That's Just How Much it Costs.

I hate the down to the last grain of rice, one can of canned tomatoes, rotting cucumbers in the vegetable drawer, wondering what I can cook with chicken broth, an egg, and hot sauce from my mom's trip to Mexico in 2010, been using watered down shampoo for a week kind of HAVE to go grocery shopping. I hate it because it means an all day excursion to 4 different groceries and spending more money than can conceivably be justified on food that will be gone faster than you can say "when is pay day?"

The price the stores charge for food is staggering. And while I am extremely grateful that we have money to buy the essentials, I have really had to come to grips with how much things cost. How can the dentist charge so much, the emergency room, the doctors office; why do these wonderful things that do so much good seem designed to punish us for getting sick? Why does opening a bill or passing a police officer while going 5 miles per hour over the speed limit make me breathless?

The truth is that for my own brain to function in the expensive reality of life is to accept that it is just how much it costs and be thankful that I have all the wonderful things I have.

And not to get all crazy philosophical but it is a metaphor for my life.

Each person I have loved, each friend that has come or gone from my life, each pain that I have suffered at the hands of another, an ill wish, a grudge, a wonderful day. They cost me something. Many times, I am willing to pay. It's what I want. Sometimes, I have to bury my head in a pillow and cry my mascara off before my heart will let me accept that I will have to make a payment that feels too great a price.

And sometimes even when I have been exactly the person I thought I should be, done all the right things, been all the things I could be-when I have gone to the wrong store they have made me pay for things I didn't want. But that is just what it costs to have love in your heart, to be a good friend, to do the right thing. Those people will make you stand in the aisle and question the purchase. They will make you put it in the cart and take it out before buying. And after you bring it home it will give you nothing but trouble.

These people make me angry. They make me hurt. They make me wonder if loving and living and being are worth the cost. Why is the exchange for my friendship and loyalty your nastiness?

And I remember that in order for my brain to function in the expensive reality of life I have to accept that it is just how much it costs.

Sometimes trusting people completely, opening your heart to friendship and love is a risky venture to be sure.

I just have to remember that it is worth the cost for the people that it is free for me to love. I have to be thankful for those ones; for a kindred spirit a thousand miles a way, for lovely best friends for an amazing family, for a steadfast, strong, and kind man. And I know that I am blessed.

And I remember that they pay too; the ones that have chosen to be unkind. So always remember when you choose to be ugly that the debt collectors will come knocking.

Germany

The Frankfurt International Airport is the most incredible airport I have ever seen. It is a city under a canopy of glass and metal where you have to take the rail to other terminals. There are restaurants, supermarkets, and carts outside selling German chocolate and pastries. There are trees and bustling people and all the cars lined up along the sidewalk are Audis and Mercedes.

Exhausted from a 10 hour overnight flight in a country where we didn't speak the language, we hopped in a cab where the cabbie took the scenic route to our quirky old hotel and collected his hefty fee. We found ourselves blinking into the sun at The HotelAm Berg:

The Hotel AmBerg

A friendly German fellow greeted us and escorted us up creaky stairs to a simple room (with a shower!) and handed over the skeleton key for the door. I thought the place must be haunted but the ghosts seemed friendly enough and we settled in for our one night stay.

The first photo I took in Europe, the view from the room in Frankfurt

We decided to salvage the rest of the day and went to find something to eat. I will never forget the beautiful roses in the front yards of every row house, the stone streets of the wine district where we stopped for a drink. Cigarettes are sold in vending machines and the smell of marijuana hung briefly in the air around every corner. Everyone was kind to us and we never did find anything to eat. we stopped at a Shell station (oh that beautiful, yellow bastion of America) and bought some snacks. The labels were written in German and we had no idea what we were actually buying and we sat on the couch in our haunted hotel room happily eating what turned out to be plain potato chips and sipping sparkling water.

I didn't realize until looking at this picture later that there

were American flags in the windows of this little pub

Our first real meal in over 24 hours was delicious!

Just one short day in Frankfurt

The next day we boarded a bus to an airport town outside of the city. Imagine my surprise to find that just outside of Frankfurt there are acres and acres of fields. Somewhere in the first hour my mom fell asleep and somewhere between jet lag and wakefulness I became hypnotized by the steady lull of wheels on pavement, by the passing blur of green, and by the kind of moment that comes so rarely that you will hold it in your heart forever.

