on becoming grown.

{photo by Kristofer Johnsson}

Way back in October, as trick-or-treaters came to our front door for the very first time, I looked at Jordan and said, "This is what grown-ups do."

For some reason, in my mind, hosting kids in costume and rewarding them with candy (the good kind, you guys... not the cheap stuff) was something only grown-ups did. 

I've found myself saying this phrase often these last few months, and I'm not sure if it's because I'm actually becoming more adult, or if at 26 I'm just finally identifying these small characteristics I've always associated with growing up.

Things like... 

... packing my lunch the night before. 

... turning off Netflix in time to go to bed. 

... getting up early to walk around the neighborhood. 

... having a fully-stocked medicine cabinet. 

... buying Drain-o. 

... grocery shopping at 10 in the morning. 

... scheduling our meals.

... listening to NPR. 

... doing laundry the minute it needs to be done instead of letting it amass into out-of-control piles.

... eating fruits and vegetables.

... carrying a water bottle around.

... accepting confrontation as an occasionally necessary part of life.

... buying underwear.

... working toward reconciliation.

... picking up the phone instead of texting.

... choosing home.

These are the things that constantly feel elusive to me, and the moment one of them becomes attainable, I instantly feel like I've conquered the world.

In her book A Circle of Quiet, Madeleine L'Engle writes it's not chronological aging that's difficult (that, she says, is a "nuisance" and "frequently a bore"). Instead, it's maturity she has to constantly grow into.

"...The experience which can be acquired only through chronology will teach me how to be more aware, open, unafraid to be vulnerable, involved, committed, to accept disagreement without feeling threatened..., to understand that I cannot take myself seriously until I stop taking myself seriously." Those things, she says, lead to true adulthood.

I think sometimes I get wrapped up in grocery shopping and folded laundry -- and let's face it, those tasks need to be completed -- but forget there are other marks of adulthood, marks I may not even know I've reached until I'm faced with a situation needing maturity and grace.

Over Christmas break, I washed a load of our nice clothes with a couple of butter soaked rags. (My homemade cinnamon rolls were delicious, but created a flowing river of butter off our counter tops.) The result? Several of our sweaters and jeans came out of the dryer with odd-shaped grease stains. I felt like such an idiot. Who messes up their laundry at 26 (almost 27) years of age? I mean, I've practically been doing laundry for 10 years!

Fast forward a few weeks, when I became aware of a rather uncomfortable situation that required my apologies and a whole lot of grace and patience. Although I didn't handle the situation perfectly, I did so much better than I would have even just a year ago. I took a breath, sought counsel from Jordan, said a prayer, and made a phone call. I didn't gossip (even though I wanted to), and I didn't over-analyze. Instead, I apologized and did my best to march forward in that relationship.

I guess what I'm saying is: I'd rather have grease-stained clothes than the emotional maturity of a 16-year-old. Lord knows I've got a ridiculously long way to go, but that phone call? It felt like a milestone. It showed me I'm different now than I was. I'm a work in progress, but I'm growing.

Maybe that's what being an adult is most of all. 

currently.

{top, halloween 2012; bottom, greek food fest 2012}

Listening . . . to Taylor Swift's Red album (which I unashamedly love), Christy Nockels' Into the Glorious, and Mumford and Sons' Babel. 

Watching . . . Hart of Dixie, college football, and not too much else. We just finished our season of scary movie watching (an October tradition) and soon it will be time for White Christmas and It's a Wonderful Life. Until then... any TV recommendations, preferably something I can watch on Netflix?

Reading . . . This weekend was full of reading on the couch wrapped up in a quilt; basically, my version of heaven. I read Joshilyn Jackson's A Grown-Up Kind of Pretty in one sitting -- so very, very good -- and wrapped up Divergent in a couple of days. Next on the list? Half the Sky, Insurgent, and The Secret Keeper.

Eating . . . lots and lots and lots of soup and crockpot meals. It's also nearing clementine season; we've got those in the kitchen for quick snacks. This chocolate chip scone recipe is also fun (and not nearly as intimidating as it looks).

Drinking . . . yard-drinks, of course. 

Wearing . . . boots and sweaters, but my new favorite thing would have to be these shoes, which I paid a pretty penny for. They're incredibly comfortable and perfect for my new gig working retail.

Feeling . . . happy and content. I love my job, love our home, and love our friends. Life is really good right now, and since this year has had its ups and downs, I think that deserves recognition. 

Wanting . . . to buy a new planner for the year. Events for 2013 are already coming in, and I've yet to find an Erin Condren coupon online, which means I may have to shell out the full $50. That seems excessive, until I remember just how much I actually use my planner. Looks like I may have to bite the bullet.

Needing . . . to plan out my Christmas shopping. How is it already November? I feel so far behind. Plus, this month we'll be celebrating our fourth anniversary and Jordan's 27th birthday. So much to celebrate! I'm also desperately needing to get back into some type of devotional/meditation/quiet-time routine, and more exercise wouldn't hurt either. I'm trying a couple of new things this month; I'll let you know how they go.

Thinking . . . about planning a spiritual retreat for the new year, about Christmas gifts and birthday plans.

Enjoying . . . Sunday sabbaths. Candletime. Movie nights with Jordan. Yard drinks. Life.

slow down, you move too fast.

You know that scene in You've Got Mail, when Tom Hanks sits down to write Meg Ryan an email and tell her why he didn't meet her at the restaurant, why he couldn't show up, even though he did show up, because, spoiler alert! He and Joe Fox are one and the same? He sits down to write an explanation, and there's just nothing. No words really seem to suffice, and the cursor just keeps blinking back at him, taunting him to type something, anything.

