little black journal

This past Spring was the first time that I made a Lenten resolution. I grew up thinking Lent was only for Catholics or for people seeking motivation to lose a few pounds by giving up soda or chocolate or fast food. It wasn’t until a few years ago that I really began to absorb the significance of the season, the fact that it’s a chance for all followers of Christ to reflect more deeply on His sacrifice. And so in February I started searching for some sort of appropriate 40-day fast. What I settled upon, after wading through several not-quite-meaningful-enough ideas, was actually additive rather than subtractive: I committed to 40 days of prayer journaling, spending 10 or 15 minutes a day putting pen to paper in a series of “letters” to God.  My prayer life often takes a nose dive when I get busy or tired or swept up in the daily grind – I caught myself forgetting to turn to God when things were going too well (no thanks, God, I got this!), and then resisting Him when things felt utterly crappy (c’mon, God, do you even hear me?). Days (weeks, even?) would go by without a peep from me to Him.  This disciplined Lenton practice of giving Him my full attention, putting written words to my heart’s praises/longings/fears/questions proved to be the kick in the pants I needed to get us back on track.  One week into my resolution, I was already seeing His work more clearly in my life and in the lives of my friends and family.  I was turning to Him first, rather than last, when I needed comfort or encouragement.  And then Easter rolled around and Lent was over… But surely, surely, I would keep up this practice that had brought such richness to my life – I was hitting some serious high spots on that spiritual roller-coaster I’ve ridden for the last 20 years.  This had the makings of a permanent resolution.

At least, that’s what I told myself as I watched my neglected Moleskine collect dust on my bedside table – I would pick it up again tomorrow. Tomorrow, I would make the effort.  After five months of tomorrow’s, I recently started cracking open that little black journal and rediscovering the goodness of writing to God.  Somehow my prayers feel more real when I see them on paper, as opposed to that 30-second jumble of requests that drifts through my head as I’m falling asleep each night.  I think God values the intentionality of written words.  And I like having a record of what’s been on my heart.  The names of our friends and family are in there, as we’ve walked alongside them through ups and downs.  There are a handful of gushy praises, and there are countless pages of “please, please, please”.  There are a few tear-smudged entries.  There are bits of songs or Bible verses that have struck me at my core.  I look back and I see that some of these prayers have so clearly been answered with a resounding “yes”.  Others have drawn forth a “no”, or “wait”, or “how about we do it My way instead?”.  And then there are those prayers that seem to have been met with silence.  These are the ones where hurt and doubt and anxiety creep in.  But after each spiral of feeling lost and forlorn, I circle back to the belief that I follow a God that cares enough to read every last word, and that is wise enough to answer according to his perfect timing.  And so I will keep on writing.

This project has been 8 months in the making – I got about 12 inches into it, then stuffed it in a box and lost my knitting mojo (this seems to happen every Spring/Summer).  Then the Giants made the play-offs and we were spending loads of time in front of the TV, and I needed something to keep my hands busy while I fretted over whether or not Zito truly was going to come through in a clutch.  I finished my last row a week ago and am glad to have another neck cozy, as the weather in Seattle has officially turned terrible.  The scarf is a little more drapy than I imagined (I may try it again with bulkier yarn), but it’s super-comfy and I’m loving the color.  Ta and da:

Pattern is Northern Loop, found on Ravelry.  Yarn is Lion Brand Nature’s Choice Organic Cotton.

Shane boarded a plane bound for Minnesota yesterday to attend his grandfather’s funeral, so it’s been a pretty quiet weekend at Chez Schnell. And I’ve been a bit down – missing my husband, grieving for his family’s loss, battling that monthly funk…  But I’m finding comfort in the smallest of pleasures.  Like gingerbread pancakes.  And brownies.  And an afternoon spent knitting and watching Serendipity with Nance.  Coffee and a soul-baring catch-up with La Verne.  A couple of head-clearing runs on the treadmill with Shakira and Sia.  Copious amounts of mint tea and far too many episodes of Dawson’s Creek.  Yep, home alone and I’m livin’ large.

