when life gives you strawberries...

last week wednesday, one of the staffers here received a donation of flat upon flat of strawberries. with over eight pounds of strawberries, what is one to do? make jam, of course. so, as a family, we set about doing just that. fruit, sugar, lemon juice, and pectin? check. sterilized jars? check. lids on tight? check. then all we could do was sit back and wait for it to gel. as my mom and i watched "so you think you can dance" in the living room, we began to hear the tinkling pops of the lids sealing down on all the jars.

earlier that day, i was thinking back to one of my favorite books, animal, vegetable, miracle by barbara kingsolver, and the inspiration that it was for me to embrace real food, and make a commitment to extend those values important to me down to the foods i choose to eat. last winter, it was rather difficult, and on a tight college budget, it's hard to reconcile spending a few dollars more on locally-grown knobbly root vegetables, when all i really wanted was a huge spinach salad. compromises were made, and i found new joy in sweet potatoes, squashes, and onions.

part of my plans for moving into my grand new life included getting a bread machine, food dehydrator, and a huge pot. armed with these things, and an avid frequenter of the farmers' markets that promised to abound in southern california, i would enjoy local food, befriend local farmers, and move my diet to a more sustainable bent. visions of making dried fruit and dried tomatoes, canning huge jars of tomato sauce, freezing parboiled produce, and enjoying it all with fresh bread every week.

some of those dreams, like others, i've had to lay aside for the time being. fortunately, i live in the heart of east texas farming country, and although no trendy farm stands dot the road like they do in new england, plenty of folks have booths up in their lawns, vending the fruits of their backyard labors. our garden is overflowing with zucchini, tomatoes, and formerly green beans (the heat finally got to them), and as we begin turning things over, i'm pushing my parents toward a fall garden with potatoes, onions, and winter squash.

granted, i am far from being a home-grown food expert - our strawberry jam never quite gelled. it still has that bright summer strawberry taste, but we'll have to settle for a thin strawberry spread. my handful of experiences with gardening aren't much to go on, when i think of it, but i am excited for the adventure of learning more, of spending some quality time with my dirt, wherever i am, to learn about its needs, cultivate its health, and support the growth of food for me, and of course for others. because, in the end, what i'm most looking forward to is having friends and neighbors over, feeding them with the food of my garden, and celebrating the goodness of this life.

strawberry spread, anyone?

life lessons in sunset with bob dylan

i must say, nothing more particularly puts me in the mood to write on my blog than a sunset. tonight, as i was driving back to my new residence after a lovely dinner at home, the big, fat, texas sun was setting directly behind me - not the fiery red that speaks to the immense heat we have been getting recently, but the soft orange glow behind and dusky grey-blue of twilight ahead. another day done.

one particularly great thing about inheriting your brother's car while he is away is that the driver's armrest storage bin comes loaded with awesome music. when you're in a music funk as i currently am (feeling like i'm listening to the same ten songs over and over again), it's such a treat to pop a random, unmarked disc into the dash and wait in that delicious anticipation of what will come. not all of it i love, but one treasure i discovered just this evening is the bob dylan greatest hits collection he had stashed there.

rolling down my windows, celebrating the breaking of the heat, watching the purple sky creep from in front of me to behind, and listening to "blowing in the wind," i was very happy. so happy in fact that the first thing i had to do is grab my computer, brew a quick pot of tea, and come sit outside in the rocking chair to write this down....

and be met by ravenous mosquitoes. let's just say i'm going inside fairly shortly.

isn't it funny how life moves in such predictable ups and downs? nothing is really as romantic as "they" would make it out to be, and the perfect moments have to be ended sooner or later. but still, i'll take the mosquitoes if that means i get a few more perfect sunsets.

balloons'll be glowing...

how do you begin to describe the bewitching simplicity of light and air and color? despite the oppressive heat that has settled on and around east texas, my family packed into our car yesterday afternoon and headed over to longview for the great texas balloon race. ever since we moved to the area six years ago, i've seen images on the local news of these great blobs of hot air bobbing about in the clear blue sky or glowing like a series of giant night lights in the dark. i've wanted to go for some time, but this year - being back at home for summer for the first time since i left for college - we actually went.

