Be there for your people.

While in Boise a couple weeks back, John's mom shared a deep lesson the past year had taught her.  The passing of her father and then her mother was quite a painful, and long process.  Through it I am sure she learned hundreds of valuable lessons to be shared, but the simple words she shared with us have stuck with both John and I.  Perhaps it is because our incredibly jovial time and it's surprising emotional and relational challenges left us with a big bundle of feelings about relationships to sort through - mostly just gratefulness, but there's always the mixture of humanity and its shortcomings - ours, there's, some strangers, accidents and no one's and what not.  The overall process left us very tender - and when friends dealt us kindly it sunk in deeper than usual - right to our cores.  When people showed up to our parties, it was the sweetest thing, they were our people and they were making it clear to us. When they took extra time to write cards, or attach cute notes to their gifts.  When their gift just showed they knew us.  It was sweet.

At the shower in her home, so many of Betty's people showed up to shower her son and new daughter-in-law with love and support.  It meant a lot to her - as it did to us - because she'd learned the lesson. She'd decided last summer that this meant when her friend had an event, she didn't make excuses.  She went.  It was more than filling a room or fulfilling a duty - it's being there.

Having grown up in such a large community, it can be hard to know who your people are - is it really all of them?  Most of them wouldn't lift a finger for you in a time of need, right?  A third of them likely don't even speak well of you when you're gone. And can you really afford to be there for all of them with true commitment?  I'm not sure.  I'm not sure I know exactly where the boundaries of my people lie.  No longer being at CCK, I definitely felt less important to some, like my lifetime there suddenly didn't matter, like it wasn't and wouldn't always be an undeniable piece of my core.  But then there are others, who didn't seem to let it change a single thing.  They loved me before.  They loved me after.  They met me for drinks before, and the same after.  They sent encouragement before - and after.  They thought of me - cared for me - watched out for me - supported me - reassured me of the goodness and blessings in my life.  They were and undoubtedly are my people.  Some of them weren't even expected, but they sought us out and told us "this wedding matters. I want to be there." Maybe not in those exact words, but something like that. They were saying, "Hey, we're your people."

To list them might cheapen it, so I won't try.  But good Lord, to be a girl who has people.  It is good, and kind, and precious and it sinks right to the heart these days.

So, be there for your people.  Because they need it.

~~~

And while I really won't try to list them, I will say this.  No one has shown this to me better than my Uncle John and Aunt Ivy.  The friendship between them and my parents constantly reminds me what it is to be a friend, a life-long friend.  To be there for your people, and their children.  My favorite part of our whole wedding may have been the moment I walked into my parent's backyard for our engagement party and saw the work of my neighborhood - all the people who'd carried over their lawn furniture, extra dishes, flowers or lanterns.  I'll never forget that feeling of being cared for and blessed by the community that watched me grow, fed me after-school snacks, sent me home to get a well-deserved spanking or let me sleep over on their living room floor for a movie night. We almost didn't have that party. I'll be grateful to Elsa and my Mom forever for encouraging us to have it - and planning and hosting it beautifully. What I would have missed. Sitting out under the stars watching a movie after almost everyone had left - just John, me, Ty, Els, Elise, Aime and my mom.  It was the neighborhood. And that short, imperfect moment, was perfect.

This girl be goin places.

Morgs you're rad.  

"We must learn to live together as brothers or perish together as fools."  
Martin Luther King, Jr. 


It is so easy to make "I will never" lists based off of one's experiences with the actions of others.  I made a few recently.  And while I'm sure when I get to where they are currently standing, my feet will get stuck in the same mud. But in the meantime, I'm going to write in my journal why I want to do something different.  I'm going to tell a few people around me who I think will be honest with me in 5 years when I start doing the same. But then, after I've written it down, vented and prompted and hoped  to safeguard myself from the inevitable "someday" - it's time to look at how I'm measuring up today.

