Sometimes I wonder why I left to be so far away from home.
I guess, "far" is relative for us all, but for me in this time, I feel far.
Twin Falls is 6oo miles away. Even Boise would be like home.
My family lives just 4 hours away in Washington. But I have never lived there, and I don't like going there.
Being home is different than being loved.
I know I'm loved.
I have lived in this state for 8 years, think I'd be used to it by now.
Monday, September 20, 2010
Friday, September 10, 2010
memory.
Sooo, lets see....
A year ago today I was put on "vacation" from the job I had committed my life to. I was promised a return.
Vacation never ended.
I really hate how much I remember. I remember dates, and numbers, and and times, and years.
I remember birthdays, and account numbers, phone numbers, etc.
It makes me look creepy. But MOST of it is involuntary! What I CAN'T remember is what I was doing 10 minutes ago, where my keys are, where I parked, why I went in the supply room, what I did last night, where my purse is, where my shoes are...and the list goes on. And on.
But tell me your birthday, and I'll remember.
Jan 1
Jan 18
Jan 13
Jan 15
Jan 18
Feb 2
Feb 9
Feb 12
Mar 1
Mar 2
Mar 5
Mar13
Mar 15
Mar 29
April 27
April 19
May 5
May 10
May 25
May 26
May 31
June 1
June 4
June 6
June 12
June 13
June 29
June 30
July 17
July 18
July 31
Aug 12
Sept 12
Sept 15
Sept 26
Sept 29
Oct 4
Nov 12
Dec 25
Dec 28
These are the birth dates I remember off the top of my head. Its ridiculous. The point of this is to expose what a weird and unique memory I have. I remember stuff like this involuntarily.
I just want you to understand: if small details are involuntarily remembered, what does that make of large matters?
They are haunting.
As far as the large matters go, I remember the weather, time of day, the last good part of the day, the last view, the last touch, the last emotion, the last facial expression. I remember specific texts, and phrases in emails, even conversations.
Okay, the point is I remember. I don't always want to. Remembering gets you stuck in the past.
But my life is really good now. Sure, there are more scars. But there is beauty too. They always go together.
And when you have scars, that's when your people come out. You know who your people are when they love you even when you have scars that change what you look like.
That's what I've been doing the last year: finding my people.
I miss when my life meant being a shepherd at King's Grace.
But I have found new life.
A year ago today I was put on "vacation" from the job I had committed my life to. I was promised a return.
Vacation never ended.
I really hate how much I remember. I remember dates, and numbers, and and times, and years.
I remember birthdays, and account numbers, phone numbers, etc.
It makes me look creepy. But MOST of it is involuntary! What I CAN'T remember is what I was doing 10 minutes ago, where my keys are, where I parked, why I went in the supply room, what I did last night, where my purse is, where my shoes are...and the list goes on. And on.
But tell me your birthday, and I'll remember.
Jan 1
Jan 18
Jan 13
Jan 15
Jan 18
Feb 2
Feb 9
Feb 12
Mar 1
Mar 2
Mar 5
Mar13
Mar 15
Mar 29
April 27
April 19
May 5
May 10
May 25
May 26
May 31
June 1
June 4
June 6
June 12
June 13
June 29
June 30
July 17
July 18
July 31
Aug 12
Sept 12
Sept 15
Sept 26
Sept 29
Oct 4
Nov 12
Dec 25
Dec 28
These are the birth dates I remember off the top of my head. Its ridiculous. The point of this is to expose what a weird and unique memory I have. I remember stuff like this involuntarily.
I just want you to understand: if small details are involuntarily remembered, what does that make of large matters?
They are haunting.
As far as the large matters go, I remember the weather, time of day, the last good part of the day, the last view, the last touch, the last emotion, the last facial expression. I remember specific texts, and phrases in emails, even conversations.
Okay, the point is I remember. I don't always want to. Remembering gets you stuck in the past.
But my life is really good now. Sure, there are more scars. But there is beauty too. They always go together.
And when you have scars, that's when your people come out. You know who your people are when they love you even when you have scars that change what you look like.