after a bit of an adventure getting to the grounds, sorting out the lay of the land, and grabbing a mint limeade, we settled on a bit of grass not too far from where the trucks and gondolas were assembled. country western music wafted through the late summer heat, and i enjoyed some top notch people-watching before the first sign of movement drew our attention to the field. directly in front of us, a balloon crew began to spread out a giant mass of fabric. it looked as though several pots of bright paint had been dumped on the dry, browning grass.

before we knew it, one and then two balloons slowly filled with air, the sound of their burners overtaking the twangy guitar. if i could put into words how absolutely breathtaking it was to watch this billowing mass of colored silk not only take shape against the setting sun but then rise into the sky, drifting away on an unseen wind. so utterly simple and yet so utterly full of mystery.

but as the sun began to set, any sense of exhileration from the previous display was overwhelmed by the unimaginable. as night fell, and darkness took over, countless balloons, in huge long rows, began to fill. the orbs of color, beautiful enough in the daylight, were unsurpassingly magical at night. i've included a picture, taken by someone else, because there are absolutely no way of describing it all.


walking amidst them, as they twinkled on and off, i was overtaken by an indescribable feeling. the closest thing i can tie it to is bliss. absolute utter peace borne out of true pleasure and all-encompassing awe. i felt like a child again, caught up in the wonder of the unimaginable made real right before my eyes.

lord knows where i will be this time next year, but i'm crossing my fingers to make my way back to the east texas regional airport and the balloons that have stolen my heart and imagination.

joy: lost and found

i remember watching the movie hook as a kid. it was one of about 200 or so titles that the caribbean mercy had accumulated over the years from various donations. in nine years of sailing, we cycled through a lot of them.

one of the characters in the movie, a lost boy - and of course i can't remember his name - had lost his marbles. i'm sure if i watched it again now, i'd pick up on the irony that such a predicament was supposed to cast over his character, but as a child, i just remember feeling really sorry that he had lost his favorite toys. the scene where he finally gets them back was one of my favorites, that and when julia roberts as tinkerbell (who would have pegged that one?) gives robin williams as peter pan a good talking to or the imaginary food fight turned real.

in any case, i've felt a bit like that lost boy these past few weeks. the process of adjusting to this new in-between i find myself in was interrupted by a wonderful ten days spent in seattle with some of my closest friends from college. while enitrely blissful, i wrapped myself in the ignorance of how challenging this change might be for me, weaving a delightful cocoon that blocked the hurt and disappointment from my emotional field.

coming back to texas, it was a whirlwind of a few days before i found myself sitting in this office with an entirely new set of day-to-day responsibilities and realities. instead of falling into step alongside other new nurses eager to start their own careers, with the impossible dynamism of youth, my colleagues are much different. caught between high school students working the coffee shop counter as a summer job and the older professionals who fill the ranks of finance and accounting. instead of dealing with patients, i deal with hotel guests and hungry customers.

somewhere in there, i got bogged down. somewhere in there, i lost my marbles. i lost my joy. more deeply, i lost the ability to see potential in my new coworkers as peers, worthy of an honest conversation and a level of friendship. i was so busy looking back on the life i thought i would be leading right about now that i lost sight of people like janet and joyce - beautiful older women who work happily to serve those around them. i lost my vision for their inspiration, their example, and the (many) lessons i could learn from them and others like them.

i don't begin to profess that i have "found my marbles." at least not fully. i'm beginning to see that they were lost, and they are worth the effort of finding. there will still be days when i am frustrated, overwhelmed, and absolutely ready to throw in the towel. but i'm beginning to realize also that perhaps this is my life. it's time to live it.

allergies

summer is here, and hopefully that means a chance for more frequent blogging. i feel as though my once-a-month trend during the school year sadly left much unsaid - there are so many adventures and questions and thoughts that would have benefited from a much more thorough vetting than simply my mind or the ears of my roommates.

