Raining on my own Parade...

It happens in a moment: the slightest sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach. For others, "it" happens in the form of a gnawing in the back of your mind.

Jealousy 

I was scanning through my news feed on Facebook when "it" happened. Stuart and Abby just got married. They've already been to Cancun; and today's update showed the newlyweds smooching in front of the leaning tower of pizza. I immediately began looking up ways to cheaply backpack through Europe (more specifically Italy). My husband asked,"What are you doing?" as he plopped down on the couch beside me. "Trying to figure out how to backpack through Europe. When would be the best time to travel with your work schedule?" I asked without looking up from my bright green iPad. "Well summer is usually a slower time, but I'd like to be around Fernie for the summer..."

Jesse continued to contemplate the best month to travel out loud, but I was already shutting down. Terrible grey thoughts had pushed aside my happy travel plans like a bleak rain cloud. "I'm stuck here
FOREVER! I'll have to spend the rest of my summers and winters in Fernie! I'll never get out of here! I'll NEVER see the world!!! Plus I'll never get a job, so I'll never have the opportunity to save up any money and travel anyway!!!" The sad thoughts steadily dripped away like Chinese water torture. Appropriately, I decided to take a shower. A nice hot shower actually clears my head. As I stood in our shower, watching the steam fog up the glass I began to analyze my mental paths. Why did I always feel trapped or limited, rather than free and empowered? My husband certainly wasn't saying,"Emily, I didn't want to tell you this until year three of marriage, but I tricked you when I said we would travel. You will actually NEVER SEE THE WORLD!!!" (insert maniacal laugh). I'm the one that capitalizes NEVER and ALWAYS in my silent monologues of a meaningless life full of the tedious mundane without the punctuation of adventure. So where does this terrible negative mental cliff jumping come from? Why am I telling myself that I can't have it all?

In many ways I do feel a bit trapped and stuck in my current situation (waiting for my PR application to be processed with a restrictive visitor visa). I also feel a bit clueless in a few of life's most important categories. I define myself with titles who's meaning elude me: Christian, Woman, Wife, Potential Mother, Hair Stylist etc. The truth is, I don't know what it means to be a Christian, or a woman, or a wife, and I currently have no desire to be a mother or a hair stylist. I've also donned the gold star of "hard working", but when working on myself is the only vocation available, I suddenly don't know where to start.

I did start a couple of things in hopes of changing my thought process and giving myself something to do! I went to my third counselling appointment on Monday along with my first guitar lesson. As I stood in the shower, I thought about my life to this point as well as the voice that so often harasses my best attempts to live well. I'm going to try overpower all the "cant's" and "who cares" and "if only's" that have been hindering me from doing things that really interest me, or going places that I really want to see. Instead of looking at my guitar (a gift from my husband from last Christmas) and thinking, "I'll NEVER be able to play that instrument well..." I will counter with, "I will learn to play my guitar so well that I'll be able to write music to my songs and RECORD them!!!"And instead of thinking about writing up a blog, but never starting, I will write blogs frequently because I CARE!!! And when I see friends kissing in front of historical monuments in exotic places, I wont look out my window at the grey and think, "I'll NEVER get to travel..." Instead I will start saving up frequent flyer miles and hiking all the paths and mountains in beautiful British Columbia in preparation for exotic adventures with my supportive husband.

After my shower, my husband found me getting dressed, "Are you O.K? did I say something?" I told him about my fears of never leaving Fernie and my envy of Stuart and Abby in Italy. "I was thinking about blogging later today..." "That sounds great, babe. I love your blogs," he replied. We're both sitting on the couch now. Jesse is reading while I type. Instead of feeling jealous, I am content. Night has settled over the snowy landscape of our little town. As Jesse turns a page, I lay my head against the couch. My fingers are sore from practicing my guitar earlier. It's a reminder of the small steps I am taking down a path of self discovery and freedom.

A Quarter of a Century...

Yesterday I let my mind wonder… a bit too far down nostalgic lane… If you’ve ever been down nostalgic lane, you are aware that it can quickly digress into Naval Gaze Drive… or Pity Party Parkway. Jesse got home right about the time…

“What’s wrong?”

“I was just thinking about my birthday tomorrow….”

Birthdays in our family have always been simple but special. My mom would decorate the kitchen with streamers and balloons. We had these cut out letters and confetti that stuck to our window and spelled out “H.a.p.p.y. B.i.r.t.h.d.a.y.!!!” Multi-colored cards with your name in various relative’s scrawl adorned your seat at the breakfast table. And that night after going to the restaurant of your choice, you got to open your presents, make a wish, and blow out your candles. The only draw-back was that in our family we have one very strict rule. You aren’t your age until the exact time you were born. For instance if I said, “Daddy I’m ten!!!” my father would look at the time and reply, “Not until 12:48 p.m. You’re still nine.” But when that dreadfully slow microwave timer finally turned to the right green numbers, everyone would say, “Happy Birthday!!!”

