fresh eyes

After 3 trial contact appointments, I finally have a new prescription and I'm wildly excited about it.  It's probably time for some new specs too...

I'm feeling good.  Today is my mom's birthday and yesterday my dad turned 50!  Weird.  Grampi -- my dad's dad -- moved in with us on Tuesday so we're back up to 6 people in the house (with the upstairs shower still dismantled in the basement) and our original gender balance.  It's kind of strange being a family of sisters.

Also, the other night I was watching my mom and Grampi sitting together on the couch, talking about everyone's job, the family schedule, the YMCA, and it suddenly occurred to me how strange our relationships are.  I am blood-related to both of them, but the fact that they are "related" is a total societal construction.  It reminds me of the time I asked my mom if she ever had an identity crisis transitioning from "KLB" to "KLBS" to "Clara's mom."  She said no, but it's still amazing to me how people accept each other as family.  And both my parents call my Grampi "Dad."

I'm settling into my schedule, which gives me better footing to explore.  Last night I finally made it to the Homegrown Café in Newark, and while I'm more shy when I go out alone than I am with a wingman/wingmen, I had a nice time and as I get more confident around here I'll be able to start conversations with people.  I remembered how much I love Hoegaarden (yes, you can laugh, but I won't break down and drink porter or stout!) and that I can do tricks with my eyes.  This is always a good thing to remember when I'm stopping for tea at Bishop's Coffee Co. right up the street, or when I'm looking for the bubble pool at the YMCA -- or forgetting my towel in the other locker room.  Drip dry, baby.

This is a big week at work and fortunately one of my gifts is to rise to the occasion.  My energy level has started the uphill trek, but I'll still be glad when this week is over, with lots of three-hour meetings full of heated debates about the meaning and usefulness of social media, discussions about how stalkerish the new Facebook is, and how our firm can grow and excel.  I'm thinking back to my management studies and entrepreneurship classes, and thinking that I should maybe dredge up some of that organizational information. This is really an incredible learning opportunity, and as I approach the end of my standard three-week transitional period I think I can start really pulling out my gifts and bestowing them upon everyone -- throwing money at the flock, as we say around here...

HaHa, I am the most generous ;-)

body of work

The days are filling so that when I turn around three times and curl up in bed on Sunday night, I barely believe that Sunday morning was within the same time frame.  So that when I filled out my first time sheet for my social media job this afternoon, I was surprised at how few days I had to account for.

I got back from Zumba with my mom and two pizzas about an hour ago, and neither one of us could get over how good we felt.  We had both been feeling so tense, from the half-hour-plus of driving and 7 hours of staring at a computer screen that I do every day, and whatever Mutti does that has the same general effect.  And walking out of there, we both felt so light and loose.  I love Zumba, the hilarious parts, the really fast parts that make me wonder if I'm going to be able to keep going, the aggressive parts that remind me to deal with my frustration ("never go to bed angry"), and the slow, deep plunges and stretches that remind me to breathe.

It was somewhat less comfortable for my mom, who doesn't really ever dance -- it was a feat to get her and Papa out for the electric slide at my quinceañera 7 years ago.  She said she struggled with the coordination, the quick switching between salsa and cumbia steps, and the really hippy stuff -- not free-love-hippy stuff, but cadena-hippy stuff.

It occurred to me that Zumba is good for more than just women's bodies (because, yes, it appears to be mostly women who do Zumba).  As Mutti mentioned, we don't do those kinds of things very often: we don't move that way, we don't laugh that way...  We don't ever feel that way.  I think it's great for body image because I'd put money on most of those women being super shy.  We hardly look at each other when we all walk in and carve out a space for ourselves, and pretend like we know what we're doing when it takes almost everyone a few seconds, at least, to figure out when a new step starts.  By the end, we're giggling, we're tired, our guards are down and we're feeling good, and I catch the eyes of the two women next to me.  They both came alone and they both smile shyly when our eyes meet, and we are laughing, and suddenly we have reason to suspect that none of us are comfortable throughout the majority of our daily lives.  We all feel equally stupid doing those moves, and equally exhilarated, and we all chose to come there and we are all beautiful and strong and we all want to care for our beautiful strong selves.