There is something amazing about listening to a language that you do not understand and as the men behind me spoke to one another in German I thought I would slip into dreaming. But I just listened and was able to find that quiet place that isn't worried or confused. That sees things crisper and cleaner and even more beautiful then they might be when overlaid with stress and anxiety. And in that moment my mom snored, just a little, and I looked at her and I smiled. My mom is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen up close. And she looks the same to me as she always has; and I saw clearer little things I hadn't noticed before. A few white hairs laid against her temple and were tucked behind her ear. There were a few lines in the olive skin next to her eyes from too many smiles. I could hear her laughter and her voice. Her opinion and her love that I always seek and find. There is nothing in the whole world (and I know, because now I have seen it!) more precious than a good mother.

They say we all become our mothers and I can only hope that it is true. Everything I hope to be is everything my mother has been, always.

I learned a lot more on my trip than I even knew :) And now, more gratuitous photos from Germany.

I went on an early morning jog about 3 miles down this path along the road

in Lautzenhausen. All along the pavement there were slugs! I didn't figure that out 

until I was stepping in them.

LAUTZENHAUSEN

A blog for tomorrow

The world is still with the warmth of my own energy. And sleep evades me as it always does when I am feeling impervious to reason. I think of friendships; old, new and recovered. I think of love; lost, abandoned, and unrequited. My soul feels a thousand things that cannot be put into thoughts. And I must, I must, I must write because the burden is too heavy to leave it all unsaid.

It's been a while since I wrote a blog. My heart has been light with content. I have been participating in the things that are good for me. Yoga and hot tea. Falling in love with lovely souls. But all this trust in things going well makes me worrisome.

As I think on everything and nothing a quiet discontent grows in my chest. I can feel it building like fearful thoughts; one "what if" on top of another until my eyes close tight as if to ward it all off. This is my space that I have created. To let someone in happens slowly. Tentatively. I have learned that I am not as willing as I used to be to disregard the potential for heartbreak. Letting people into this space is more scary than it used to be. I used to think it's because I am somehow jaded but I truly think that it is because the space is so much deeper than it used to be. And cluttered. It makes me interesting and quirky but it also makes me scared that whoever I invite in to this hoarder's heart will find the fault there. Here I have to stop myself and start to climb out of the bottom of my space or be subjected to contemplate only the things I have done wrong.

I breathe deep, the clutter starts to shift, and I struggle into the lighter part of the space, where I usually reside. I remember who I am and who loves me and all the people I love. All the things that are real.

Life is beautiful, now don't you forget it!

Anyone out there?

That's right. You've got it. I AM BACK! I know, you're so excited. Of merely secondary importance in the history of the universe, a new blog post written and directed by yours truly. There hasn't been anything this big since James Cameron defied logic by killing Leonardo DiCaprio whilst simultaneously sinking the biggest ship evs.

 Which brings me to my next point; I went to Europe this summer. Like actually went. I didn't do that thing where the spirit leaves the body and travels the world.. It's called astral projection and it's a real thing. I am not an expert, but I am telling you that you should definitely Wikipedia that shit. I swear this is a point to this. I swear the point is not that I have spent too much time on the Craigslist and therefor and unable to put together a coherent sentence.

The point of the above paragraph is to illustrate very non articulately the following formula: Airplane+Europe=Magic. No really. I am not making this up but you have to know the back story to understand this. YOLO, so read this now because it might be your last chance to hear this very important story about my life.

 I read a book, which one occasionally does, when I was 18 called Outlander. It is hard to explain the whole premise but basically:

 Claire Randall, a married combat nurse from 1945 who is mysteriously swept back in time to 1743, where she is immediately thrown into an unknown world where her life is threatened. When she is forced to marry Jamie Fraser, a chivalrous and romantic young Scottish warrior, a passionate relationship is ignited that tears Claire's heart between two vastly different men in two irreconcilable lives. (I copied this from IMDB, so what)

Got it? Good. "But how did she end up back in time," you ask. Obviously she stepped through a split stone in an ancient stone circle. It happens all the time and I don't understand why you had to ask. The book takes place in the Highlands of Scotland so of course I strapped on my hiking backpack and my mom pulled her suitcase and we headed northward from Edinburgh to Inverness.

Now, I don't know if you have ever driven on the wrong side of the car, on the wrong side of the road, shifting gears with the wrong hand, in a gigantic city you don’t know...but it was terrifying and I wasn't even driving. Inverness is such a lover's city but I was being sort of a brat because I was homesick and about to start my period or something so I think I ruined the first night there. Sorry Mom. But after that it was really amazing. Really. Wow. I took public transportation to Culloden Field which was really super fun because the bus driver was sexy and had a fun accent and said, "where are you from?" And I asked him to marry me and he said yes. JK. I got to Culloden and all joking aside. Whoa. It was beautiful. And haunting. It is really hard to put into words. It was lovely and clear that day but you could really see the freezing, starving highlanders pushing their way across the field; fighting until they had no fight left.

