"be brief and tell us everything."


Thursday, November 15, 2012

Noah Gundersen.

Every so often, an artist comes along and inspires me. They churn something in the pit of my stomach that beckons me to be creative, to DO SOMETHING. For me, for now that artist is Noah Gundersen.

With just an acoustic guitar, a violin and a set of microphones, Noah Gundersen and his sister Abby managed to hush the Record Bar until you could hear the floor boards squeak. His unassuming presence and meek personality are a stark comparison to the deep and solid voice that filled up the venue like a thick fog. Meanwhile, Abby Gundersen is the unpretentious hero, quietly providing the harmony and smooth violin, which she played flawlessly. Together they form a sound like a harsh Tennessee whisky shot taken next to a warm winter fire.


With rich, religious undertones, you can almost see Gundersen growing up singing hymns in stained glass cathedrals with his siblings. He is clearly a seeker of truth, love and faith and writes music about maturing into his own thoughts and ideas on these tough subject matters. Gundersen’s lyrics are moving and poignant. Songs like ”Jesus, Jesus” have some of the most honest lyrics I have heard in a while. They are simple yet profound. He is unashamed and unafraid to ask questions and voice his spiritual insecurities. (which, if we are honest, we all have had from time to time. And guess what? God can handle it.)

Seriously just get on youtube and allow yourself to be sucked in.


I am thankful for this type of music and sincere song writing. This type of candor creates an atmosphere of community, of oneness, of sweet, reaffirming whisperings, “I’m not alone.” That’s the power of music my friends. Never underestimate it.

Some of my favorite Noah Gundersen Lyrics: 

“Say something awful as if fucking the world is your right.” -Family

“…I wanted to ask you, man what do you do in the daylight?” -Family

 “So bum me a cigarette buy me a beer ‘til I am happy to be here. I’m happy to here with all of my family; hookers in heels and the men who watch them like hungry black eels.” -Family

“Jesus, Jesus there are those that say they love you but some of them have treated me so God damn mean. And I know you said forgive them for they know not what they do but sometimes I’m pretty sure they do.” -Jesus, Jesus

“Jesus, Jesus it’s such a pretty place we live in and I know we’ve fucked it up but please be kind.”
 -Jesus, Jesus

“Jesus, Jesus I’m still looking for answers and I hope I always will be.” –Jesus, Jesus

“I want to hunt like David. I want to kill me a giant man. I want to slay my demons. But I’ve got lots of them.” –David

“Here I stand on the edge of the ledges that I’ve made…trying to be a better man for you.” –Ledges

“I’ve got plenty of time but I want everything now.” –Poor Mans Son

and he's a total babe, too.

Monday, October 29, 2012

happy october.

tis the season. 

Wednesday, October 24, 2012

a simple prayer.


"yes, Father! yes, and always, yes!" St. Francis de Sales

yes. I don't even know what I am saying yes to. but yes today. yes tomorrow. as a deer pants for the water, so my soul says yes to you.

Thursday, July 12, 2012

a post on balance. that some may find controversial.


I often wonder what life would be like as a stay at home mom. And sometimes my heart aches to be home with Lola and not have to worry about working full time. As a working mother, I seem to constantly be asking myself, “Am I going to regret working during these precious early years when she is grown? Should I be spending more time with her? What about her development? Is she being nurtured properly? Is someone else raising my child?” Let me just say up front that I HAVE to work to honor a contract I made in nursing school. (and partly too, to help pay our bills.) It’s called the “HCA loan” and it’s a boring story with lots of legal language but basically this contract paid for my school if I promised to work full time for an HCA hospital for three years after graduation. If I didn’t have a $65,000 loan hanging over my head, I may consider more seriously staying at home. But I also know that God put a desire in my heart years before lola was even thought of. And working right now is part of that bigger plan God has that is just for me.