That's kind of how I feel.  

It's been three weeks, and I don't really know what to say.

Basically, we moved. And Jordan went to Venzuela. And I began pursuing a possible life change, the details of which I can't really publicize just yet. (No, I'm not pregnant, thank you for asking.)

It's all enough to make me want to curl up in a ball and hide out until September.

Instead, I'm spending a lot of time in prayer and a lot of time in front of the television, distracting myself from it all with the Olympics. I figure that's a pretty legitimate coping mechanism, since it only comes around every four years anyway. I'm allowed to be distracted by a spectacle that has the whole world distracted, I think.

The good news is I think the words are coming back. They ebb and flow for me, and I think the silence that results from their slowness is okay. But they're headed back this way, which is good, because I have stories to tell.

It's nice to be back.

moving.

{photo for House Beautiful by Ngoc Minh Ngo}

Bloggers tend to place things in categories: design blogs, humor blogs, news blogs, food blogs... The list goes on and on, and yet I can never seem to figure out where this little blog belongs. In my optimistic moments, I like to think of this little spot on the internet as narrative, a place where I come to tell my life's stories, after I've lived and learned from them a bit.

If that's the case, then right now, my narrative consists of moving boxes and packing tape, of mismatched furniture and gallons of grey and mint green paint.

Moving, no matter where or why, is always a bit of a pain, and between the working and the packing and the planning, there just hasn't been much room for the writing.

That's okay, I think. I like when I get to use a different part of my brain, when I get to plan and organize and paint and make our house a home. A new place means I get to try new things, get to find new purposes for old things, get to figure out the quirks of a new space and how to make it our own. 

So that's where I've been these days, and where I'll likely continue to be for the next week or so. There's a new house to make ready, and an old house to say goodbye to. In between, there are also a couple of beach visits to take and the 2012 Olympics to watch. (We are obsessed with the Olympics around these parts.) 

In short, we are busy in the best kind of ways. And soon, I'll have the words to write about it all.

being a grown-up.

{photo by Hannah Hayes}

Being a grown-up means getting the New York Times delivered every Saturday and Sunday. It means sitting up in bed, doing the crossword puzzle while the cinnamon rolls finish baking in the oven.

Being a grown-up means having a signature scent and style. It means having a livable, wearable, color-coordinated closet and clothes you iron the moment they come out of the dryer. It means having a tailor and a dry cleaner, even if you use both sparingly. It means spending wisely and taking care of what you own.

Being a grown-up means traveling the world and responding to adventure's call. It means making time and money for fun, because some grown-ups forget what fun is, and who wants to be one of those? 

Being a grown-up means having fresh flowers and remembering to throw them out before they begin to rot. It means having a well-curated, well-loved home, full of books and paintings and comfortable furniture. It means having a place other people love, too, a place where they feel warm and welcome and loved and appreciated. It's knowing what you love and why.

Being a grown-up means having a yard and a lawn chair and a fire pit and a sprinkler to run through on hot summer days. It means cooking and cleaning on a regular basis, mostly because you have to, but also because you know it makes you feel better when you do.

Being a grown-up means early to bed, early to rise. It means breakfast, lunch, and dinner. It means no more running out of the house with breakfast wrapped in a paper towel or scanning the refrigerator for expiration dates and signs of mold.

Being a grown-up means front porch living and rocking chair sitting. It means loving your neighbor and caring for those around you. It means having time to do the things no one else seems to have time to do anymore. It means life is a lot more simple than people want to make it.

Being a grown-up means no more overgrown laundry piles or rewashing clothes that soured in the washer overnight. Being a grown-up means sometimes drying your clothes outside on a line so they can blow in the breeze and smell like the air we breathe instead of some soapy chemical. It means doing the things you'd rather not have to do.

Being a grown-up means a little less television and a lot more books. Lots and lots and lots of books, and only the kind you can hold in your hand and mark with a pencil. Real grown-ups read books you can hold and feel and touch and smell, because deep down you know that's what your grandparents did, and it's what you want your children to do too.

Being a grown-up means getting your hair cut before it reaches the point where you begin to look homeless and ill-kempt. Being a grown-up means timely doctor's appointments and healthy eating habits and washing your face and flossing your teeth. It means taking care of yourself, because then you're better capable of helping others. It's putting on your own oxygen mask first.

Being a grown-up means getting vegetables from a garden -- maybe even one you helped God grow yourself -- and having at least one go-to recipe, the kind of recipe that made your grandmother famous. It's knowing some things are better made from scratch, and some things aren't worth the time and effort, no matter how many accolades you might receive. It's knowing some things are better made by your own hands, and some things can be better entrusted to the experts at Publix.

Being a grown-up means being a good friend. It means calling when you say you'll call. It means showing up even when someone forgets to ask you to. It means crying over hurts and smiling over successes. It means grace under pressure and enthusiasm over good things. It means a kind no and a reliable yes.

Being a grown-up means date nights with your husband and girls' nights with your friends. It means hanging out as a family and spending hours at the dinner table. It's knowing how to play a handful of card and board games so you never run out of things to do with the people you love. It's making time to do nothing with the people you love best and need most.

Being a grown-up means confidence in your own decision-making. It means gratitude for who you have become. It means trying to be better, but being content with what you have and who you are.

I'm trying, these days, to be a grown-up, the kind of grown-up I dreamed of being when I was a little girl.

What kind of grown-up do you want to be?

on birth order + the Myers-Briggs.

{yes, this is a photo of the olsen sisters. from here.}

Jordan and I are big believers in the power of birth order.