We almost didn't go, because of course I came home from work and asked every member of the family to go to Zumba with me at 7:30, and everyone was busy or tired or something else...  And then I decided to use my time productively and start sanding the tacky blue paint off this big cedar chest I bought yesterday.  So before I go at it with the belt sander, my dad warns me that the machine has a mind of its own and if I don't control it then it'll just fly straight off the end of the trunk.

No kidding.  It took my whole neglected core to keep it on the wood at all, and I barely managed to make it go where I needed it even by the end.  Not to mention the paint melts in stripes onto the sandpaper, smells like poison, and makes the sander almost completely ineffective.  After an hour I was sweating and sore and covered in paint dust, smelling vaguely like burnt rubber, and ready to go to the Y...?

I'm working backwards here.  Yesterday, along with the big cornflower blue cedar chest with bird decals on it, I picked up a U.S. Navy Captain's sea trunk and a giant squishy green chair/loveseat at the Family Thrift Store right up the street.  The sea trunk still has oil paper inside, and it smells like salt and cedar and oil paper, and ships.  It's a little rough around the edges, but it charmed me right off the bat.  The chair -- well, that was love at first sight.  It reminds me of rainy days, and mugs of tea that are far bigger than you could possibly need, but it just makes you feel more cozy because you won't have to get up for hours...  This chair matches. Also it is a beautiful color, and it lives up to the Greco Living Room Couch standard, which means you sink into it no matter what angle you come at it from.

So, it is my first furniture, for the basement apartment I was promised.  It's haphazard for now, with unfinished drywall and cement spackling on two walls, a curtain for the third wall, and brown paper ceiling -- but it's comfortable and eclectic and highly appealing.

Plus, my loveseat could not look better down there.

this little piggy built her house of... ?

So my "2-3 times a week" thing has taken a fall since my laptop was stolen...  But we all know I kinda like it that way, right?  A la St. Croix Falls...

I'm getting over The Robbery, as I've started to think of it -- in caps.  It's maybe a little like getting over a breakup: the first week you feel like your insides just got ripped out like pages of your diary and strewn all over Times Square...  Then the next week you're kinda sad about it but you know by then that you're not gonna die so you'll have to just get on with your life -- at some point...  And then after a few weeks or months or whatever you start realizing occasionally that you haven't thought about it in a few days, and then eventually you decide you've gotten over those vulnerable feelings enough to replace your mp3 player.  ...Or start dating again.  Whatever.  I think in either case you get new shit and start dating at around the same time, because you know your life isn't over.

Yesterday, though, just when I thought I had discovered everything they'd taken, I realized my Bourbon St. flask was also missing.  Travesty.  Fortunately I am no longer in college.  Plus, I am going back to Nawlins so I can acquire some other paraphernalia from the Big Easy.

Anyway, I'm feeling a little more steady on my feet these days, so I'm starting to collect cool items to build and furnish my new lifestyle.  On Wednesday I rode the bus to this Downtown Visions networking event (not completely aware that it was a networking event, or that just about every other person there was representing some downtown business).  Anyway, I walked in and scoped out the scene, feeling out of place, but then introduced myself to two younger-looking women at a table in the corner.  Turns out they are both AmeriCorps VISTA workers with the Delaware government, and one of them also graduated in May, from the University of Alabama.

After the event she and I stopped in at a display in an artists' loft around the corner, an opening event for the Wilmo Fringe Festival.  She paints for fun, and she loves spoken word.  Unfortunately she lives and works in Dover, so she had to get back, but I went back to the World Cafe Live at the Queen for a Fringe Preview Party.  It was actually the perfect event to go solo, and I was laughing by the end.  Worried that I didn't have enough cash for a decent tip, I wrote a note to my waiter on the check (I always loved that as a server) and told him he's the bomb.  He shot me a nice smile later.  Makes the world go 'round.

I also fell madly in love with one of the performers -- unbeknownst to him, of course.  His name is Slash and he is chiseled and self-deprecating in the way of someone who could never quite figure out how to be cool when he was 13, but now that he's (over?) 30 he realizes it doesn't matter.  Sadly the Fringe is a little out of my budget, but at least I got a preview.

