a-r-c-h-i-t-e-c-t

Fourteen years ago, I decided in my Freshman ‘Careers and Goals’ class that I wanted to be an architect.  I can’t remember my exact reasoning in choosing this career path (very well might have been as superficial as, ‘oh, that sounds cool…’), but I stuck by my decision and took high school drafting and art classes, in hopes of increasing my chances of getting into a good college architecture program.  Ten years ago, I began my five-year education at California Polytechnic State University (which was recently voted number three among architecture programs in the nation – woot!), embarking on some of the most challenging, most inspiration-filled, most creatively formative years of my life.  Four-and-a-half years ago, I was offered my first real architecture job in Seattle and was put to work building models and drawing details for a large research building in South Lake Union.  Two years ago, I registered for my first architectural licensing exam, and walked into the testing center with my palms sweating and my heart beating about a million times per minute.  Last month I got notice that I had passed my ninth and final exam, and Shane and I jumped up in down in the kitchen as I waved my pass letter around with utter relief.  On Thursday I received my architectural license in the mail, authorizing me to finally, after all these years of learning and growing and working and waiting, officially call myself an ‘Architect’.  Wow, what a journey, filled with so many ups and downs.  There were bumps in the road, when I felt like my brain was going to be rattled right out of my head, and then there were wide open stretches of freeway, when I felt like the world was my oyster.  But I got through it all and am grateful for how the process has grown and refined me.

So…now what?  To be honest, despite the achievement of this milestone, I still have much to learn/do/see/accomplish.  This piece of paper isn’t going to immediately change my life, make my job all that different, or endow me with some kind of designer super-powers – right now, it’s just a piece of paper.  But it’s also validation that I have worked my butt off and officially achieved a goal that I set way back in 1995, when I was sitting in a little classroom in Central California and trying to answer the question ‘what do you want to be when you grow up?’.  And that’s pretty cool.

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soul-speak

Shane has this saying that he uses when he hears a song or watches a show that really gets to him – he brings his fist to his chest, squints his eyes, and says, with much emotion, ‘awwww, yeah – this speaks to my soul!’.  It happened the other night when ‘Babe I’m Gonna Leave You’ by Led Zeppelin came on the radio, then again when we watched a particularly poignant episode of Wonder Years.  I love his ability to be deeply affected by music (and I especially love the air guitar solo that usually accompanies such affected-ness), and I often laugh at the way that he can so intensely relate his own experiences to those seen on television (apparently Shane’s growing-up years are reminiscent of Kevin Arnold’s adolescent struggles)…  And so I started thinking: what speaks to my soul?

My first answer for television is easy – we have been rewatching the final season of Six Feet Under, and nearly every single episode has brought me to tears.  And I’m not talking just one glistening drop – the last episode we watched had me doing the full-on heaving, sobbing, uncontrollable ‘ugly cry’.  The writing on this show is brilliant – to the point that I have actually convinced myself that I know the Fisher family and just might run into them next time I’m in L.A.  I wouldn’t say that I really identify with any of the characters (which is probably a good thing, since they are all a little bit (or a lot) crazy), and yet, I am so invested in all of them.  So soul-speakingly good.  Some good friends of ours are also avid fans and we have a date tonight to watch the show’s finale together.  I have been looking forward to it all week – and I will be arriving at their house with my pockets full of Kleenex.

My second choice is slightly less sophisticated, but for the sake of full disclosure, I will admit that I loved Felicity.  It’s true.  I never really watched the show when it was airing on TV, but I rented all of the seasons a few years ago and devoted many hours to following the Felicity-Ben/Felicity-Noel/Felicity-Ben/Felicity-Noel saga.  I’m not going to try to justify my affection for this cheesy adolescent drama, I will just say that for some reason that I’m unable to pinpoint, I adored Felicity, in all her fickleness, and often found myself wanting to be a part of her New York City college experience.  There, I said it.

Now, for music: the first artist that pops into my head is Damien Rice – his album O in particular.  The music is beautiful, but the memories I have associated with it are what really get to me.  I can so clearly remember listening to this album on my iPod as I was riding the Metro to and from French class during my first month in Paris.  Makes me smile, in a longing-for-past-days kind of way.  Proof that sometimes the memories associated with a song are just as moving as the music itself.