That's what I've been doing the last year: finding my people.
I miss when my life meant being a shepherd at King's Grace.
But I have found new life.
Thursday, September 9, 2010
today at Max.
Kind of a slow morning here in coffee land. Its weird being here so early. Sometimes by the end of the day it feels like two different days have happened.
I've been doing this for 4 months, and the early morning part of it still gets to me a lot. I feel like I should be old enough by now that my body gets that it is SUPPOSED to be awake. But alas, I still struggle to maintain consciousness until about 10:00 or so.
Anyhow, just another day here in Max's. The best part of my job is meeting and talking with the people that come in here. New people come in, and new stories are learned, and new senses are sharpened. Another great thing is when friends come in. Does it get better than to be at work, AND visit with your friends? One of my favorite friends came in yesterday morning as she exited the night shift from the night before; a start to my day, and an end to her day.
The morning rolls onward, and the old men have come, and sat, and talked about golf, church, their wives, the latest colonoscopy, and the next nap they get to take.
I love the "old guys". They are fun to talk to because they are at a point in life where life just "is", and there is no pretending anymore about what life is not.
Then they will leave to tend to whatever duties they attend to, and then I wait for the next round of customers.
At 9:30 my coffee counter-part comes in to join me in the secret Max Porter's antics, and to prepare for lunch. I am comforted by their arrival, as there are days when it can be a little lonely. Lunch prep and laughter: a great combination.
Usually after about 9 its a couple of women on a "catch-up" coffee date. They come, order some kind of latte, and then politely argue over who will pay for it. Then they sit for an hour or two digressing the past happenings of life in the last couple weeks.
Around this time you also have the people with an awkward chunk of free time that they are trying to fill, or perhaps the office employee needing to get through the morning duldrums. These are some of my favorite customers, as we often exchange new conversation and hear-say, and develop an actual relationship that would have never existed if they didn't have a coffee need, and if I didn't want to fill it.
The other day a mom of a 6 year old boy came in. She had just sent her son off to his first day of school, and she didn't know what to do with herself. She didn't even know what to order. I finally coaxed out of her unwilling and emotional memory that she likes decaf-soy lattes. So I made her one. I asked her if she was okay, and as I made her the drink of comfort, tears came out while she described the morning her baby went off into the world of public school. I told her he would be okay, and that her unconditional love for him would ultimately protect him from the pains of being in the real world. She left with a smile. And a cupcake.
After the morning meanderers come and go, in comes the lunch crowd. The third part of the Max's employee trifecta is made complete at 12:00 when our last worker arrives. There is a sense of confidence that comes with this person's arrival: now we know we can handle "lunch", and all that it entails. This is usually someone I haven't seen in several days, and it is always nice to reconnect with a member of the tribe.
Part of lunch is the 50-60 somethings going through time together over tea and a turkey-cranberry sandwich. They talk of children, grandchildren, weddings, divorces, funerals, and the other friend that couldn't make it to lunch that day.
We also get the lunch-break worker. They come in 1-2 times a week, and order the same sandwich each time. These specific sandwiches cater to the tastes of the individual, and as the sandwich maker, I tend to pass judgement on the seemingly boring or too abstract tastes of the sandwich consumer. But really, what I judge as boring is actually a carefully selected and enjoyed flavor; treasured by the eater.
As lunch dwindles off, the afternoon slump hits, and we get the office workers needing one last jolt to make it til five. We lean on the counter, exchange witty banter, and then get back to our jobs.
3:00.
Clean up begins.
Everything done that morning is undone, the lights go off, and the doors close.
The community that gathers here is on pause until tomorrow, when we see each other again. And isn't that what we want? To see each other? Oh wait, maybe its just coffee...
I've been doing this for 4 months, and the early morning part of it still gets to me a lot. I feel like I should be old enough by now that my body gets that it is SUPPOSED to be awake. But alas, I still struggle to maintain consciousness until about 10:00 or so.