I'm starting to fall into a groove at work.  I'm useful.  This is good.  I am also quiet, so everyone just takes cracks at me about being this earthy kid and weighing 25 pounds.  (Not true.)  (Mostly not true.)  Yesterday they took us out for lunch at this new (very expensive) restaurant up the street.  I was intimidated by the menu but it really was beautiful, and the food was delicious.  The coffee was also delicious.  The discussion was wild, touching on what seemed like every possible controversial topic from President Obama to the institution of marriage to addiction and the social conditions that often accompany drug abuse.  Those who know me and my characteristic silence in politics might laugh at the hilarity of finding me in this situation.  I found myself on a few occasions tempted to drop into the debate, "Well, I'm skeptical of everything."  But I knew the outcome of that would be even more agonizing as they grilled me on my hypocritical and inconsistent jadedness.  Plus how I can possibly justify widespread skepticism as a naive, 25-pound 21-year-old fresh out of college and with an entire lifetime ahead of me.

But now I have a YMCA membership and I'm starting to line up the bricks that will build my Wilmo lifestyle: a fulfilling job and work environment, cash flow, exercise facilities, a cool person in-state, plans to visit my brother in a few weekends -- plans in general!  And, I have successfully ridden the bus now so I don't feel totally cloistered in Stanton.  Marvy.  Now on to lifestyle interior decorating...

Plus, I have good friends nationwide (worldwide!) who are sending me earrings and music and text messages and facebook messages and phone calls.  And I'm learning to keep in touch.  And I'm friendly and cute and resilient and I can learn how to trust new people and a new city, and I believe in love again.

chestnuts

We have in our front yard a giant chestnut tree that arches over both the driveway and our electric lines running from the street to the house.  Its branches are big enough that we can hang a hammock between them.  I discovered the joys of chestnuts the first week, playing frisbee barefoot with my brother in the front yard -- and neither of us came out unscathed.  We both had chestnut spikes lodged in our fingers, palms, and the soles of our feet for at least a week afterward.

With the changing of the seasons they have started to drop.  If I'm outside when it happens I can hear it -- an ominous THUD you know would hurt if you were standing under it.  My mom has taken to spending most of her free time picking up the nuts, at first still encased in spiny shells, then the cascara splits and the dark, shiny nuts scatter all over the yard, leaving shell fragments behind.  She'll take a reinforced trash bag outside in her leather yardwork gloves, and fill it to the top with the spiky slivers; then she'll fill an H&M bag to the top with nuts, leave enough for the squirrels, and take them inside to roast on the stovetop.

15 minutes later, she walks outside and again the entire yard is as full of fallen chestnuts as it was when she'd started the project an hour before.

And the other tree hasn't even started to drop yet.

***

The change of seasons is a good time to do something new.  Waking up early, layering up to go for an autumn morning run on Saturday felt so incredibly exhilarating, and I felt a sudden change of air -- like if I was going to start a new section of my life there could be no better time to start.  If I was going to change my attitude, or my wardrobe, or my outlook.  You know.  It's cheesy, but you know how I love cliches.  They've been said too many times because they're true.

I'm going to get a gym membership, and actually go, running, swimming, Zumba-ing...  I'm going to be the youth leader at church, for an incredible group of kids (some of them only 2 years younger than me, haha) who have such energy and warmth and richness that I'm blown away by their spirit.  We're starting to fundraise for the tri-annual youth gathering in New Orleans next July.  (Is this why I decided to take on the task?  For NOLA?  ...That had nothing to do with it.)

(Ha.)

But really, I am excited to work with them in general.  I think we'll be really good for each other.

I'm finding my DE-legs :)

conversions

I've been at my new job one week now and I'm a convert.  The learning curve is still steep, but the boss-man still doesn't seem to be questioning his judgement in hiring me.  I love my office and the people that share it, and I'm learning the ropes, slowly but surely.  I've become the person who has 47 web browser windows open at once, 4 of which are social network pages: Facebook pages of which I am an admin, lists of Twitter followers, social media newsletters offering marketing tips and "10 ways to get a job using Twitter."  I've been learning new terminology and playing with language.  Gotta stay ahead of the curve, always.  That is something I'm trying to grow into quickly, because I am still swinging my legs up onto this particular curve: the PR/social media curve.  It's a wild one.

Also, I have discovered using Twitter what I had failed to find with an extensive internet search: Wilmington's poet community.  I found an open mic -- a month past, now, but one that hoped to be the first of many -- and a local poetry journal project which is VERY intriguing to me.  I'm still, as they say, a n00b, but I'm slowly figuring out this new way of disseminating information, and over the past week I have discovered more appealing pockets of Wilmington than I ever thought I would.