We’ve skimmed the books, done research online, and observed plenty of family members and friends. Sure, neither one of us is a psychologist or licensed counselor, but in our humble opinions, this birth order stuff is for real, and the longer I work and the more people I meet, the more I wish we all walked around with two pieces of information bound across our heads: 1) the results of our Myers-Briggs tests, and 2) whether we’re eldest, middle, youngest, or only siblings.

Have you taken the Myers-Briggs? (There’s a free, online version available here.) We had to take the test as part of our freshman orientation class in college, and I cannot tell you how invaluable my results have been to me over the years. In fact, of all the things I learned in college, that might be one of the most helpful. Thanks to my Myers-Briggs results, I can better understand why I am the way that I am.

According to Wikipedia, my results can be broken down as follows:

Introversion preferred to extraversion.

INTJs tend to be quiet and reserved. They generally prefer interacting with a few close friends rather than a wide circle of acquaintances, and they expend energy in social situations (whereas extraverts gain energy).

Intuition preferred to sensing.

INTJs tend to be more abstract than concrete. They focus their attention on the big picture rather than the details and on future possibilities rather than immediate realities.

Thinking preferred to feeling.

INTJs tend to value objective criteria above personal preference. When making decisions they generally give more weight to logic than to social considerations.

Judgment preferred to perception.

INTJs tend to plan their activities and make decisions early. They derive a sense of control through predictability, which to perceptive types may seem limiting.

As an INTJ, I know I lose energy from being around people. That doesn't mean I don't enjoy parties or gatherings or friends; it just means when the parties and the get-togethers are over, you can find me asleep on the couch or staring silently in a corner. (Jordan, an ENTJ, comes home full of energy and ready to talk about it all. Our differences in the introvert vs. extrovert debate contribute to a lot of discussions at home; the fact that I know he is an ENTJ helps us better figure out why one of us is upset or tired or excited or hopeful.) I also know I function better with a plan; I like to know deadlines in advance, and I'm okay with not always knowing the exact answer to any particular problem. I'm analytical and creative and work well by myself. (It's why I function best with a boss who gives me a task, then leaves me alone to do the work.)

When I was a little girl, my grandfather told my mother that he knew I was smart because I was content to not have all the answers, and I was comfortable going to look for them. I'm confident in my abilities and capable in leadership positions. I'm also demanding in what I expect of people (oh, so true!), and I take a while to warm up to others. (Knowing this about myself helps me keep these parts of myself in check; I don't always handle my relationships with grace, and I'm working on it.) As a result, I am terrible at small talk, which makes me a terrible bore at cocktail parties and work functions. Networking, despite my best efforts over the years, is a loathsome task I've pretty much given up hope of ever perfecting or enjoying.

I'm independent and wary of authority based on tradition, rank or title. I'm not big in showing my emotions (though this has changed slightly over the years), but I'm loyal to those I love. My home and family are extremely important to me, and life is good when those two things are under control.

Do you see how helpful Myers-Briggs results would be in getting to know a person? Knowing Jordan's personality type helps in arguments and discussions; it doesn't hurt that we're very similar and therefore know when to take it easy on the other. I can see how Myers-Briggs results would be especially beneficial in an office setting. In fact, if I were ever to become a manager of some kind (a role that my personality would probably thrive in), I'd love to have employees take the Myers-Briggs. Wouldn't it be helpful to know how best to manage a certain personality type? Wouldn't it be beneficial to know the girl standing in the corner isn't a terrible communicator, she's just introverted? Wouldn't it help to know who thrives with a boss who's hands-off versus who needs a little bit more guidance or input? In church, wouldn't it be helpful to have the same type of information? We would know so much more about each other and why we do the things we do.

I believe birth order functions in the same way. As an eldest child, I'm responsible and reliable; I'm a natural leader and rule-follower. I'm also bossy and tend to be hard on myself and on others. As a kid, I was punished differently from my younger brother because I was already pretty tough on myself. I beat myself up enough. Just the other day, I was running late to work and had to call my boss to let her know I wouldn't be in until 9:00. At 9:01, as I sat quietly preparing for the day, my boss came by and chided me, half-jokingly. "Tsk, tsk," she said, and you know what? It was devastating. I'd already beaten myself up enough. I didn't need an additional reprimand. If I'd had "eldest sibling" tattooed across my forehead, she would have known that really, no punishment (no matter how slight) was needed.

 Jordan, too, is an eldest sibling, which means we can butt heads with one another. We both tend to be stubborn and think our way is the better way. We've also noticed that since we've known each other, we'll each take turns fulfilling the "younger sibling" role. For example, Jordan is a rather extreme rule-follower. In marriage, I tend to be the more easy going of the two of us in that area, often urging Jordan to be a little bit more lax. Otherwise, we might drive each other crazy.

Growing up, my friends were all youngest and only siblings. We meshed well together, probably because I was a little bit bossy and a lot organized, while my friends were content to go with the flow and would encourage me toward spontaneity. In college, I gravitated toward eldest siblings, and we joke now that in our entire group of friends from college, there's not one youngest sibling among them. As a result, we all travel really well together — we've got a lot of planners and organizers — and it's fairly easy to gather together every few months or so because we're all pretty loyal and determined to make things happen.

I'm curious, then, to know what my blog readers and friends are. Have you taken the Myers-Briggs? What were your results? Do you think they're accurate? Are you an eldest, youngest, or only sibling? Do you think that's shaped your personality at all?

* Update: Those of you interested in birth order might enjoy reading Kevin Leman's The Birth Order Book. I haven't read the whole thing, but what I have read is pretty fascinating. Let me know what you think! 

lately.