Sometimes a girl, even a girl in her thirties, just needs her mom.  I’ve been longing for that special kind of comfort and encouragement that only my mom can offer, so I was thrilled when she rolled into town on the Thursday afternoon train.  The weekend was full of so much quality mother-daughter time – we made the grand tour de Southcenter and shopped till we dropped, we cooked dinner together, we curled up on the couch to read or watch chick flicks.  She hugged me tight when I poured out my heart, and made chicken soup when Shane and I craved a good rainy-evening meal.  We spent yesterday afternoon strolling through Kubota Gardens, wanting to soak up those last bits of Fall color clinging to the trees (and also walk off our earlier visit to the Theo chocolate factory…).

I said a teary good-bye to her this morning as she boarded her train to Portland – there was no chicken soup for dinner tonight, no one to share my pot of peppermint tea.  At least I can count on Shane to take in a good chick flick with me (he’s sensitive like that).  I miss you already, Mom – thanks for the home-cooked meals, the words of wisdom, and most of all, the hugs.

We’ve been studying the book of John in our small group and read the passage on Tuesday in which John is asked by the Pharisees if he is the Messiah.  He denies being the Messiah, Elijah, or the Prophet – they become frustrated and finally ask, “Who are you?”.  I love his response:  “I am the voice of one calling in the wilderness, ‘Make straight the way for the Lord’ ” (John 1:23).  As we unpacked this passage, Nancy asked each of us to define ourselves with a metaphor.  What would you say if someone asked, “Who are you?”.  People shared articulately about mindsets and anxieties and life themes, but I was stumped, struggling to describe the state of my soul in simple terms.  Shane said he feels like he’s playing the role of a DH (designated hitter) these days – his focus feels narrow and limited, like he’s not able to take the field and stand in for a whole game.  It being World Series time and all, I was especially drawn to this analogy and have been reflecting all week on where exactly I fit in this great ball game of life.

I tried to imagine myself excitedly taking the field with my teammates and high-fiving them after a 1-2-3 inning, but when it really came down to putting on that uniform and leather glove, I fell short.  These days, I’m feeling much more bat boy than I am starting lineup.  I’m that scrawny kid in the dugout that wants so badly to go pro someday, but is currently stuck with the less-than-glamorous tasks of filling the Gatorade jug and fetching bats as real players run the bases.  The gig may have been fun for awhile, but now I’m just frustrated and antsy and so, so tired of feeling held back.  I’m longing to trade places with the pitcher – she kicks ass at her job and knows exactly what she wants her career to look like in 5, 10, 15 years.  The second baseman has it pretty good, too – she’s an artist and had been wildly inspired and productive as of late.  That beautiful shortstop works out five days a week and has arms like Michelle Obama.  Oh, and the right fielder – she’s a new mom whose understanding of love has been made new by her little baby.  And here I sit, wondering when or how or if I’ll ever make it onto the roster.

Am I wallowing?  Probably.  I’m finding out how easy it is for me to lose the joy of dreaming and goal-setting and fall instead into a funk of ungratefulness and discontent.  In the words of our pastor, I need to spend less time gazing at the green, green grass on the other side of the fence and more time watering the grass beneath my feet.  Because my yard is full of some pretty amazing stuff.  It’s a husband that offers hugs, encouragement, and goofy faces when I’m down, always knowing the best medicine for the worst blues.  Amazing and supportive friends and family.  Weekends packed with perfect getaways and food-filled parties with the gang.  I know these blessings should be cherished and nurtured.  I know this.  But man, that patch of grass out in right field just won’t stop calling my name…

The rest of our weekend was full of all kinds of goodies, like a Saturday morning spent doing the crossword and eating bagels at Eltana…

And our 5th annual dumpling-making pumpkin-carving party at Chez Hickory.  There’s nothing more Fall-feeling than being up to your elbows in pumpkin guts!

And on Sunday, an epic birthday party for Shane, La Verne, and I, courtesy of Jack Chen’s generous brilliance.  When Jack said he had a really good idea for our joint party (a.k.a. “Schnell-La-Palooza”), my stomach growled and my mouth started watering – I knew we were in for a treat.  And my word, he went BIG.  The four of us have been wolfing down the crazy-good Malaysian fare at Kedai Makan’s farmer’s market food stands all summer, and we were thrilled to find out that Kevin and Alysson themselves would be setting up shop in the Chen’s kitchen for the evening, preparing us a birthday meal to top all birthday meals.  We gathered with 30 of our closest friends and feasted on stewed lamb and fish curry and delicious little shrimp-topped crackers.  The combination of a killer meal, another Giants win, and the company of so many people that we love so much made for an evening of total perfection.  Gracias, Jack.  You rock.