While I'm on the topic of "appealing pockets of Wilmington," let me rave about the New Castle County Libraries.  I've tried out 3 branches (out of 13!) so far, and each of them hosts and promotes its own set of community events, publications, and programs.  It's really got an incredible infrastructure and as far as I can see serves as an important hub of activity within each of the communities it serves.

I discovered another appealing pocket of Wilmington this morning at the LCS Walk/Run.  Maria and I ran 4k out of 5k around the beautiful Rockwood Park, a mere 10 minutes away from our house, and what a great way to start the day!  We even talked to someone we didn't know, which is a step in the right direction for me -- if I'll initiate conversation I can tell that my guard is down enough to get going.

I'm going to adopt a "diamante" style for this post.  Back to Twitter: I also discovered with the help of Twitter that today is Passport Day!  Apparently U.S. passport agencies are usually not open on Saturdays (a fact you'd think I'd know by now, considering how long I've been needing a new one), but they are open today.  In Delaware, there are TWO sites open for business.  Small state?

And to the other tip of this diamond, let's get back to work.  Yesterday was my last day of my first week of my social media job, and the first day of my second weekend at the restaurant.  Along with becoming a 47-browser window kind of person, I have become a person with two jobs, and on Fridays I essentially work from 9am to 9pm.  It's a long day, but it's nice to be doing something, and once I start seeing paychecks for this work it'll be nice to have some cash coming in again.  Having work on my schedule six days a week is a bit stressful, but as we know I also like to have that structure.  You have to learn the rules before you can break them, right?

Things are looking up.  Diamantes are a girl's best friend ;-)

...OK, not really, but it'll do for the first wave, at least.

second reaction.

I'm still reeling from the events of yesterday -- again, what we end up dealing with over the long term is a sense of personal invasion.  I'd like to thank the officer who was looking over our house, when I apologized for touching things and closing drawers, he looked me square in the eye and, with an unbelievably even tone, said, "It's O-K."  As though the word was this huge, smooth round rock I was thrown upon, gasping, from a turbulent sea.  "I'm just going to take some fingerprints and the most that would happen is we'll have some to compare with.  It won't be a problem."

Also, it's incredibly disconcerting to see a bag unzipped that I know I just closed yesterday; to remember some funny photo or video clip on my computer I might never be able to watch again; to remember a place I stashed something in the rush of leaving St. Croix Falls that might have also been disturbed, or something taken.  It's like you can't forget, because you keep remembering.  I had just, literally the day before, decided to settle in to the room I was given, even though I didn't love it, and it is upsetting that it was my careful order which was disturbed instead of the suitcase-living I'd been doing up 'til then.

But throughout my phone conversation with Ann, who was exhausted from her own emotional day, I realized that I can't take it personally.  Bad things happen, life isn't easy, we all share the burden of our collective human pain in some capacity, at some point in our lives.  It's not just me.  All these wild things that have happened in Delaware since I arrived have also impacted at least 4 other people -- it's not some personal karma or the sins of my great-great-grandfather coming to rest alone on my shoulders.  I slept well last night, after a really comforting conversation with my parents.  Remembering all the traumatic events my parents experienced right after they graduated college, living in the tiny town of Baeza, Ecuador -- gunshots at night, the sounds of neighbors fighting, military raids, and mountain lion invasions, to name a few.  We talked about how easy it is to focus on the bad things, the worst-case scenarios, because those make newspaper headlines, those are the horror stories we tell from inside mummy bags or in the everyday moments when we realize: life can be excruciatingly painful.  But there are good headlines too, and pleasant editorials, and love stories that last.  There are beautiful moments when, amidst agony, we feel a soft, strong hand reaching for ours in the dark and we know that there are two (or more) sets of tears flowing in rhythm, and suddenly the imperfect world bears some flicker of redemption.

Yes, I still feel that gut-wrenching no-ground-beneath-my-feetness moment here or there, and you might be at least a little bit right if you're thinking my clear-headed and compassionate response to this Unfortunate Event is a cover, that I'm trying to convince myself as much as yourself.  (Read Liz Lampman's post about "doing so well" for another take.)  There is a slight disconnect between my gut reaction, my emotional responses, and my mental-intellectual processing of this event.  But ultimately this is how I locate my homeostasis, that tightrope amidst the haywire.

