little black journal

It’s been a blue month. A string of blue months, actually. Yes, there have been bouts of unabated joy (it is summertime in Seattle, after all!), but there have also been seemingly long bouts of deep, shadowy funk. I have felt fragile, like my emotions are just a millimeter under the surface of my skin and ready to explode in a fit of wet, slobbery tears at any moment. I cried in my pasta last week when La Verne asked me over lunch how I’ve been doing. I cried when Shane and I couldn’t agree on what to have for dinner the other night. I cried when yet another month of trying to get pregnant ended with a big fat no-go. I suppose the tears are to be expected, but it’s the the other emotional gunk that’s clogging up my soul. I’m realizing how this journey through infertility has caused all my worst qualities to rear their ugly heads. Envy. Self-pity. Impatience. And worry. Great, heaping boatloads of worry. I worry that God’s vision for our family is different from the plan I’ve wished upon since I was a little girl playing with my Betsy Wetsy doll. I worry that there’s this part of my heart that’s specially reserved for a child of our own, and if that child doesn’t come into our lives soon, that part of my heart is going to harden and leave me with a limited capacity for joy. I worry that I worry too much, and that no egg is going to want to stick around in a womb filled with so much anxiety.

I’ve seen friends and family members and people in inspirational 60 Minutes interviews find peace and find God in the face of adversity. I always wanted to believe that I was one of those people – that if I was diagnosed with a terminal illness or forced to flee our home in a natural disaster, I would still be able to see God’s abounding goodness in my life and trust in His ultimate plan. Turns out I am not one of those people. At least not at the moment. In the midst of our struggle, despite the fact that we have our health and our home and a community that loves us, I can’t seem to climb out of my dank, gloomy hole. I’ve sat down there for awhile now, arms crossed and held sulkily bowed. Sometimes Shane drops in for awhile, or Nancy or La Verne will stop by to check on me, but usually I prefer to have the place to myself, so that I can spread out my grief without worrying that anyone will trip over it. I’m slowly, tentatively looking skyward and wanting to reach for God, but not at the expense of leaving my plans for our family behind. Maybe that’s where I’ve gone wrong – I’ve taken for granted the fact that He’s willing to climb into my hole with me, to chip away at my stubbornness and help me loosen my grip on all that I’ve clung to so tightly. He’ll sit there with me show me that our every happiness shall not rest on state of my uterus. He’ll meet me where I am, rather than demanding that I make the trek toward Him.

I suppose it’s time to roll out that welcome mat.

My weekend really kicked off on Thursday, with the arrival of my parents and my Aunt Ruthie, up for a quick visit to Seattle.  After a little at-home happy hour action, we all headed for a walk around Seward Park and dinner at Geraldine’s.  I hadn’t seen Aunt Ruthie for a couple of years, so it was good to catch up with her on all the latest happenings with my East Coast family.  I went into the office on Friday, but slipped out at lunchtime for mimosas and chowder at the Market with my mom and aunt, and then left a little early so that we could crack open that bottle of white wine while the afternoon sun was still grazing our back patio.  We grilled burgers and watched baseball and sat around the table telling stories from way back when.  As I get older, I’ve come to appreciate that my story doesn’t start with my earliest childhood memories.  My story is wrapped up in my parents’ first years of marriage, in the opossum-shootin’ shenanigans my dad got into as a kid at his grandparents’ farm, in the letters Nannie and Grandaddy wrote to each other when they were just young kids in love.  I’m just one little leaf on a family tree full of love and laughter and devotion.

Oh, and speaking of “way back when”, how incredibly awesome is the picture my aunt brought for us of the Jarrell clan, circa 1979?  Holy retro, Batman!

My aunt left for Baltimore on Saturday morning and my parents headed down to Portland, so the rest of the day was devoted to…a whole lot of nothin’.  No house projects, no errands, no baseball, just an afternoon full of completely blissful quiet on the back patio with a good book and a bowl of cherries (followed by a perfect afternoon snooze).  Putting away my to-do list felt so, so good – I think I needed the break.  We ended the day with one (last?!) backyard summer bbq at Brian and Nicole’s.  Sausages hot off the grill, piled with all kinds of toppings?  I needed that, too…

Sunday was full of more relaxing, a killer lunch at our favorite Malaysian food cart, another nap (or two – ?!), and dinner/catch-up at Chez Rust.  Stick a fork in this weekend – it is done.  Wellllll done…

I still remember the day we closed on our house.  After 7 years of being renters, moving every year to a different apartment, we were settling down into a place of our very own.  Ohhhh, I was excited – I had picked up a gallon of paint on our way to get the keys and was rolling that blue-gray on the walls before we’d moved even a single box into the place.  Add a smattering of framed photos to the wall, some orange-red damask curtains fashioned out of remnants from the Joann Fabrics clearance bin, and I was really starting to feel like all those years of watching Trading Spaces had finally paid off.