A similar process had lead me to evaluate how I converse.  I used to think I was a pretty good conversationalist. You could drop me on a couch next to a drunk gay man by the end, we'd be friends.  Equally entertained.  Equally respected.  Friends.  You could bring me to a house party where I knew 3 people and I'd have new jokes and drinks and phone numbers as I closed the door goodnight.

But either I was wrong then, or I've just fallen into the comfort of talking about myself too much, for too long.  It's easy when you have exciting stuff happening - first, everyone is asking over and over and over again, "You just graduated?! What are you going to do next?"  Then it's about your first job, your broken dreams, broken hearts, new dreams, new starts.  You get used to the same questions. The same answers.  The same conversations over and over.   And it's easy - you can ask many of these questions from most friends and strangers alike.  Soon, you forget how to be a conversationalist.  You lose the skill of interesting questions.  You might even lose the habit of asking questions all together, as I have.

It's not that I mean to.  I don't think I'm self-obsessed.  I'm genuinely curious about people and their lives.  I know some of the most exciting young adults - running their own businesses, chasing dreams, traveling, having hilarious and amazing first dates and freak accidents.  But, I just forget to ask them now.  Other people ask, them, or me.  I listen when they talk.  I answer when they ask.

But I'm sick of the same conversations.

I'm sick of walking away realizing, "I didn't ask them how their day was."

And while I know Martin Luther King Jr had a lot more in mind when he penned those words and the danger of perishing together as fools - I'd hate to never learn to really live well with others and perish as a fool, repeating the same conversations over and over, never learning how to draw change and inspiration out of the ones I love.

One of the most incredible feelings is an exhilarating conversation with a like-minded person who sees it all differently - where neither try too hard to drive or stuff the creature into some pre-conceived and pre-desired destination. Co-creating a conversation, two people dropping in all the unique items they brought along and grabbing out what catches their fancy. Together shaping something unexpected, discovering right there on the spot, watching it arrive and take form. Trying to keep up, not with each other, but with this third thing that's feeding off of their minds. Dear God - that feeling makes me feel the blood in my toes!

I'm going to work on conversing. I will have something worthwhile to say and I will seek better answers with better questions. I'll have an answer for the hope that lies within me, and a question for the inspiration hiding with you.



“With how many things are we on the brink of becoming acquainted, if cowardice or carelessness did not restrain our inquiries.” 
― Mary Shelley, Frankenstein

There are probably some, but not many that I have known, feelings better than that of knowing a dear friend who has been far away will soon be near again.   That cherished memories will have new laughs, new books, and new cups of hot coffee.  That once again, you'll have a good reason to be late from lunch.  Instead, you will be climbing up-hill with your arms full of treasures from the antique mines of Pike Place.  Making off like pack mice in a busy world.  And you won't be alone.

Even if it cannot last.

Well 2013, you are looking pretty dang nice.  A little quieter, perhaps kinder. You aren't as pushy as 2012, but I don't mind that at all.  I like your pace.

We kicked off the new year with some friends in Ballard/ Wallingford.  Dinner at Bastille, cocktails at Mal's and a brisk champagne walk toward the lake to catch the fireworks at the Space Needle.  It was beautiful.  I didn't think I'd get to see my roomie, but as we ran into my apartment for more layers after dinner, we found her in the kitchen making tea.  Sickness had sorted her plans a bit and with a little coercion she was running out the door with us minutes later.  

We called the night fairly early (for it being new years).  The next morning we had breakfast plans and we wanted to be ready.  Elise, Jeff, Auri, Ty & Elsa all joined us for the first official "hosting" at John's place.  We'd worked hard over the weekend to prepare - planning, shopping, buying & building a table.  But somehow we still weren't quite ready as our friends began to arrive.  That seems to be the way it goes.  And thankfully, with friends, it's almost better that way.  Elise jumped in and started frying bacon. Auri wandered in and out of the kitchen, round our legs.  She picked out "my special seat" and "John's seat."  She didn't mind where the rest of us sat so much. 