Listening . . . to Boys and Girls by the Alabama Shakes, Into the Glorious by Christy Nockels, and Heart by Audrey Assad.

Watching . . . Grey's Anatomy reruns, a little bit of Mad Men, The Wonder Years (every episode makes me cry in the best kind of way), and The Killing. I'm also desperately ready for Leslie Knope and the Parks and Rec gang to return to my TV screen.

Reading . . . Bloom by Kelle Hampton, still working my way through An Altar in the World, and The Dance of the Dissident Daughter. April has been a "read the parts of several books, but don't complete any single one" kind of month. 

Eating . . . as heathily as possible. Lots of fruits and vegetables and fish and granola. Recipes from our latest two meals are here and here.

Drinking . . . green smoothies and lots of water. I finally figured out that making our green smoothies the night before is the best option for our schedule. It's so much easier!

Wearing . . . my pink maxi skirt from the Gap and a couple of great new pairs of shoes (summer sandals and a nude pair of ballet flats). 

Feeling . . . meh. My face has broken out like crazy in the past month (hence all the healthy eating going on around here), and if I'm being honest, it's messed with my self-esteem pretty badly these past few days. I'm trying to take better care of myself, to continue boundary-setting and resting when my body says rest. I've got room for improvement, but I'm trying. I guess that's the important thing.

Wanting . . . to go on vacation. It's long overdue. In the meantime, Jordan and I are thinking about moving this summer. Our townhome all of a sudden feels very small, and I'm aching to rest my barefeet in the grass of a backyard instead of the pavement where we park our cars. I'm getting antsy and a little bit restless for a new project, and I'm ready to have an excuse to spend more time at home. I feel like decorating and cleaning a new place would fit the bill.   

Needing . . . to clean the house we currently live in. We're not moving for at least two or three months, so avoiding laundry and basic chores seems potentially problematic.

Thinking . . . about how far I've come this year and how far I still have to go, about faith and spiritual practices, rental homes and fun colors, little vacations and rest and reprieve.

Enjoying . . . my lunch breaks at home, Tuesday afternoons in my new favorite outdoor spot, Saturday drives in the car with Jordan and the windows rolled down, pretend house-hunting, and daydreaming about our future.

a list of things i cannot do.

{photo by Leroy Grannis}

I've kind of been loving Abby's blog Little Stories lately, and her recent post, "A Small Sampling of Things I Cannot Do," is no exception. These days leading up to Easter remind us just how small we are, and what better way to recognize our personhood than by making a list of things we just can't do?

And so, mine.

I can't:

- Touch my toes.

- Remember all of the lyrics to any one song, despite my best efforts and intentions.

- Dance.

- Leave my house without forgetting at least one thing.

- Sing on key.

- Play badminton or tennis.

- Eat fewer than three cookies. It is three or more, always.
- Whistle.

- Talk and run at the same time.

- Roll my r's.

- Order funnily-named items at a restaurant without giggling.
- Cook a meal without some kind of recipe.

- Sew.
- Read and listen to a conversation at the same time. If I'm reading a book, I'm not listening to you.

- Eat without making a mess. (Just ask my husband and my mother.)

- Debate on any given political or religious issue without wanting to flee the premises. (It should be noted: Discuss and debate are two very different things.)

- Put in contacts.

- Swallow big pills, both literally and figuratively.

- Control my facial expressions.

- Watch or read women's birthing stories.

- Cry on command.
- Draw a properly-formed stick figure.

- Stop myself from rolling my eyes.

- Jump start a car or change a tire. (I will hear from my father about this, mark my words.)

- Get through a meal at a restaurant without eavesdropping on someone else's conversation.

- Sit in the front row at a movie theatre.

What can't you do?

in which grief looks like heartbreak.

{photo by Annette Pehrsson}

I have been thinking lately about how grief is a lot like heartbreak, though I don’t speak with much experience, because my life hasn’t held a lot of either.

But everything the movies and the books say about breaking up — the lounging on the couch, the urgent need for Ben & Jerry’s, the songs on the radio that trigger spats of uncontrollable tears, the desperate desire to be surrounded with people you really love or to be alone in a dark room — that all sounds like grief to me.

So I guess you could say my heart is going through a break-up right now.

And I’m wondering if that term is a little easier for people to understand, because the horror and the pain of a break-up seems to be pretty universal. But losing a grandparent? I think that’s hard for a lot of people to fully grasp, and the grief that follows is equally difficult to comprehend.

Some days, I am filled with renewed energy, with excitement for the plans on my calendar and the life that lies ahead.

Other days, I want nothing more than to sit on the couch and watch mindless television while curled up under a blanket.

That’s just how it’s going to be for a while.

My grandmother was not a stranger to me. She did not live in some faraway land, hours away, reachable only by telephone. She was not someone I saw around the holidays and the occasional long weekend.

I grew up three houses down from my grandparents.

Until January 11, I saw my grandmother at least once a week, every week, even if it was only for a few moments or for a family dinner.

I share her name, and she is my role model.

This is rare, I know. My relationship with my family is unique, and it’s not something everyone can really understand.

That's okay.

What I am asking for, though, is a little patience. The same you might give a friend who's just lost the best boyfriend she ever had.

Because I’m going through a break-up, and I could use some Ben & Jerry’s.

--

Note: I've decided, if Ben & Jerry aren't available, a book is a wonderful substitute. Last week, a friend sent me a Starbucks gift card and a copy of Diary of a Wimpy Kid in the mail. Seriously, best grief gift ever. This entire process is teaching me what kind of friend I want to be. (Hint: The kind that sends books and thoughtful well-wishes to the people they love.)

lately.