Anyway, as a nurse, I work 3 days a week than I am off 4-6 days in a row. I get to experience both the “working mom” realm and the “stay at home mom” world. I often hear/see things like “You clock out after work; a stay at home mom’s work never ends! If you think all I do all day with the kids is sit around and play on the computer, you should try it! A stay at home mom works the equivalent of 900 hours a week!” Being a homemaker offers its own unique struggles, sure, but I am just going to be honest here; the working mother has it rough. I like to remind people that working mothers still have to do everything a stay at home mom does. We still have to cook, clean, fix dinner, wash our spouse’s underwear and occasionally give our child a bath all nestled between working 40+ hours a week. Yes, the human adult interaction and break from the mundane tasks of laundry and sweeping the floor and picking up books for the one hundredth time and not dealing with a toodlers temper is great but lets remember I am WORKING when I am gone. I’m not sipping lattes and reading on the back porch. I sometimes have to deal with unappreciative control freaks that are rude who make me miss being around a 2 year old. Some shifts I don’t even find time pee let alone eat lunch or have a conversation with a co-worker. (The craziness that is the life of a nurse is an entirely different post so I will move on.) I know in my heart that my personality does not fit staying home with lola everyday. I would get bored and anxious. And I think she would too. She is an active social butterfly who is full of energy and needs to get out of the house. And like I said earlier, being a nurse is something God has for me and just because I have a child now doesn’t change the desire God placed in my heart when I was 10 years old. I do however wish I could work less and stop with the “who is going to watch lola on what days” chaos.

So what’s the point of all this?

As a working mother, I find myself constantly trying to find balance. Balance between work, raising Lola, being Brandon’s wife and time to myself.

A blog I recently read encouraged us not to try and find balance but instead surrender each day to God and obey what it is he wants from you that day, that moment. Just like the weather, life too, has seasons. A season can be years or months but it can also be a day, or even just an afternoon. Should today be focused on being a good employee, working hard and helping others? Or is this week a week to fully engage and nurture Lola? Is this afternoon for you to write and refuel and be by yourself? By surrendering each day, I can go forward WITHOUT GUILT knowing this is the season in which God has me. When Christ is leading my life, whichever direction I am going, I can go confidently knowing this is where he wants me, even if it’s just for a season. In surrender and obedience, there is freedom.

I don’t want this to be the war of who’s got it worst. I’m Just trying to encourage those of us who wear multiple hats.

Here is the link to the blog post.

http://thenatos.blogspot.com/2012/05/is-that-really-question-you-should-ask.html

Wednesday, May 23, 2012

Grief.


“Amazing grace, how sweet the sound,” my uncle sang sweetly through cracked vocals as the heart monitor beeped, counting down my grandmother’s final moments.

“That saved a wretch like me.”

She was bloated, huge. We had pumped liters upon liters of fluid into her body to save her life. Her face was swollen beyond recognition, the color of her skin bruised and a yellowing jaundiced. In our innocent attempt to save her life we had morphed her into someone physically none of us recognized. Her mouth was gaped slightly open, her lips cracked and dry. The tube down her throat and taped to her mouth provided a mechanical breathing symphony as we all stood at her bedside, silent and still, listening. The heart monitored wailed a slow and steady zero, indicating a heartbeat could no longer be detected. 

“She’s gone. That’s it,” my mother starred blankly at my grandma’s body. Her bangs were greased to her forehead, her eyes red and heavy.

“She’s dead.”

I thought my mom would like some time with the body but instead she insisted we leave the hospital as soon as possible. I quickly grabbed our belongings that had piled up in the waiting room the last 36 hours. My dad had his arm around my mother who was visibly losing control with each step. As we came to the exit of the hospital, the automatic doors slide open and a giant gust of December wind hit us in the face and left its bitter sting on our cheeks. 

As if triggered by the frigid air, my mother pushed away from my father, turned to us and petitioned, “My mother is going to be outside in this!” she motioned towards the air, the dark.

“She is going to be buried in the cold ground! She is going to be so cold!” when we could offer no answer, no reason or words of reassurance to this difficult truth, she collapsed to her knees, unable to stand any longer.

I started to walk towards her when my dad stopped me. He slowly shook his head and pulled me back.
“Just let her grieve,” He said.

“Here?” I said, embarrassed.

“Outside? In front of the hospital?”  I looked around for confirmation that she was making a scene and that people were watching and being traumatized, but I was answered with the silent and empty blackness of the middle of the night.

It seemed so inappropriate, so impersonal. But grief isn’t punctual or proper. It knows no manners and follows no rules. Sure it loves the lonely of the night but it also strikes loud and unannounced in the busy of the day, in movie theatres or business meetings or even in hospital parking lots because that is when we least expect it. The three of us, my brother, my father and myself, could do nothing but stand in a neat little row behind her, watching as she angrily cried.