If you study the rising you know what a serious impact this had on the lifestyle of the people; it quite literally changed their way of life forever. I spent all day there. They have done an amazing job with the visitors center; tons of information, presentations, and guided tours of the battlefield. Then I walked to the Clava Cairns. I passed sheep and highland cattle, and rabbits until I found myself in this shady grove. This is where many people believe the inspiration is for the split stone from the novel and hundreds of people travel there dreaming that the stone will sweep them away too, to their destiny. I spotted it almost immediately through the mossy trees and giant roots. I walked toward it with purpose and for one completely silly moment I believed that I would be gone. As I stretched my hand toward it, I knew I would wake up in the past. I held my breath. And as I pulled my hand away, I sighed and chuckled to myself. I am ridiculous.

The bad (ish) news is that I was still in 2013 but the good news is that at 26, I still believe in magic. And my destiny? It's mine to find. Mine to embrace. Life is so stinkin' cool. I hope you all had a totally magical summer. I know I sure did.

"The" One.

My Facebook marital status has been "single" for over two years now. It seems almost impossible that it has been that long. But the months go by whether we will it or no and in that time I have given A LOT of thought to what I am looking for in "the one". Wakefulness was keeping me tossing and turning last night and I started to put all these little thoughts together and I wrote them down in my journal which is filled with much more juicy detail than I would ever dare put here but I wrote the following summation at last:

I will wait for someone who has armored himself with the strength and presence of a man. Who, underneath, is filled with tenderness, good humor, and love. And when the hard day is done I can look to and trust because his core is composed of the sort of honor that separates men from boys.

Those are really big shoes (preferably covering the feet of someone tall and handsome but I am really not as picky on that front). There are certain conversations I just am not willing to have with my future spouse. They are things I won't need to tell him because they are as intrinsic as the quiet comfort of a darkening horizon.

I don't expect that things will be perfect or even close but in the infinite wisdom of my best friend, "you don't have to compromise on being married to a grown up."

And I don't intend to...anymore. We accept the love we think we deserve. When I opened my heart to this one line, social media repost my choices became limited, sure, but the sort of love I am destined for became the kind capable of gripping the soul and spanning a lifetime. And my heart can't settle for anything less.

Book Club?

I remember reading my first romance novel. Stolen (borrowed) from the overcrowded bookshelving in the office at my parents' house, the yellow front cover displayed two cherubic angels pulling back lace curtains to reveal a Victorian style bassinet and proclaimed the title in huge red lettering, Nobody's Baby But Mine.

I don't remember much about the book really except that it was about a really smart woman who wants to have a baby with someone dumb because she doesn't want her child to be ostrasized by society for being a braniac. Then it turns out that the not-so-smart professional quarterback whose child she carried was actually *gasp* SUMMA CUM LAUDE at his very prestigious, ivy league school. And imagine her surprise! But then they forgive each other, get married, and live happily ever after (with a few super steamy sex scenes, of course.)

And I don't know how many Jude Deveraux novels I read after that. There is one I remember specifically for some reason called Twin of Ice. His name is Kane Taggart. Her name is Houston Chandler. You already must know where this is going even just knowing their names but at the end of the most scandalous chapter my 16 year old eyes had ever beheld Kane Taggart stands up with pebbles stuck to his backside (imagine!) creating the dimpled look common to sitting on wicker.

The truth is, no matter how cheesy, I have not met a book I didn't like. Except for anything I had to read in high school English. No Mrs. Boch-Parker, I would not like to read this meandering, pointless novel written by a manic depressive feminist. Being on Hitler's blacklist does not make you a good writer...well, unless your Anne Frank because she is amazing. Okay, so maybe I am being too hard on Virginia Woolf but I hated that book and I was pretty sure that my teacher knew I only read half the Spark Notes version.

The only exception to the high school syllabus reading exception is THE EPIC OF GILGAMESH which I don't think counts because watching a classroom full of teenagers look on horrified as the words "scented bush" are read aloud makes me lol even ten years later.

Really, long story short I want to start a book club. Because I am obsessed with books. And I want to talk about them with people. Would anyone want to do it? We could do it online as a Facebook group even?

PLEASE!?

We to me.

Anyone who has ever gone through a serious break up probably knows the long process it takes to truly "get over" that person. In the first days, you forget that you aren't together and reach for the phone to call them before you remember you can't. It makes your heart hurt down to your finger tips where you ache to dial their number. And it doesn't really matter if you were the break up-er or the break up-ee. If you truly loved that person, whatever the reasons, it just flat out sucks.