{via}

listening: to First Aid Kit and Florence + The Machine

reading: The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest, Boundaries, and Salvage the Bones.

watching: Downton Abbey, Gossip Girl reruns, and The Bachelor. (My justification can be found here.)

planning: Galentine's Day and Jazz Fest 2012.

thinking: about a new writing endeavor, the understanding of good friends, and the blessing of regular Bible study.

---

What have you been up to lately?

looking back.

Before we fully embrace 2012, I feel like it’s important to take a look back at the ups and downs 2011 gave us, to remember the resolutions that succeeded and the ones that failed, to relive the highlights and the less-than-perfect moments of the past 12 months.

In January, I wrote that I wanted our home to be clean and livable and full of color and life. I wanted to have fresh flowers and good-smelling candles and colorful accents that let people know our home is fun and livable and that our door is always open. I wanted to cook through Jamie Oliver’s cookbook and develop a usable, uniquely me closet. I wanted to bring music, joy, and color into our home, to celebrate milestones in a meaningful way. I wanted to establish a quiet time ritual, to make the most of our precious weekend hours, and to complain a whole lot less.

Overall, I’m so happy with how our year went.

We celebrated my 25th birthday and planned a spontaneous trip to Jazz Fest, one of the absolute highlights of my year. We welcomed two new babies into our midst and showered them and their mothers with love and gifts. We said goodbye to people we loved and chose to embrace our time here. We started a supper club and hosted weekly small group meetings. I gave up sugar for 40 days and learned a lot about myself, my body, and the Lenten season. We honored Advent and came to terms with some church issues that had clouded my walk with Christ. We held date nights most every Friday night, often taking “mini-vacations” to Thomasville, a small town nearby that just so happens to be the home of my favorite bookstore. I read 50 books and wrote an entire blogging series on celebration. I bought clothes I liked and began creating a useable, wearable closet. I established a face-cleansing routine that actually works. I hosted favorite things brunches and book club meetings and game nights and supper clubs and a pretty awesome dance party. We went to New Orleans and Captiva Island and Nags Head and the north Georgia mountains. We went to the beach over and over and over again, and each time it was just what I needed. We paid off my student loans and began to work on Jordan’s. I had two cancerous moles removed, and Jordan faced a few health scares of his own. Together we took steps to make sure the next few years we live are healthier than the last. We cooked more in our tiny kitchen; we subscribed to Netflix and watched Cheers and Parks and Recreation and The Wonder Years. I redecorated our bathroom and added meaningful touches to our home. I planned an entire wedding and reception without hurting myself or others. I enjoyed time with the fuzzies, and Jordan and I had our first reunion with precious friends from college.

Sure, there were hard times.

But this year lived up to its name.

I can close the door on 2011 because I truly believe I gave it everything I had. I like who I am starting 2012. I like what I accomplished this year, and, if I’m being honest, I like how I failed. The things that went well and the things that didn’t have shaped me, and I’m more equipped to face the days ahead.

Bring it, 2012. I am ready for you.

And 2011? Thank you. You were so good for me.

choosing happy.

{photo by Something's Hiding in Here via You Are My Fave}

This week hasn't exactly gone the way I expected. On Tuesday, I started to feel a little bit funny, like maybe the dust from all my deep cleaning last weekend had seeped into my pores and was now stuck somewhere around my nasal cavity. Thus, my second cold of the fall (despite the fact that fall temperatures have yet to actually arrive in my neck of the woods) has come upon me with a vengeance. 

And I was having a pity party moment last night, a kind of "why-on-earth-is-this-happening-again-this-is-not-the-time" moment, when I decided: No. This is not how I will handle this. I shed a few tears, and yes, expressed my frustrations with the Father, and then I moved on. Things will get better. Life sometimes throws us curve balls, but it's all about how we handle them, am I right? 

So here's how I've been coping: 

- Emily of New Moon is a television show? You guys, have you been holding out on me? This is the greatest thing I've discovered since Anne of Green Gables, and it's on Netflix. Woohoo!

- Speaking of Netflix, I've also discovered the joy of documentary-browsing. So far, I've enjoyed The Lottery, Young@Heart, and Frontrunners. Highly recommend them all, but especially The Lottery, a film about charter schools in New York City. It's both heart-breaking and eye-opening. 

- Ben & Jerry's ice cream, obviously. Phish Food is my flavor of choice. 

- De-hoarding our house. Seriously, we had a storage problem. Four loads to a local donation point later, and our house is like a different place. Thank goodness. 

- Fall fashions. Sure, I don't have money for them, but they're fun to look at. 

- NPR Tiny Desk Concerts. These are changing my work day.  So. good.

- Looking forward to the weekend. Essentially, this is what gets me through every week. But, you know.

---

What are you up to this weekend?

fall.

{photo by Leslie Thomson}

Despite our temperatures that are capping out well into the 80s, this weekend will officially mark the beginning of my favorite season.

That's not a title I bestow lightly, by the way. I am a lover of all seasons. Summer, with its carefree days and trips to the beach. Spring and its spectacular colors and mild temperatures. Winter with cozy clouds and Saturdays spent under the covers. But fall... Fall brings cute clothes and times of rest. It welcomes routines that replace summer chaos, favorite movies and dinners from the crockpot.

Before there were blogs and colored tights, before Pinterest boards and my own home to decorate, I loved fall. I think it must be the anticipation of the new season. For Floridians, summer extends well past its scheduled departure in September. There are years where we have had to wait months for autumn to arrive in all its glory, and even then there might not be falling leaves or temperatures perfect for hot chocolate drinking.

