little black journal

My screenprinting class ended a couple of weeks ago, but I’m looking forward to plenty of future Saturdays spent hanging out in the studio.  I love, love, love it there – the messy jars of paint, the rows of squeegees hung on the wall, the anticipation of that first pulled print, not knowing just how much detail will come through a freshly made screen.  It’s good stuff.

This was my final class project, playing with color in a photo that I took last time we were in Central Oregon, then overlaying it with different geometric patterns.(detail view):

It was a little hard for me to hold back from sharing the early months of my pregnancy on the blog – I looked forward to the news being fully “out there” so that I could freely write about my thoughts and hopes and experiences.  And now here I sit, bump and all, wondering how in the world I’ll put my jumbled, confusing bag of feelings into words.  Bear with me.

The physical part of being pregnant has gone more smoothly than I expected – there was mild nausea, some fatigue, and a couple of vomitous incidents, but all in all, the symptoms were minor and quickly passed.  The emotional part, though?  Sheesh.  Saltine crackers weren’t going to help me there.  The first few weeks were ridden with anxiety – I tried to guard my heart through denial, to prepare myself for the bottom to drop out at any moment.  I told myself that the faint pink line on the pregnancy test was a fluke, that my HCG levels in that initial bloodwork were too low to make this a viable pregnancy, that since I wasn’t spending every morning locked in the bathroom with morning sickness, this probably wasn’t real.  We shared the news with our parents and a couple of close friends, but I always followed the announcement with, “remember that it’s still really really really early and this might not work out”.  Joy was terrifying – I was afraid my heart was too fragile to handle the blow of having to come down from a celebratory mountaintop, should things take a turn for the worse.  So I stayed down in my hole, just in case.

We scheduled an ultrasound with our doctor at week 6, as that’s the point when they can start to see development and, hopefully, a tiny little heartbeat.  I remember walking down the hall to the exam room with Shane at my side, my palms sweating and my own heart racing as I prayed a single word over and over and over.  Heartbeat.  Heartbeat.  Heartbeat.  Please, please, please, God – let there be a heartbeat.  I couldn’t help thinking of the 6-week ultrasound we’d been through 18 months earlier, where there was nothing but stillness.  Please, please, please, God – let this be different.  I held my breath as the image of my uterus flashed on the screen.  And then, there it was – our baby, looking like a grain of rice, with a fuzzy little flicker at its center.  The sonographer quickly confirmed that the flicker was indeed a heartbeat, and I grabbed Shane’s hand as tears of relief streamed from my eyes.  The first seeds of hope took root in me that day.  That hope blossomed as subsequent ultrasounds at weeks 7 and 9 and 12 showed positive development – by week 13, I had come to believe that this was actually the real thing.  I was going to be a mom.  I was free to celebrate with reckless abandon, right?  Right?  I could start digging into that pile of baby books people had lent to me, I could start thinking about converting our extra bedroom to a nursery, I could quit trying to fit into my pre-pregnancy jeans and settle into the comfort of elastic waistbands.  “Danger zone” cleared!  Happy trails ahead!  And it’s true – there certainly were moments of unbridled joy as the weight of infertility was lifted from my shoulders.  But I also found myself still wanting to stay on the fringes of baby-related conversations among my pregnant friends, and I still felt anxious when they started to talk about how fun it would be to watch our babies grow up together.  What was my problem?  I had ached for so long to be part of the expectant mothers’ club, and now that my time had come to talk diapers and daycare and maternity fashion, I was stand-offish and uncomfortable.  Some of my reticence was due to sadness for the women I know who are still in the throes of trying to conceive – it felt so unfair that some were chosen to carry a baby while others were left waiting.  I felt like I was leaving my fertility-challenged sisters behind, like it woulnd’t mean as much anymore if I said that I knew what they were going through.

And then when I really dug deep, I found that a part of me was still caught in the clutches of the sorrow I had felt over the past couple of years.  I had let the disappointment and uncertainty become an integral part of who I was, and while the presence of a baby in my womb washed much of that away, there were remnants of loneliness and worry and that were not so easily purged.  And there was regret.  So much regret over who I had become while I waited and longed and mistrusted God’s plan.   I wish I had been better at finding my joy in Him while we were still on our journey toward pregnancy.  I wish I hadn’t wallowed, hadn’t let fear take such a strong hold of me.  I wish I had been a better friend last year to the pregnant women in my life, rather than succumbing to jealousy or bitterness.

Day by day, I’m the clearing the sorrow and regret from my soul and settling into the spirit of joy and gratitude that God has intended for me all along.  The road to this place has been full of envy and tears and deep, gaping potholes, but I can’t change that.  So I’m focusing on that one very, very important wish that came true with that tiniest little flicker of a heartbeat.  I have much to be thankful for.

Spring has sprung in Seattle! The sun is shining, flowers are bursting with new blooms of color, and I have optimistically tucked my winter coat into the deep recesses of my closet. My mom and dad spent the past few days with us, soaking in Seattle’s springtime glory. Glory, glory, glory, indeed – it was a great weekend.