The birthday peeps with the Kedai Makan folks – I think we have officially been elevated to “food groupie” status…

And then, just as I was about to fall into the depths of post-weekend letdown, we watched the Giants clinch their spot in the World Series tonight. Way to turn my Monday frown upside down, boys!  Have I mentioned how much I love October?

Today is a special someone’s “Larry Bird” birthday (Shane’s trying to make this super-obscure reference “a thing”, so I’m throwing him a bone). Yup, my man turned the big 3-3 today.  We spent Shane’s last birthday in Paris under the Eiffel Tower, and while I would have loved to sweep him off to France again this year, I had to settle instead on a box of goodies from the French bakery near my office.  With a little extra flair, of course…

The evening’s celebration was relatively low-key – beer and the Giants game at our favorite sports bar, then dinner with a few friends at the Mexican joint around the corner.  Shane and I have both had kind of a tough post-vacation week, and it was so good to see him grin from ear to ear tonight with each Giants run, each pat on the back from his best pals, each bite of his spicy goat stew.  His joy was contagious – I felt like it was my birthday tonight as well.

Happy Birthday, buhb.  Wishing you a year full of grand adventures, gasping-for-breath laughter (you and I do seem to get funnier with age…), and virtual high-fives from your boy Matt Cain.  I love you mucho.

After lingering by the fireplace in our little room for as long as possible on Friday morning, we checked out of the Inn at Weathersfield and were back on the road.

Shane and I remarked several times on the absence of strip malls and ugly stucco box-buildings in Vermont.  The churches, the restaurants, the neighborhood post offices are all so incredibly charming.

Our first stop was at the Quechee Gorge just east of Woodstock – the bridge there offers a killer view over the Ottauquechee River.  We followed the river to Dewey’s Pond, and I found myself dreaming of a little waterfront cabin with a rowboat.

From the Quechee Gorge, we pointed our car toward the White Mountains of New Hampshire.  Some last-minute Googling directed us to a scenic route past Stinson Lake, where we came upon this little gem of a waterfall.  We hopped around the rocks and enjoyed the feeling of being the only ones there – like we’d stumbled up some secret little place meant just for us.

A few miles later, we came upon this lookout and jumped out of the car to snap a couple of pictures in the sunshine.  Two minutes after this, we were showered with tiny balls of hail – we hit the road again and I cranked the heater up until Shane’s eyes watered!

We were a little disappointed to find that we’d missed peak foliage season – a lot of the trees around the White Mountains were already baring their winter limbs.  But Bear Notch Road, just a few miles from our hotel, was still a stunning tunnel of gold and orange.  I turned to Shane around each bend and kept saying “wow!” over and over.

We packed our things up for the last time on Saturday morning and headed east for a two-hour tour of Maine on our way back down to Massachusetts.  We spent just enough time in Portland to get a hot drink, walk past the shops on Exchange Street, and decide we’ll definitely have to come back someday (preferably in the summer – so many ice cream shops there!)

Our final stop was in Salem to catch up with my aunt, uncle, and cousins that live there – we chatted over a pot of tea and a loaf of zucchini bread, and then it was time to head to the airport to catch our flight.  And oooooohh, how I hated to say good-bye to New England.  This trip far exceeded my hopes and expectations.  A home in Vermont may not be in our future (let’s be real, I’d probably spend the entire winter buried under a pile of blankets, begging for mercy), but we will back someday.  So maybe this wasn’t good-bye, just “see ya later…”.  And thanks for everything.

Ho-ly maple trees, I love Vermont. After breakfast in the bright and cozy dining room of our Manchester B&B, we said a little prayer for sunshine, grabbed a latte at Spiral Press Cafe and headed toward Mount Equinox to take in the splendor of the Green Mountains. While the clouds didn’t fully part for us, it was still pretty incredible up there – the hills here are blanketed in a thick fur of green and yellow, stretching as far as the eye can see. We snapped a few pictures, shivered among the frost-covered trees (yowsers, it was chilly up there!), and then slowly made our way back down the mountain, stopping every couple hundred feet to ooh and ahh at the vistas.

Shane took a photo of me nearly ten years ago at Hyde Park in London that still stands out as one of our favorites – I’m tossing an armful of fallen leaves in the air and looking very Mary Tyler Moore with my raised arms and goofy grin. We came across this patch of leaf-covered ground at the bottom of the mountain and Shane suggested that we shoot a sequel. Goofy, indeed…

From Mount Equinox, we wound our way around the northern part of the Green Mountains, pulling over here in there for more oohing and aahing.