We find our ways to cope, though. Scented candles and pumpkins found at JoAnn's. Wreathes and scary movies. Lightweight cardigan sweaters and potted mums.

As I've listened to my northern neighbors begin to describe all the things I'm still stuck anticipating, I've felt a little twinge of worry, because here, fall is by far the shortest season. Before we know it, Thanksgiving has arrived and with it, the holidays and all the joy they bring. This year, especially, I'm concerned my beloved autumn will turn into nothing but a whisper, a faded month on a calendar whose pages have long been turned.

See, in the middle of all of my plans and resolutions, I have quietly been planning the wedding of a friend. What began as a graphic design opportunity has morphed me into a full-fledged J.Lo, and with the wedding date looming closer and closer, I'm afraid October will not be filled with calm days and apple-scented nights. Instead, I will be hustling and bustling about town, scratching things off of a bride's to-do list, praying the photographer and the caterer show up on time.

This weekend, the last before the month of the wedding, I plan to take things slowly. I've armed myself with a few DIY projects and decorating ideas, and my hope is that come Sunday evening, our home will be full of reminders of the season: pom pom wreathes and chalkboard signs, ceramic pumpkins and bowls of candy corn. I want to enjoy every weekend of the passing autumn, and I think decorating my home is just as good a place to start as any.

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So, what do you do to prepare for the arrival of fall? Any decorating tips to share?

a day in the life.

{photo by via Simply Seleta}

Today, I thought I'd share with you what a typical day in my life looks like. It's not ground-breaking, that's for sure, but I kind of love when other bloggers tell me how their days work: Sometimes I'm inspired to change my own routine as a result.

7:00 - Alarm goes off. Hit snooze. 

7:05 - 7:20 - Alarm continues to go off in five minute increments. 

7:20 - Wake up. 

7:25 - Rinse face; plug in straightener; begin make-up regimen. Fight with hair that dried funny overnight.

7:40 - Get dressed. Brush teeth. Grab breakfast (dependent upon time). 

7:50 - Leave house. Pray or sing in the car.

8:00 - Arrive at work. Have quiet time, either with The Book of Common Prayer or Jesus Calling.

8:15 - Check email. Eat breakfast. Read through [most] new items in Google Reader. Check news websites (the New York Times, the Tallahassee Democrat, the Orlando Sentinel, the Huffington Post, and Slate). 

9:00 - 12:30 - Tackle the work day. Write and edit articles; do book reviews. 

12:30 - Drive home for lunch or meet up with a friend. (But, if I'm being honest, mostly drive home.) 

12:40 - 1:20 - Eat lunch. Watch Friends or Cheers or 30 Rock episodes.

1:30 - Get back to work. 

3:30 - Daily mid-afternoon crash in which I succumb to the vending machine. (During Lent, I was better than this. No more.)

3:30 - 5:30 - More of the same. 

5:30 - Thank my lucky stars and head home. 

5:45 - Take a walk with Jordan and Junie. Check the mail. Leave mail I don't care about in the box. 

6:00 - Change clothes. Begin cooking dinner with Jordan. 

7:00 - Eat dinner while watching Wheel of Fortune and Jeopardy. 

8:00 - Put in a load of laundry. Work on graphic design projects or blog posts. Read. Snuggle on the couch. Watch TV. Sometimes (rarely) exercise.

9:30 - Head upstairs to take a bath or shower, depending on how I'm feeling. (Baths are reserved for moments of stress... or for when I have a good book to read.) Always end up showering so I can wash my hair. (My hair dryer broke, and I haven't bought a replacement.)

9:45/10:00 - Begin nighttime face regimen (detailed here). If I need a change, I scrub my face with baking soda and water instead. 

10:30 - Watch one or two episodes of Cheers. (Or The Office. Or Parks and Recreation). 

11:30 - Prayer with Jordan and lights out. 

Fascinating, huh? Of course, sometimes this routine varies. Tuesdays, I teach ninth grade grammar and literature to my cousin, who's homeschooled. I'm also able to squeeze in 30 minutes or so on their stationary bike or treadmill, which is pretty much my exercise for the week. Jordan's playing flag football this fall, and we have church services on Wednesdays, so those nights are different too.

Here's what I realized while typing all this out: 1) We watch way more TV than I realized; it's often on in the background while we're doing other tasks; 2) I need to do a better job with breakfasts and quiet times; 3) I am terrible at exercise.

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What does your daily routine look like?

in which i become obsessed with the kennedys.

 {photo by Cecil Stoughton, Hyannis Port, Massachusetts, August 1963}

When I was a little girl, I went through these phases, phases in which I became obsessed with the subjects I read about in the books I loved so much. Anastasia the Russian princess, the Magnificent Seven gymnastics team of 1996, the sinking of the Titanic, Eleanor Roosevelt, Louisa May Alcott. These are the subjects I wish we could study in school: the ones we would research on and on, not to pass tests, but just to know.

Last night, as I watched ABC's special on Jacqueline Kennedy's recently released audio tapes, I became fascinated, again, with that family, that history. I was interested, as a young teenager, not in  JFK's death, but in the tragic death of his son. I remember watching with horror as news of John F. Kennedy Jr.'s plane crash splayed across the television, and I took to books and magazines and newspapers, reading all I could about this American family and what they meant to our history. The Kennedys, then, were yet another one of my phases, but it was a particular phase that must have passed quickly. As Diane Sawyer introduced those tapes, I realized how little I actually knew. 