Weeks and months go by and you might still be fighting. Everything you see, think, or do seems to rip open the fresh wounds. You might see them in the grocery and it shakes you to the core.

Because there is anger, annoyance, frustration, pain and then, hopefully, a tentative forgiveness until you talk very little or not at all.

Somewhere in that time I assumed a new identity. Instead of referring to myself constantly as "we" I began to say "I". Me. I scarcely knew what that meant. I had been in one relationship or another for so long I had never developed a full sense who I am; what I want.

I was afraid. Of doing the wrong thing. Of someone being disappointed in me. Of being alone. But if this season of of life has taught me anything it is this:

Stop waiting for other people to tell you it is okay to live.


And I will be in Scotland on my 26th birthday. And Germany before it and Ireland after. And I am going to stop waiting to start living. Every decision I have made has been influenced by someone else. I guess that is the way it always goes but the problem is that I have been dangerously susceptible to not believing in myself. And I do now. I believe in myself.

Me. And that's okay with me. How freeing.

So basically it's like the Lion King.

hey is that any good looking ladies out there-26

Hey ladies
I'm Dan looking for someone to huge out have some fun. I like to go out to the cubs, outdoor activities, watching movies. If it sounds like u hit me up. Pic for pic.


Dan,

I had so much hope for you. I am proud of your excellent usage of a contraction! And that is really the only thing I can say. Dan, Dan...what happened to you? Did you just type a lot of letters and let iPhone auto correct create your ad from there? I really must warn you against the dangers of depending too much on technology. Have you not seen THE MATRIX TRILOGY? Yea, me neither. But basically this lot of robots band together against humanity and create this fake world and it's actually hundreds of years in the future but everyone thinks it's the 21st century and this guy takes the blue pill and saves the world. So sort of like The Lion King but instead of it taking place deep in the heart of Africa it takes place in this weird, green binary code.

Anyway, I digress. Please proofread your crap. I mean really, your use of commas is hurting, my, brain. Comma.

Thank you for your consideration,

Sara

Wall colors that seem like a great idea...but aren't: episode 1

Me: Dad, will you teach me how to paint? I suck at it.
Dad: (looking like I asked him to kill a man) yea, you suck at it.

And then he proceeded to tell me for the 9 gazillionth time how awful it was to paint over "that blue in your old bathroom." And I nodded and let him tell me, appreciating his plight but thinking that I wasn't the one that let a 16 year old me pick paint colors and head downstairs with roller and brush to...do a sucky paint job that I thought looked, like, totally amaze!

Dad: What color are you trying to paint over?
Me: robins egg ish
Dad: (as he twitched with post traumatic stress disorder) so it's blue? You know how many coats it took to paint your old bathroom? (And then with a sigh) When?

I love my dad so much.

And I appreciate my parents allowing me to express myself by decorating my own bathroom (in all it's underwater glory) and my room (which looked like a stupid retro Easter egg). So when Jessica came to live here I let her pick her own paint color and we taped out squares (Pinterest!) and in regular teenager form the girls had a painting party. And then she started writing song lyrics on the same wall with black marker and I was initially annoyed but figured I would have to paint the wall anyway and let her write away.

And tonight, two coats in, I know that as cute and teenage girly as her room was that I will never. Ever. Do this again. Sorry future children. You'll have to ask your "auntie" Jess why you can't paint your room, like, dark purple and gold.

"I am a woman more thankful for what I am than guilty for what I am not."

A few weeks ago I bought my first set of "grown up" sheets. I saw them at Target. Thomas O'Brien vintage collection, gray, and they matched my bedding just perfectly. Admittedly my $12 Wal Mart fitted sheet had been washed to the point that the elastic didn't have any more stretch to give and the flat sheet...well, let's not talk about that. But as far as the ol' budget goes sheets are not at the top of the mad money priority list.

So I picked them up. And I put them down. And I walked down the aisle, turned around. Picked them up, put them down, looked at the price, walked away. I looked at cosmetics, went back to bedding. Picked them up, put them down. Put them in my cart. Mentally balanced my check book. Walked away. Brought them back. PUT THEM AWAY. Picked them up. Bought them. Walked to the car. Immediately had buyer's remorse. Wanted to return them. Kept them and as I peeled off those ugly, old, thread bare, discount sheets I realized how crazy I probably looked to everyone in Target and how I should have done this MONTHS ago. I was frustrated with myself for giving myself such a hard time for making a purchase that while slightly frivolous bordered on the 'need to buy' category.

And ever since that moment I have been writing this post in my head. I know that I am not the only woman who does this to herself. And why? Why do we do this? And I realized it is because of this ridiculous and contentious need to be everything to everyone all the time.