Since we were visiting from out of state, we were staying, of all places, at my grandmother’s house. Surely there was a hotel or a friend of the families that would take us in even at this ungodly hour of the night. It seemed like a horrible idea, walking into her house, smelling her smell, seeing her clothes, her dishes, her favorite chair. But my mother insisted.

Being in my grandmother’s house made me angry. In her bedroom was her suitcase, half unpacked on the edge of the bed. You could almost see her standing there, shirt in hand when she suddenly remembered she needed milk for in the morning. She left to run an errand. Not die. She would have never left dirty dishes in the sink or the sandwich bread on the counter. Who was going to wash the dishes from the last meal my grandma ever ate? It all became so real and so unfair. She wasn’t ready. 

We weren’t ready.

There was still laundry in the washing machine.

My mom went around the house, weeping and acting like a drunk lunatic. In the bedroom, she opened drawers, smelled socks, hugged pillows, threw towels all the while being completely oblivious to anything but her grief. That what grief does. It shreds you of all inhibitions and narrows your thoughts so the only thing you can focus on is the pain in your chest, the sickening feeling that this is it, you will never see them, hug them, kiss them, laugh, cry, yell or have fun with them ever again. This is all that is left, material things like a pink bathrobe. She curled herself up into a ball, melting her body into my grandma’s blouses and pants. She sobbed quietly than loudly. She opened up the closet door and fell into the clothes, dragging them to the floor with her. She gripped my grandmother’s shirts and pressing them to her nose, suffocating herself with her mother’s scent.
 
She suddenly looked at me and was quiet, like the hush before the storm.

When our eyes met, I saw they were heavy and empty. She wasn’t there; she was lost in anguish. I had never seen anyone act like this and it scared me. I was worried about what she might say or what she might ask of me. My throat was dry with nervousness of what I should say or do.

“Will you help me take a bath?” she whispered. 

My mother sat in the bathtub, knees to chest rocking back and forth. She splashed the steaming hot water over her breasts and on her face. I placed the detachable showerhead over her worn frame and let the water pour over her head, onto her back and over her face.

Something interesting happens overtime to a family. The role of each member over time slowly begins to change. In almost every situation, the roles slowly begin to reverse. In that moment, I was a child bathing her mother.

As I knelt over the ceramic bathtub, she began to sob. She begged and pleaded. To whom I wasn’t sure but she beat her first against her head and cried, “I WANT MY MOMMA!”

My mother had morphed into a begging child. I felt useless. The beating against the face became harder, the water hotter and the splashing more violent.

“I WANT MY MOMMA!”

I felt weak. I squeezed the shampoo into my hand and washed my mothers hair.
“I begged God, I begged him…”

I felt frightened. I began to cry. I cried because my mother was in the most emotional pain I had ever seen. Her insides were breaking, melting away with regret and her soul was filling up with the emptiness you feel only when you miss someone. Her heart felt on fire with the realization that she would never see her mother again. As humans we want to fix things and make the pain of our loved ones go away with words. There were no words. All I could do was sob right along beside her.

The day of the funeral I turned on the TV to find a happy and smiling actress with a pearly white smile staring back at me, excited that the Crest Whitening Toothpaste had worked in just enough time to impress her first date. I had been so consumed with keeping my mom safe from herself that seeing that commercial reminded me that no matter what happens the world keeps going, the earth keeps spinning. Nothing stops and waits for us. There are still commercials and sitcoms and weddings and graduations whether we are stuck in our grief or not. All I could think of though was that I had just lost my grandma and I was slowly losing my mom too. How could anyone care about toothpaste?

The car pulled up to the burial site. Along with my cousins, we carried my grandmother in her casket and placed her on the cloth strips that would lower her into the ground. It’s an uncomfortable feeling carrying someone you love to their grave. I was honored, yet horrified. I had to keep telling myself she wasn’t in there. The grandmother I knew and loved, laughed and drank latte’s with was not in that coffin. It was just her shell like how a butterfly abandons its cocoon. Except this shell still looked like my grandma. It had her smooth, winkled skin and painted red fingernails. An old cocoon never looks like the butterfly. 

It was cold. The wind blew with a bitter and angry revenge and the entire earth seemed to be covered in a grey film, a fog, and a desperate appearance of lifelessness. Death. I was freezing. I rocked back and forth on my heels. I wanted to walk back to the car and sit on the leather seats and shiver until the chill past. I felt selfish for being cold.