i've started a bit of a job. yesterday was my first full day, and well into day two, i'm (maybe) beginning to get a little bit of a feel for things. i'm working as the interim manager for a coffee shop and guest house at the ioc, where both my parents work and my brother as well. it's a bit of a family affair, i suppose.

i've always had these rather idyllic imaginings of running an inn or a bed and breakfast. i imagined hosting guests, decorating rooms, making beds and healthful breakfasts, turning down sheets. mostly the joys of hosting and feeding friendly faces, sharing in the joy of someone else's holiday-making cheer. i, however, did not include in these visions any semblance of the immensity of number-crunching, supply-sorting, order-figuring, and general volume of data consisting of those infarious numbers whom i so displease. especially the numbers proceeded by dollar signs.

i suppose i should have, but who said dreams should be tied to reality? i, even in the past 48 hours, have come to a deeper appreciation of how non-business oriented i am. the concepts of profit margins and bottom lines leave me feeling squeezed of air. maybe i'm allergic to capitalism? a few months ago, i showed the first sign of this strange ailment. when i initially accepted my position at ucla, i realized that i would have to buy a car in order to survive in the city. a creeping feeling of dread overcame me then, at times all-encompassing but soon ebbing into a faint throb in the back of my head.

while in my senior practicum rotation in labor and delivery, we had a client who desperately needed iv penicillin to treat an infection threatening both her life and the life of her baby. she was allergic, and alternative therapies were tried. when they proved ineffective, the medical doctors recommended a desensitization trial - she would be exposed to 1/1000th of the typical dose and gradually transitioned to higher and higher dosages. such a procedure has been documented through clinical research to almost eliminate the risk of allergic reaction. it was successful for her as well.

if i really am allergic to capitalism, is there any desensitization process for me?

as i try to sort that one out, i'm happy to be working. period. i find it a special blessing, however, to be working with such lovely people and in an environment and position that promise to continue to challenge me in new and unexpected ways each day.

adventuring

yesterday, my brother and i were driving from houston back to our home in van after a visit with my grandmother and the dentist. after somehow managing the zoo that is houston's highway system and the animals that make up its drivers, we were well on our way to home. about two hours into our four hour drive, we both noticed a strong sulfur smell - the beautiful rotting egg stench that is so unmistakable. as we made our way through the highway interchange and accelerated, the smell disappeared, and we both chalked it up to the construction site we had just passed.

within the next hour or so, the smell had returned a few more times, and we began to suspect that the stench was actually emanating from somewhere in our car. interesting. so we pulled off at a rest area less than an hour from our house, popped the hood, and found our battery spewing steam and some sort of liquid that was turning the black plastic shield around it white. lovely. i'm not much of a mechanic - i'm actually not anything close to resembling a mechanic - but i do know that batteries are not supposed to get so hot that they spew things left and right. it was so bent out of shape, that once we had turned the car off, it was impossible to start it again. it was done, and out in the texas heat of late afternoon, so were we.

we put a quick call into my dad who thankfully was able to run out to us with a new car battery. while we waited for him to arrive, we were approached by all sorts of visitors. men of various ages, occupations, and sizes of beer bellies all offered their help and particular opinion on the cause of our car trouble. "well tha's jus too bad..." was one of my favorites - the man uttering these words of condolence somehow managed to speak around a mouthful of chew, his baseball cap crushed down upon his head. shortly thereafter, he returned to mowing the grass on the property, riding around in his white undershirt and jean overalls.

another favorite was on of the rest area staff who proferred the suggestion that everything could be traced back to the fact that the car was a saturn. "ya always git trouble with them saturns. man i could tell you all sortsa stories 'bout my saturn couple years back." thanks for the advice.

all in all, though, it was only a minor blip in the trip, and we enjoyed the free wi-fi and air conditioning of the rest area information center. i whiled the moments away catching up on email, puzzling crosswords, and searching for new job postings online.