Those rash, antsy-new-home-owner decorating decisions have served us well over the last six years – I was really content in our cozy little living room…until we visited Mitch and Kathryn a few weeks ago and I went a little gaga over their new deep gray bedroom walls.  That blue I had loved quickly lost its charm.  And then I started looking at our photos more closely – good Lord, when was the last time I had updated anything on that wall?  And black picture frames?  Ugh.  I was so over those black picture frames – they needed to be white.  And bigger.  With large mats.  Set against a warm gray wall.  Stat!  I was suddenly jonesin’ for change in a bad, bad way.  A couple of trips to Lowes for paint and supplies, one 9 pm mad dash to IKEA for picture frames, an online print order to Costco for the photos, and I busted this facelift out in just a few days – it’s done!  And we love it.  For now. (Gray is the new blue, but it’s only a matter of time before green is the new gray.)

The deets:

Wall Color:  Valspar ‘Cathedral Gray’

Frames:  IKEA ‘Ribba’

Photos:  mine, printed at Costco

We went gangbusters on our to-do list this weekend, hanging new photos on the walls, washing windows, planting a row of autumn flowers out front, cleaning the car, purging closets and making a major Goodwill run.  But all work and no play make Shane and Kelly a dull, old married couple, so we set aside plenty of time for the stuff of true weekending.  We laid on the grass at Jefferson Park and drank wine while the sun set on the silhouette of downtown.  We took part in an epic cornhole tournament at my office’s summer picnic on Alki Beach (Shane is apparently awesome at this game – no huge surprise there…).  We gorged ourselves on pork tacos, a fried chicken sandwich, and hot, fresh beignets at World Concern’s mobile food truck bonanza.  We took naps and watched baseball and reconnected after a few days of being unsettled and just off.  We sat on the back patio this evening and ate popsicles and raised our glasses to a weekend well spent.

The forecasters are saying that summer here is on its way out – cheers to savoring this sunshine to the very last drop.

It’s been a doozy of a weekend, jam-packed with activity, but also fun and productive and perfectly sun-shiny.

Shane headed off for a kayaking adventure with the boys on Friday night and I fell asleep on the couch at 7 pm.  Yup, that’s my version livin’ it up while the hubs is away…  I did, however, wake up an hour later and embark on a 4-hour dusting frenzy as I moved furniture around in preparation for our new living room paint job.  As disgusting as it is to find an army of dust bunnies living under a bookshelf, it is so, so rewarding obliterate those suckers with a fresh rag.  And this is the stuff of wild Friday nights when I’m home alone.

I met up with Emily at church on Saturday morning to do a little painting in the newly renovated children’s area – we added birdies and leaves (and one super-sweet raccoon) to a tree mural while catching up with one another.  I am by no means a mural-painter, but this was fun.  Hoping the kids love their brand new “woodland creatures” themed classroom!

I spent Saturday afternoon at home working on a painting project of my own – I’ve been scheming a little living room makeover and kicked it off yesterday off with a nice coat of medium gray on the walls. Stay tuned for the final result.

By Saturday evening Shane and I were both pooped – I was plumb painted out and Shane was suffering from kayaker’s fatigue, so we scrapped the idea of cooking at home and headed over to Bar del Corso for prosecco, mussels, and wood-fired pizza that is giving Tutta Bella a run for their money.  We enjoyed our little sidewalk table until the sun went down and the street-sweeper came barreling past the restaurant – that was our cue to leave.  But man, that meal was good while it lasted.

After a fantastic morning at church, Shane and I headed east for a couple hours of blueberry picking at Bybee Farm in North Bend.  The branches were heavy with plump berries begging to be picked and we made our way down the aisles, quickly filling our buckets.  If not for the trickles of sweat running down our backs (it was hot out there!), I could have spent all afternoon among those bushes.  I suppose we’ll have to settle for our mere 8 pounds…

We spent tonight hanging with our favorite neighborhood kiddos while mom and dad enjoyed a fancy evening out.  Toys were brought out, books were read, tears were kept to a minimum, and everyone was tucked into bed by their scheduled time (er…give or take 30 minutes).  We make a good team, Shane and I.

And with that, I’m signing off – hittin’ the sack a little early tonight for a post-weekend recovery.  Bon nuit…

We are in the thick of Olympic fever here at Chez Schnell – we’ve spent nearly every evening for the past week and a half in front of the TV, staying up until midnight to hang with Bob Costas.  While this has made for some sleepy afternoons at the office, it’s been fun.  A few non-expert thoughts:

I adore Gabby Douglas.  Man, that smile.  And I love her humility and genuine spirit.  You go girl.