Well I am not. And I am not going to feel inadequate or selfish over sheets. Or over women who are more beautiful than me. Or over trying desperately to find that balance between not enough and too much in every situation that does or possibly could arise. We drive ourselves crazy over these small, trivial things. We make ourselves miserable over $75.00 sheets, unused coupons, and fingerprints on the coffee table. I can do what I can but I can't do it all and I want to teach myself that I don't have to.

I am thankful for what I am. Strong, smart, independent, funny, compassionate, and open hearted. I want to embrace what I know to be true and stop obsessing and expending unimaginable amounts of time and energy so that people (who are going to think what they are going to think regardless) will like me more. I am likable for exactly who I am today. I am worthy of friendship, love, and happiness for exactly what I am right now.

So let's let them talk. And let's be more thankful for who we are than guilty for what we are not.

The seed of the happiness that is steeped in content can only begin to grow if you find it in your heart to let it.

Cups.

EDIT: I wrote this after reading Psalm 23. It is meant to be about grace and forgiveness. About being thankful that no matter how dark the day that you can cry out "Oh Lord!" and have your cup filled by the grace of God.


"Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over." Psalm 23:5

I am tired. But weary is a better word.
Weary of people being less than they should.
Weary from disappointment.
Tired of feeling ashamed.
Of who I am.Of who I am not.
Of who I don't choose to love.
My cup here is empty and
I have nothing left to give.

I am sad. But solemn is a better word.
Solemn because of cold sheets after long days.
Solemn from loneliness.
Sad because of love.
Of what I feel. Of what I can't feel.
Of what goes unreturned.
My cup here is empty and
I have nothing left to give.

I am sick. But weakness is a better word.
Weak from problems that never seem to cease.
Weak from my flesh.
Sick from no forgiveness.
Of who I can't. Of who I won't.
Of who I hate for ruining my life.
My cup here is empty and I have nothing left to give.

:

I have nothing left to give but an empty cup.
And weary, solemn weakness.
Oh Psalm of David, what were your words?
I know of your sins and your forgiveness.
What do you think of them now?

Words.

Sometimes, words come so easily to me. And others, as anyone who was present at Allison Curbow's bachelorette party toast fiasco already knows, sometimes-they don't. But either way when I am happy I can type up page long dissertations in seconds no matter whether the subject is good, bad, or even particularly interesting. But when I am discontent its as if my fingers don't understand the language and I will stare at a blinking, vertical cursor forever and nothing comes. Eventually I give up and move on to some sort of monotony that might comfort my thoughts.

It is a weird sort of shut down mechanism; whenever the world is too much for me I can't put anything into words. I can't write about sadness. Like I am some sort of literary sociopath. I can feel it. So deeply. But to lose someone you thought you knew. I don't know how to write about that. To want someone in your life so much and not be able to have them like you want. I don't know how to write about that. Feeling lost and stuck and hurting...I can't write about that.

But what I can write about, constantly, is that when I come out of my bouts of frustration, sadness, infuriation, etc that I come out knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that life is nothing you expect and everything that's beautiful.

Someone told me recently that it is hard to be friends with me because I don't believe in myself. That I am demanding. That I think everything is about me. And after a lot of thought, I am glad this person said this. Not because I had a sudden epiphany about what a bad friend and shoddy person I had become but because I know in my heart that I would give everything to someone who needed it more than me and have, even though it has sometimes meant that I went without. I make deliberate choices. I think about things (sometimes too much). I make responsible choices. I always try not to say things I don't mean. I am willing to do the right thing even if it isn't easy. I tell people the truth even when my ideas are unwelcome.

And like me, hate me, or have no feelings one way or the other...just know that if you ask, I will open my heart; and that's what I write about. Because underneath even the bad days, love is all I know.

Sara

The Legacy of Kitchens.

They say that the average person will spend 25 years of their lives sleeping. If that's the case, and it seems legit, I will spend at least 12 in a kitchen. Maybe not all of those years in my own but in someone's. Some of my most favorite memories take place in kitchens.

My mom cooking up dinner and turning to Brandy and me at the table where we were drinking too much soda and saying, "so girls, what's the drama?" with her hand on her hip. Never knowing at the time that we would cherish those moments (and the delicious hamburger helper that she was whipping up).

Cleaning up after a huge Thanksgiving meal with my aunt and my cousins while the men watch the TV. Baritone voices talking from the living room while I laugh with my grandma that we are just alike when it comes to the order of our houses and we tease her for the 10 thousandth time about what we can or cannot put in the trash compactor.

Doing dishes at the cabin with Aunt Diane when all the other kids had left to play. I don't remember what we talked about but she always made what I said important just by listening.