as i was searching the same hospital websites for the umpteenth time, looking for something new i guess, i was thinking about the men, their offers of help, their opinions, their advice. it reminded me of that day, a few weeks ago, when i got a call from my job - there's no money in the budget for hiring right now, can you wait until november? i was in the texas hill country with my extended family. as people started trickling back from the mall and the lazy river and wherever else they had gone for the day, the word went around, and i started hearing all sorts of plans and ideas and thoughts and opinions from aunts and uncles and cousins. incredibly, everyone knew someone at some health center or outpatient clinic or had heard that somebody-or-other was hiring nurses. then came the consternation - nursing is the recession-proof career! but there's a nursing shortage, how can it be that so few hospitals are hiring?

at the time, as i was processing my next steps and adjusting to the fact that the life that had seemd to fall so easily into my lap was now perhaps indefinitely postponed, i didn't exactly welcome these conversations. i thought that if i could just sit down long enough and think hard enough, i could puzzle out my next move - like the crossword puzzles i love. but sometimes with crossword puzzles, you need someone else's eyes, someone else's knowledge and experience.

i am learning that there are definitely times in life when the same principle holds true. i might go so far as to say not even times, but that life itself is better when lived with other people. relationships with family and friends of all ages help define the boundaries and edges of who we are. rene descartes said "i think, therefore i am." i would say, given my recent experiences, "i am loved, therefore i am." not just by a creator god who is continually revealed in new and different ways, but by family, friends, strangers even, who form a fabric of support capable of handling any of life's unexpected bumps and breakdowns along the way.

we'll just have to see where this "way" goes...

awareness

today marks my third-to-last morning in college. my third-to-last morning sitting at my computer with my cup of coffee, amidst the clutter of books and papers, phones and snackfoods that consistently inhabit our kitchen table. my third-to-last morning when i can sit in the relative silence of sleeping roommates and sleeping next-door neighbors, spy the sunlight streaming through the window in our living room, and contemplate the wonders of the day.

this day is pretty straight forward: rehearsal for baccalaureate mass, laundry, packing up the rest of my odds and ends, meeting my family for dinner after their flight into boston, and then a late evening catch-up with friends.

i rub my still-sore feet and wonder if the mild ringing in my ears is ever going to go away. last night was our "commencement ball" - a prom of sorts for graduating seniors, except with the addition of a cash bar and ridiculously short dresses. still, despite the general air of debauchery, i had an amazing time with my roommates and my dearest friends from these past four years. the music was good, and we danced the night away, much the chagrin of my toes today.

the dynamic of boston college has never ceased to amaze me. i marvel at the contrast between libraries filled to capacity during finals, burgeoning alternative spring break service trip programs, and the cut-loose, let-go attitude of thursday, friday, and saturday nights. i am blessed to be surrounded by a group of like-minded people who also wonder at the statements made by a university purportedly committed to social justice that throws down thousands and thousands of dollars for a senior week shindig. meanwhile, every department of the university including financial aid have had to cut 2% of their budget due to the economic downturn.

i really did enjoy myself, and i am thankful to those individuals on the senior week committee who i'm sure put in hours of time and energy to coordinate these social events. i loved having somewhere different to go with my good friends, a space and time to dress up, step out, and celebrate the significance of graduation from college. still, one image in particular rankles me even now.

yesterday afternoon, my roommates and i hitched a ride on a trolley - the transportation of choice as it turns out for bc students to travel about the city and bar-hop before arriving at the dance. we had opted out, eyeing the price tag and determining that a $1.70 t ride would equally suffice. however, upon arriving in the public garden for pictures, we ran into a group of aquaintences who had extra room and more than graciously offered us a spot.