We arrived at our B&B in Perkinsville late in the afternoon, settled into our room, and then headed back out the door to explore the area. Vermont is famous for its covered bridges – this little beauty was was just up the street from us.

We saw signs for Woodstock after we crossed the bridge and decided to head that way – I had heard good things about the town from my mom and dad. We listened to the Giants game on the radio while en route and had to pull over in the middle of the ninth inning to give Sergio Romo our full attention. And…yessssss! Despite my bitter doubts, our team is moving on to the next round. We whooped it up for a minute there in the car, then set out to celebrate. Bentley’s in Woodstock was the perfect place to grab a drink and revel in our victory – Shane raised his beer as a champagne-soaked Cain appeared on the TV over the bar.

We ate dinner back at the inn and ended the day with a cup of tea out by the firepit. I don’t know if it’s the brightly-colored leaves or the ultra-charming towns or the extreme calm and quiet, but dang, I really, really love it here. I’m not sure what kind of a living an architect and a systems engineer could make in rural Vermont, but I may be checking those want ads in the morning paper…

Tuesday was our last full day in Boston. Typically I go a little nutso with the sight-seeing when our time in a city starts to come to a close, but I restrained my gotta-see-it-all tendencies and made sure the day held equal parts of exploring and leisure. Shane was up early to take the Orange Line down to Jamaica Plains to pick up the best chocolate croissant in the city – happy birthday to me! I drank tea and ate said croissant in bed while I watched morning talk shows and lounged around until 10 a.m. And that is the stuff of a good vacation.

I eventually mustered up the energy to get myself out the door and headed over to the Financial District to meet up with Emily for a quick tour of the Boston P+W office. I’m still loving that big-city vibe…

I met up with Shane a little later in the North End for lunch at Galleria Umberto – their Sicilian-style pizza had come highly recommended and we were stoked to finally find the place open (this was our third attempt at getting in the door). And wowsers – this was the real deal. It wasn’t at all what I was expecting – the crust was fluffier and more buttery than the wood-fired pizza we usually like, but this stuff was soooo good. It was like Pizza Hut, only amazingly tasty, and sold by an old Italian guy named Frank for $1.55 a slice. Nice.

Baseball game or not, Shane was determined that we wouldn’t leave Boston without seeing Fenway, so we headed over to the ballpark after lunch for a tour. My knowledge of baseball history only extends as far back as the 2010 Giants, but I could still appreciate the richness of this place. One hundred years old and home to some of the best players ever. I can only imagine the roar of the crowd in these seats when Babe Ruth or Ted Williams knocked one out of the park.

Shane was pretty giddy about the whole ordeal – he’s playing it cool here with that smirk as he poses for a shot in the visiting team’s dug-out, but I suspect he was doing cartwheels in his mind.

Post-Fenway, we took the T back over to Thinking Cup for a pot of tea and a fruit tart. Rested and refreshed by our quality cafe time, we headed over to the Prudential Tower to take in the panoramic views from their 50th-floor observatory. I could have spent all day looking down on the brownstones of Back Bay – the charm is almost too much to take!

After a quick stop at Pinkberry for my third birthday treat of the day, we made our way back to the hotel via Newbury Street, so that we could experience the beauty of these brownstones up-close. This stroll really sealed the deal – I am 100%, completely smitten with this city.

We skipped the official Freedom Trail tour hosted by the old dudes in wigs, but we did pause at a few of the most notable sights and do some reading about their history. It’s hard to grasp the fact that some of these buildings and cemeteries are nearly three hundred years old. Seattle feels like such a baby in comparison!

We ended our day with a special dinner at Woodward, capped off with a super-tasty serving of bread pudding and vanilla ice cream (make that treat number four!). Birthdays can lose their appeal once you reach a certain age, but Shane certainly has a way of easing the pain of growing older – thanks, buhb, for a perfect day.

Night had fallen when we left the restaurant and I sighed a little sigh, not wanting to see our visit come to an end – the city had been so, so good to us.

We bid farewell to a rainy Beantown this morning and hit the road toward Vermont. We’re settled into our cozy little B&B now, watching the game and waiting for the rain to let up. Forecast calls for sunshine tomorrow – I’m ready for some serious Fall foliage!