Can’t stand those Russian gymnasts – especially Miss Diva Mustafina.  When she grinned during Gabby’s falter on the bars, I wanted to reach through the TV and give her a piece of my mind.  And the way she shrugs off her coach after a poor routine – jeez.

I love watching Danell Leyva interact with his stepdad/coach – so much affection!  Makes me wish it was more common in our culture for adult sons and their fathers to hug/kiss/jump up and down together.

If I had a genie in a bottle, I would wish for the arms of an Olympic track runner.  Dang, those ladies are cut.

Misty May-Treanor and Kerri Walsh Jennings are bad-ass.  And they’re so good together – there was a moment after their win tonight when Kerri reached over and adjusted Misty’s necklace so that the clasp was in the back, and it was such a small gesture, but it was just so…sisterly.

If I were to choose the Olympic sport in which I would be the most horrifically awful, it would be the velodrome.  Balance, agressiveness, and do-or-die speed?  Noooooo thank you.

Watching this video really made me want to be a part of the swim team.  How fun does this gang look?  Minus Michael Phelps.  He’s not my favorite.

I like the sappy little athlete bio pieces almost as much as I like the actual events.  Whenever one of them starts, Shane rolls his eyes then turns up the volume.  ‘Cause he loves me.

Holla, USA!

Summer wouldn’t be complete without our annual c-group camping trip, so we all loaded up our cars and headed east on Friday for a couple of days at Tolt Macdonald Park in Carnation.  After dinner at the local pub (we really know how to rough it), we set up camp and settled in for a weekend of eating, laughing, and soaking the great outdoors.

We awoke to a misty morning on Saturday and toasted bagels over the fire as our sleepy campers emerged from their tents one by one.

The fog quickly burned off into 90-degree temperatures, and the rest of the day was a blur of heating up and cooling down.  We invented our own version of the Olympic decathlon, complete with whiffle ball, kickball, frisbee, sun-tanning, swimming, whitewater body-surfing (a personal favorite!), mountain biking, balance beam freestyle (dang, Nance!), hammock-hanging, and s’mores-stacking.  Whew!

It was a pretty grand day, capped off with dinner hot off the grill (a la Jack, of course), cold beverages, and fireside laughter.

We broke down camp this morning and made the short trip back to Seattle as the sun reappeared and threatened to melt us Californians-gone-soft.  Shane and I indulged in a good afternoon snooze, walked to the park to watch the Blue Angels fly overhead for Seafair, and spent the rest of the day lounging on the couch for Olympics-fest Day 10 (interrupted only by an evening ice cream run to Full Tilt).  Have I mentioned how much I adore summertime weekends in the Pacific Northwest?

I’m still coming down off a pretty perfect weekend in Portland – we ate, we sun-soaked, we raised our glasses to my brother for his birthday, and best of all, I reveled in some high-quality time with those super-precious nieces of mine.

We kicked off our Portland bonanza at the Saturday Farmer’s Market with Jack and La Verne, who happened to be day-tripping in the city. We laid on the lawn and stuffed ourselves with Italian sausages and the notorious fried chicken/bacon/cheese/fried egg sandwich from Pine State Biscuit (how can something so bad be sooooo good?).  Post-lunch, we stumbled down the aisles in a full-belly haze and picked up a few peaches and cartons of berries, bid farewell to the Chens, and headed over to Mitch’s place.

I prepared myself to find Morgan and Elise much-changed since the last time I saw them, but despite any growth, they turned out to be the same sweet, fun-loving little girls.  Our first stop is always the playground, and Elise was quick to hop and her bike and show Uncle Shane her skills while I watched Morgan go bonkers over the fact that she’s now big enough to climb to the top of the slide and go down it all by herself.

My parents were in town for the weekend and it was a treat to gather around the table and celebrate Mitch and Kathryn’s upcoming birthdays with mojitos, enchiladas, and juicy fruit skewers hot off the grill.  It was like Christmas in July, having the family together.

One more trip to the nearby park on Sunday morning, and then it was time for Shane to head home, all to soon.  I had decided to stay until Monday and take the train back to Seattle, so I settled in for another day of enjoying Portland’s finest (namely, Morgan and Elise).  We read books and stacked blocks and played in the water – never a dull moment…

We spent Sunday evening picnicking at Peninsula Park, enjoying grilled chicken and the free symphony concert.  The rose garden was stunning in the late-day sun, and the sound of so many kids running barefoot through the grass couldn’t have been more quintessentially summer-iffic.

Mitch and Kathryn were back at work Monday morning and my train didn’t leave until 6 pm, so my parents and I packed up the girls and headed out for a little adventure on Sauvie Island.  This little island, just 20 minutes from the city, is home to the best u-pick farm I have ever laid eyes on.  Rows upon rows of raspberries, blueberries, marion berries, peach trees, cabbage, cucumbers, the list goes on and on.  We went right to work – my mom and I grabbed our containers and started on the raspberries with Elise while my dad set out for the blueberry bushes with Morgan.   Elise was a great little helper, although I think she put five berries in her mouth for each one she put in the bin – far be it from me to deny that girl such pure summer pleasure! I checked in with my dad and Morgan and found that it was much the same situation – her belly was looking a little more round than usual with all her expert foraging.  We drove away with quite the bounty of berries and peaches.  At two dollars a pound, I’m calling this the deal of the year!