as we toured around town, the crackling, distorted music blared from the speakers, assailing passersby through the trolley's open sides. down all sorts of side streets and back alleys we rode, the driver kicking in the hydraulics every once in awhile to the great pleasure of all on board. as we were finally making our way to the sheraton hotel where the ball was being held, we drove through the heart of boston's downtown. as we passed amidst the skyscrapers of boston's financial district, i turned to look out the window only to be confronted with the sight of one of boston's many homeless individuals. unable to stand for whatever reason, this man was scooting along the gum-stained sidewalk in torn, cut-off jeans and a grungy button-up cotton shirt. as i looked down at the dress i had borrowed to wear that night, the clear nail polish on my clean fingers, and felt my freshly washed, curled hair teased by the breeze, the contrast disgusted me.

as i move to los angeles next year, one of the only things i can really count on is the continuation of this struggle. the tight rope of appreciating those opportunities given to you while holding them critically is one that challenges me continually. similar to any balancing act, the only way to broach anything remotely reminiscent of success is to remain persistently aware. aware of oneself, aware of the vibrating hum beneath your feet, aware of the swaying motions demanding the ultimate flexibility.

life update along an easter parallel

goodness. it's amazing how time has a slippery habit of getting away from you, particularly when you use things like blogs to keep track.

a lot has happened in my life since i last wrote, and those happenings have radically reshaped my vision for the rest of this semester and at least the next year of my life. i have been out to seattle, a mountaintop, and the farthest reaches of my positivity and faith and back again in the two months or so since I last wrote here. In the course of discerning my next step after college, I have gone from a vision of my life as a rugged outdoorswoman hiking the olympias in seattle to a tree-hugging, beach-loving, community building member of the ocean beach neighborhood of san diego, before settling (or really having my life settled) in the dynamicly overwhelming metropolis of los angeles.

not to draw an over-religious analogy, but in the spirit of easter, which i celebrated on the side of mt. greylock in western massachusetts, i can detect a striking parallel to to story of christ's final sacrifice and victory so central to the christian faith. the process of watching, waiting, hoping, praying otherwise known as "discernment" here at bc - patiently and unpatiently pushing for the future to unroll itself in front of you like the vivid carpets that prevail all over morocco - is not unsimilar in my experience to the dark and fretful hours in the garden of gethsemane.

granted, the unknown and fear i faced in this process is no where near the magnitude of that facing jesus as he prayed both sweat, tears, and blood. however, the moments of overwhelming terror, apprehension, and doubt that i experienced offered me a unique moment to appreciate more fully, in the weeks of lent, those long pre-dawn hours when christ felt utterly alone.

yet despite the tortuous journey, i have come to the other side - i have a job in labor and delivery at ucla medical center in west la; i have been blessed quite unexpectedly with a roommate that i know, love, and trust; i have found via the internet parishes with great potential granting me a vision of what my life could potentially look like. in the end (although really this continues to be an ongoing process), i am stepping into a dawn of promise, claiming the resurrection in my own life.

yesterday morning, i found myself at st. mary's chapel for 8 am mass. the priest spoke about how we, as evidenced by our physical presence, might all classify ourselves as "morning people." more importantly, he pointed out, is that we as christians identify ourselves as the morning people we are called to be, the dawn of salvation, liberation, and glory that we are promised and that we have promised to make real for all people on this earth.

the last weeks of classes, final exams, and graduation all loom ahead, and it is still quite easy to fall into the pit of despair that dictates all life ends after college, new graduates condemned to an abyss of lonliness and eternal separation from friends and those collegiate "good times." however, as the sun streams through my window even now, i claim the dawn, the resurrection, the hope and joy that proclaim this is the first step, one of many steps, along a path of discovery, growth, challenge, and peace.

sparkling unknown

until the beginning of this week, if you had asked me what my plans were for next year, i would have rattled off to you my vision of working on the labor and delivery unit at the university of washington medical center in seattle, living in a community of jesuit volunteers, deferring my school loans for a year, and generally celebrating my transition from college student to real world player.

a lot of that came crashing down around my shoulders on tuesday when the nurse recruiter with whom i had been in contact wrote to say that the labor and delivery nurse managers were now officially sure that they would not be hiring new grads into their department. in fact, they were over-hired and would most likely not be hiring anyone into their department, much let a newly graduated nurse still wet behind the ears, so to speak.

