Leaving.

You guys I just read the Author's Note from the book Through Painted Deserts. He's one of my favorite authors, Donald Miller who also wrote Blue Like Jazz and Searching for God Know's What. Just these few pages were enough to make me reflect, ponder and inspire something within me that has been damp and left alone for far too long.

Leaving. It's what he discusses and requires his reader to look at- though perhaps through not so skeptical glasses. He states that it doesn't matter where we are from we'd eventually want to leave. If from California- you'd long to head South and become a farmer and if from a farm in the South you'd think of nothing more than heading to the Pacific Ocean which pounds at that California shoreline.

We all have a desire to move, grow, change- if we don't do these things we'll die. Change from boy to teen to man. Change from daughter, to wife, to mother. And in all of these things new experiences take shape, life unfolds, experiences are had. It's not that we're looking for something or trying to uncover some greater reality, but just simply living. Doing and Seeing and Living life.

Chris read this book during the first part of his summer travels, and although I've read Miller's other two books, I've never read this one- but bought it for Chris. I have such a desire to get what it is Chris loves about just going. Just living day-to-day. What is there to like so much about sleeping in the back of a station wagon, eating meat from a can and bathing in the Atlantic Ocean?

I feel like, as Miller reiterates, we live life in visions- cast far out into future. Then when we are thirty, we realize, "wow--- this life is flying by, and really, what is stopping me?"

"Life can not be understood flat on a page. It has to be lived; a person has to get out of his head, has to fall in love, has to memorize poems, has to jump off bridges into rivers, has to stand in an empty desert and whisper sonnets under his breath..."

So, based on my husbands recommendation, I'm reading the book. And it's breaking my heart.

My Daily Summary (this may contain typos...)

Have I told you that I now work beside a friend of mine? Well I do and it has made my days tremendously more enjoyable. We can talk about church, choir, Praise Team, healthy eating (one of our favorite topics of discussion, of course), boys (well, my husband and her... dating life) and pretty much any and everything in between.

It makes my job so much more exciting, having a friend, another Christian, another artist right beside me all day long.... I know, I really have a blessed life.

We are both foodies (and I'll admit, I'm a bit of a health-snob). She doesn't eat sugar or processed foods and I try to live as close to those rules as possible. (Like the day I came back from eating my lunch in Grand Central and just couldn't wait to tell her the story about how I watched the girl across from me pour three packets of Domino's white sugar into her fruit punch. Oh. My. Stars. Guys that is more sugar than any person should have in ... I don't know three days...)

You will never see me in a fast-food joint, eating white bread or anything with 13 grams of fat per serving. I really have no hard, fast rules, I just do as I please... and try to keep the junk I eat to a minimum. Junk being Soy Crisps, Luna Bars and the occasional Frozen Yogurt. Even last night my tummy let me know- enough already. I had soy crisps in my lunch and scarfed 1/2 an apple and a Luna bar after work between choir and yoga--- getting home at almost 10:00pm--- too much with the fake food.

Sorry to bore you with my digestive tract... but, these are the things that fill my day.

...

Today my husband is driving back to the city after dropping his mother off at the airport in Boston. Sitting in traffic in a car without air conditioning can be mentally challenging. I hope that heat and car exhaust do not drive my precious husband into a state of unrest and frustration before he gets back into Manhattan... and looks for a parking spot...

I've got to tell you his "real" adventure has not begun, as his first two trips were "planned" "scheduled" and "followed an agenda." And while I get that- although I do not subscribe to the same dogmatic drive to live weeks without knowing what's next- I can't imagine living out on the road- day-to-day. Just me, my station wagon and a surfboard. But I'm seriously attracted to a man that will!

These days have seemed harder to me that last summer. I'm not sure why, because last summer I didn't have a full-time job or as much of a support system as I do now; I wasn't busy busy busy. I think I'm just realizing that my husband lives for this time away from NYC the other 10 1/2 months out of the year - and that this is when he gets to suck the marrow out of life. This is his life. Working and the day-to-day are not what fills him up; it's the unknown, the hiking, the surfing, the sleeping under the stars and eating the best crab legs he's ever tasted at some hole-in-the wall restaurant in a city with less than 1,000 people.