***

On Sunday my dad gave a sermon about forgiveness.  "How often must we forgive?" the disciples asked, and Jesus said, "Not seven times, but seventy times seven."  So Papa handed out half-sheets of paper with the single word, in large text: Forgive.

There were five Forgive reminders in the house yesterday -- one within a foot of almost every item that was taken.

reaction.

So my house got robbed today.  Fortunately no one was there at the time; I won't tell you what my thoughts first jumped to when I saw the police cars parked outside my house, after getting a text message from my dad saying, "Hey you ok?"  I can't even process how grateful I am for that.  Things could have been so much worse.

They took a bunch of electronics and jewelry, mostly things that would turn over quickly, so I'm less worried about identity theft or a stalker situation...  But still.  They say the hardest part of being a victim of theft is the lost sense of personal security.  I didn't even recognize that's what I was feeling until I pulled into the parking lot of the library here.

Yeah, so that's where I am, the library -- seeing as my laptop has been stolen.  My second thought, after running over horrible scenarios in my head, was, "Thank god my flash drive is still in the Midwest."  Which I have been cursing myself about for 3 weeks.  So at least I still have my writing.  But there are a lot of photos and music and other intellectual property, stored up over years and years, that is now gone.  Even if I got my (outdated and not-in-excellent-condition) electronics back, everything of value on them would be gone, most likely.  Not that it wasn't on the verge of crashing anyway.

But I am so thankful that my sisters and I were out of the house; even that my brother is in Boston and my parents were also both working.  Maria said to me, "It makes me happy that, even when really horrible things happen, I can still pick out the good parts about it, without even trying.  That makes me feel good about myself."  This while she was ranting and crying, but still, she's right.  There could hardly be a more stable family for someone to rob than us, because we know what's important and we will pull through.  I'm even partially glad I no longer have a computer so I can't spend all my time at home on it.  Also, I love the library.

It's funny, because everytime I meet someone new they say, "Oh, welcome to Delaware!  ...Just so you know, we don't usually have an earthquake, several tornados, a hurricane, and a manhunt every week -- that's not normal."  I didn't really think anything of it, although now it does seem like a disproportionate amount of misfortune all in the space of three weeks...  Also, a neighbor's dog recently ran away to die and they were looking for it.  A tree fell on another neighbor's house.  Bad things happen.  But we process them (once we get over the initial shock) and we somehow get on with our lives.

Besides, there are great amounts of fortune as well.  For example, the fact that I am not agonizing over the fact that I now have one pair of earrings left to my name -- because it is a pair of hearts carved out of shells that Mikey brought back from Costa Rica for me senior year of high school.  Also, that on the way home from work today I was marveling at how gorgeous the drive is along route 41 and 62.  I almost tried to go that way this morning, but I got on a one-way going the wrong way so I chickened out and went the way I know.  Which turned out to be faster, but definitely not as green and winding.  Also less pothole-y, however.

Oh, speaking of good fortune, I got a job!  After all my agonizing over that...  It's a really cool one, too, with a PR firm that does healthy lifestyle campaigns.  They hired me for my social research background with a creative twist.  Could it be more perfect?!  I'm the "Social Media Associate," and I never imagined six months ago that I would be doing something so hip.  I also really like everyone in the office, and there is a gorgeous backyard for me to take my lunch breaks in, at least until the sun fades a bit.  I'm really incredibly excited.

Now I could have taken this U-turn from either end (which it seems I've been doing all day -- I got lost so many times on the road today!) but I chose purposely to end it on a hopeful note.  First, because I am my father's daughter, and hope (along with resilience, grace, etc) are his great buzzwords.  Second, because why would I leave my readers, and myself, with doom and gloom?  Not when I have so much to be thankful for, when those things are going to carry me forward.  It really is amazing, the way things happen in some kind of order, and the power we hold, always, to respond.

fear and ladybugs

"Listen.

When I was a little girl I used to spend HOURS looking for ladybugs.

Finally, I would just give up and fall asleep in the grass.

When I woke up, they were crawling all over me."

-Katherine, Under the Tuscan Sun

The thing is, ladybugs don't JUST come.  Because you have to be in the field in the first place.

