And it inspired me to stop stopping before I start. (and to write with terrifying grammar!) It could be something little, like trying a new dish (today I tried tiger cries at a thai place by work) or something bigger, like the audition or this boat trip.  And being alone doesn't excuse not trying.  I'm an independent person, and I like exploration alone and with people.  I figure if I try it and like it, I can suggest it to someone else that I want to go with. I love watching people experience something awesome for the first time anyway.

Some ship shots to inspire you:

This guy was awesome. I believe his name was Jeff. He loves his job, and loves sailing. We talked some about sailing when he found out I'd done sailboat crew for a year or two out of Winthrop. He's sweet, and cute.  :)  Definitely not sad he was on fore deck.

Honestly? With the beautiful lakefront paths, the boating opportunities, the wonderful parks, free concerts, restaurants and museums....fantastic architecture? You just can't beat Chicago. I may hate the suburban life, IL politics, construction, humidity, and too many other things to start a list here, but I do NOT hate Chicago. Chicago is a treasure. No matter what other cities I've been to, no matter how much I love NM, and even though ABQ and Santa Fe are decent for quick city fixes...second city nothing.
I.Love.Chicago.

It sparkles. And what could be wrong with that? :) Especially for a magpie like myself.

Each time I roam, Chicago is...calling me home...Chicago is....

One town that won't let you down...it's MY kind of town.

Advertise this.

So here's my arm. Look, I still have some freckles...I kinda thought most of those went away.
And what you're looking at is my scar. I've had other scars, and those have faded for the most part, unless you knew exactly where to look...but this one...well...the doctor even said I will most likely not see it go away. It will probably always be there with me.

Sometimes, when I'm somewhere fancy or dressed nicely, or at a job interview...situations like that...I become really really self-conscious about it.  For one, it's pretty prominent. Even moreso than the picture would lead you to believe. Sometimes when I'm nervous, when I've been working out, or random other things that get blood flowing to the area, it gets red and is even more noticeable. It's raised and you can feel it easily if you touch my arm. And quite frankly, it looks a bit like a scar you'd see on someone who was a cutter. And while people that really know me wouldn't think that, sometimes I wonder if that's what people see when they see it.

Sometimes, on better days, I look at it and I smile. On the good days, I'm actually proud of this scar.  That seems like a damaged point of view, doesn't it?  But the truth of the matter is this: This scar is from the first day I lived in New Mexico. It happened when I was moving boxes around in Los Alamos. I thought it was just the box that cut me, but in retrospect, I don't know that cardboard could cut quite that deep, so it may have been a staple in the box.  The weird thing was, I didn't feel it. I think that was a combination of fatigue and altitude and complete emotional chaos. Steve just told me I was bleeding, and when I looked down, I definitely was.  I remember being a little shocked that I was bleeding that *much*.  It didn't want to stop right away either.  Many months later at the ER for something completely unrelated the doctor saw this scar and told me I should have gotten stitches for it.  I didn't have insurance and I sure as hell didn't want my first day in the state to be at a hospital/er/clinic. So...once the bleeding stopped, I let it go. I actually got to watch it heal.  It closed itself up...little filaments would bridge across the sides, it would scab up, that would fall away, and then more bridges, more scabbing, more falling away.  Eventually, it settled in to what it is now.  I know it's a little gross to think about, but it's also kind of amazing the way the body can actually stitch itself up, if given a chance.

And on a good day, I'm proud of it, because it stands for so much for me.  You can't look at me and see the sleepless night in Libertyville before I left.  You can't see me on the hotel bed the first night of the drive, trying to coax Ana out of her cage, watching her little body shake in fear and feeling awful for scaring her and uprooting her, and realizing I felt the same. I called Pastor Lynn from the hotel room that night, and as soon as he spoke I fell apart. I sobbed until my body shook. Afraid, sad, so much wanting a hug from him or my mom, not sure what on earth I was doing or if I should do it. He told me it was ok to be scared and that he loved me. I managed a thank you and cried til I felt like I couldn't breathe. But I washed my face off, and I watched the dirt (how I got that dirty on the road I don't know) swirl down the drain, and I got past it.  And I drove, and when I crossed the border and I started to see the red rocks rising out of the flatness, you couldn't have taken that smile from me no matter what you did.  It was literally 100 degrees and i just wanted to fling the doors open, get out of the car and run until I couldn't run anymore.  And when I see that scar on my arm, I remember that I got it doing something that not everybody will ever do, or can do.  That that's from when I changed my life and followed my heart, and that it ISN'T something everyone will do or can do. Sometimes, that scar reminds me of my strength.