We grabbed a quick lunch and headed home for naptime.  I read Morgan her Clifford and Animal Sounds books for the fourteenth time and tucked her into her crib.  Elise and I snuggled up with her latest issue of Highlights for some quiet time and then I dozed while she sang and squirmed and did everything in her power to resist sleep (that girl did not inherit her aunt’s proclivity toward napping!).

The rest of the afternoon was spent lounging in the backyard, watching the girls play in the kiddie pool and water the plants with their squirt gun and plastic cups.  I drank a glass of wine with my mom and listened to my dad wish Grandaddy an early Happy Birthday on the phone and felt so incredibly blessed.  The past couple of days were filled with so many simple moments of the perfect joy that comes with being surrounded by people you love.  Morgan’s sweet giggle, a tender hug of encouragement from my mom, an afternoon of watching my dad play with building blocks (with and without the kids!), and my cup overfloweth.

Today is my big brother’s 35th birthday – although getting older is a little less fun once you hit your thirties, I do appreciate the way that the five-year gap between us seems to shrink in significance as the years go by.  I just got home from a couple of days in Portland and am feeling especially impressed with the man Mitch has become.  I mean, seriously, is this cool dad with the sleeve tattoos and the acoustic guitar and the bookshelf full of sophisticated literature the same guy that endured the seventh grade with coke-bottle glasses and MC Hammer piping through his Walkman?

Despite his ummm… awkward phase, I have always been the kid sister that looked up to her cool older brother.  When we were little, I longed to climb into the backyard sandbox and play GI Joe with Mitch and his friends.  When he became a teenager and discovered the grunge scene, I watched Pearl Jam videos with him on MTV and respectfully held back from my usual pestering when he got news of Kurt Cobain’s death.  When he graduated from high school and moved to Portland, I visited him in his apartment near Hawthorne and envied the urban lifestyle he lived, full of music and bus rides and tattooed friends in bands.  When he came to visit me during my year abroad and we traveled to Barcelona together, I was struck by his knowledge of Gaudi and the ease with which he ordered a plate of olives and a glass of wine at a sidewalk cafe.  When he married Kathryn in 2005, I thanked God that he’d found a beautiful woman so perfect for him and laughed as we all danced barefoot under the trees to the live bluegrass band.  When he became a dad four years ago, I nearly cried over the surprising tenderness with which he held his little girl.

And today, I wish a very happy birthday to my swell big bro – loving father, wine connoisseur, expert on boring Spanish Civil War novels.  Cheers, Mitch.  I think we’ve both come a long way since those good ol’ days…

I fell in love with café culture during my year of studying abroad in Paris. Those tiny cups of espresso were my ticket to seeing the city – I often didn’t have the money (or the companionship) to eat meals in each neighborhood’s best restaurants, but I could always scrounge up a couple of Euros for some coffee and a seat at one of those little round tables. I passed so many hours with my sketchbook or my journal, lingering at a Marais sidewalk terrace or a trendy Bastille bistro. It truly was la vie…

I brought this habit back with me for my final year of college and frequented Linnaea’s café in SLO, with its warm back room and lovely garden patio – this was my go-to spot when I had to get away from studio but couldn’t trust myself to study at home, for fear of falling asleep on my books.

And then I moved to Seattle, coffee capitol of the United States! I was living in Capitol Hill, with caffeinated institutions like Bauhaus, Joe Bar, Vivace, Victrola, and Faire just blocks away from my apartment. My office was near Pioneer Square and I often snuck away on my lunch breaks to Zeitgeist or Umbria for some me-time and a latte (now that I had a job, I could afford milk with my espresso – the luxury!). My office eventually moved a little closer to the middle of downtown, and Shane and I gave up our Capitol Hill apartment for a townhouse in Columbia City, and I spent less and less time savoring my coffee with a good book or my journal. I’m realizing lately just how much I’ve missed it – I’ve missed the taste of a latte out of a mug rather than a paper to-go cup, I’ve missed the people-watching and the conversation eaves-dropping (you know you do it, too) and the sense of independence and solitude that comes with taking a table for one. So watch out baristas, ’cause I am back! I got up extra-early yesterday and spent half an hour at Zeitgeist on my way into work, sipping and reading and reveling in the warmth of my sunny spot by the window.  I’m hoping I can make a weekly ritual out of this – some people grow weary without their regular caffeine fix, but I think my fix comes from the cafe itself.