I don't doubt that he misses me. I don't doubt that at times, yes, he's lonely and tired and wants a warm shower. But I know he wouldn't NOT do it. I know he needs this time. It just makes me sad that I can not be with him. Not for the vacation aspect, but for the mental and physical need for resting, regrouping and rediscovering.

And my family arrived late last night... they are gallivanting around the city, soaking it all in: The High Line, S'Mac, Brooklyn Bridge, Bryant Park, shopping.... and tonight, I'll join them in our old neighborhood of Astoria for free music in the park, the Greek festival and perhaps some seafood.

My Lil' Brother

My little brother is bigger than me, so I'll call him my younger brother. At thirteen he is inching closer to six foot tall every day and already is the tallest person in our family. His feet are larger than dads and he can drive a standard. Although I've been told most boys raised in the country can drive a "stick" without any problem, thanks to all the training they receive with the tractor.

My brother and my mother will be in NYC tomorrow & I have no idea how to entertain a 13-year-old boy in the city. Girls are easy, but boys....!? I'm sort of at a loss, not that he needs to be entertained, honestly, this place is a freaking zoo and entertaining enough as it is.

On his last visit here, in the summer of 2008, he enjoyed FAO Schwartz & climbing in Central Park. Playing in Central Park was his favorite NYC "thing to do," naturally. But this summer, I'm thinking more along the lines of a Piano Bar, STOMP, and possibly a day trip to the beach... but I don't really know yet. Maybe more historical tours or visiting the MET...

I love showing people around New York, however draining that it may be. I get a little caught up in the planning and arranging and trying to make things work. I've even been known to outline a daily schedule of events, just to try and fit it all in. Now, I'm sort of more general in my planning, like "East Village/ Fro-yo/ Brooklyn Bridge/ Dinner in UES" -- see this is my idea of loose planning. (I'm a bit OCD like that, okay?!) I just want people to experience the things that I know they would love about NYC- those things that they don't know about. The things that make NY so great: the quirky finds & unique neighborhoods. But often I have to remind myself, what they don't know they're missing, they don't know they're missing. And they'll have a blast regardless, so why do I need to throw myself into a tailspin...? In one word: Perfectionist...

My brother is thirteen-years-old, seventeen years younger than me & 100% male. He plays the piano, can drive a motorcycle and is the king of practical joking. When I'm home he always wants to "play games" meaning domino's, card games, a board game... anything. Now our conversations revolve around what songs we have on our iPods, how to cook things properly on a gas grill & what the appropriate length of a boys hair should be.

I love my brother, just as I do my sisters however, but I feel like a faraway aunt who visits once a year and sends nice gifts. I literally lived under the same roof as the boy for about one year. My friends thought he was the sweetest baby. He got drug to My Fair Lady rehearsals and Senior banquets. He was nicknamed Fresh Baby by my pals and more times than not people assumed he was my child.

I'm excited about him visiting the big city, even if he is a country boy. Even if my dad will never step foot in Manhattan. Even if I have no idea what a teenage boy from rural East Texas would like to do in New York... Suggestions are welcome!

Three a Day

I picked up a copy of Julia Cameron's memoir, Floor Sample the other day at the library on 79th Street. I was a little early for my 7:30PM yoga class (between 76 & 75) and decided to wander through, going directly to the biography/ memoir shelves.

While not the most interesting book I've ever read, nor the most poignant & intriguing writer- I've enjoyed the book thus far. She writes about writing- that's why I picked up the book in the first place. She writes about her life, yes, but more so, her life as a writer of films and songs and magazine articles. Cameron is well known for her book The Artist's Way- which is "a course in discovering and recovering your creative self."