The pile of dirt that would be placed over my grandma’s grave sat piled high about 15 yards from where I stood. It could be seen perfectly from the burial site.  “That’s nice,” I sarcastically thought.
“They could have at least tried to cover it with a tarp or something. I guess at least we know the grave is fresh.” 

My mother sat in a chair inches from the casket. She had taken a xanax or three to get through the service and cried appropriately, though who is to say what is appropriate when you are burying your mother.

The service was short and after the final prayer ended, everyone lingered unsure of what to do next, not really wanting it to truly be over. My uncle Danny, a tall man with blue jeans and a tight leather jacket, touched the casket with a tender hand, while the other remained in his coat pocket. He paused a moment, then silently bent down and gently kissed the casket. It was a humbling moment, watching a grown man showing respect. He was alone and innocent in his act and didn’t know I saw him do it.
The next time we would be here, grass would be spouting up over the dead ground and flowers in bloom would be placed on tombstones throughout the graveyard. The sun would be warm and welcoming and we would squat down and brush the leaves off of the tombstones where my grandma and grandpa lay. But that was not today. Today the ground was cold and bare, the wind cruel and mocking.

At the time I had no idea this was a season in my life I would never forget. But that’s kind of how it goes. I’m pretty sure if we did know, it would ruin the moment. We would position ourselves just so or try to look a certain way and say certain things. Everything would be so dramatic, so unnatural. But I guess it would have been nice to have been prepared.

Grief physically hurts. It squeezes your chest, making your body nauseated and sick with no relief. It leaves you frail and apathetic and drains you of anticipating anything enjoyable in life. Grief leaves you painfully aware of a loved one’s absence when something unexpectedly reminds you of them. Grief narrows our vision. It is the only thing we can see. Everything else is blurred or distorted. (If we can even see anything else at all.) To not be able to see anything outside of your present circumstance is to be hopeless.

Time does not heal our wounds. Time creates distance. And the further we travel away from our grief, the wider our field of vision becomes. But it’s a long and harsh road that unfortunately never really ends, just becomes more bearable. Some that pass through grief don’t survive and most are never the same after walking through it. It’s a road that cannot be traveled alone. 

My job when I watched my mom crumble with grief was not to fix the hurt but to be a presence, a hand to hold on the dark days, an ear to listen or a voice to say, “I may not know how you feel or know the right words to say. I’m not sure what will make you feel better, or if anything will. But as long as you need me, you are not alone. I’m not going anywhere.”

My mother often asks me when she will stop missing her mom. The honest answer is never. But with each passing day distance is created and we are able to enjoy life again without guilt. We are able to feel things other than sorrow. Laughter returns. We start to experience life’s simple pleasures once more in the form of finishing a good book, a good meal. For my mother, it was holding the new life of a grandchild against her chest; a baby sleeping peacefully in her arms that made her feel life was worth living again. And slowly, like how the first dandelion in spring fights its way through the winters ground, hope returns. 

Thursday, March 22, 2012

the wailing wall.

The Wailing Wall in Israel is the remains of a temple built by Harod and was believed to have been holy and inhabited by God himself. In the Jewish tradition, the Wailing Wall is the most sacred place on earth, the place one truly has the ear of God. People travel from all over the world to visit this holy site and slip prayers written on pieces of paper into the stone cracks along the Wall.

During Lent at Jacobs Well, we practice this tradition with a mock Wall in the lobby. We are constantly encouraged to write prayers of lament or gratitude to Christ and slip them into the cracks in our own Wailing Wall. I love this practice. Giving voice to your prayers by writing them down is frightening yet liberating. It’s almost like writing God a letter.

so if you absolutely knew God was listening, what would you say?

Sunday, March 4, 2012

march is going to be awesome.

and this is why.

saturday, march 10: Westport 4 Mile St. Paddy's Day Run. I feel more prepared for this race than I have the other two I have ran since Lola was born. This is one of my favorite races in Kansas City and I haven't ran it in 3 years. I am excited to see how I do and officially get back into running.

sunday, march 11: RADIOHEAD! AT THE SPRINT CENTER! RADIOHEAD!


every sunday in march: a majority of Lent is during march. I love this time of the year, participating in Lent and engaging in the sermons and activities at Jacobs Well. This year we are studying the book and prophecies of Isaiah.

tuesday, march 13: let the madness begin! (college basketball march madness that is)

the week of the 19th: my mom's spring break. this means lunch dates, lola-free afternoons and getting some good and early sleep after work.

friday, march 23: The Hunger Games: the movie!


sunday, march 25: The return of Mad Men...finally.


saturday, march 31: my first "post-new years resolution" short story submission is due. I wrote about my mom during the death of grandma in a non-fiction piece called "Grief."

all this plus the simple joys of my job, spending time with lola and brandon while watching Top Gear and making new recipes. life is good.