I loved that Jacqueline Kennedy had the foresight, had the love for books and for history, to recognize the importance of preservation. I love that she spoke her mind, yet had the grace and the wisdom to reserve her opinions and judgments for the proper time. I love that she very obviously respected her husband, and that she had a deep desire for his respect as well. 

As I listened to the stories of Jacqueline's life in the White House, in her own words, in her own voice, I was reminded, yet again, of the importance of story, of how crucial it is that we talk to each other, share with one another. I loved that Caroline Kennedy made the bold decision to not censor her mother's words, allowed all of them to be published and shared with the world. Not all of the words we hear the former First Lady speak are politically correct; many don't make sense in this 2011 world we're living in. But Caroline must know what I think, deep down, we all know: Words in the moment, told as they're happening, are often just as important as the words we speak in wisdom later. They give a glimpse of the times, of the history, of the life we lived as we lived it. 

I'm afraid that as we grow up, we lose a desire for knowledge. I don't mean formal education and degrees; in some ways, I think we're more in tune to those things than ever before. But I think -- as we rack up degrees and do Google searches from our phones and multitask until we're blue in the face -- we are missing something, missing the desire to know more and to, I believe, become more. I like that the little girl version of me was always seeking out more information, always researching and reading, always wanting to travel to faraway lands and meet exciting people. I hope, while this graduate education of mine is on hold, that I don't choose to just sit and watch endless amounts of television shows or read page after page of silly books or blogs. I think in moderation, those are fine. But I hope I also choose to study and to research and to read about the things that fascinate me, the stories that grasp my attention and don't let go. Those, I think, are the things we'll long remember, after the statistics and the facts and the figures fade away.

---

When you set out on your Journey to Ithaca,

Pray that the road is long,

Full of adventure, full of knowledge.

- "Ithaca," by Constantine P. Cavafy

meryl and the 1990s.

While I was home yesterday scanning Netflix for anything other than an episode of 30 Rock, I came across The River Wild, a film that I had somehow missed when it came out in the 1990s, despite being a favorite of both my brother and my husband. I went in knowing relatively nothing about the film, other than the fact Lorelei Gilmore references it in an episode of Gilmore Girls (where, admittedly, I garner most of my pop culture knowledge).

Imagine my surprise, then, to be home alone and terrified of raging river rapids and an especially creepy Kevin Bacon. Honestly, who knew the guy had it in him? I only have these very vague pictures of Kevin Bacon circa Footloose, so this? Well, this was a shock.

In between those moments of terror, though, it was really Meryl Streep who stole the show. Sure, the woman can act. But I've never before noticed just how gorgeous she is, and in The River Wild, she has this natural beauty that had me squinting at the screen, wondering if I could look like that while making my way through the white water of the West. Her crazy hair under a baseball cap, freckles shining through minimal makeup, she had this air of fearlessness and confidence, which I suspect may be true of Meryl in real life as well.

When you blog mostly about life and its happenings, being sick for a few days can really put a damper on things. Life has been slow, and there's really not much to share. I'm limited to the topics I've lived these past three days: Sam and Diane's on-again, off-again romance; Liz Lemon and the cast of 30 Rock; and Meryl Streep's amazing ability to make Chacos look really, really attractive. I'd buy a pair, only thanks to Mr. Bacon, I don't see myself river rafting any time soon.

Have you seen The River Wild? What other '90s movies do you find oddly terrifying? (My answer: Sleeping with the Enemy. Gets me every time.)

cabin dwelling.

{images for Falcon Enamelware via Kinfolk Mag}

As I struggle to remember that there is purpose in the passing of seasons (even this one, full of 100 degree temperatures and late afternoon thunderstorms), I find myself dreaming of fall. But not fall in Florida, which doesn't typically hit until mid-November, late October if we're lucky. Fall in a farmhouse in the mountains, surrounded by autumn leaves and babbling brooks, mornings spent padding around in cozy slippers and plaid blankets, moving slowly in a tiny town where the produce man knows my order by heart and where my cell phone simply does not get service. 

For some reason, these pictures take me there, to that imagined cabin in the woods, to the life I dream about when my eyes are closed.

I have so many dreams floating around in my head for the future I want with Jordan, for the married life I want us to create one day. I'll admit: Some days I picture us living by the sea, hosting backyard parties and commuting inland for work, grateful for our island reprieve when each day comes to a close. Lately, though, my imagination has been wandering farther north, to a small vegetable garden, cold temperatures, quiet evenings, and wood-burning stoves. A place where the seasons arrive suddenly, overtaking your senses while cuddled beneath blankets with the TV turned off, a good book in hand. 

keep caring.

People are unreasonable, illogical, and self-centered. Love them anyway.

- Mother Teresa

I don't know what to say, really, except that I am tired. 

Tired of having my feelings hurt. 

Tired of being disappointed. 

Tired of caring when it feels like no one else really seems to. 

I wouldn't even bother sending this out into the great, big, impersonal void that can be the internet, except I know: You've been here. 

You know what it's like to be hurt. 

You know what it's like to be disappointed. 

You know what it's like to care when no one else really seems to. 

And I want to tell you what I am telling myself. 

Care anyway. 

Love anyway. 

Forgive anyway. 

Show grace anyway. 

Be merciful anyway. 

Extend kindness anyway. 

The world needs you to. Few people will ever really tell you that, will ever say that they need your optimism, your enthusiasm, your sense of passion and purpose and commitment. So I'm telling you. Care when no one else cares. Forgive when people don't deserve it. Smile when it would be easier to lash out in anger. 