Now, Cameron recognizes a higher power, even calls him God... and while I'm not sure of her own convictions, (perhaps this is due to my little knowledge of her study & her memoir IS the first work she's written that I've read) I do know what I can walk away knowing and gaining from her experience and wisdom. Her religious and spiritual references thus far have been quite vague and I have no problem whatsoever applying them to what I know as Truth.

She determines, pretty early on- in her early 30's or so- to write 3 pages a day. Period. She calls them her Morning Pages. I like that. I like that is becomes another part of her daily routine. Another thing that must be done each day. For her some days are easy - and the words just seem to come- like she's eavesdropping on her characters and their lives unfold perfectly before her. Other days, she says, are dreadful and she sits. Staring at the keyboard she would wait, sometimes for hours.

So, I think I'll start my own three pages a day. I mean, at least Monday - Friday. But, it's just like so many other area in my life, and I get to a point and think, "Why the hell am I doing this?" "Why does this matter at all?" "Does anyone even care...do I even care?" and when I feel like I can not adequately answer these questions, I just sort of dwindle into doing some mediocre, surface level, novice nonsense that does not make me happy or satisfied.

That seems to be in the air these days. Wondering why. Life is too short to go through the motions and be less than satisfied with the daily goings and comings- as far as things that in within my control are concerned.

Chris and I have been struggling with this alot in our marriage, jobs, the city we live in and where we want to be next year- much less five years from now. Why do we live here, where rents are high, there is no privacy or space or freedom, and rest is so hard to find? Why do we want to wait to have children (if we do have children)? Why do we go to church every week and sing in the Praise Team and lead on the Worship Arts Team? Why do I try to love well, when I wonder if these people really even want love?

Why do I attend a Bible Study? Yoga? Run in the Park? Why do I want so much to feel validated? Appreciated? Connected? And, even now I don't know what would have to happen for me to feel any of those things. Even after getting two pieces published in less than one year in Chicken Soup for the Soul - a well known and pretty decent paying publication- I do not feel validated as a writer. And you know why? Because on most days, I am not writing. I am not editing. I am not submitting or doing what I know it takes. And I don't know why really, other than fear.

Today I watched jugglers in Bryant Park. They are there every single day. Different people, sometimes 6 sometimes 12, but jugglers nonetheless. Some in suites, some in jeans, some on there lunch hour. And today I wondered, why do they juggle? Why do they want to juggle? Why did they want learn to juggle these obscured, over sized bowling pins and how long did that take? ---
I realized today, as I've been reluctant to admit to myself over the past year or so, that I am fine. I do not seek out challenges any more. I do not really want to learn a new skill, or grow. I am just coasting along- observing- seeing- and participating from time to time. But, I think it's the fear in me, the perfectionist in me that doesn't want to mess up and hates making mistakes worse than anything else in the entire word, which keeps me paralyzed. Fear keeps me from writing my Morning Pages because if I never expect anything from myself and never set achievable goals for myself I can never let myself down.

Rock and Roller

Tonight I am going to see Dave Matthews Band in concert at Citifield. (You know, the where the Mets play? Shea Stadium? Flushing Meadow Park that place out there in Queens- last stop on the 7 train?)

I am super excited, even though I'm quite a new DMB fan. Chris has been to their concerts previously and introduced me to the wonder that is. Besides the hits Crash and So Much to Say I was sort of clueless.

Even today at work the Scotsman and the Irish lad were clueless as to who this band was. Even after I sang them a few measures hoping for an, "oh yeah, I know that song." I just got blank stares. Oh well.

Last summer the CD Dave Matthews and Tim Reynolds Live from Radio City was the soundtrack to my summer. I purchased the album for Chris' birthday and I've enjoyed it probably even more than he has. It's good stuff. I think that they are such dynamic and authentically interesting musicians- amazingly talented- BUT (here it comes again) the words do it for me. His lyrics, although not always, are what I required from a singer/ songwriter type person. They are understandable (again, no always-- but I LOVE that raspy, always identifiable voice of his). His words are catchy and pure in a little kid kind of way that doesn't always make sense, but it totally works. And his words and music are deeply intertwined; the music written for the words and vica-versa.