When I was a little girl, my grandparents would often come and visit over my birthday. (My birthday usually coincided with Labor Day weekend and the fall colors of East Tennessee.) It was always a treat to see them! They would make the long drive from Chicago to our home nestled in the Appalachian valley that surrounds Knoxville. When my grandparent’s car crested our hill, Joshua and I would race with anticipation to meet them before they could open the door.

Last year I flew to Chicago to see my brother. We went to a renaissance festival in Wisconsin!!! We did everything from eating chicken on a stick to bungee jumping to watching a jousting tournament to the death!!! It was pretty intensely awesome!!! But this year is my first year away from all my family… except my new family. This is my first birthday with my husband.

This morning when I woke up, Jesse was already upstairs (nothing unusual about that.) As I turned the corner with sleep in my eyes and a yawn in my throat, my gaze landed on balloons… every color and size strewn across the stair banister along with a happy birthday sign. As I entered the kitchen I found more balloons!!! They were taped to the refrigerator, the oven, the cabinets, the pan rack, and light hanging from the ceiling. More “HAPPY BIRTHDAY” signs filled the rest of the dwindling space in our kitchen. It was such a simple gesture with so much love and effort behind it (especially when you take into consideration that my husband is recovering from a broken thumb. If you have never had the opportunity to blow up and tie a balloon with a cast on one of your thumbs, then you won’t be able to completely appreciate the gesture of countless balloons!!!) The breakfast table was set with blue paper “happy birthday” plates, cups, and napkins!!! A card with my name on it in my favorite handwriting, rested on my present. The box was wrapped and ceiled with a post-it warning “Wait until 12:48”. It was perfect.

I laughed and cried at all the special details of Jesse’s decorations. After a delightful breakfast, Jesse left to take care of some “business” for a few hours, and I started the process of dying my hair bright red. It’s been black for some time now, and I felt that being a quarter of a century deserved a new color. After a quick lunch and opening my card and present (the cup-cake maker I really wanted!!!), Jesse and I grabbed a latte to go and hit the road. We were headed to Jesse’s favorite spot: his waterfall. How can you own a waterfall, you ask? By discovering it of course!!!

We drove through the back country on an old logging road and pulled off at one particular spot. Jesse had packed a picnic of wine and cheese and crackers and cake and candles!!! We hiked down to a large flat rock overlooking the waterfall. This is one of the lowest times for the waterfall. In the spring, it expands with the mountain’s melted snow and rushes over the rocks we were sitting on. The sun shone bright and warm yesterday, and we soaked up its rays while munching on crackers and cheese. After our picnic, Jesse showed me the other waterfall a short hike down from where we were. This waterfall was actually higher than the first but it doesn’t have a good swimming hole underneath. We lay on our stomachs and stuck our chins over the rocks to peer down the falling water. Everything around us was smooth. Rocks were rounded, trees were bare as bones. You could even see the swirling patterns of the forceful flow on large boulders and fallen trucks. But now, at the end of the summer, flowers were stretching up through the rocks cracks and crevasses and moss had begun to carpet what will soon be the bottom of a rushing current.

Jesse and I explored. We took pictures, and sat over the waterfall and talked about the coming year. I always love birthdays because they’re a personal New Years. You get to look back at the previous year, and plan and hope for all that’s too come. My 24^th year of life was a huge year of change. I fell in love, got married and moved to Canada all in the same 365 days! As we talked about our hopes and dreams, we both mentioned not conforming to mediocrity. We want to be willing to be stretched, to get uncomfortable, and take the plunge into the unknown. Earlier, Jesse had climbed up and jumped off part of the first waterfall. The water was freezing cold, but he hadn’t been here all summer. Shivering to the surface and swimming back to me and the towel, he got out breathless and happy. This simple act exemplifies our hope: whatever comes our way, Jesse and I will jump in and come out the other side- happy that we took the risk.

I don’t know what 25 will hold. But with a quarter of a century of experience, bright red hair, and the man I love by my side… anything can happen…

 

                                                         

The Riddle of Love

My parents posing like the models in the background.
Notice they didn't feel the need to buy the sunglasses.

I got off the phone (technically facetime) with my dad a few minutes ago. My mom is in Florida helping her mom and sister move. My parents are one of those rare couples that have remained best friends their entire marriage. They don’t do well without each other, but together they're invincible.

I’ve been calling my dad every few days just to check in and make sure he’s taking care of himself- you know the survival stuff… like eating. He usually survives on the well balanced diet of pizza and spaghetti when my mom is away. Aside from ignoring most of the food pyramid, my dad usually tackles a project when my mom is with her family. Last summer I came home to the sounds of a chain saw. As I stepped into the backyard, I found my 52 year-old father strapped onto the tree that had been leaning over our roof for years. He was taking it down branch by branch. The tree is now history and so is the scar on my dad’s arm. Tonight when I called he had just come inside from taking apart the porch. It’s weathered and old and in need of a re-model. I have no doubt my mom will come home to a new porch just like she did to a sunnier yard and a freshly painted stairway.