( John's fridge also got a bit "prettier" )

I love this girl and especially how she gets a certain look on her face.  She locks someone in, walks right over to them, smiles and cuddles up.  My favorite is when it's me, but no matter who her 'target' is it's always a joy to see her loving on all her Aunties and Uncles.  She is a delight and a joy so much bigger than her tiny little frame.  We were all playing games and chatting when she found her way to the floor right between Elsa and I.  She put one hand on each of our knees and she just sat there with the girls, entirely content. I love her. And I love how her giggles can fill up a room.  

After hours of food, coffee, laughing and games we said our goodbyes.

The rest of the day was spent relaxing, with sweat pants and cold cereal.  Family phone calls and well wishes.  A hunt for an open ice cream place, and eventually a movie with my parents.  John was shocked that I insisted we stay in our sweats for the movie.  As we walked out of the theatre he informed me with a smile, "I think you've made a monster.  I love wearing my sweats to movies!"  I may be ruining this man.  8 months ago he said something like, "I'm not really a sweat pants sort of guy."  He eventually dug up a pair somewhere.  Things have changed since then.  I hope he forgives me one day. : )

I kid you not.

This little girl stole my heart from the start.  And apparently, she stole my boyfriend's last weekend.  Last night he asked, "Are they like Auri?"  "Not exactly, but they're fun." With a coy smile he added, "I miss Auri."  I wasn't sure if he was just teasing me, so I checked, "Are you being serious right now?"  "Yeah, she is so fun to play with;  I kind of miss her."  He smiled again.  And though it probably comes as a surprise, he isn't exactly a kids sort of fellow. I woke up this morning laughing and called Elise on my walk to the bus to tell her.  Last Saturday as he sat on the floor and she brushed his hair and chatted along, cuddling and playing with her new found friend, he looked at Jeff and Elise with concern, "She is dangerous. She's the kind that makes people want to have kids." : /  Too bad they aren't all like Auri - little mischievous, brilliant, funny and loving three-year-olds.  I can't wait to meet the next Mitchell baby!

I love hosting friends for dinner.  I'd say, since moving in to my new apartment, it is one of my favorite pastimes.  But I have a lot to learn about proper preparation and timing tricks.  A lot.  I wish I could say the typical day went something like this: 

Dinner parties happen with some consistency and frequency in the house. Usually it’s to commemorate a special occasion but sometimes we have people over to thank them for their friendship and fill our house with noise and cheer. It’s the kind of noise reserved for good friends spending time together, laughing and sharing stories. Each menu is crafted for the occasion, focusing on local, seasonal goods brought to the table one course at a time. Food and friendship brings us together, but there’s always something special waiting for them when they get here.

In the days leading up to the dinner, I start taking notes relating to the season. A pen and stack of paper sit on my lap as I plan out the meal and ingredients needed. I turn to magazines and books for inspiration, but often the only inspiration I need can be found at the market down the street. So I scribble down anything and everything that comes to mind and slowly narrow it down. I head to the market and start crossing items off the list, occasionally altering my choices depending on what is stocked and fresh.

Saturday starts off slowly. Over a coffee I begin breaking down the day. Time issues, cooking schedules, prep and planning. As the day winds into the afternoon the main is usually ready for the oven and resting until needed. Dessert is well under way as is the soup, which is simmering away and building flavour on the stove. By mid-afternoon I’m putting the finishing touches on the hors d’oeuvres and things are moving along nicely.

With a couple of hours to go until our guests arrive I start muddling, mixing and making the cocktail for the night. I pull out my shaker and bar tools and start muddling the cucumbers and agave nectar. Almost methodically I work step by step until I have the flavour just right. I pour myself a glass and settle in. The first taste hits all the right notes. Now, with my glass still close by, I make a pitcher full, altering the quantities to make enough for everyone. And seconds.