It's just good stuff. Here are a few of my favorite lyrics:

SISTER
Sister, I hear you laugh
My heart fills full up
Keep me please
Sister, when you cry
I feel your tears
Running down my face
Sister, sister, keep me

Playing like we used to play
Like it would never go away
I feel you beating in my chest
I’d be dead without (sister...)

GRAVEDIGGER
Gravedigger,
when you dig my grave
could you make it shallow
so that i could feel the rain

CRASH
Sweet like candy to my soul
Sweet you rock
and sweet you roll
Lost for you I'm so lost for you

EH HEE
Praise God who has many names
But the devil has many more
With the love that my mother gave me
I'm gonna drop the devil to the floor

Have a Nice Day.

Please lean forward while riding this escalator.
Please do not lean on the handrail.
Have a nice day.

In a city where the escalator tells me to have a nice day- I'm kind of feeling overwhelmed. Perhaps that is not the right word. I'm not overwhelmed just over stimulated. Over It.

I realize it has been a long while since I've written. The main reason is that at work (where I do my blog writing... of course) my friend Heidi has be hired to sit along side me at the reception desk. So, where I have been doing quite a bit of training and explaining I have also been doing quite a bit of chatting. So.. that is that.

I'm such an emotional heap of nerves and bothered-ness today. For no good reason really. (Although, below I will share a few of the things which I am choosing to blame it on.) I've just spent the first four hours of my work day trying to find somewhere to go this weekend. Or next weekend, or the first week in August. Anywhere would be fine. Anywhere the train will take me where I could get around alright without a car. It's the vacation time- travel season & I really just want to go somewhere where I can unwind a little. I'm always wound up here.

Chris has been surfing and camping, my sister just returned from Niagara Falls, friends go to DC & Boston all the time and still, I remain in NYC every weekend. I've got to get out of this place.

Today the city smells horrid. Not only did I dodge mounds of dog crap on my way to the subway- but a dead bird. Last week with the temperatures creeping well over 100 degrees I couldn't mentally handle the cramped, humid subway station and took the bus (albeit a longer commute) instead. And this morning when the escalator at Grand Central told me to have a nice day, I wanted to kick it.

It's just today. Tomorrow it will all change. Whereas yesterday I felt smooth, sexy and confident- loving my summer glow and being a part of this Wonderful City, today I feel fat, oily and I think my toenail might fall off at any moment. (It's the one next to my big toe. My second toe is longer than my big toe, thus when I run it often gets blistered and callused & now I think that the pressure may have just been enough to pop that thing right off.)

I'm not jealous of the weekend getaways and excursions I often opt out of. I just need something. One night at a B&B or an entire day to myself walking along the Boardwalk.

I should have known: all of the mishaps and oddities of today thus far are the perfect ingredients for a Piss Poor Day.

I opted to sleep through my 6-7 jog, even though I knew I wouldn't make yoga tonight because of my book study. I took one preemptive Aleve this morning - (something I rarely do)- because of the pressure in my head. This is possibly caused by the rainy heaviness that has been hanging in the air since this weekend which has made me appreciate breathing even more. It is raining now, but I fear it won't be enough to wash away this desire I have to unravel.

And I'm taking a hormone (day 5 into 7 days...) that is supposed to help me "reboot." So far: nothing, which is frustrating but at least it is a step toward solving the mystery that is my body. Well maybe.

My iPhone died and now I'm using my Motorola Razor from 2007 (and it's pink no less). Texting is a joke, I can't check my emails, and I don't even know who is texting me when they do text- since I have no contacts stored in my old phone. I don't reply to people quickly- which I'm sure makes me seem like a stuck up, disinterested, uppity snob. And just for the record I am barely capable of turning the television/ cable/ PS3/ sound system on when Chris is gone, much less finding the shows I want to watch. ---(This is a story all unto itself, however we've had thorough tutorials now and I have taken notes in my spiral.)