Tonight I racked my brain for every funny story I had in my bag of tricks. I covered the cup cakes I attempted earlier this week. (Turns out if you have a filling, you need enough batter to cover the filling… the ratio of cake to filling isn’t exactly even…) Jesse’s mom shot a black bear in her yard (pretty impressive considering her husband is on a hunting trip in a remote part of Canada. If you have garbage cans and berry bushes the wildlife will come right to your doorstep). And I made some pretty delicious home-made pizzas tonight. I’m also going completely overboard on immigration paperwork. My hope is that the Canadian official’s complaint will be “too much information!” I’ve printed off every phone bill, airplane ticket, Skype call, etc. You name it; I’ve printed, hi-lited, and posted it!!! 

“I checked your blog a few days ago but there weren’t any new postings,” my dad mentioned.

“It feels like I don’t have much to say these days. I’m just cooking and filling out immigration paperwork.” I sighed. I also clean occasionally and Jesse and I are watching season 1 of Scrubs.

“Well those are all the humorous anecdotes I have for you tonight,” I said after telling him about mailing my fingerprints to the FBI today. He was ready to get off anyway.

 

My dad and I at the Tennessee Theater on my 24th Birthday.
We saw Brian Reagan the Comedian. Photography was
Prohibited, but we are rebells!

“Alright,” my dad said with a chuckle.

“I’ll call you in a couple days to bug ya, make sure you’re still eating.”

“Well, O.K. then, bye.”

“I love you! Bye.”

My dad almost never says the words “I love you”, especially on the phone. This might sound like a subject for a shrink, but it’s one of the things I love about him. He’s a man of action, few words, and fewer feelings. I used to have a saved message on my old phone where he said it. I must have been gone or something. I used to tease him that I had proof that he loved me and replay the message on speaker. My dad’s love is like a riddle- you have to decode the words and actions and figure out the meaning behind them. Every time we end our phone calls it goes something like this:

“O.K. well I LOVE you daddy!!!”

“yeaho.k.bye.” click.

Translation:

“O.k. well I LOVE you daddy!!!”

“I love you too sweetie. Thanks for calling. It means the world to me that my favorite daughter took time out of her day to call her old man. I’ll look forward to speaking with you again soon.”

Well it’s something like that…

He still surprises me. I didn’t know he even read my blog let alone shared it with other people. My dad sent me an email one night. There was no message except for the title, “Just to encourage you”. It was a business email to his colleagues about schools- but he had included my latest blog for them to read and sent me one of their responses. I got the email as Jesse and I were going to bed. “Why are you so smiley?” Jesse asked as he came into the bedroom. I showed him the email. “It’s funny, no matter how old I get (and I’ll be a whapping 25 in a few days) my parent’s approval or endorsement still means so much.” “Yeah.” Jesse nodded his understanding.

My dad will never be a warm-fuzzy-feelings guy. Those guys exist and they are great, but not all men are overly thoughtful or sensitive. But my dad will always be a hard working, honest, dependable, intelligent, generous, autocratic, grammar-correcting, clover-picking man with a crazy combination of wit, goofiness and reserve. Tonight after getting off the phone, I realized that I did have something to blog about other than cooking and immigration forms.

 

My dad loves me...

 

                                                                                    ....Click.

 

Saturdays are Magical...

Lying in bed, I squint to see slits of sun squeezing through the curtain’s crevasse. It feels late, but it doesn’t matter. There are no alarms today. No one wakes up with a panicked glance towards the clock. It’s Saturday. This is the most peaceful morning of the week. Jesse stirs and rolls over to place a sleepy arm around my middle and I shut out the ever rising sun for a few more minutes.

Last night was not peaceful. On our bike ride home from the baseball game, a cloud of dread passed over me and followed us home. We’ve almost been here a month and I can’t wait to leave. I don’t know how to make it here and I don’t know if I can survive two years. The town where we live is a modest place nestled in the midst of the Rocky Mountains. If you make a complete turn, you will see mountains jutting into the sky from every angle.

I met with a dear woman from Jesse’s church this past week. We got together for coffee at 10 am and I left her at 1 pm. Leah confessed to me, that the mountains do feel suffocating at times. She often escapes to Kalispell MT for the wide open spaces and the sun. Here it can get grey and gloomy. The clouds settle around the peaks and block out the light. I told Leah how I wanted to hike to the top of every mountain here. It’s not that I’m an avid hiker or that I love the mountains; I need to crest each of their peaks so that the mountains don’t own me. Then when I bike to the store with a mountain in my face I can say, “I’ve conquered you. You don’t have anything on me.”