The last minutes of the day feel like the calm before the storm, when things get silent and still before the clock reminds us how little time we have left. We are moments from a flurry of activity in our house. My wife has the mood set, table prepared and night’s music in rotation. She dims the lights and tries the cocktail. Instant love. We share our last moment alone together over a drink. And then the doorbell rings and the ritual settles in. She heads to the door while I stay in the kitchen, stirring the pots and looking over everything one last time. I can hear the voices in the distance and the mood is light and cheerful. I line up ten rock glasses and pour the contents of the pitcher into them, each one the same as the last. I top them all with a dill sprig and add a quartered lime. I load them on a tray and wait while they continue to filter in.


By now some of our guests approach me. I smile. “Hey! Welcome to our home! Glad you could make it tonight. Help yourselves to a cocktail, it’s especially made for tonight!” We like to start things right. We let them know all our dinner parties begin with a drink. It sets the tone for the evening and lets them know they’re in good hands and they’ll be taken care good care of.      [The Boys Club - my new favorite blog]

In my home, it looks more like last second runs to the store, wondering if we even own foil yet, trying to finish cleaning up the apartment and a dozen other things that have us running around 'til the moment the door rings (if we're lucky!). 

Things I'm noting:

• It is easier on a Saturday!  I get home from work around 6:30 - so having friends for dinner at 7 is a trip!
• It is SO nice having John there to help.  At first, he'd mix drinks for guests as they arrived (because he's good at it! and because it buys me time.)  Then, I'm sad to admit it, but sometimes I'm sending him to the store 2 minutes before our guests are due.  But most lately, he's been making dinner sometimes - and it is delicious!  Either way, having a guy to help balance, whether it's just me, or me and meg, is wonderful.  And he's gosh darn good at it too!
• I have got to plan out the menu/drinks the weekend before - and shop!
• For the weeknights we do have friends over (and even the ones I'm just cooking for Meg & John), I've got to find ways to prep the night before and cut down on time.  Eating at 9 just isn't fun for anyone on a Wednesday. 
• It would be incredible to have a "moment" before guests arrive to just enjoy with John and/or Meg and calm ourselves.  That is a new goal.  :) 
• I love inviting people in and making them feel cared for.  I want to become better at the "caring" part.  
• Sometimes, with good friends, it's okay to be a bit of a mess and just share a meal.  And thank God for that!!!

Just discovered a few old photos of my sweet roomie. :)

I've developed a bad habit.  I buy food for meals.  And never make them.  Between my busy schedule, and the ones of my Roomie and my Beau, it just doesn't happen as often as I'd like.  I pulled out the meat yesterday morning to let it defrost.  By the time I was heading home, it was almost eight and Meg was out with friends and John about to be the same.  We picked up sandwiches at the deli down the street instead.

Tonight, they both have plans again.  I decided I didn't care.  I was making the stuffed peppers I'd planned for the meat.  I pulled out the ingredients, the wine, and my MacBook.  I turned on the Michael Buble.  And I got the most wonderful feeling.  Why don't I cook for myself more often?  Pour myself more glasses of wine?  Just me.

Well, me and Michael.  Which is what inspired me to write.  For the past 8 years or more I've shared Michael with 3 very special people.  "The Neighborhood." We've spent countless summer hours listening to him - at the beach, on the way to the beach, after the beach, the morning after the beach.  But really - most summer evenings included him at some point. We sang along in the car together as we drove to Rob's grandma's in Camano, or as we sat on my back porch.  He crooned while we baked cookies, and cooked dinners, crowded together in one of our kitchens.  We've seen him twice in concert all together.  The first time right after Jeff and Elise started courting.  The second, soon after Rob & Amie got together.  I can't hear him without thinking of them in some small part of my heart.

I've made incredible friends over the past 10 years of my life.  I spend my days with a number of them. But there is this tiny little growing community known as the "Neighb" that I just can't ever get over.  I love them.  And sometimes, without warning, Michael begins to sing, and I begin to cry.  Not even really because I miss them (and I do), but because I love them.  And I can't believe how incredibly blessed I was and am to have them in my life.  Seriously.  Can't get over it.  Can't get over them.  I don't get to see them every day like I did for so many years.  I don't even see them every month.  But they constantly come to mind, especially when I'm cooking,  when I'm sipping wine, baking cookies, playing Scategories, sitting in the sunshine, or swaying and singing along to Buble.