My friend Erika who can create a dish out of thin air and make it look like a breeze-commiserating and talking with her while she took over my kitchen.

Baking bread, making food, humming, singing, crying, cleaning, talking, laughing....all because of an oven.

Kitchens speak a feminine language that a man could never understand. And it is a legacy that you rob your daughters of if you don't let them sit and open cans and cut onions while you cook. They won't know how it feels to knead bread or lick the chocolate chip cookie bowl. They won't see the value of sitting in the oven warmed room and just simply being. They won't remember you as someone who turned around with a wooden spoon in her hand, shirt covered in flour. They won't have a memory of you elbows deep in boiling water washing greasy dishes and teaching them about life without saying a word.

They might not become the kind of women that know to set the table-or see the importance of eating at it. And they might not become the kind of young ladies that instead of watching MTV all afternoon will sit for hours on bar stools talking about everything and nothing and baking cup cakes.

Let the girls in your life laugh. Do the dishes with them. Sing too loud with them. Listen to them. Show them that no matter where they end up in life that where there is a kitchen there can be family, warmth, friendship and love.

I know that in my life, it has always made all the difference.

My closest friends are bee fighters.

hotandspicy600 - m4w - 24 (anchorage)

hy are you lonely and what some compony or other sexual desire then i'm your man here's alittle about me i have been in anchorage for a little over 2 years and loveing it what i love is art,music,photography,hanging out with friends so if you what to contack me text me at seven-six-four-five-nine-five-zero i'm free enytime in the evens and i do not care if your chuby and i do not care about hair typ or other stuff like that and i well go for a ltr to or just

friends with befites well hear form you later and i can host if you can not

______________________________________________________

 

Dearest Hotandspicy600,

   I am writing you this letter to tell you that you are in luck! I am currently in the market for a friend with befites! (Just so you know though I think it is spelled 'bee fights'.) The only problem I am having with this arrangement is that I am allergic to bees so if one stings me I will go into anaphylactic shock (sp? nevermind you don't care about spelling) and could die. So could you please give me more information on what bee fights entail? Are there a lot of bees? Are they in a cage? Do I get to wear a trendy honey getter suit?

Also, I would like to contact you but I don't know which days are even. Do you start your week on a Monday or a Sunday because that clearly affects which days are even and which ones are odd?

Um, okay, that is all then! Let me know about the bee thing.

Thanks,

Sara

Come, let us have tea and talk about things.

The fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control. Against such things there is no law-Galation 5:22

Fall in Alaska begins in August. This will be my 25th Alaskan summer and as any girl from the Last Frontier knows that after a leafy, beautiful fire show the trees will stand naked against nights that grow colder. Frosts steal the color from the yards, the flower beds, and the mountainside. The air is crisp and still. There is a sharp, well known smell outside. Like everything just waits for the blanket of snow. And within the month it will cover our world in white.

And I get a new beginning. Just like the snow makes everything new. Every year. 

But still the leaves cling to the last bits of summer and dreary days will find me consuming more and more chai tea. And that is how today began and how it is ending. Me, a clean house, Michael Buble, and my tea. Reflecting on the summer and the year so far, what I have learned. And here is what I know for sure....

The spice of life is steeped in joy, peace, and love. The spice can only be found by appreciating the moments in each day where you can't help but be thankful. It is found in your best friend who can make any terrible day better because she understands you deeply. The laughter of a loved child. The morning murmurs of teenage girls just waking up from their sleepover. A day of shopping with your mom who no matter how many years pass never seems any older but who continues to give  the best advice even though so many times it has not been taken. Your oldest friend taking vows that promise lifelong devotion to her husband. A visit from someone you love deeply even after the water under the bridge has gotten so deep that the shoreline has been swallowed.
Spice is one part pain of regret, two parts the fear of rejection, and three parts an aching, hurting heart; knowing that all the wishing in the world cannot change someone else; and stirring it passed anger and into hope.

It is remembering that whether you are a daughter, mother, wife, sister, or friend that you are both capable and deserving of forgiveness. Of love. Of moving on. It is acceptable to feel vulnerable. To feel sadness. To feel. But in the end to find happiness you have to know that happiness is not a destination. It is most often a choice that you make not in spite of the things around you but BECAUSE of them. Everyone has bad in their lives. But there is goodness in life too...and sometimes it hurts too much to see but that is when our eyes need to be open or we will miss the way the sun shines in beams through the clouds. The way someone looks at us. The way nothing is better for the soul than helping someone else. We will dwell on what didn't happen instead of what is right in front of us today. What is waiting in tomorrow.

Because it is all beautiful. To not see it, to miss out because we don't feel like it...I don't want to live like that. Do you?