I am used to feeling restless: I almost always do. When I worked at the Salon I immediately started saving. I wanted at least $10,000 so that I could do anything. Last September when things were getting unbearable, I started searching for an escape. I looked up program after program: the peace core (need a degree), teaching English as a second language (need a degree), staying at a monastery in France (have to have visited before you can apply for a long term stay), Iris Ministries in Mozambique… I’m always looking for an escape. Last night I read my friend Jessa’s blog. She is about to go on The Amazing Race: 11 countries in 11 months. I was so envious. I want to see 11 countries in 11 months and back-pack my way around the globe! But I’m here, surrounded by rock, and trapped between American citizenship and Canadian Permanent Residency, without even the luxury of dreaming for an escape.

Did I mention that I love my husband? Now would probably be a good time to remind you that I am married to the best man I know. He can see the gold in this town: the beauty that shines out from the people and the places that surround us. All I see is grey mountains. When I left Leah and the coffee shop the other day, she said, “God told me to see this place as His nest for me.” Her words stuck. We are in a bowl, a nest of sorts in this valley. I mentioned Leah’s words to my friend Lori on the phone a day later. “That reminds me of bald eagles and their nests.” I looked up Bald Eagles. Apparently they build some of the largest nests of any bird. Most nests start 2 ft deep and 5 ft wide but continue to expand year after year. The largest nest every found was 20 ft deep and 9.5 ft across and weighed 3 short tons!!! (According to Wikipedia)

In my understanding the whole point of a nest is to nourish and protect and equip young birds with everything they need before they take that first, terrifying flight. Instead of seeing my new home as a hindrance to adventure or a trap, I will try to view these mountains as a nest: a temporary place of rest and refreshment before that first flight. Bald Eagles come back to their nests year after year. Similarly, Jesse and I may come back, or leave our home for someone else to inhabit.

But today, on our magical Saturday, we are cozy and safe. After waking up leisurely, Jesse is sprawled out on the couch re-reading the Hobbit, while I am curled up in our love seat next to the window. I sip my coffee and look out at the mountains jutting into a sunny blue sky.

baking... not for the faint of heart...

Baking is not for the faint of heart.

Now I know what you’re thinking, “how hard can it be?” Well it all started with THE KITCHEN AID. My very dear and caring parents-in-law, bought me a kitchen aid as a wedding gift. I have friends that cherish and treasure their kitchen aids. Contrastingly, I haven’t the faintest idea what to use this machine (that can apparently do anything) for. I’m also not much of a gadget person. So combine my ignorance and lack of enthusiasm, you get a disgruntled girl searching online for KITCHEN AID recipes.

A friend of mine recently started culinary school in New York. She has been posting utube videos on how to make various delectable things, including cray-cray cookies. These delicious cookies are filled with the usual flour, sugar, and butter, along with heath bars, toblerone bars, chocolate chips, and dulce-de-leche!!! (I don’t even know what dulce-de-leche is, and Jesse and I couldn’t find at our local store, so we substituted caramel sauce.) In her “how to” video, my friend used a giant mixer. Perfect! What better way to break in the KITCHEN AID! We purchased all the ingredients and I got to work.

I softened the butter and plopped its yellow greasy goodness into the KITCHEN AID along with brown and white sugar. Next, two cracked eggs joined the whirring mess. Flour, salt, baking powder, were sifted and spilled into the KITCHEN AID. Finally, I chopped up the heath and toblerone bars and added them along with chocolate chips and caramel sauce into the mix. The dough looked a bit thin, so I added a little more flour. With the oven pre-heated to 375, I spooned the dough onto a cookie sheet. Because the dough still looked runny and spread out quickly I chose to only bake our cookies for 10 minutes instead of 12.

While the cookies baked, I began cleaning up the bulky KITCHEN AID. As I struggled to separate its various sticky parts, I became more and more frustrated, slamming things around the kitchen in my annoyance. Jesse poked his head in, to make sure I wasn’t destroying everything in sight. When the timer went off I opened the oven to reveal…. an entire tray of very burnt brown cookies. “F#@*!!!” Scraping the crispy cookies into the garbage through hot eyes and tears, I spooned out another tray of chilled dough and set the timer for 8 minutes. The next batch was still thin, but not burnt. Jesse was all complements, and I resolved to try the rest of the dough the next day when it had sufficiently cooled.

But the next day proved disastrous. Only a few cookies were edible after oven mishaps and I put away the KITCHEN AID defeated. I hated it! I couldn’t even bake cookies! And the KITCHEN AID represented the epitome of domesticity. I didn’t want it. I would brave his mother’s disappointment and take the blasted thing back!!!