6 months ago today, this guy took me to the symphony. 

After the following week of being told by nearly everyone that it was a "date"

 and beginning to hope that perhaps it really was, 

he told me exactly that.  

A moped, kite, Gasworks, a bag of cookies, chocolate milk, long talks by the water... over dinner.. over drinks.  He introduced me by name to one of the Real Change vendors in his neighborhood, Kat.  He purchased her artwork in a card set for me. He knew her story.  Every moment seemed to include the greatest and kindest attention to little details, with me in mind: Reservations, an intentional gift (children's nursery rhyme book in Italian, need I say more?), a violin concerto, my car door opened every time.  Certainly one wonderful day, and one that led hope to spring in my heart.  

I'd like more time with this man, John Turner. 

And I've been given just that.  I couldn't be more grateful.  

Who knows where this is meant to go, we don't yet.  But I know that every minute with this man has been a blessing in my life.  He has taught me kindness and love and sacrifice in new ways.  He's made me uncomfortable in my own comfort - and at the same time, never have I felt more comfortable being raw and real and unkempt.  

I'm grateful today for not just John, but for all the people God has placed in my daily life in this season of stretching and growing.  Of wrestling and discovering what God has for each of us.  He has been so faithful.  And His provision has been so kind.  

It's amazing to me.  A girl loses her phone for one weekend - and misses texts from her two longest best friends, both about major life news.  What a weekend to lose my phone. 

So excited for you ladies - love you both forever and ever. And looking forward to celebrating all that's begun and all that's to come!

I loved last night.  After an incredibly long day, I arrived back to my apartment with the beau and a bag of groceries for making lasagna.  But it was late already.  In a vote of three, we decided to postpone the lasagna (yet again) and instead relish Meg's homemade chicken noodle soup for night two.  After we'd all set down our laptops and ipads, we dealt out Phase 10 cards and taught Meg how to play.  There something about learning a new game together, eating homemade soup and playing cards around a kitchen table.  It was perfectly underrated.  I hope it's a preview of Autumn.  I think it shall be.  I love sharing a  home with Megs.  I love that it's frequented by Beau.  I love these little moments we all get to share together.

There are some things we still need and just haven't gotten.  We really need.  And haven't bothered to pick up.  For one, trash bins.  For two, a kitchen table.  We managed to have dinner company three nights in a row, and not have a kitchen table.  Instead, we served them on two little round tables with screw-in legs.  The first night showed how un-ideal our table situation was, as one of our guests went to set her glass down and discovered there was actually no table quite right there.  Two round tables, under one rectangular table cloth : danger. 

Last night I decided to top the tables with my big picture frame.  It looked cool (I thought) and we were definitely able to claim having provided a unique experience to our guest.... but it didn't exactly offer the stability you need for cutting steaks.   We took turns holding the "table" still.  And we kept all the glasses half-full.  

All three nights have required our guests give us quite a bit of grace and be along for the ride.  But last night was probably the peak.  We'd scheduled to have one of John's best friends over... before we knew that Meg would have accepted a job, started, and had her first event that would go well past 6pm (all within 3 days), and I'd be at an unexpected meeting myself until 6pm. 

I walked in the door (my door) at 6:30pm to smell all sorts of wonderful things.  John was seasoning steaks and mixing drinks.  Michael was standing in the kitchen with him, having brought wine and excellent music to share.   The fellas had taken care of it all.  I promised that  usually, when we invite guests over, we're usually home to greet them and we typically don't make others cook for them.  We also don't typically feed them on a giant picture frame.  Or, one day that won't be typical.  Hopefully.  Probably soon.  I'm just grateful we have friends who are willing to indulge us and play along at our Bohemian game.