suddenly, the prospect that i may not be working in labor and delivery next year, that i may not be in seattle, that i may not be doing jesuit volunteer corp became real for the first time. all of these beautifully-crafted plans, so in line with who i feel god has called me to be in the world, were turning into smoke and drifting away from my grasp.

taking a step back, it's really not all that dramatic. there is another hospital in seattle which is a really good option for labor and delivery and where i know someone on the floor who might be able to maximize on networking. also, i had a tentative job offer for the unit at UCLA medical center, and while LA would perhaps be one of the last places i could imagine myself living, i recognize that there are positive aspects, too - like my brother being there for school and a close proximity to the ocean.

this whole process of "taking a step back," though, has threatened to rob me of my balance. my confidence in my skills, my background, and my experience here at boston college felt suddenly threatened, and with that, my confidence in my own self, my confidence in my ability to discern a plan and a vision for the future from the murky leadings of god's still, small voice within my deepest desires. i told a friend that i never really picked up on juggling when in third grade my teacher thought it would be an important skill to learn and spent the entire afternoon trying to teach us. juggling might have come in handy now, as i widen my scope to include hospitals up and down the west coast as well as some closer to home as well.

so where does that leave me? somewhere close to square one, definitely. but also, it leaves me in the midst of that uneasy, in-between place we like to call the palm of god's hand. i've often thought of it as a place of deep peace and rest, and that is in many ways god's deepest desire for us. but sometimes, god calls us to be uncomfortable, to step outside of our plans and realize that they were always god's.

practically speaking, it leaves me with a much larger number of applications to fill out, reference letters to collect, and the generally sparkling unknown to face. i've got a new stage of life coming, and it's time to celebrate...

adjustments

waking up this morning, i half-stumbled through our darkened dorm apartment and flipped on the light of the bathroom. my vision was blurry before the wonderful invention of contact lenses slipped into my eyes, but even they didn't help that much. my head was still swimming a little bit. trying to sort out if i felt ill or what was even going on, i felt my hand grasped by a familiar but unwelcome friend: fatigue.

she's my morning companion more often than not here at school, and the beginning of this semester is not that different. i have to push by her to clamber into the shower and fight her with cold water and coffee in order to start my day. she disappears for awhile but not before sucker-punching me and leaving behind dark circles under my eyes. she'll be back, she says, in the afternoon.

early mornings heading out to clinical placements are a common thread of my college experience. if you polled the nursing students here at bc at least, i think you would find that the overwhelming majority, if not all, of the soon-to-be nurses would tell you that the hardest part is the early mornings. and the late nights studying.

now, i wasn't studying last night, as school only began yesterday. in fact i was watching bc lose terribly to wake forest in basketball. still it was a blast to sit and yell and cling to that desperate hope that in the last minute and a half of the game we would surge forward fourteen points! (it obviously didn't happen). so i have no complaints if i'm a little groggy today.

but it's harder this morning. i spent the week before school being engaged in a five-day silent retreat out in a beautiful rural property out west of here. the forest reserve dipped down to the charles river, all blanketed in a thick carpet of pristine snow. i haven't seen so much natural beauty in a long time. the silence itself, while at times intimidating and overwhelming, became another friend. one like those dear to me at a distance, reaching out, a mutual longing to be together again, curbed by a tacit acknowledgment that things just can't be like that right now.

it's unfortunate that i have to adjust my expectations of things like sleep or time with god when the semester begins. but in many ways it is like a long-distance relationship. god is still present, we just touch base for a few moments everyday instead of lounging in each other's presence for hours on end, sharing whispered secrets and inside jokes.

i struggle to not be disappointed as i let that vision of god go for a time. i feel the freedom from god to be present here, to seek god in the dear friends in my life and the classes i take. but part of me protests against the separation. isn't there another way, my soul cries. but then the rejoinder simply comes: why so downcast, o my soul? the lord is marvelous indeed.