The truth is, it wasn’t the KITCHEN AID or my friend’s recipe that was struggling to perform. I am the one struggling to perform. I have no idea how to define myself right now. I have no job to take up my time and answer the “what do you do question”. I haven’t made any friends in my new home yet, that I can call up and complain to when my oven wont stop beeping at me, or share a cookie with. I’m in transition. I don’t know how to be a wife. I don’t know how to use and fill my time. I don’t know how to love my husband as well as he deserves. So I get hysterical over the simplest things, like burnt cookies, because the little pieces of charcoal feel like tangible failure. And I really don’t want to fail.

Today is a new day. After puttering around this morning, I decided it was time to revisit the KITCHEN AID and the “cray cray cookies” recipe. As I added each ingredient, the dough looked thick and perfect. After chilling the gooey goodness, I baked each sheet of cookies for 8 minutes. Tray after tray came out just right. I only burned myself once, and the cookies taste amazing!!! There’s just one more tray to bake before I load the KITCHEN AID into the dish washer and put it away. I may not know exactly what I’m doing, but I’m not giving up: on baking, on the KITCHEN AID or on myself.

                                                                          Bon appétit!  

Vows... Oaths... Promises... and the Weather!!!

A vow (Lat. votum, vow, promise; see vote) is a promise or oath

according to Wikipedia.

picture by www.Britfrayphotography.com

Today Jesse and I are drafting our vows. We are sitting side by side at coffee and chocolate. Our lap tops are open on neighboring tables and we each have a medium latte (his is hazelnut, mine is hazelnut and vanilla). Jesse and I drink hot coffee even in the summer. It is a scorching hot day here in Knoxville with a current temperature of 99 degrees Fahrenheit! On the day we get married it is supposed to feel like 117 degrees with the humidity!!! But now we are sitting inside Sharif’s cool coffee shop. 

I sat down with my journal and began writing down all of the things that I love and appreciate about Jesse… the silly little things that two people share (we dance when we brush our teeth together), and the more serious things like a commitment to communicate even when it’s hard.

Yesterday I had a conversation with one of my good friends. She and her husband got married last year. They are both dear and amazing people, but they often struggle to “see” each other. It’s really quite extraordinary how easy it is to miscommunicate and hurt each other. Instead of taking sides, I found myself grieving for both of them.

He feels unappreciated, and disappointed with himself. The husband ends up taking some of his anxiety out on his wife by scolding her to be more frugal while they search for jobs. She in turn feels criticized and consequently doesn’t want to be around her husband. The wife schedules more time to spend with friends, leaving her husband feeling hurt and rejected. But in reality, I believe he really loves her and wants to spend time with his wife, while she also truly loves her husband and wants to be with him. They both want the same thing, but they’re “missing” the heart behind the scolding and scheduling. Marriage seems to be a very beautiful, but very fragile thing. I believe that when two people make vows to each other it is a most serious act.

A vow (Lat. votum, vow, promise; see vote) is a promise or oath

So what is a promise?

A promise is a commitment by someone to do or not do something.

And what is an oath?

An oath (from Anglo-Saxon āð, also called plight) is either a statement of fact or a promise calling upon something or someone that the oath maker considers sacred, usually God, as a witness to the binding nature of the promise or the truth of the statement of fact. To swear is to take an oath, to make a solemn vow. Those who conscientiously object to making an oath will often make an affirmation instead.

One of my favorite lines about promises is from a Sara Groves song: different kinds of happy. Here are the bridge and chorus…

"better than our promises
is the day we got to keep them
I wish those two could see us now
they never would believe how
there are different kinds of happy…

"it's a sweet, sweet thing
standing here with you and nothing to hide
light shining down to our very insides
sharing our secrets, bearing our souls,
helping each other come clean”

I love the idea that, although Jesse and I are very much in love right now, we may not always “feel” this way. But we want to. So we are making statements, and stating facts, and making commitments to do things and not do things. We are promising to stay when we feel like leaving. We are promising to speak, when we feel like keeping our words hidden from each other. We are promising to kiss, when we don’t feel like touching each other. We are promising to choose each other when we feel like choosing ourselves.

I am hoping that my dear friends rely on the vows they made a year ago to help them through today. I believe that they will. As Jesse and I type our thoughts and feelings and carefully consider our words, I know that this is the easy part. It’s easy to draft the promise. It’s harder to choose it. But that is what we are promising to do.

.

(other photos by Cheyanne Rudmick)

"Knoxville Center"

Farmers Market!!!!!! Farmer's Market is one of my favorite Knoxville activities. I love seeing all of the local vendors with their wares displayed for all to see under the glow of red, blue, and white tents, pitched in two parallel rows along Market Square!!! Today it is warm with a pleasant breeze. Everyone is outside!!! (myself included). Mothers walk babies in strollers. College kids walk their puppies. Musicians strum and sing on street corners. Writers sip lattes while ingesting inspiration. Business owners open their doors wide, ushering onlookers into their shops. Amidst the rows of tents you can find fresh salsa, fresh flowers, fresh green beans, freshly made skirts, fresh, FRESH FRESH EVERYTHING!!! and it's all locally made and grown and organic!!!