We ended the evening with music and poetry on our little lawn.  Meg and I sipped wine while the boys enjoyed their pipes.  Byron, Keats and The Civil Wars.  It wasn't a bad summer night.  Not at all.

I have a dangerous habit. I tend to pick out recipes I've never made before whenever I have company coming over.  I find myself in the kitchen with a handful of ingredients, googling "How to wash a leek" and thinking, This could all go very wrong.  Monday - Wednesday we are having someone over each night for dinner and when I sat down to write out the menu, I determined Salmon and Quinoa sounded delicious. I blame this largely on Kaylee who is constantly posting these amazing looking photos of quinoa creations she's concocted.  I decided lime and mango type flavors (not original, but sounded delicious).  From there, I did the next important thing - texted Kaylee, who gave me encouragement that I could do it.  And then began my All Recipes search.  I settled on a mango salsa that had a lot of great reviews - and went with the suggestion to replace the habaneros with bell peppers.  While I also discovered mid-cooking that I didn't have a peeler for the mangos, a pyrex big enough for the salmon, or any foil.... and John got to run around from store to store... and my guests showed up before anything was in the oven even, it was an incredible night.  Thankfully my guests were the Sittigs, and things are allowed to go wrong or be late when you are entertaining close friends.  We ended up wrapping up the meal preparations all together, and intentionally I'd picked a quick-cooking meal.  Before you knew it we were sitting down (at our not-so-kitchen-table) to quite the tasty meal and already laughing hysterically.  I love summer nights that allow for new cooking adventures and close friends.

I feel like everything has taken on a sort of enchantment.  I set out my blankets and snacks and lantern and couldn't quite believe it was real.  I've tried every year to have a wonderful viewing party for the Perseids.  It usually ends with me sitting alone someplace, staring at a half-cloudy sky.  Somehow, this year it happened.  So easily and comfortably too.  All the sudden it was dusk, the car was packed, and we were driving through the mountains - heading East for a few hours just to see the stars from a better angle in our tiny world.  We were like the Little Prince, moving our chairs to watch the sun set once more and the stars come out in a quieter land.  It was real life.  I was laying under stars, listening to a story, counting fires in the skies.  Sipping whiskey with my heart's friend.

And meanwhile, I knew others were doing similarly.  They were in big houses by the beach, laughing and eating and enjoying a hot summer eve.  They were telling stories and making stories.  And when I'd read them later, I'd read them all with that same odd feeling of enchantment.  Summer has a way of doing that.  Especially the last days of summer, when you begin to realize that it's all about to disappear.  And here in Seattle the magic is all the stronger.   It's a friend who's only just arrived, and already you are dreading the day they pack it all away and drive across the East. 

How summer does this to me each year, I don't know.  Just as I've committed to giving up, it silently lays itself out all around me and leaves me a in a quiet mood of contentment.  It makes me fall in love with my life, with my city, with my dreams.  It makes me fall in love with itself.  Summer, you are a terrifying Enchantress.  And I dread the day you'll wave your hand and disappear again.  But in the meantime, I love you, because you make me feel every minute. 

And, I call her friend. : )  This is a comment to one of my posts last week.  It was far too compelling not to share with you all here.  Good thoughts on how to invest, how to love, how to be a friend at an age when so many people seem to be coming and going from our lives, yet our hearts are desiring to build real relationships.  (Also, EB gets another shout out.  No lie,  he is an amazing friend - that guys spent most of his Saturday helping me move into my new place!)

Well...I've only had one real relationship that's been 20 yrs long...thanks to Erik Byland. My bro. But I would like to respond to your musings because I feel like I have learned a lot about this subject,and unfortunately, in a lot of cases, a lot to late.

I haven't been the best of friend to people, yourself included and I'll be the first to admit I've shut people off where I've should have let them in. And now I've realized in order to have a friend that could last no matter what happens- whether proximity of space or the proximity of heart- you have to be that kind of friend.