Ryan Adams is another favorite – his talent for song-writing is beyond amazing, and his voice is so wonderfully wrought with emotion.  When I’m at work and ‘The Sun Also Sets’ or ‘Oh My Sweet Carolina’ come on my iPod, it’s all I can do to keep from embarrassing myself by belting out the bluesy lyrics.  We saw him at the Paramount a couple of years ago, and it goes down as one of the best shows I’ve ever seen.  I have a hard time picking out a favorite album, but Heartbreaker is the one I’m most recently putting on repeat.

Finally, I can’t complete this list without paying tribute to Smashing Pumpkins.  Turn off your lights, lay on your bed, crank up ‘Disarm’, and you will know what I’m talking about.  When I got my braces off in 8th grade and was asked what color/pattern I wanted my retainer to be, I chose blue plastic with glittery starts and moons, because it reminded me of the album cover of Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness.  How’s that for a fan story?  I played Siamese Dream over and over and over during my freshman year of high school.  Then again during my last year of college.  And now it’s found it’s way onto my playlist once again.  Timeless.

This is the top of my list – what’s at the top of yours?

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cheerios vs. the cornish game hen

When Shane and I were dating, Valentine’s Day was always a big deal – he would make reservations at some fancy restaurant and drive down to visit me at college, usually arriving at my door with a bouquet of flowers or special gift in hand.  I would look forward to our evening together, thankful that when someone asked me, “Are you doing anything for Valentine’s Day?”, I actually had something good to say.  After we got married, our zeal for Valentine’s Day waned a little bit, but we still celebrated the day, usually with a special home-cooked meal and an exchange of cards.  We started talking last week about what we wanted to do for this Valentine’s Day, knowing that I would probably be spending most of the day at the office, as I have a big deadline at work tomorrow.  I flipped through one of our cookbooks, gazed into our well-stocked fridge with a total lack of motivation, and finally we looked at each other and shrugged our shoulders with simultaneous, “eh.”  Valentine’s Day can be a great excuse to go out for a nice dinner or indulge in a fancy box of chocolates, but I’ve decided that if you’re not feeling moved to do anything special, just let it go.  And so, I am not ashamed to admit that I had cereal for dinner tonight, and after a long day of work, nothing felt better than hanging out on couch with my husband, playing a round of Tetris, catching up on Project Runway, eating a bowl of my favorite ice cream.  As Shane rubbed my feet and asked me about my day, I was reminded that I don’t need a dozen roses or a stuffed Cornish game hen to know that I am loved.  I am married to a man that stayed up until 2:30 last night fixing a glitch on my laptop’s photo software, a man that let me watch the latest Project Runway tonight when I know he’d rather have flipped it to the newest episode of 24, a man that has already offered to get up early on his day off to drive me into work tomorrow morning, so that I can sleep in just 10 minutes later and avoid the rainy walk to the lightrail stop.  Now if that’s not love, what is?

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the light at the end of the tunnel

Although this month has been full of good times, I admit that I’m ready for January to come to a close, as Shane and I wrap up what has become our annual exercise of strict frugality.  We did indeed manage to stick with our commitment of no non-essential spending this month, and maintained a grocery budget of three dollars per day per person, but it was definitely more challenging that I anticipated.  I could write a whole blog post about how difficult it was to give up espresso, or lunch at my favorite Thai place, but since there are so many people around the world making much larger sacrifices out of necessity rather than choice, I will refrain from whining about caffeine deprivation or cabin fever.  Instead, I can see the great deal of good that came out of this exercise: we spent more time in the kitchen together; we wasted less; we enjoyed the outdoors more; we found ’solidarity’ with other frugal friends by sharing fabulous potluck meals together on Sunday evenings; and we realized that we can and should spend less throughout the year to come, so that we are able to save more and give more.  All good things.

We ended the month in truly frugal fashion, spending the afternoon taking a walk through the wooded park just a couple of miles from our house, and as I started to inwardly grumble a little about the soggy ground, the gray skies, and my hankering for a nice steaming latte, I was struck by the sight of beautiful little leaf buds starting to sprout on the branches of the trees along the path.  It was a nice reminder that life is a series of seasons, and that in Shane’s and my life, there is a season to sacrifice and a season to splurge.  And as long as we living intentionally and giving generously, there will be blessings to count no matter season we’re in.