Anyhow, just another day here in Max's. The best part of my job is meeting and talking with the people that come in here. New people come in, and new stories are learned, and new senses are sharpened. Another great thing is when friends come in. Does it get better than to be at work, AND visit with your friends? One of my favorite friends came in yesterday morning as she exited the night shift from the night before; a start to my day, and an end to her day.
The morning rolls onward, and the old men have come, and sat, and talked about golf, church, their wives, the latest colonoscopy, and the next nap they get to take.
I love the "old guys". They are fun to talk to because they are at a point in life where life just "is", and there is no pretending anymore about what life is not.
Then they will leave to tend to whatever duties they attend to, and then I wait for the next round of customers.
At 9:30 my coffee counter-part comes in to join me in the secret Max Porter's antics, and to prepare for lunch. I am comforted by their arrival, as there are days when it can be a little lonely. Lunch prep and laughter: a great combination.
Usually after about 9 its a couple of women on a "catch-up" coffee date. They come, order some kind of latte, and then politely argue over who will pay for it. Then they sit for an hour or two digressing the past happenings of life in the last couple weeks.
Around this time you also have the people with an awkward chunk of free time that they are trying to fill, or perhaps the office employee needing to get through the morning duldrums. These are some of my favorite customers, as we often exchange new conversation and hear-say, and develop an actual relationship that would have never existed if they didn't have a coffee need, and if I didn't want to fill it.
The other day a mom of a 6 year old boy came in. She had just sent her son off to his first day of school, and she didn't know what to do with herself. She didn't even know what to order. I finally coaxed out of her unwilling and emotional memory that she likes decaf-soy lattes. So I made her one. I asked her if she was okay, and as I made her the drink of comfort, tears came out while she described the morning her baby went off into the world of public school. I told her he would be okay, and that her unconditional love for him would ultimately protect him from the pains of being in the real world. She left with a smile. And a cupcake.
After the morning meanderers come and go, in comes the lunch crowd. The third part of the Max's employee trifecta is made complete at 12:00 when our last worker arrives. There is a sense of confidence that comes with this person's arrival: now we know we can handle "lunch", and all that it entails. This is usually someone I haven't seen in several days, and it is always nice to reconnect with a member of the tribe.
Part of lunch is the 50-60 somethings going through time together over tea and a turkey-cranberry sandwich. They talk of children, grandchildren, weddings, divorces, funerals, and the other friend that couldn't make it to lunch that day.
We also get the lunch-break worker. They come in 1-2 times a week, and order the same sandwich each time. These specific sandwiches cater to the tastes of the individual, and as the sandwich maker, I tend to pass judgement on the seemingly boring or too abstract tastes of the sandwich consumer. But really, what I judge as boring is actually a carefully selected and enjoyed flavor; treasured by the eater.
As lunch dwindles off, the afternoon slump hits, and we get the office workers needing one last jolt to make it til five. We lean on the counter, exchange witty banter, and then get back to our jobs.
3:00.
Clean up begins.
Everything done that morning is undone, the lights go off, and the doors close.
The community that gathers here is on pause until tomorrow, when we see each other again. And isn't that what we want? To see each other? Oh wait, maybe its just coffee...
Monday, September 6, 2010
random.
You know when you hear a certain song, and then see a certain thing, and THEN you can feel the memory being made? It's like something being born. I love it. I love when I can be aware of an association taking place. This weekend I had my new favorite song play, one that I hadn't heard since this trip. And I was driving a new part of the coast I had never driven. I love driving so much, and I was so happy to get to mark this off my list of roads travelled. And then I have the 2 at once; the new song, and the new road together. And in that moment an association was born. A memory was made, and I got to acknowledge it as it was happening. I love it.
I get in the mood to write sometimes. I think maybe this is one of those times. But unfortunately, I have caught myself in it. And NOW I'm analyzing myself about why I even want to do this.
Why do I write a blog? I only want certain people reading it. I certainly don't want my mom or my sisters to read it. But then I want certain friends, and other close people to read it. So, if I want to limit who reads this, then why don't I just send out an email to those I want to be in my mind, and share my thoughts there? Or, maybe it's that I feel "anonymous" this way. There is a thrill in the mystery of who really reads my thoughts; like i'm an emotional exhibitionist. I like my thoughts being seen, but I am afraid of the revelation process. What is that about?
