Park(ing) Day

This is so rad! Of course, nothing like this going on in Phoenix...

The one and only, Craigy

I remember when Craig and I use to stay up in the middle of the night and play legos until one of our parents would get up and notice the light peeking out from the bottom of our bedroom door and make us go to bed. I remember waking up on weekend mornings and building forts out of the couch cushions and blankets, then hiding out in the forts to watch tv and eat good ol' Cheerios until the parents woke up. I remember playing ping pong together for hours against the big shop door while Daddy worked on his car. I remember riding bikes together, playing hide-and-seek, running through the sprinklers, playing "school" and rollerskating on the front porch. I remember a stellar Miami Sound Machine concert we performed in the living room with a VCR recording and fake microphones. I remember his deep love for all things Ninja Turtle and that he loved puffy Cheetos with a passion. We use to eat cold hot dogs by peeling off the skin first. We mastered the art of a fine macaroni and cheese using Velveeta and just the right amount of milk. We played the Which End is Crispier® french fry game at Arctic Circle. We picked up soda cans at the dragstrip and turned them in for Slurpees at 7-11. We played Donkey Kong on Atari until we upgraded to Super Mario Bros. on Nintendo. I was always Mario, he was Luigi.

My brother is five years younger than me which worked out fine at first since I could boss him around, but the older I got the more and more of a hindrance the age gap became to our relationship. He drove me nuts. A lot! And by the time he was out of elementary school I was in my own little world of high school and boyfriends, and hardly a part of the family, let alone wanting anything to do with my pestery brother. I was out of the house by the time he was a teenager, married and moved across the country and had a life of my own. I wasn't there to watch his adolescence, but I know it wasn't pretty. Only over the last couple of years have we lived in the same state, but we've never been close again. Every single thing about our lives is different from the other's. I feel like he resents me and uses my parents. He feels like I only judge and condemn him.

What he doesn't know is that is not how I see him. He has been through a lot in his short life, albeit mostly self-inflicted, but a lot more than I could handle. He has had to face struggles and punishments I can't imagine. And yet, he still smiles. There have been times I've seen more strength and courage from him than anyone else. And I see hope in him. I see the opportunity for change and for good, even when he doesn't. He may be wounded, but I see the chance for healing.

I am sad that I haven't been a better sister to him. I'm disappointed that when I put forth a little effort to spend time with him I get frustrated too easily. I get discouraged and give up. I'm afraid that my disconnectedness is seen by him as a lack of love, instead of the stuff I need to work on in my own life. Mostly the memories I have of my brother are from when we were little, entertaining each other and playing together. Partially because I wasn't involved enough in his life past this stage, but partially because I think he lost who he was a long time ago and I don't have memories of who he has become.

But no matter what he's my only little brother, and I'm his only big sister. I love him so much and I would really miss him more than words could say if he were gone. I pray that will never happen.

Fall-ing up.

Fall is my favorite season.

There is no such thing as "fall" in the desert.

Therefore, I must move north.

The end.

The Belmont Foundation

In July I went home to Oregon to visit friends and escape the heat of the God forsaken desert. Just so happened that there was a silent auction being held for the Belmont Foundation that week, so of course being personally invited by Donald Miller's email, I had to attend. Luckily I talked Tonya into coming with me! It was at Sip & Kranz, this swanky coffee shop in the Pearl. What a great evening! A really talented dude with great jeans was singin' & strummin' throughout the evening & I had the pleasure of sitting next to his future mother-in-law & learned that he was getting married in a few weeks & that the recording of a second cd was in the works. I liked what I heard enough to buy a cd that night & I'm so glad I did because it's lovely! I especially like the last track about "each time I fall, does it hurt you to know, unwilling to see, prefer just to be blind to the truth, you're willing to die, to die so that I might really live" with very powerful vocals & some beautiful background scripture reading. Seriously, you should check him out.


Anyway, that night a few guys spoke & told some touching stories about the crisis of fatherlessness in America. And then Donald Miller read a chapter from his not yet released book, Let Story Guide You. It was wonderful. Afterwards, Tonya & I bid on some photography & each won one piece. So, we went to the counter where they had Macs set up for online donations. Well of course mine wasn't working (which was fairly indicative of nearly every experience I had on this trip, but that's another story…or ten), so I asked this helper guy what I should do & he suggested I check my email for a confirmation. So he directs me to Gmail where whatdoyaknow, someone's email login & password is saved so I know that I'm on Don's computer! Why this means anything? It doesn't really, except that I can say, "I used Donald Miller's computer!" So then I log in, but I don't see an email confirmation. This guy is reading my email over my shoulder & points it out to me. I'm slow, or just too busy looking to see who is online to chat --- oh yep! and there is my status headline glaring out for everyone to see: i heart donny. Now this guy may or may not have seen that, but a little later in the evening when I asked him if he could take a picture of Tonya & I, he was pretty persistent that we should have our picture taken with Don. I can see how my headline could be confusing & I think he was just being sweet & trying to fulfill my dreams, but little did he know that my headline meant Donny, this other guy, not Donald Miller, duh. Kind of embarrassing, but whateves, look what I have:

Don't get excited just yet.

Q. What comes to mind when you think of blogs?
A. dooce.com is the first image that pops into my mind. I love reading blogs. I check about 10-12 daily, and another 5 or so pretty regularly. Wide range of writers, all different lives, all different stories. I heart blogs!

Q. What comes to mind when you think of blogging?
A. Overwhelming pressure. Death.

There is so much pressure that comes with having a blog. You have to write all the time, and it has to be something good. I have absolutely nothing to say that is of any importance. Let this be your warning: Stop Reading Now. Save yourself the time.

That being said, I have so much to say! I'd love to write down all the little stuff that goes through my head, just so I can go back and read it later. I know, I know. Get a journal. But I don't want to physically write with a pen, and I don't want to lug it around with me, so I'm going to do this here fancy online-thingy. I make no promises that I will post with any consistency, purpose, wit, structure or anything else.

Glad you stopped by! Have a nice day!