I have been in town almost three weeks.  As you have seen, I have been steadily nearing lunacy for lack of an external community and tasks to tick off.  (I love the library.  Libraries in general.  And the New Castle County library system is one of the best I've encountered.)  I have clicked through so many job descriptions.  I probably haven't completed as many applications as it feels like I have, but I've spent a lot of time thinking about what I want to do with that time.  Also, I have at least 4,586,408 resumes to my name now.  Thank you, Center for Experiential Learning, for teaching me life's most important skills.

So I am definitely in the field, and I've been searching for ladybugs using every tool and tactic I can think of. It's slow going, and it helps to remember that it is just slow.  Everyone I've talked to, when they find out I'm looking for work, rolls their eyes and says, "So how's that job market?"  Some people spend months looking for employment, and I can't imagine how absolutely insane that would make me.  It may help to be less picky, but this is my life I'm talking about.  I want to do something that I can at least stand, something I want to spend my time doing.  This morning I stumbled upon my brother's first year architecture portfolio, and just flipping through it, even though it's largely unintelligible to me, I am in awe of how much he loves what he's doing, and how good he is at it.  I know he spends almost literally all his time working on his models and drawings, even during the summer, but it looks effortless and I envy his conviction.

I decided last week that the key is to stay refreshed.  I found new physical locations from which to conduct my job search, places I might see or meet someone new, find new local publications and get oriented to this new environment.  It's like the rules of The Game: laugh as often as possible, surround yourself with people you like, do activities you enjoy, and the person whose eye you're trying to catch will most likely notice you.  And if he doesn't, then you're happy anyway!

So toward the end of my week of refreshment, I got a part-time hostessing job at a restaurant near my house, and then I got a call back from a really cool PR company, and while I was in the interview with them, I got a call back from another advertising company.  From my brief encounter with the first firm, I at least feel reassured that my community is out there.  There are people who want to enrich the broader community and who have created a team with which to do so, in places I had never really thought to look.  Suddenly there are a few ladybugs that so far haven't morphed into Asian beetles.

(For those of you that are not familiar, Asian beetles are a common phenomenon in dorm rooms and empty houses in the Midwest.  They look like ladybugs until you know what they really are, and they stink if you touch them, scare them, or squash them.  So here's hoping.)

Now I'm realizing that the possibility of actually finding something to do can be almost as scary as the possibility of never finding anything.  Because the results I'll have to turn out impact far more than just myself.  So I want to do a good job to show that I can do a good job, and also because I have an objective to achieve.

I love objectives.  Today I have to come up with some sound bites (something new and different) and unearth some quintessential writing samples, to show that I have potential and the ability to say something of substance.  I'm somewhat nervous but, as a boy with a motorcycle once said to me, "I try not to let my fear keep me from doing anything."  And as we have seen, good results often come of this overcoming, enriched by the courage it takes to achieve them.

So, dear readers, blunder onward.  May we all crawl with ladybugs, and never fear confusing them with Asian beetles.  I'm sure even those are good for something.

"Ladybugs, Katherine.  Lots and LOTS of ladybugs!"

-Frances

rollercoaster: the ascension

It's been a wild weekend, but I'm feeling existentially refreshed.  Which could be a lifesaver.

I woke up on Friday morning slowly, looked out the window and thought, "For a warm, sunny day, I am getting out of bed far too reluctantly."  This kind of thing is a red flag for people who have had Januaries like mine.  Or non-Januaries, for that matter.  I dragged through the day and finally begged to go back-to-school shopping with my mom and my brother, just so I could get out of the house.

Mainly, it was a slow realization that I need to do something I like.  I haven't been going out; mixing drinks; talking to anyone, really; riding bike; hanging out in public social spaces, or spending any time in the sun.  So I convinced my mom to pull over and stop at the farmers' market on Limestone Blvd. -- my first step out of the Shadow of the Valley of Death.  (Never fear -- I am being dramatic.  But it has seemed relatively dark around here lately.  Maybe just because fall is coming, or maybe because I'm definitely less satisfied with the state of things these days.)