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weekend update

This weekend was, in a word, perfection.  I consumed massive amounts of peppermint tea, spent countless hours curled up on the couch with the TV remote, and passed the nights enjoying the company of good friends.  On Friday night, we headed around the corner to play a little Rock Band with the neighbors – Shane and Justin formed a ‘band’ a couple of weeks ago named ‘Blood Stream’ (yeah, you read that right), and felt like it was time for a reunion tour.  They rocked out to the Go-Gos and Alice in Chains, while Lindsey and I giggled at their booty-shaking rock-star moves.  So much fun to watch two thirty-year-old guys revert to teen-hood together.  We made it home just in time to watch Conan’s last show (when I say ‘watch’ the show, I mean Shane watched it while I fell asleep on the couch).

Saturday was wonderfully lazy – I stayed in my pajamas until 6 pm, spending most of the day watching old episodes of Lost, knitting, and finishing our 2010 calendar.  I peeled myself off the couch late in the day to head over to Jason and Nancy’s for our very first crab-cooking extravaganza.  Jason had ransacked the Asian market earlier in the day and picked up a two and a half-pound live crab that they were looking to share.  Shane and I felt it would be a travesty to turn down an offer of fresh seafood during our frugal month, so I grabbed my crab mallet and a bottle of white wine, and we were off.  There’s something a little un-nerving about throwing a living, moving thing into a pot of boiling water, and we all laughed a little nervously as we watched Jason squeamishly transition the crab from the fridge to the pot, but he managed to cook it to perfection, and we feasted on a delicious crab salad, followed by a hearty Udon noodle soup.

Today was another mellow day, with church in the morning, naps and football in the afternoon, and a potluck dinner with friends this evening.  Shane and I have found several people here that seem to enjoy eating, chatting, and laughing all in equal measure, and we have come to love the three-hour meals that often occur as a result.  My belly is full of potato croquettes and carrot cake, and I am ready to end the day with one last cup of tea.  I feel so blessed by a weekend full of solid rest, good food, and truly amazing friendships.

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resisting apathy

The initial news of the disastrous earthquake in Haiti shook me – I was mortified by the magnitude of the destruction of both life and property and used TV and the Internet to keep myself as up-to-date as possible on the quake’s damage.  And then, without really realizing it, I began to distance myself from the gruesome images and horrific stories.  I wrote my check to the Red Cross, I said a prayer for the people of Haiti, and I subconsciously tucked the tragedy away in that corner of my heart reserved for seemingly hopeless cases.  My apathetic attitude came to light tonight and I knew that I should re-inform myself.  I started with a 60 Minutes segment on the latest activity in Port-au-Prince.  Tears streamed down my face as I watched bull-dozers dump piles of bodies into trucks headed for mass graves.  A child’s leg was amputated with an old hacksaw, for lack of decent medical supplies.  A swollen and bloody man was pulled from a pile of rubble after four days of being trapped among the ruins of a concrete building.  Absolutely gut-wrenching.  I set my computer aside, buried my face in my pillow, and cried.

I don’t mind shedding tears, if that’s the price I pay for being more well-informed.  I don’t mind donating money, encouraging my co-workers and friends to do the same, posting ‘pray for Haiti’ messages on Facebook.  But none of these things are going to return a lost child to the arms of her dead parents, or reunite a crushed and broken family.  My money, my sadness, and even my prayers feel so insignificant in the face of such loss.  And so, like so many people around the world, I see a glimpse of just how bad things are in the wake of this disaster, and I am called to…???  God, I wish I knew how to fill in that blank.

photo from here.

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three simple words

The beginning of a new year always tends to throw me into a more reflective state, during which I ponder the roses and thorns of the previous twelve months, and anticipate the joys and challenges that the next twelve months may bring.  And as I embark on this little ‘year in review’, my immediate inclination is to say:  2009 was goooood.  Shane and I romped through the streets of Paris and sauntered through the vineyards of Portugal; I made some cool stuff and added to an ever-expanding lists of passions and hobbies; I read a lot of books, and got to sit around a table and talk about them with some of my most favorite ladies; I discovered Macrina Bakery’s buttermilk biscuits while discussing said books and determined that butter is pretty much one of the best things on earth; we visited Minnesota and I really, truly felt that ‘Shane’s family’ is now actually my family, too; we completed our first big home project with our backyard makeover and laid the groundwork for some awesome 2010 backyard bbq’s; I watched and cheered with so much pride as Shane crossed the finish line of the Portland Marathon; we were continuously reminded that although we don’t have any family in Seattle, we do have friends that feel like family, and that’s pretty amazing; we celebrated three years of marriage with a perfectly indulgent trip to San Francisco; we spent lots of evening just enjoying the bliss of a quiet evening at home, curled up on the couch together with a good movie and a glass of wine; I discovered yoga, discovered that I am not at all flexible, but also discovered that this can change, with enough practice; I took photos, made drawings out of food, found out about the beauty of a printing press, and stayed committed to my weekly sketches.  Yes, it was a fabulous year.  There were also trials, in the form of disappointments, insecurities, and missed opportunities, but they didn’t overshadow the abundance of blessings.  And I expect 2010 will be the same mixed-bag kind of year – exciting times ahead, with places to go, decisions to make, and things to create.  Resolutions?  Just to say with total anticipation, “Bring it on.”