Also, I'm afraid to share my thoughts in the direct form because lets face it, they're freaky. THIS way, its indirect. If you read it, I may know, or I may not. Its up to you to tell me, and I can go about as if I don't know. But anyway, my thoughts are freaky. They replay conversations in my head, pretending they could have gone better. I over analyze each encounter with people, wondering how it could have gone better; wondering if I permanently damaged a relationship.
I think in songs. I think in music. Okay, for example, right now I'm mourning the loss of a guitar. Its an inanimate object, I know. But it represents something; it represents a season. And what's annoying is that i didn't get a chance to know that season was ending. I hate that a piece of wood and string can have that kind of nostalgic power over me.
And that leads me to another point.
The nostalgia.
Time is very valuable to me. I am not like other people. I am very aware of my mortality. I am aware of my limited time. So sometimes people perceive me as overly sensitive, or hyper-emotional. But really, I'm just wanting to make the most of what I have now.
I just want to do the right thing, and I really don't know what it is.
I went on a trip this weekend. I left for 4 days. It was so easy to be gone. I get so afraid to leave. I can talk myself out of it so easily. And then when its over, I miss it. It makes me scared, like, maybe I want to leave after all? But I don't! I'm scared to be alone. I feel alone enough already, and there are people that love me everywhere. I think I'm afraid to be missing what I'm meant for, and I don't really know what that means, so I just look at everything as opportunity. Its irrational. I just want life to be full. I want my life to be full. I don't want to look back with regret. But that takes risk, right? And risk I have.
So, here is a blog. Here is a partial revelation of the chaos in my mind.
I get in the mood to write sometimes. I think maybe this is one of those times. But unfortunately, I have caught myself in it. And NOW I'm analyzing myself about why I even want to do this.
Why do I write a blog? I only want certain people reading it. I certainly don't want my mom or my sisters to read it. But then I want certain friends, and other close people to read it. So, if I want to limit who reads this, then why don't I just send out an email to those I want to be in my mind, and share my thoughts there? Or, maybe it's that I feel "anonymous" this way. There is a thrill in the mystery of who really reads my thoughts; like i'm an emotional exhibitionist. I like my thoughts being seen, but I am afraid of the revelation process. What is that about?
Also, I'm afraid to share my thoughts in the direct form because lets face it, they're freaky. THIS way, its indirect. If you read it, I may know, or I may not. Its up to you to tell me, and I can go about as if I don't know. But anyway, my thoughts are freaky. They replay conversations in my head, pretending they could have gone better. I over analyze each encounter with people, wondering how it could have gone better; wondering if I permanently damaged a relationship.
I think in songs. I think in music. Okay, for example, right now I'm mourning the loss of a guitar. Its an inanimate object, I know. But it represents something; it represents a season. And what's annoying is that i didn't get a chance to know that season was ending. I hate that a piece of wood and string can have that kind of nostalgic power over me.
And that leads me to another point.
The nostalgia.
Time is very valuable to me. I am not like other people. I am very aware of my mortality. I am aware of my limited time. So sometimes people perceive me as overly sensitive, or hyper-emotional. But really, I'm just wanting to make the most of what I have now.
I just want to do the right thing, and I really don't know what it is.
I went on a trip this weekend. I left for 4 days. It was so easy to be gone. I get so afraid to leave. I can talk myself out of it so easily. And then when its over, I miss it. It makes me scared, like, maybe I want to leave after all? But I don't! I'm scared to be alone. I feel alone enough already, and there are people that love me everywhere. I think I'm afraid to be missing what I'm meant for, and I don't really know what that means, so I just look at everything as opportunity. Its irrational. I just want life to be full. I want my life to be full. I don't want to look back with regret. But that takes risk, right? And risk I have.
So, here is a blog. Here is a partial revelation of the chaos in my mind.
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