We joined the hoards of other sun-struck Northwesterners at UW on Saturday to take in the view of the cherry blossom-lined Quad. The trees were perfectly pink and fluffy, set against a crystal clear sky.  No, the sun doesn’t shine here quite as often as we’d like, but when it does, we do a pretty good job of making the most of it – there was this contagious buzz of joy in the air that morning.  I never knew how good Vitamin D was for the soul until I moved to Seattle!  Absence makes the heart grow fonder, I guess.

And a bonus!  We ran into Jack and La V, who were also on a mission to embrace the Springtime spirit.

After stopping at the U-District Farmer’s Market for a few essentials like tamales, bacon, and goat cheese (apparently it’s not peak produce season yet!), we headed over the Olympic Sculpture Park to check out the view of the mountains.

After dropping off the guys at home, my mom and I spent the afternoon shopping till we dropped.  We hit Southcenter hard that day and scored a few good deals – I was in need of some clothing of the more…er…”elastic” variety, and it was fun to share this next step in the pregnancy process with my mom.  Shane threw some Italian sausages on the grill for dinner that night, and we passed the rest of the evening resting our tired feet at home with ice cream and a movie.  It had been a full day.

We spent Sunday morning at church, celebrating His rising with music and reflection and prayer, and then headed over to Jason and Nancy’s for an Easter meal with the gang.  We watched the kids hunt for eggs, we ate, we laughed, and we reveled in the goodness of an overly generous God.  I felt so lucky to be sharing the day with my “family family”  and my “Seattle family”.

The rest of the day was devoted to relaxing – naps, basketball, a leisurely walk by the water at Seward Park.  I can’t imagine a more perfect Easter weekend – hopefully I can ride this high right through the rain that’s supposed to start falling later this week…

My whole Sabbath resolution didn’t work out for me so well this weekend, but that’s alright – the past couple of days were filled with quality time with some of my favorite people, a couple of very satisfying checkmarks on my project list, and most importantly, a morning spent cheering on these rockstar runners at the Mercer Island Half Marathon.

Shane’s couch-to-marathon journey is the stuff of inspirational success stories – when we first got married, that guy couldn’t run a mile without doubling over in sweaty, breathless exhaustion.  Now, Shane Lightning Schnell is running half marathons at 7:15 a mile.  That’s right – he ran those whopping 13.1 miles in one hour and 35 minutes, crushing his personal record and finishing 133rd out of over 1500 runners.  All those lunchtime runs in the cold and rain, all those Saturday mornings spent pounding the pavement, all those blisters and sore muscles, they all paid off.  It felt so good to see him head toward the finish line with a smile on his face – I was so proud of him, and so happy to watch him experience the joy of meeting a hard-fought goal.

We all gathered at the 8 oz. Burger Bar post-race to toast the runners with beer and mimosas and milkshakes.  Boy, did these guys ever earn their pints.  I’m not sure what I did to earn my strawberry milkshake…we’ll call it my cheerleading award.

Shane spent the rest of the afternoon curled up in our bed, took today off to recuperate, and then hit the sack at 8:30 tonight.  Looks like the speedy Roadrunner is no Spring chicken, but whatever – he’s still 100% stud.

It’s March 22nd and Spring is in the air.  Yes, it’s still cold, gray, and rainy in Seattle, but my spirit is buoyed by the longer days, by a sense of hope, by the promise of growth and new life.  Oh, and speaking of new life…

(Seriously, how’s that for a segue?!)

Baby Schnell should be making his or her long-hoped-for appearance around September 8th.  Which means I am 15 1/2 weeks along.  Which means I’ve been waiting approximately 13 1/2 weeks to shout this news from the rooftops.  So hear me out: there’s a real, growing baby in my belly!  (S)he is the size of an orange and has a good strong heartbeat and a tiny little nose and even itty bitty fingernails!  Shane and I are going to be parents!  And damn, we feel so mind-blowingly blessed.

Since my New Year’s resolution to Sabbath more intentionally, I’ve been mulling over what this looks like for me.  I want Sabbath to be special and distinct from the rest of the week, a day set apart from the hustle and bustle of the daily grind.  Sunday used to be my last-ditch chance to cross as much as possible off my to-do list before returning to the busy-ness of work on Monday, but I’m making an effort to change that, to wrap up errands and chores and running around on Saturday, so that I can truly spend Sunday as a day set apart.  A day for pause and rest and reflection. And although it’s tempting to find this rest in the form of a lazy chick flick marathon, I’m digging deeper.  Today, Sabbath was a long walk along the waterfront, during which I prayed for dozens of friends and family members and coworkers as their names were laid upon my heart.  It was an hour spent warming up at a neighborhood cafe, reveling in the joy of coffee and books and free time.  It was a phone call to my parents to see how their week was.  It was quality time with Shane, cooking and eating and napping together (Lord knows, it just wouldn’t be Sabbath without a nap).  And in the midst of all these good, life-giving things, I’m striving for a spirit of reverence and gratitude.  That’s the crux, because in the end, Sabbath really isn’t about being rested and refreshed – it’s about handing ourselves over to God and giving Him our undivided attention.  And when I slow down to open my eyes wider and seek Him out, He can be found around every corner.