So should we always love people until it hurts and invest in people until we have nothing left to lose? My answer is yes. Because that's what I would want done to me. And that's what Jesus did. He knew Judas would betray him and Peter would deny him, but he was still there for them. And I have to believe that until the day they died, they never once were unaffected by being with him.

So I think your question of how to invest in a way that lasts is right on. Because life takes us many directions and we meet so many different faces along the way, but if we only touch those who will never hurt us...then we can never fully love. Because perfect love casts out all fear. So maybe love is perfected in spite of our fear. That in what we may fear most- losing someone who means so much to us- we truly find a love that surpasses that.
anyways, that's my humble opinion, from someone whose half the friend they wish they've been but promises to be the friend I wish I've had.   [MEC]

Before I tell you this question, I'm going to tell you something even more important.

I'm not sure there's really an answer.

That said, I've been thinking a lot about investing.  How to invest in a way that lasts.  I won't be all coy about it, I'll just come out and say it:  We never know which relationships in our lives will last forever, and which will end tomorrow.  What seems most important today, may end up not tomorrow.  And what seems less important may in fact become a sort of lifeline to us one day. 

We can weigh the past.  We can consider who has stood beside us in previous trials, who has held our hand when we cried.  Who has woken us with coffee and who has fallen asleep to our most honest mumblings.  But ultimately, that is no promise.  And that's not even considering wrongs - just truths.  That some times we are called to be close, and sometimes we are not.  Some friendships are for seasons, and while our heart may ache for them one day we might be called different ways.  That's not to say our hearts won't stay close maybe, or that we wont look forward to a renewed friendship in a different season.  Or maybe we wont. Who knows.

I'm faithful.  I love long, deep, true friendships.  I have many that I've had all my life.  And they've looked different in different seasons.  This isn't out of hurt, distrust, or disappointment that I say it.  It's just the truth that we don't know what tomorrow will look like, or who will be standing beside us.  And therefore, how do we know how to invest?  Who becomes the priorities in our life?

As I said, I don't think there's an answer.  Except that, to some degree, it's not about worrying if they will be there forever.  It's about investing today because you know God placed them in your today.  And that frees you both up to not put weird expectations on one another or act out of fear of losing each other.  Our investments reap broader than in that one direct line held on one side by you and the other by a friend.  We reap in our hearts so much more - so many lessons, so much change.  We learn to love and to forgive. We learn how to be a friend.  We learn how to listen and how to share.  What is our business and what is not.  What is our fight, and what is not.  And our friends learn the same.  We become blessings in each other's lives each day - and if we are lucky, we get that for the rest of our lives with them. 

But we don't know.  So from time to time I think we have to ask, how do I invest in a way that lasts?  And I think we do that by loving them in a way that will leave an investment in their life and in our own, even if we find ourselves in two very different places a year down the road.  Maybe I'm wrong, but I think healthy relationships grow when we focus on the other person and serving them, not so much on the relationship itself.  Because that relationship will change. Guarantee it.  But if your focus is on the other person, loving them, that relationship will almost always remain - and with the freedom to grow and change through the seasons as it must.  It will become a blessing to you both, rather than a rope that strangles you. ;)

I could be wrong - and some of you have relationships that have lasted 20 years longer than any of mine - so I'm more than eager to hear.  How do you invest in a way that lasts, especially through a time as turbulent as the twenties?

"To People Who Read Hemingway"

I really like these people.

How to make a Hemingway:

To create a Hemingway one must have champagne and absinthe that can be combined in a glass that can be drunk from, but more importantly they must contain within themselves that quality of character that both refines and challenges and at the same time accepts the moment with all the beauty and pain and Fremont dirt that abounds in truth all around them.   It is only then, when a person can take what is and while not requiring it to become something more, let it be what it might that they should taste a Hemingway.

Where better to sip a Hemingway, then after dark in a public park?  The Troll.