As i perused the market, i saw a European man biking along the side walk behind the tents. His hat held in wisps of blonde hair. It was Shippy!!! I can remember the first day Shippy came to Knoxville. I was stopping in at Vagabondia (now Fizz) a local boutique where i used to work to visit my friend Ellie. She was hired while i was in South Africa. Upon my return, Ellie helped me get a job at another boutique on the Square known as Reruns. We would stop in and see each other on our 15 minute breaks and quickly became great friends. Ellie is a strong, bold, beast of a woman. Her square jaw frames her severely beautiful face and her hawk eyes miss nothing. Quick humor and a ready smile quickly disarm everyone Ellie encounters. One day we were chatting behind Vagabondia's counter and a tall blonde man with a thick Hungarian accent ducked through the open door way. His real name was Balazs Sipos, but we called him Shippy.

"Hey there!!!" called Ellie, "Can i help you find anything?"  "No, No..." he said, pausing while we spoke to admire the shop's colorful character. "Where are you FROM?" interrogated Ellie upon hearing the stranger's voice. "Hungary. Today is my first day here. I type in KNOXVILLE CENTER to navigational device and i come here to 'Knoxville center'" beamed Shippy pleasantly. "Well that's a great way to get to the square!!!" Ellie was out from behind the counter now shaking our new friend's hand. Shippy is an engineer and had taken a job at the Oakridge labs. He found an apartment downtown (at our suggestion) and quickly became one of Market Square's familiar friendly faces. You will see him at every First Friday and any good show.

Today as Shippy locked up his bike he told me he was leaving for Munich, Germany on July 15 because of visa complications. He will have to be there for at least 6 months. I told Shippy how i was entering Canada on a visitor visa before we hired an immigration lawyer to guide Jesse and i through the permanent residency application process. "Countries..." we said and gave understanding shrugs. "I still remember the day you came... and now you're one of Knoxville's icons." I patted Shippy's shoulder. "Yes... yes..." he smiled and glanced at the bustling square with all its charm, " I'll be back." We said our goodbyes and  disappeared amongst the tents.

Walking back to Coffee and Chocolate, i smiled as children screamed and ran through the fountains. Bill sat on a bench across from Cafe 4. He strummed his guitar and sang over the harmonica strapped around his neck. He's another icon of the square along with his white dog Jake. I winked and waved as i walked and Bill put down his pick for a moment to wave back... Earlier he had gotten a coffee from Coffee and Chocolate. When Bill reached for his wallet, Bob came in at that exact moment saying, "i've got you man." Bob can usually be spotted at the window table in front of the pastries reading and typing at his silver Apple lab top. He always wears a white linen shirt with jean pants in the winter and kaki shorts in the summer. These men, along with so many other wonderful men and women, make up part of Market Square's diverse and special heart. While events like Farmer's Market, First Friday, Shakespeare on the Square, and so many other fabulous festivals give what Shippy dubbed, "Knoxville Center" a unique and magical charm.

Panic!!!... and the Oregon Trail.

sleeping man sitting woman. Pablo Picasso

Panic.

That terrible heart racing in the middle of the night.

I suddenly woke up thinking, “We can’t get together with Eric and Lori on Wednesday night! We’re already having dinner with Ron and Alberto that night… and Annie and I are getting sushi on Thursday… so that leaves Friday, but I want to try and see Mark and Judy… maybe we could do that on Monday… Joshua gets in on Monday… and we’re supposed to hang out all day Tuesday… everyone else gets in Wednesday… Thursday is our night out… Friday Jessa and I are getting crepes before the rehearsal at 3:30 and the rehearsal dinner… and Saturday I’m getting married… and Monday we’re leaving for Canada, which I still haven’t packed for… I’ve got to unpack those boxes… I’M RUNNING OUT OF TIME!!!” and then the heart racing began.

Jesse is sleeping soundly. He always sleeps “like a log” (his expression), while I am sleeping more like a leaf in a windstorm. I turn to curl up next to him (big spoon style) and wrap my arm around his broad warm chest. Jesse’s soft snores are a comfort to my racing heart and I can feel his own steady “thud…THUD… thud…THUD… thud…THUD” through his neck into my arm. I squeeze him tight and whisper, “I love you…” Jesse shifts slightly and responds “I love you too” on exhale… still asleep.