Sara



 

Can you be alone with yourself and like the company you keep in empty moments?

My house is usually a beacon of light in the darkness resulting from either someone having fallen asleep on the couch or a general lack of energy savings awareness on the part of one certain teenager. But tonight she has gone to bed and flipped all the switches. The house is silent, not even my dogs bark, but it is alive with sweet, warm energy.

I drop my gym bag and over sized black leather purse onto the chaise and I go about my nightly routine. Checking locks, closing shades, turning on nightlights, feeding the dogs. The routine is comforting. Especially after today. It feels good to do something that I do every night. It brings be clarity even as I feel emotionally crippled. My head hurts from sobbing. My contacts are fuzzy from tears. And the actual pain from a breaking heart is fresh in my chest. 

Don't you know, silly girl, that you can't call it a year without doing something you knew better than to do?

My room is a wreck but I dive into my unmade bed and ignore the total chaos. I have three books on my nightstand. My bible, A water wrinkled, page stained copy of The Invitation, and a book of prayers.When I feel this way I usually reach for my bible but I know there is a line in The Invitation that my mind is so trying to grasp right now. 

I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dream, for the adventure of being alive...I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow; if you have been opened by life's betrayals or have become shriveled and closed from fear of further pain.

My breathing is calm and even now. I'm not afraid to love. Deeply, faithfully, and with everything I have. I should remember more often that not everyone has the same character as me. But I know that I will love them anyway. I don't know any other way to be. I am not still so young that I believe love conquers everything but I do believe that you will never know what it can do unless you feel it and live it and let it show in all that you do.

I forgot my water bottle in the car. As I step into the night air the porch light clicks on. Sometime today 3 new roses and a whole line of wildflowers have bloomed in the small garden along the sidewalk. So much delicate beauty. And in all its fragile states, life goes on. As I stood in front of the rose bush like a modern version of Snow White with less birds, less evil step mothers, and better clothes I was absolutely sure of one thing:

Someday my prince will come. 

Goodnight beautiful world,

Sara.

"Ten years of this, I'm not sure if anybody understands"

Only a blind man could not be inspired by a moment like this. Right now I am sitting on the shore of Gold Cord Lake. The water is in front of me and the mountains surround me. I made it to the top a while ago and have since been mostly alone, just me and the dogs. When an hour passed and there were no people I swam in the freezing, clear water...an endeavor that which, if ever repeated will be followed by post swim bug dope bath.

I am feeling with every sense. The silence echoes the sound of cars on the long road in the valley but since I have spent the last two hours chasing the sunshine around the lake there are almost none. I close my eyes against the sky and listen. The spirit of the earth speaks in rushing streams, breathing dogs, and rock chuck chirps. Every so often I even here the eerie siren of an eagle.  I am trying to take it all in and I smile at nothing in particular. I run my bare feet across the moss covered rock where I sit. I breathe the mountain air every few minutes I catch the scent of wet dogs as they dart back and forth, so happy to be in a state of total freedom.

My mind feels free.

There is no one needing me right now. No phone ringing. No email to answer. Just me. By myself in a place where no one is asking. Where I don't have to tell. And most of all there is no one judging me on my choices or my hair or my weight. I am exactly who I am. I know it has to end. I can't stay here all night and Bailey seems to think it is time to go. She is bouncing back and forth between the trail and the rocks. There is now no sun touching the lake and the shade is beginning to shroud the shore as well. I decide she is probably right. Balto has grown bored and is sticking his head in a marmot hole.

The trip down is quiet. There is a park ranger in the visitors lot but that is all. I am in no hurry to get back to civilization so I walk slowly thinking about my life. Feeling the peace that comes from within. Feeling moved. By the time I reached my house I was feeling sad that I had no one to share the evening with. That it was just me and suddenly I felt reassured that it would not always be so. I need to appreciate this season because it won't always be that I have an evening where the only responsibility I have is one to myself.

It is good to enjoy the company you keep when you are alone. But it is also okay to feel lonely. Because if I wasn't lonely right now I would never have known that I wasn't supposed to share this moment with anyone because God was sharing it with me.

A letter to my sisters

I have always wished I'd had a sister. Someone who understood me better than anyone because we had the same parents and the same experiences. Of course, this never happened and I grew up happy and healthy despite the chromosomal differential of my only sibling (who I love!) :o).

And on my 25th birthday I realized how rich I am with sisterhood. I am 25 and I still have best friends. Unabashed, middle school style bffs. And while I probably won't be buying them friends forever heart necklaces from Claire's for Christmas my adult life has proven that these girls are so much more than just people I pass the time with. They are my kindred spirits, my encouragement, and (as my oldest friend called me) the sisters of my soul.