My good friend, Erik, just posted this photo.   He's in Paris.  This is the one reason why I can't imagine not visiting France.  I've never been the girl to dream of Paris - until I began studying architecture.  If you've been following Hope is an Anchor for more than 2 years, you will remember when I first discovered Abbot Suger and fell in love with the story of Gothic architecture.  You might also remember the index cards I began of the places I want to visit.  A number of them are cathedrals in France.  This photo almost made me cry.  I am so excited to see my friends when they return - I cannot imagine this architectural space not changing them, at least a little bit.  How could you stand inside that piece of history and not become something new, some new part of that story. 

XXVII

[Inscription on the bronze doors made by Suger for the Abbey of St. Denis]

Whoever thou art, if thou seekest to extol the glory of these doors,

Marvel not at the gold and the expense but at the craftsmanship

of the work.

Bright is the noble work; but, being nobly bright, the work

Should brighten the minds, so that they may travel, through the

true lights,

To the True Light where Christ is the true door.

In what manner it be inherent in this world the golden door defines:

The dull mind rises to truth through that which is material

And, in seeing this light, is resurrected from its former submersion.

What a lovely weekend. I've kind of shied away from writing these sorts of posts as of late. Seems silly to detail out my weekends, especially when they repeat some of the same key ingredients each week (which believe me, I am not complaining). But, this weekend had some beautiful moments I happened to try to capture a shot or two of and I decided to share. Saturday morning I woke up early to beat the traffic I knew would be heading to Fremont just like me. I parked my car, picked up coffee at my favorite coffee shop and walked a few blocks to Johns. We spent the morning relaxing, avoiding the naked bikers in the Fremont Solstice Parade, and making breakfast.

When I say that "we" relaxed and made breakfast, I guess I mean I relaxed and John made breakfast.  I helped with the shopping, but that was about it.  I just feel I should give credit where credit is due.  And I'm not due much of it for the deliciousness in the photo below. I cut up one tomato.  Which turned out to be an extra tomato.

When we figured it was safe (I really didn't care for a 60 year-old, painted blue man to be the first naked man I'd ever seen in person), we walked outside and watched a bit of the parade. There were a couple cool things, and parades are always fun, but I'll admit I was pretty hung up about all the cute little kids who'd watched some pretty interesting things that morning.

I love Fremont, but I don't love all that that parade champions. It sparked a lot of thoughts in me about what kids should and should not see - when do we stop protecting our children?
Where is the line between letting them make mistakes, and keeping them safe and pure. I know ignorance does not equal innocence, and dangerously we can equate them in the Christian world. But, I'm not sure. There is something about protecting a child's eyes and minds. I know my 4 year-old will not be watching that parade. Beyond that, I have a lot of unknowns and questions. I don't want to over-protect my children, but I definitely don't want to not protect them either. If there is the fear of the Lord in me for one thing, it is for our responsibility to protect the innocent, and especially to protect children. How much more the ones in our own care. (Matthew 18:6, Mark 9:42)

Breakfast was incredible, and after a project or two (okay, just one though there was ambitiously a few planned) it was time to go celebrate with Elsa! We are under 2 weeks and the festivities are in full swing. :) I love all the women this wedding has provided extra time with. And I love getting to watch two of my dearest friends prepare for the beginning of their marriage.

I didn't get photos of the rest of the weekend, but they were equally fantastic. Sunday we saw a performance of Rackmaninoff's Piano Concerto No. 3 by the Seattle Symphony.  I would know nothing of the piece (except for Rackmaninoff's weird condition, marfan syndrome, thanks to Toni), but John rented Shine for us to watch on Friday in anticipation.  If you didn't know, it is a BEAUTIFUL piece, and also considered one of the hardest pieces to learn on piano, due to Rackmaninoff's unbelievable 12 key span. Absolutely one of my favorites so far.    Then, the rest of Sunday was spent at home with the fam and a few friends, celebrating of course my amazing Dad. :)  While everyone was posting pictures of their dads all day on Sunday, I showed mine I love him by not posting pictures of him.  See that, Dad?  True love.  The kind that lays down their camera for another.