I could go on and on about how that's what grace is. I could remind you that you've messed up too, and when you fail, you want forgiveness. I could talk about how commitment and caring are the lost arts of my generation, how everyone responds "maybe" instead of a simple "yes" or "no," how it's easier to straddle the fence than to take a stand. 

But really, what I think I need to remember this week -- and what I want so desperately to tell you -- is that your efforts matter. Caring matters. Commitment matters.  

They're the only things keeping this world from falling apart.

photo by Ana Cuba via Love You Long Time

why i quit facebook.

{photo by Jenna Alcala for Matchbook Magazine}

Last week I needed the email address of a friend, and I went to the only source I knew wouldn’t fail me: Facebook. (Sad, isn’t it?)

I logged on to my husband’s account and found myself falling into the same patterns I had developed months ago when I chose to delete my own Facebook account. I grabbed my friend’s email address, yes, but I also meandered through long-lost acquaintances’ photos. I scrolled through a day’s worth of random updates — so and so bought a house, so and so had a baby, so and so had Subway for lunch — and noticed the multitudes of people who waste away their hours purchasing fake farms and indulging in rather bizarre mafia wars.

As the minutes passed, I felt those familiar feelings of frustration, resentment, irritation, and jealousy bubbling up inside.

It’s difficult to admit publically that something as insignificant as a social networking site brings out the absolute worst in me.

But it’s true.

And that’s why, after offering up my Facebook time as a Lenten sacrifice for a couple of years, I chose to give up Facebook completely this past March.

I don’t regret it, not even a little bit.

Sure, I know Facebook can be a useful tool. You can share photos, keep in touch with long-distance family and friends, schedule events, and share funny videos and favorite articles.

But after months without it, I’ve begun to think that Facebook actually does a lot more harm to relationships than it does good. With news about babies and houses and jobs and marital statuses, social networking can create a false sense of intimacy and lead to pretty lazy communicating. You don’t have to carry on full conversations anymore: Instead, you can click a thumbs-up signifying just how much you “like” the fact that the guy who sat next to you in college English class got a new job.

Quitting Facebook hasn’t made me call people more, nor has it inspired me to answer all of my emails in a timely manner. But I have noticed that I can genuinely ask people how they’re doing and not already know their answer based on their hourly updates. I have more time to write notes and cook meals and send emails. I no longer am curious about what my high school classmates are up to, nor do I spend hours wondering why I wasn’t invited to a party I never would have wanted to be invited to in the first place.

I know these feelings are my own fault. I know that Facebook isn’t evil and that there are plenty of other mediums that can be just as detrimental to human relationships.

But for me, Facebook was by far the worst.

Through blogging, I’ve met creative, spiritual people who inspire me and uplift me (and if I ever find myself becoming jealous or frustrated while reading a blog, I delete it from my Google Reader, simple as that). Many of us have formed true friendship and relationship. Blogging helps me stay in-tune to the ideas of others, and it inspires me to be better.

Facebook wasn’t doing any of that.

Facebook became frustrating and draining and impersonal. Perhaps I could have solved the problem by doing a purge of my hundreds of Facebook “friends.” Maybe by setting a limit on who I friended and why would have helped.

Instead, I chose to deactivate my account.

Sometimes, I miss it. I miss seeing the baby pictures and keeping in touch with friends from college.

But the benefits far outweigh the things I miss.

I no longer worry about who invited who to dinner, nor do I have to read the exhausting wall-to-wall exchanges created by individuals who refuse to pick up the phone. I don’t spend endless hours speculating on who’s dating who or what someone’s cryptic, passive-aggressive status means. I no longer compare my life to the lives of long-lost acquaintances who can somehow afford European vacations and houses with marble countertops.

Life and friendship and relationship are hard enough without throwing impersonal communication and unrealistic expectations into the mix.

I’ll admit: Those first few weeks without Facebook were rough. I felt kind of left out, like an outsider looking in.

But now?

Ignorance is bliss.

My in-person friendships have grown and developed, and I discovered that my life is already full without trying to cram it with more-distant-but-falsely-intimate relationships.

And guess what?

People still, somehow, get a hold of me if they need me. They call, or comment on this blog, or text, or email. I think we’ve lied to ourselves, thinking that we can’t get off of Facebook, because then we won’t have anymore friends, and no one will ever make plans with us again.

It’s simply not true. (And what kind of life would we be leading if it were?)

Sometimes I find myself confused in conversation because the girls in book club are talking about something one of them posted on Facebook. But they quickly catch me up, and all is well. I survive.

My life did not end when I quit Facebook. Instead, I think it got better. At the very least, that simple act of quitting has helped me to become better.

And that’s enough reason for me to stay off for a very long time.

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P.S. -- I found another really good blog post on quitting Facebook here. I think she puts it perfectly.

embracing the silly.

You know what I am learning, the older I get? 

That little bit inside of you that's spazzy and quirky and silly and fun? 

Cling to it. 

Hold on to it with all of your might. 

Because otherwise, there's a pretty high chance it's going to disappear. 

The odds are good that one day, you'll wake up, and the kid inside of you simply won't exist anymore. 

So I like to embrace the silly. I like to slide down pool slides and skin my knees and dance in the yard with sparklers. 

It's important, I think, to let the five-year-old inside of me loose every once in a while. 

She's a pretty fun girl. I'd hate to lose her. 

(P.S. -- If you're the praying kind, would you pray for my mom today? She had an emergency appendectomy while on vacation this weekend, and she's recovering in a hospital fairly far from home. Almost every ounce of silly in me, I owe to her, and I'm ready to have her back safe and sound. Thanks, friends.)