But here's why: my classmates and I are, according to a complex set of expectations, biting off more than anyone can comfortably chew.  It's like popping a whole pack of Bubblicious into our mouths at one time instead of just one piece.  All at once, we are shoved out of the Great Nest on The Hill and asked to secure housing, employment, independence, a healthy lifestyle, and the ability to navigate a new environment comfortably and successfully.  It's not realistic.  And again, I find that my frustration stems from a mismatch of expectations.  Sophomore year of college was pretty rocky largely due to me feeling that I was being expected to do things that just weren't going to happen; I hit a spike in performance at the winery this summer after agonizing aloud about the fact that I felt I could never do my job well enough to satisfy anyone, and Alicia simply replied, "Yeah, it sucks, but that's the way it is around here a lot of the time."  Wow.  It just is.  All I can do is my best, and I do that.  Thus the agony of feeling inadequate, because I really, really care whether I'm doing a good job or not.

So, it's time to take baby steps.  At my mom's urging, I took a vacation.  (Even my vacations these days usually involve half an hour or so of looking at jobs on the internet, but we'll just casually overlook that for now.  I really need a job.)  My brother and I climbed up into the chestnut tree in our front yard and roped up my hammock between two wide-set branches.  I finished the amaretto that's been idling in my duffel bag since I left St. Croix, whipped up a sour and read all afternoon.  And said hi to the approximately 4,000,000,000 people that drove/walked/ran/biked past throughout the course of the day.  Some neighbors from up the street even walked over expressly to meet me and my sisters -- which is significant since, as we have found, neighborhood is not the same now as it used to be.

What I'm thinking now is, yeahh -- I've still got it!

You might be rolling your eyes, but I firmly believe that everyone needs to have moments like that from time to time simply in order to keep going.

That evening Thomas and I packed his stuff into the back of my car and [relatively] early the next morning headed out of town toward Boston.  I think the trip was good for both of us -- we'd both been wallowing a bit, not sure how to handle ourselves or this new unfathomable place and living arrangement.  So we finally had some time to chat.  And let me just say, what a cool guy.  My first best friend ever -- thank you, Alice, for pointing that out back at high school graduation.

It was also really good for me to see him in his element.  I may never have seen him walk any roads so confidently as he does the streets of Boston; never seen him as excited to enter any room as he is to set foot inside the architecture studio; never witnessed him taking so much initiative to be healthy and happy as he does with the minutiae of his lifestyle at Northeastern.  I'm so, so glad for him, and for everyone else who is as happy at their institution as he is.

On the way up we stopped in New Haven, Connecticut, to have lunch with his good friend Dan and to pick up my good friend Audrey, who lives in the most wonderful neighborhood.  I didn't realize New Haven was such a city.  So Audrey helped us move all Thom's stuff into his rockin' apartment -- I felt maybe for the first time weird that I'm not going back to school right now.  We met one of his suitemates and ate dinner in the dining hall in his old building.  Granted, yes, St. Olaf recently achieved #1 standing for best college food -- but Audrey and I were in awe of the dining at Northeastern's International Village.

Around 8pm (two hours later than our conservative estimate) we left Boston by way of the worst-marked interstate ramp I have ever seen, destination: Queens, New York.  We reached the convent where Karin, part III of CAKE, lives around midnight, collected ourselves, and walked half an hour to an Irish Pub where we heard the third round is free.  It apparently wasn't, but we met a seasoned local named Brian, and we all laughed hard for the first time in weeks.  This is how I gauge my happiness.

We got back to the convent 23 hours after I'd woken up Sunday morning to drive my personal longest day of driving ever: a record 10 hours.  But it was so worth it, so good to see my research counterparts and the places they now call home.  I think we all needed hugs from friends.  (Sounds like a nonprofit org...?  I've found my life's calling!)  In the morning we went to a classic NYC bagel shop with at least 25 different kinds of cream cheese and an orange juice machine.  I have been to the City several times, but really only stayed around Manhattan, and I have never quite understood the appeal it has to thousands/millions of people all over the world.

Now that I have been to Queens, I've joined the club.  I'm thinking maybe that's the beauty of it: there's something for everyone.

I've overdone myself since the last entry, so I'll cut it short now.  But I'm sure you'll be hearing more about some conversations and realizations I had over the course of the weekend, conversations about service and fulfillment and community.  What I'll leave you with is a recap of a realization I need to have again every so often, reminiscient of the dinner party scene in To The Lighthouse: we are not alone.  Even in my family home, there are reservoirs of things that go unsaid, and there are people who understand what I'm missing scattered all over the world.  And there are people I'm missing.  But none of us are ever really alone;

"As long as I'm in your life -- as long as you know my name --

you will not die, and you will not be forgotten."

-James Doyle