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christmas day, in pictures

Shane and I spent Christmas in Portland with my family, taking it easy at my brother’s house, doting on sweet little Elise, enjoying the warmth of good food and being with loved ones.

Elise made out like a bandit, and had more gifts to open than any of us (as is to be expected, with a face that cute).  One of her favorites was this little car/music machine from my parents.  I’m sure Mitch and Kathryn will quickly tire of the sound of the chugging ignition, the trumpet horn, and the front bumper keyboard, but it all makes Elise smile, so I imagine they’ll say it’s worth it.

Elise also loved her new Kleen Kanteen water bottle from Great Grandma and spent all day toting it around with her.

Shane and I got her the most adorable little wooden tea set, and she and I enjoyed several carpet tea parties throughout the day.

This tent was a big hit as well, and she spent much of the morning crawling in and out of it, peering out the door with that ‘come-and-get-me’ look of hers.

Post-presents, we headed out into the clear, crisp day to enjoy some fresh air and give Elise a chance to burn off some of her Christmas-Day adrenaline at the nearby park.

The rest of the afternoon was spent watching a movie, playing with all our new toys, and preparing a lovely Christmas dinner.  I spent every moment that I could with Elise, knowing that next time I see her, she will again be much changed.

I was looking through my new 50mm lens much of the day, and while I’m still figuring out how to make the most of it, I can tell that it is opening up all kinds of new photographic possibilities for me.  Thanks, Shane…

And so, Christmas has gone as quickly as it came.  I am dealing with a mild case of the post-holiday blues as I think about returning to work tomorrow, but I am so grateful for the short time that we did get to spend surrounded by loved ones.  It really was a very merry Christmas.

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merry, merry christmas

Ahhhhh, today was such a good day.  Wonderfully low-key, spent hanging out family, eating, opening gifts, eating…  I enjoyed an abundance of blessings today, as I tea-partied with my niece on the living room floor, played at the park with her and my parents, sat around the dinner table to eat and laugh with family members I couldn’t love more, and made use of my uber-cool new 50mm lens from Shane.  I have over a hundred family photos to sort through, but those will have to be saved for another day, as I’m slowly drifting into a wine/food/bliss-induced coma.  Shane and I just wanted to wish you all a merry close to a Merry Christmas.  God bless.

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unfathomable

The tree has been decorated, the gifts have been wrapped, the cookies have been baked, the holiday parties have been had, and yet, I still feel somehow so ‘unprepared’ for Christmas day.  Like I’m missing something amidst all of my checked-off to-do’s.  And as I ponder this, I come to the conclusion that I have spent so much time preparing our home and our gifts and our travel plans, and not enough time preparing my heart for the holiday.  I feel urged to take a break from the shopping and baking to pause and quietly revel in the fact that our all-powerful God sent His Son to earth in the form of a tiny, helpless, precious little baby.  We spent some time with our community group last week talking about Christmas meanings and memories, and J’s comment, “Such a big God, in such a little package” has stuck with me.  It’s unfathomable, really, that a tiny little baby, probably looking very much like the babies I see in restaurants with their faces covered in food, or the ones I see bawling in the grocery stores, grew to be the man that would die on a cross for the sins of this world.  And that’s what I want Christmas to be about – awe, thankfulness, joy, and the perfect peace that comes with knowing I love a God that is humble enough, selfless enough, ‘outrageous’ enough to leave the throne of Heaven to take the form of a diaper-wearing, crying, cooing little infant.  That’s the Christmas miracle.

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