My screenprinting class continues to be all kinds of awesome – my head is spinning with ideas and colors and so much exciting potential.  I took Friday off and spent the whole day in the studio, burning screens and inking prints.  It was exhausting but so creatively fulfilling.  I fell onto the couch that evening with paint on my sweatshirt and a big ol’ smile on my face.  The latest…

Still playing around with my foggy trees, layering on text and color:

Pompidou:

Grande Arche:

This being our first weekend home in awhile, I spent the past couple of days in catch-up mode:  errand-running, house-cleaning, grocery shopping, list-checking.  But we took a moment for a deep breath this evening and headed over to Lincoln Park to watch the sun set over the Puget Sound.  Shane and I are both in the midst of busy seasons that have left us a bit drained, so we reveled in the chance to just sit on a driftwood log and listen to the sound of water lapping over the pebbly shore.  A moment to watch the ferries pass us by, to be thankful, to rest my head on my man’s shoulder and tell him how much I like him.

Oh, I really, really needed that.

I’m a sucker for a good deal, so when Jack sent us a link a few months ago to a voucher for a discounted stay in Friday Harbor, we jumped on it right away.  I was so looking forward to a chance to get out of town with the Chens, to explore San Juan Island, to cozy up in a beautiful room and unwind – I had high, high hopes for the weekend.  And they were met on all fronts.  Plus some.

We picked up Jack and La Verne yesterday morning and headed north to catch the afternoon ferry to Friday Harbor.  We wound our way through the islands, excited by the sight of sunshine glistening off the water – the forecast had called for wind and rain, but it looked like Mr. Weatherman was mistaken.

We checked into our rooms at the Friday Harbor House and all said a little “wow!” when we opened our doors.  A fireplace, a jacuzzi tub, and a deck with this view.  Oh, this view!

We dropped off our bags, picked up a few snacks from the corner market, and got back in the car to make the short drive to San Juan Vineyards. Shane and Jack picked out a bottle of Sangiovese while La Verne and I spread out a little picnic lunch on top of a wine barrel in the corner of the shop.  We ate and drank and chatted, thankful for a little fuel after our three-hour journey.  Once the bottle was dry and the cheese devoured, we headed back out to do some exploring, stopping for a minute of sun-soaking on the winery’s porch.

Our Tour de Island brought us to quaint Roche Harbor, which was something of a ghost town on a chilly February afternoon.  But we’ll be back for spot prawns come summer!

The cloudy sky showed promise for a beautiful sunset, so we drove south along the west edge of the island in search of a good lookout.  Our hunt landed us at Smallpox Bay, which sounded less-than-inviting on the map but turned out to be the perfect place to watch the sun drop below the horizon.

Shane was pretty pleased with his front-row seat.

But was willing to give it up when Jack challenged him with, “Dude, jump!”.

Post-sunset, we made our way back to the hotel to crank up our fireplaces and grab a catnap before dinner.  The rest of the evening was perfectly mellow – a two-hour dinner at the hotel’s restaurant, a game of cards in Jack and La Verne’s room, and lots of laughter.  Gosh, so much laughter.  We reminisced about our romp through Portugal four years ago, we talked about adventures to come, we reveled in that happy, easy comfort that comes with spending time with people who know you inside and out.  I like to think we’ll be having these same conversations in some other island lodge 20 years from now.

We woke up good and late today, stuffed ourselves at the hotel’s breakfast bar and then, far too soon, it was time to get in line for the east-bound ferry.  One final stop at the Tulalip outlet mall for a few things, and we were putting a bow on our short-but-epic getaway.  It was fun while it lasted…

I am two classes into my screenprinting workshop at Pratt, and hot dang, it feels good to be in the studio!  I am already hooked on the feel of pulling that ink-filled squeegee across my silkscreens.  And my eyes are open again – I’m looking for inspiration everywhere, picking up dead leaves, combing through old photos to see if anything deserves a second go-around, poring over art books I haven’t cracked open in years.  It’s exciting and fun to watch my fuzzy ideas translate into actual colors on paper, to see my myriad of interests and talents come together into something new.  I’m not a master painter, or a rockstar photographer, or an accomplished graphic designer, but printmaking doesn’t demand perfection – a creative spark and a little bit of elbow grease is all it takes to pull a beautiful print.

I collected a few decomposing leaves when we were playing at the park with Morgan and Elise last weekend, knowing there was a seed of something good in there.

A photo I took of a foggy walk in the woods at the Oregon Coast a couple of years ago has new perspective.

And finally, after a looooong artistic dry spell, I am back in the game.  Feels good to have ink under my fingernails again!