Whenever I get panicky, I think about the Oregon Trail, specifically the women who made that incredible journey. I know it’s a bit random, but indulge me for a minute. Imagine sitting next to your husband on a hard wooden bench. Your view is the team of mules that plod a few short miles through various terrain. I think the prairies would be the hardest to endure… Grass. Grass. Grass. as far as the eye can see. Your only assurance of direction is the two narrow wagon ruts between the blades. The sun beats down, scorching the remaining fibers of your tattered dress, as you sit and sit and sit to the mules plod, plod, plod, in the grass, grass, grass. Why did you agree to do this?  And then one day, shapes appear at the edge of the prairie… Each day they grow, until you can see clearly… Mountains. Huge white capped slaps of rock jutting into the sky, and you realize the monotonous sea of grass was nothing. The worst lies ahead.

So it may sound a bit melodramatic… but I really do think about all the hardships those women must have endured and it puts my panicky moments into perspective for me… I am running out of time. My Knoxville chapter is quickly coming to a close. There are too many people I want to have one last cup of coffee with, and too many things remaining on my “to do” list. But come Monday July 9^th, Jesse and I will load a few belongings into the back of my 1998 Buick Century (named Abe) and hit the road. It’s a comfort to know, that although I may have too much to do and too little time, I have no doubts as to why I am doing this. I love Jesse. He’s worth the risk of the unknown. It’s that simple. So while I pity the brave women who survived the Oregon Trail and admire their courage through so much hardship, I am not one of them.  I am not leaving everything behind for the promise of land, and a new life. I just need to be beside the man who changed my life with his love. And I am. He’s right beside me… sleeping like a log.

Pancakes... Bajalia... and Brave.

Orlando! Orlando! Orlando! Jesse and i drove all day on Thursday. We left Knoxville with Starbucks in hand around 11 am and  arrived in Orlando around 9:30. Karen (my mom's sister) greeted us with tired arms and warm sloppy joe. We sat down to a feast of guacamole, salsa, sloppy joe sandwiches and potato salad. Karen and her husband John often talk at the same time. John told me all about the weather brewing in the gulf while Karen told ski stories from her nursing years to Jesse. Snippets of conversations swirled together and i found myself taking everything in with each sip of my red wine. We all retired after our late supper. Nestled in bed, i was lulled to sleep to the ceiling fans "click" "whirrr" "click" "whirrr" and Jesse's low snores from the room across from mine.


Friday morning i awoke to the slatted sun through the window blinds. Tip-toeing into Jesse's room, i found him wrapped in a cocoon of sheets and blankets. He stirred to my presence and i kissed him awake. Karen had already left for work, while John waited for us to wake up, and emerge into the kitchen. He was brewing coffee and mixing up fresh wheat and rice milk pan cakes. John is a quirky character. His tan Latin skin stretches to a wide grin and wild eyes when he talks. My favorite thing about John is his unkempt hair. The salt and pepper strands accent every story as John runs his capable fingers through the matted locks. A good humored man, with plenty to say, John is always animated and ready to smile. After pan cakes, Jesse and i headed to winter park for morning lattes and a bit of shopping...

check out Bajalia online at www.Bajalia.com to find out

more about this fabulous boutique!!!

With Cinnamon dolce latte in hand, and Jesse's in the other, we stumbled into Bajalia: a far trade boutique with a heart for the world. Their card reads, "Changing the world while shopping the world." A sweet, young, blond retailer greeted us at the door and explained the mission and merchandise of her beloved store. Exquisite scarves, sculpted bowls, intricate jewelry, hand made purses, and much more filled the shop with international flare. We examined various items, and i purchased a couple of cards that were made in Thailand and India. Stepping back into the 100% humidity, the overcast clouds had begun to spill. We scurried back to our robin's egg blue Hyundai and followed google maps to my grandmother's house.

Carol, my mom's oldest sister, met us at the back door with hearty hugs and her infectious laughter. She shooed us inside and got us each a mug of keurig coffee. My grandmother rolled down the hallway in her walker. She had combed her thick white hair back off her face and put on bright lipstick just for us. My grandma, Dolores, always looks her best. She wears bright colors, and big antique jewelry. We sipped our third cup of coffee for the day and chit-chatted before braving the rain to go out to Steak n' Shake for lunch. Grandma treated us to good old American steak burgers and fries. Dolores got her milk shake to-go (she eats the whip cream and cherry at the restaurant and rations out the rest of her shake over the next four days). Outside, the light spit had turned into heavy rain. Waiting for a pause, we parted ways, and Jesse and I went to see Brave.

The evening came to a close after a feast of salad and pizza at Carol's modest table with Karen and John and Grandma. Each of us cackled at some point in the night to various tales of long lost pet birds and the terrible vacation to Cancun!!! We kissed everyone goodnight before falling asleep to the rain and the ceiling fan's tenacious... "whirr"... "click"... "whirr"... "click"... on our second night in Orlando....

the right one came along...