The truth is, tonight isn't a good night. Tonight, the various scars I've collected in my life are red and inflamed. And I'm having trouble seeing beyond that.  Right now, I'm seeing the walls I've built. The way that I'm erasing the good that that scar does me. Because I don't feel brave.  I feel like I can't say what I need to say.  There's people that I should stand up to, there's mistakes I've made that make me feel disgusted. I feel like I can give all this good energy and care and I'm completely giving it to people who don't care and will never even have the capacity to reciprocate, and I'm keeping it from someone who does because I'm afraid to get hurt.  Because I can't remember right now that I have the capacity to heal and grow past it. That it will close up and fall away. That the glaring white I see as ugly is new skin where there was damage. And I want to go past that. I don't want to sit here and feel misdirected, sad or lonely. But if I was being honest, that's how I feel. And I'm not letting the wound heal over, but I know I want to.  I always saw people who couldn't get past the things that hurt them and I felt bad, because I knew there was so much in them, that they had the capacity to just...be so happy and so loved, if they'd let themselves.  And now? Every so often I look in the mirror, on a bad day, and I'm that person.

And that? I don't want to be. I want to always see those scars as strength, and capacity to heal.
So this is me, trying to write a bridge across the wounds that hurt tonight.

Transitions

I'm a little amused at my own nature sometimes. For example, I really do love doing new things, going new places, trying out new things...
But I *suck* at the transition period.
Even more amusing, when I write, I suck at the intro.  And maybe nobody is laughing except me right now, that's ok.  I laugh out of frustration and I guess that self-acknowledgement that comes with it. Some people trip and fall and stub their toes all the time...oh wait, I do that too... and some people love the new but hate the intro.

I say all this to first explain my absence. I've been taking photos but not stopping to write. My room looks like a disaster area, though slightly less so than it did last week, and I'm usually just tired when i get home. 
I got a new job, which I'm very much enjoying and could turn out to be a very good thing for me. It's in a great location and I've turned into a train commuter, which is also turning out to be very nice.

And yet, I hate the transitions.  The cramming of my brain with all the ins and outs and rules of the new gig, all the scheduling and deadlines and procedures (it's going well and I feel like I have a flow developing, but it still makes my head hurt sometimes), the new schedule, and random other x factors like upcoming weddings, cars that need work (yes, Jeep's got a part needing replaced, there's been a saga involving it, but luckily i have the part, bought it myself, and all i need is it to get on finally and we're good, I think.)

I think the exhaustion is more mental than physical. I'm really finding myself more awake in the mornings due to the walk to the train station, and I enjoy my morning more when it starts that way. But usually when I get home (also walking, of course :) ) I'm just...done trying for the day.  And it makes me irritable because I have a writing project I'm really excited about to do with someone, chores here, and a burning desire to go out and DO that I'm pretty much...not doing once I get in the door. I'm not even cooking. And I don't even really *want* to. 

This is normal for me when I start a new job, I've been through it before, even recently. But that doesn't mean I have to like it.
I can't wait for the new to wear off so I can get to the fleshin' out of it all.

Sky on Fire

Big storm tonight.
I love them, and I always will, even when they scare me.
There's something so surreal about the lightning...your eye can catch it, your camera can't. Sometimes it fascinates me just how amazing our eyes must be, the way they can grab such an amazing show of light in a split second...the way I look at things through my camera lens and it just can't even do what I see with the "naked eye" justice.

And I still try.

But tonight, what got me?
"Feelin' that energy in the air?"
Someone asked me...because they know.
I always do. I *love* the electricity in the air, I love that eerie silence...the roar of the thunder, even the crack of the strikes.  Sure, sometimes it gets to the point of fear, but if I really look at it, it's all just amazing.
It just makes me feel alive.
And it makes me want to share it with someone else who understands that.

INVISIBLE APOCALYPSE! OMG FLEE!

I think this is the perfect invisible apocalypse picture. :P

Anyway, I guess that's the running joke here there and everywhere. And it's absurd to think billboard guy  somehow has the answer to when the world stops spinning, so it is an amusing joke, especially during a rather bad Friday (seems like that was going around).

And on my way back from seeing a movie with a good friend (Pirates of the Carribean 4: Electric Boogaloo) , as I was walking by a church, I entertained the idea....say the looney was right. Now, I don't think he is.  But, say it was your last night...
Everyone's last night, as it were.

Don't you think, just like everyone always says when someone dies...that we ought to live more LIKE we didn't have all the time in the world?  Don't you think it's worth it to appreciate the little things, like the blue and orange swirled sunset this evening?  Or the reflection of the forest in the pond on a hiking path early in the morning? I mean, it's cliche, but I don't think it's without merit just because it's said often. Thing is, actions speak louder than words.

What should I be doing? Maybe not so much entertaining things that aren't really of worth, chasing little figments of fun in the past. Maybe tearing down the walls I've put up to love, because I just realized this year how high I built those. I used to be one of those that fell too fast, and now even when I fall I tend to look for a way out.
But why want a way out of that? Why want a way out of the arms that reach out to you late at night when you're upset and you can't bring yourself to speak a word to anyone, that draw it out of you and then ease your mind even from far away? Why not LET someone in, someone like that? Why not work together to better each other, unify for a common purpose, maybe let your wounds show even as you're wanting to help heal someone else's?

Maybe I *want* the end of the world to feel real, maybe I need the push to be courageous enough to do the things I'd do if this was it.
Really love. Really live.
Maybe make tonight different and come out the other side in your own new world.