Wednesday, February 22, 2012

the bell jar.

"I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet, and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn’t quite make out. I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn’t make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing al the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet."

Wednesday, January 25, 2012

let's talk music. 2011.

my favorite new albums of 2011.

1. Bon Iver-Bon Iver
“And at once I knew I was not magnificent."
This year was tough. Honestly, the first five or six albums could have gone in any order. But as an entire album, from beginning to end, Bon Iver’s self titled release was the best of 2011. “Bon Iver” is extremely easy to listen to and you immediately get sucked into the lullaby like state he creates. From the very first song, “Perth,” you feel Bon Iver’s deliberate intent on making music that is professional and considered. Throughout the album, Bon Iver dramatically blends indie rock with hints of soul, rhythm and blues. “Holocene” is a fantastic song where you hear how Bon Iver puts actual thought into his music and is not afraid to try new things. The album ends on a high note with “Beth/Rest.” Even though his vocals can be difficult to understand with lyrics that can be perplexing, the perfect composition of electric keyboard, saxophone and guitar picks up any slack the lyrics leave behind. Bon Iver has done an incredible job on this album.
Listen to: Beth/Rest

2. M83-Hurry Up, We’re Dreaming
“Your body is like a lightening rod. Capsize me and toss me in your bay.”
They say when you know better, you do better. Now that I know the power of M83, I can say with confidence they are quickly becoming one of my favorite bands. “Hurry Up We’re Dreaming” takes unusual synthetic pop music and drenches it in the sounds of the 80’s like in “Ok Pal” and “New Map.” The single off the album, “Midnight City,” may be my favorite song of the year. The synthetic beat intro that is then repeated throughout the track is so damn good and catchy it makes me jealous I can’t construct something that creative. However, the album is a bit long (22 tracks) and loses me with songs like “My Tears Are Becoming A sea” and “Fountains.” Trim the fat of the six or seven interludes and this album may have been my #1.
Listen to: Midnight City

plus who knew Anthony Gonzalez was such a hunk?

3. Noah Gundersen-Family
“I want to hunt like David; I want to kill me a giant man. I want to slay my demons but I’ve got lots of them.”
“I wanted to ask you man, what do you do in the daylight?”
Best described by my husband as “if Bright Eyes could sing,” this singer-songwriter gives us emotionally driven lyrics backed by heavy and repetitive acoustic guitar melodies. This album is strangely religious using multiple biblical references yet at the same time Gundersen manages to create an atmosphere of darkness and talks candidly of the temptations of beautiful women. With lyrics such as, “…happy to be here with all of my family, hookers in heels and the men who watch them like hungry black eels” Gundersen uses simple imagery to create such a depressingly beautiful song in the title track“Family,” I don’t know whether to cry, be angry or thankful. Thanks to Sons of Anarchy and their flawless use of Gundersen’s music during their episodes, I cannot wait to hear more from this man.
Listen to: Fire

4. My Morning Jacket-Circuital
“Don’t you know that the meek shall inherent the earth?"
While nothing extraordinary, “Circuital” is classic My Morning Jacket that won’t disappoint fans. The first song, which is untitled, carries a thick and heavy bass line you can feel in your chest and the title track “Circuital” is playful yet sneaky and displays Jim James’ old soul voice. However, easily the best song on the album, “Holdin’ On To Black Metal,” comes out of nowhere and is the glue that holds “Circuital” together. The horn section is shrill, loud and perfect. The female choir providing the background vocals is expertly used and is the cream cheese frosting on this red velvet cake of a song. A bit country (“Slow Slow Tune”) and a touch of soul, (“The Day is Coming”) “Circuital” provides a variety of sounds that will appeal to just about everyone.
Listen to: Holdin’ On To Black Metal

5. St. Vincent-Strange Mercy
“I don’t want to be a cheerleader no more.”
For a while now, I have refused to become a fan of St. Vincent. Perhaps out of feminine jealousy-do I really need another female musician to remind me how uncool I am? But with her newest album, I can’t deprive myself of her music any longer. “Strange Mercy” is different, combining groovy, metallic and sultry beats throughout each song. St. Vincent perfects organized chaos and provides multiple unexpected twists like in “Surgeon” and “Chloe in the Afternoon.” Her raw talent on the guitar and immense ability to sing saturates “Strange Mercy.” As much as it pains me to say it, St. Vincent rocks…well for a girl anyway.
Listen to: Strange Mercy

beauty AND talent. take that Kim Kardashian.