Chris leaves for Maine tomorrow. My mom and brother will be here next week. I'm going to a musical, a Dave Matthews Band concert and a restaurant to celebrate restaurant week all this week- but I'm still being bratty.

Filling up my schedule is not what I want to do. I just want to be content. Be in touch with what my mind/ body/ spirit needs and when. I want to walk worthy of the calling and make a difference. I want to disciple and be discipled and smile from my heart and not my head. I want to carry a bottle of lavendar pillow spray with me everywhere I go & do sun salutations when I feel my mind starting to pull me away from what I know is true: that I'm where I am supposed to be. For such a time as this.

Quick, Who's Hotter? (second edition)

Sisters. They're a good thing. Most of the time. Last weekend Chris loaded up his station wagon with four ladies (my sister and I and two friends of mine) and we headed to Long Beach. All in all it was a enjoyable, yet relaxing day.


Around 4:30/ 5:00 when all the beach goers were heading out, coolers being drug through the sand, plastic shovels and pails being toted toward the boardwalk it got so peaceful. Quiet even. The sun got lost behind big pillowy clouds. It was warm but not sweltering. It was breezy but not cold. All other groups around us were far enough away that I could only hear the waves lapping against the shore. There was no talking, no music, no laughter or children's screeches. Just silence.

It was the perfect end to a beach day.

Chis is officially "out for the summer!" He wrapped things up Tuesday and Wednesday and spent yesterday pampering herself after a long, tiresome and emotionally draining school year. He deserves two months off of work after dealing with what he has to deal with. I could never do it. So after a well-balanced breakfast, a chiropractor adjustment and a 90 minute massage he wrapped up his perfect day with a French Fry Dinner. What am I gonna say? I mean, it's summer. I had ice cream for lunch on Monday...

July 6th he leaves for his first road-trip of the summer and once again I'll be here and he will not. But this summer is a little different than last year, in that he'll be "stopping in" (coming home) once every week or so to "check in." (do laundry, sleep in an actual bed versus on the ground and .... well.... do what married people do.) Personally, I like the set up. And he'll enjoy the freedom that a simple, 1989 $700 car can give.

This weekend, being the 4th of July, it's crazy around here. The tourists have arrived with there children and rolling suitcases and 12lb. cameras. Not that I dislike tourists (although, perhaps I do... a little) they are just in my way, since I work right beside and commute through Grand Central every single work day. I feel really mean as I plow through their twenty person group standing in a large circle wearing matching t-shirts in the middle of Vanderbilt Ave. Move it people, sorry.... love ya, but "pull over" if you're going to re-group, take pictures, or sick your face in your map.

I did discover a wonderful, new lunch place today. I've been eating lunch in Bryant Park, but today I found a table in the sunshine at Pershing Square Plaza to enjoy my broccoli slaw, boiled egg & diced tomatoes. (hippy food...) I think I will try it again next week, but it seemed a little less crowded than the park, but maybe that is because no one is working today except for me.

I have no real plans this long weekend, except to spend Monday with Chris. It's our last day together before he leaves. Saturday I want make a visit to the Farmer's Market since it is the best day to go because all vendors are there. Running through Central Park, yoga and laying on the sundeck are all things I'd love to do tomorrow, too. And finish my Ann Lamott book, Bird by Bird.

As active as I am, I've never done yoga before. I was intrigued by a special two week promotion offered and so I'm trying to make the most of my two weeks. I truly have enjoyed the three classes I've been to so far- both physically and mentally. Just being in a quiet place that smells of lavender and being able to truly relax, focus, meditate (don't freak out on me here...) it's a special treat. It's something I'm missing out on in NYC. It's not like I can just go sit on my porch swing and look into the acres and acres of nothing like I did when I was at my parents home in Texas. Me and dad and iced tea, talking motorcycles and taxes while I peeled each petal from a bachelor button.

Ah, Summer. It feels like it was Memorial Day just yesterday... Where has the time gone?