I am so thankful for the love of people who take me for everything I am and accept me for everything I am not. To have the opportunity to love them and be there for them. They are always a place of understanding, honesty, and a constant source for laughter. What a beautiful thing to know and a priceless thing to have.

Ruth 1:16
And Ruth said, Intreat me not to leave thee, or to return from following after thee: for whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge: thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God:
Proverbs 27:17
Iron sharpeneth iron; so a man sharpeneth the countenance of his friend.

Thank you for being part of my life. For helping me become a better person and a stronger woman. No matter the distance between us, real or imagined, I love you. Seriously!

What A Total Pratt: A CL Edition.

It has been so long, too long I think, since I have done a CL edition. I felt so inspired after reading this one though that I couldn't help but do my thing.

Where are the real girls at? Seriously. - m4w - 22 (Soldotna)

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Date: 2012-05-31, 12:29AM AKDT
Reply to: c9jr3-3043865838@pers.craigslist.org

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This is so weird. I am posting an ad on Craigslist to find girls. I mean really? I'm not some awkward person I'm actually quite the opposite. I'll show pictures because I don't care. I don't even live in anchorage. But i drive up all the time. I'm just tired of going out and seeing these girls that aren't even good looking. Or just weird or whatever. For instance, Im trying to dance with an actual cute girl and then there's her boyfriend who just starts acting really sad and angry. Then the rest of the girls around are just no good.

Ok so now it sounds like I go to the bars all the time. Not true. But I do like to have fun. Everyone says I'm crazy. Its great. Hahaha

So enough with that. I know there's random girls that read these but they think these guys are creepers and weird.

So if there's any real girls out there that are good looking feel free to reply. This has been a huge rant just because I don't want some elephant blowing up my phone. Everyone's going to be really sad about everything I'm saying but I'm just saying what everyone else is too afraid to say.

So no whales. Just saying.

I dont want a girlfriend. Especially one off Craigslist. But I mean think of how cool that would make me. Call me or text me or whatever and then this weekend we will go have fun.
I'm going to spell out my phone number because I guess that's cool.

Nine oh seven. Three nine four. Four nine oh seven.

Or you can email me and I'll just take alot longer to respond. Here's pictures of me with just randoms.

I'm actually an awesome guy. This makes me sound crazy though.

____________________________________________________

Dear "Where The Girls At?", 

First of all in answer to your question I just want to point out that you live in Soldotna. I could be wrong but might it just be possible that the "girls" are not in Soldotna? 

My main reason for writing however isn't to discuss the Soldotna census but rather that I am worried about your sobriety; were you drunk when you posted this? I am not asking because you ended the title of your ad with a preposition but more because that would be the only thing to excuse this much dumb.

I became especially lost about mid way when you began spouting hatred for large animals. Maybe you have had a bad experience with elephants but sir, I must assure you that I have never known an elephant to blow up someone's phone. How silly!

Also I am appalled at your accusation that only awkward people post on CL. I mean really, sometimes a girl just has to sell her Pomapoos for $1,000 each. (A Pomapoo is a cross between a Poodle and a Pomeranian. Must I explain everything!?) That doesn't mean she is awkward, it means she is a crook. No one wants your stupid designer dog! But I digress.

Your post didn't make me sad at all really...mostly because I didn't understand where you were going. You kept saying blah blah, I am not crazy, blah blah, people on CL are all losers, I hate large ocean dwellers blah blah. Me thinks that thou doth protesteth too much if you know what I mean.

Oh, and just as a side note when people say, "you're so crazy" it is usually code for: You are the most obnoxious person I have ever spoken to but I am a nice and unsure about how you will retaliate so I will just giggle and say something harmless like 'you're so crazy.' It's not a funny compliment, I promise.

In conclusion, would you mind toning down the stupid? Your brand of annoying is making me wish I could make you put a dollar in the douche bag jar.

Happy to help!

Sara

You're not really a woman until...

I am vaguely sure that the punishment for all the crap we put our moms through is this:

Totally random, oddly spaced beard hairs that appear out of nowhere. One morning you just wake up and BAM there it is in all its manly glory. One very long hair on your chin that was most definitely not visible the night before is growing out of your chin like a mini version of Jack's magical beanstalk.

But you aren't yet a woman of substance until you are touching up your make up in your office and one wayward follicle puts you in such a panic that you begin to dig frantically for something, anything that will make it go away. You dump your purse out on your desk but are unable to find any device capable of plucking that lone beard hair. Until....

I know. It is truly tragic. But this isn't a carnival; what is a girl to do. Really.