6. Radiohead-King of Limbs
“I’m such a tease and your such a flirt.”
What’s better than waking up on an average morning with the unexpected news that you can download a new Radiohead album by the weekend? Um, nothing. I have to be honest, the first listen through of “Kings of Limbs” I was not impressed. But just like Owen Wilson’s crooked nose, it grows on you. It’s freaking Radiohead-even when its bad its good. “King of Limbs” carries classic Radiohead charm and proves they do whatever the hell they want and make the music they fancy. Each song on “King of Limbs” is individual and conveys its own personality. “The Daily Mail” is sensitive yet aggressive while “Codex”is haunting yet kind. A pleasant surprise towards the end of the album, “Give Up the Ghost” is a hopeless romantic type of a song full of melancholy and bittersweet melodies. In a musical world full of mass produced hits with overtly sexual lyrics and artists who put no effort into their skill, a band like Radiohead is a cool breeze on a hot day, always giving us something authentic and attentive.
Listen to: Give up the Ghost

7. Mastodon-The Hunter
“Just close your eyes and pretend that everything is fine.”
It’s loud. (But not too loud.) It’s heavy. (But not too heavy.) It’s Mastodon. While “The Hunter” is definitely metal music, I don’t get a strange aggression to pierce rusty nails through my eyelids while I listen to it. Unlike other heavy rock bands, Mastodon can be catchy without sacrificing their sound as in “Stargasm” and “All The Heavy Lifting.” It’s also refreshing to hear actual music from a metal band. “The Hunter” showcases Mastodon’s talent as musicians who are out to do more than just create disorder and earsplitting noises that insult Grandmothers and old church ladies. That’s not to say “The Hunter” isn’t loud or offensive. “Blasteroid” provides the right amount nostalgic screaming vocals to remind me of simpler times and “Bedazzled Fingernails” is anything but appropriate for little girls. Although a better album at the beginning than towards the end, “The Hunter” is energetic and enjoyable to listen to.
Listen to: Curl of the Burl


8. Death Cab for Cutie-Codes and Keys
“Cause when she sings I hear a symphony…oh how I feel alive and through autumn’s advancing, we’ll stay young, go dancing.”
Yes I am that loser that keeps putting Death Cab For Cutie in their top 10. It’s not just out of loyalty though-I actually really like this album. “Codes and Keys” is classic Death Cab that for some reason slipped under the radar. “Codes and Keys” carries an atmosphere of bliss and sweetness with tracks like “Portable Television” that encourage you to clap along and a title track that is theatrical and dance inducing. “St. Peter’s Cathedral” provides lyrics only Death Cab can: “It’s either quite a master plan or just chemicals that help us understand that when our hearts stop ticking this is the end and there is nothing past this.” As with recent Death Cab albums, it can be hit and miss as some songs outshine others (“Unobstuctive Views” vs. “Some Boys”) and at times the album can appear cheap. However in my opinion, Death Cab still has it…for now anyway.
Listen to: Unobstructive View

Saturday, January 14, 2012

settling in. 2011.

It’s been a good year. A slow year. Dare I say, an uneventful year. (After 2010, monotonous was what I needed.) This year I settled into the role of being a full-time working nurse, mother to a toddler, husband to Brandon and trying to balance each of these without collapsing out of exhaustion and managing to take a shower at least every other day.

In 2011, I made my most expensive purchase ever. A home. To be honest, I dragged my feet throughout the process. I was scared of the commitment, responsibility, making the wrong investment or settling for less than perfect. (Gosh, I sound like a dude.) In the end, it was one of the best decisions we have made as a family. I absolutely love our neighborhood. We are both closer to work and less than 5 miles from the heart of the city. Needless to say, I left Blue Springs and pretty much never looked back. Come over?