Jesse's head is in my lap. "I love that sound of clicking..." he mentions as my fingertips hit the keys. It's late. We've had a busy day of forms and paperwork. We are trying to be as proactive as possible with immigration. (i've never been an immigrant before... turns out it's a bit difficult. "I haven't listened to them in so long..." Jesse's eyes are shut. The Civil Wars are playing in the background on my record player. We went to their concert at the Bijou theater the first time Jesse came to Knoxville. I got all dressed up in a sassy little grey dress that showed off my narrow white shoulders and Jesse wore his very distinguished suit jacket. It was one of our first dates. Sitting in the second row of the old theater, hand and hand, the words went, "oh oh oh oh oh.... if the right one came... the right one came along..." It was December. Jesse and I had begun seriously "talking" in October, but in that dim ancient theater, i remember feeling that perhaps the right one had indeed come along. Now, after a long day, his head rests just beneath my breast and i can hear his gums crease in a smile of contentment and peace. We don't know what the future will hold. But we're sure the right one came along...

The Salon is Sacred...

I just sat down on my ridiculous couch. It's apparently an Italian leather vintage antique. The sturdy (not to mention heavy) beast of a piece of furniture looks like Carmel and chocolate exploded between every button. My old roommate and i used to fill each crevasse with peanut M&M's. If you ever needed a quarter, safety pin, earrings, you could find it in our couch. I'm propped up on pillows i got from good will several years ago. It's nice to sit for a few moments before my next hair appointment.

Today is hair day. I am trying to squeeze in all of my friend's and family's cut and colors before i leave the country. Hair is such an interesting relationship. You get to spend a couple of hours every 4-6 weeks with one person. It's just frequent enough to stay relatively up-to-date. While parting hair and gliding through new growth with the rat tail comb, people begin to talk...  Politics, Religion, Racism, Children, Travel, Fashion, Marriage, Being Single, Sex, Sex Positions, Dieting, Missions, God, Feelings, Friends, Finances, Fiance's, Dogs, Cats, Pets, Cooking, Ingredients, Organic, Work, Bosses, Wives, Husbands, Balding, Grey Hair... nothing is Taboo. I think that is my favorite thing about hair. Hair is Sacred.

The place where you do hair- whether it be the ritziest salon in New York City, or the mom and pop shop in the back woods of east Tennessee- that place of blow dryers, color, bleach, scissors, rollers, curling irons, flat irons, and foils, is sacred. It's like fight club. The Salon is safe. When you sit down in that Hydraulic chair, no matter how rusty, you are safe... safe to unload out loud all that is on your mind. And after you've spilled every story and asked every question, you get to walk out the door with freshly colored, cut, washed, and styled hair. And hopefully it's exactly what you wanted or even better than you imagined...

Today is hair day. It's time to get off this couch do some hair!!!

Soy Latte's...

"So what are you going to blog about..." my fiance' Jesse asked while stroking my pale white legs on the couch... "My life is so hard as i sit here at my laptop and sip my non-fat latte'... they didn't have SOY today!!!" He types mid-air above my knee and we laugh.

one of our favorite
coffee shops in downtown
knoxville: Coffee and Chocolate.

It's true though. Compared to so many all around the world, there is not much i can or should complain about. And i do like soy in my lattes (but not as much as almond milk!!!)

What do i possibly have to say? I'm a white Caucasian, non Hispanic American female. I have a decent amount of education (but not a degree). I went to hair school. I work in a salon. My job is designed to make people feel pampered and beautiful. Some would argue that it's a very vain profession that feeds the American Ideal Image (fill in your own stereotypes here:________________). So what do i have to say? and why should you listen? why should you care?

A few days ago Jess and i went to see Madagascar 3. The zoo animals (a lion, Alex, a zebra, Marty, a giraffe, Melman, and a hippopotamus, Gloria) escaped in the first movie. They may have gotten to Africa in the second film (i can't actually remember). And by the third film, Alex and his friends are ready to go "home" to new york city!!! They remember every detail of their past home in glorious detail: the adoring crowds, the city sights and smells, the new york skyline. Towards the end of the movie all four friends reach the iron gated entrance of the zoo. Staring through the bars, their old "home" suddenly appears much smaller than remembered. "I forgot about that wall, Gloria" Melman remarks. "My rock looks really small" says Alex. Marty pipes in, "i wish we'd never left the zoo... cause then we wouldn't be so sad right now..." The animals think for a moment until Alex says, "Leaving the zoo was the BEST thing that ever happened to us!!!"

Jesse planning our road trip...

I too am leaving the zoo. I am getting married in 20 days to the love of my life. Jesse lives in Canada. His home (soon to be our home) is roughly 2,200 miles away from the little city where i have spent the last 24 years of my life. It's the biggest adventure that i have been on thus far. And i believe that leaving Knoxville, my own beloved zoo, and choosing love and marriage will be the best thing that has ever happened to me!!! So i created a blog to tell the scandalous confessions of a free bird. You don't have to read it. You don't have to care. But i think life is a story worth telling... so here is the beginning of my story's next chapter.