We adopted a sponsored child from Nicaragua through World Vision. Her name is Omara and she is the exact same age as Lola. When you sign up to sponsor a child, you pick if you want a boy or girl, their age, what country they are from, etc. It was extremely emotional. You literally just scroll through name after name, face after face of children who need help. I was having a hard time just randomly picking a child, so to narrow it down we entered Lola’s birthday. We have truly established a relationship with Omara and her family receiving letters, pictures and updates on a monthly basis. I wish we could sponsor 100 more.

As always, 2011 provided many victories, moments of comic relief and tragedies. Osama Bin Laden was killed which led to many strange and violent status updates by otherwise elegant people and Casey Anthony was found not guilty of the death of her three year old daughter dubbing her the OJ Simpson of this generation. Egypt and Libya protested their way to change and Joplin was destroyed by a tornado.

Congressman Weiner showed us his…wiener (I’m sure he knows how to send a direct message NOW) and I caught Royal Wedding fever. I tried so hard not to care but as the day came I found myself glued to the TV and extremely jealous I didn’t get to walk down the aisle while choirboys sang on each side.

The US Women’s Soccer Team proved once again that girls are better than boys by making it to the 2011 World Cup finals. These beautiful and athletic women proved you can be hot and still kick a guy’s ass.

My heart is full of thanks for everything God has provided for my family and I this year. As cliché as it sounds, God has been good to us and blessed us. Yes Brandon and I have worked hard but I believe God has filled in the gaps.

If 2012 were exactly like 2011 I would be ok with that. Last year my resolution was to live a life less cluttered. I must admit I struggle with filling my days with hobbies and adult busy work. I want to limit my crafting (I have other avenues of “me time” I enjoy more anyways) and spend more quality time with my family. I want to focus on Lola and these precious early years in her life. My little buddy, sometimes by little “destroyer-of-all-things-especially-things-I-just-put-away-or-cleaned-up” won’t be home all day with me forever. I get five years. Five years before she starts kindergarten. I don’t want to rush through, busying myself with unnecessary chores. I want to engage with her, get to know her, spend time molding her into who she is and wants to be. I always tell her how much I love her and how she is the most important thing in my life. I need to start acting like it.

I want to write more. Always. I want to attend writing classes, read more on how to be a better writer, expand my writing skills. I want to enter writing contests, get my name out there, become vulnerable and explore opportunities that may be available.

I know I have little to no control over this but I want to see Mew live.

I want to own a scooter. (Against my mother’s well wishes.) A Vespa to be exact. Laugh all you want, it’s going to be bitchin’. I want to participate in Lent. Last year I did this for the first time and it was a humbling experience. I want to continue being patient in my job and career trusting God and his timing, making myself available and learning when to wait and when to go.

I want to run. I want to participate in 8 runs throughout Kansas City this year. The distance is not important (most of them I’m sure will be 5K’s) but something that will keep me accountable throughout the year to better myself and become more active and healthy.

(And for those of you who are sure to ask, no baby this year. Or the next. Not if we can help it.)

Now that you have heard about my year, I want to hear about yours. In 2012, I encourage you to write your story. Because if you won’t who will?

Monday, January 9, 2012

2011 in tweets.

January
“Mark my words: Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark are on their way to becoming household names. Read "The Hunger Games" NOW!”

February
“Loved Oscar night! Wish Banksy would have won and Social Network but congrats to Trent Reznor for somehow getting even cooler.”

March
“Last night was a perfect example of how at times I feel unequipped and ill prepared to do my calling. Thankful for grace and end of shifts.”

April
“Sucked into #royalwedding mania. Her dress: gorgeous. The cathedral: breathtaking. All that tradition and those hats! It’s all so fascinating.”

May
“If this is my last full day on earth I am going to be pissed I spent it paying bills and watching the Real Housewives.”

June
“Soccer rules. #worldcup”

July
“"It's almost like J.K. Rowling invented a color." -Steve Kloves, Screenwriter #harrypotter #potterhead”

August
“I dislike Eminem so much I couldn't bring my self to sit through his show even if it meant seeing The Flaming Lips. #sorrykanrocksas”

September
“I'm usually not into blondes but I must admit I have a slight crush on Jax. #sonsofanarchy”

October
“Just got done working 16 hours. Goodnight.”

November
“Firing of Joe Paterno? I'm ok with it. You can't let a child molester coach/be around your team no matter how old or legendary you are. #duh”

December
“There is only one team I am happy to see the packers lose to. CHIEFS! (Sorry Rogers. I still like you though) #anygivensunday"