(Via TheCellarDoor)

It’s been my mantra for the past year and a half.  Ask anyone. Its all I say back to anything anymore. Really.

I say it because I need to say it, because I need to hear it, because it’s the truth.

And well, because I believe if you can accept this simple little truth, if you can start here, your trajectory is pretty darn good.

Oh. Well, hello there November.

Quite possibly my favorite month of the year. Just maybe.

Here are a few little things that are making me smile;

1. Persimmons are in season!!

2. Also,  I replayed THIS 8 times, at least. It’s phenomenally great.  I think if I could get a guarantee from God that if I had a child they would do cool tricks like this, I’d be less adverse to that whole watermelon through a Pringles can thing.  Thanks for that one,  Ms. Jules.

3. This makes me looove human beings. I’m not even sure what that means, other than that in the face of so much darkness and hatred there sure is a hell of a lot of beauty out there too. This is artist Stephen Wiltshire.  The photo  is him in the process of completing  a sketch of the New York Skyline by memory from a 20 minute Helicopter ride, with PERFECT accuracy. Talk about the power of the human mind.  Seriously, read more about him here. (Via Cup of Joe)

4. You don’t have to know me long, to  know one of my small BUT VERY IMPORTANT dreams is to have a chicken coop one day. Maybe a few Goats for cheese and milk as well, but at the VERY LEAST, I’d like a coop.  I think about this ALL the time. Especially as of late because, crap. I’m falling in love with this city by the bay. And well,  city dwelling presents this slight problem with that dream of mine you see…  Anyways, to make matters worse I came across this today (Via Design Sponge).  Can you say VOGUE for Chickens?

geez… my heart.

4. And lastly my sister passed this great photo blog along to me today. I could look at these for days. Makes me think about love, aging, seasons, and time- in the loveliest sort of way.

All for now. Happy November tidings to you all.

details

I’ve rediscovered my favorite brown cords.

Sea Salt & Turbinado Sugar Dark Chocolate Almonds from T.J.’s.

I pressed fiery orange leaves in between the pages of my text book on my walk to class this morning.

A sour cream apple pie is in the works.

Mud. Yes, there was mud on my trail run today and it was FABULOUS.

Perfect Fall.

See Canyon Rd.

I don’t believe in new starts.  There, I said it.

I do, however, support the metaphor of them; the crisp clean sheets, newly sharpened pencils, the feeling you get standing in the middle of a new rented room white walls pregnant with possibility. I do love how the newness of things can seep into the way we wake up in the morning.  I affirm transitions, resolutions, changes of heart, and rediscovering, but I do not believe in new starts. I cannot believe in new starts, because  I am such a strong believer in second chances. And also in third chances and fourth chances and so many re-do’s we can’t even count anymore, till we are blue in the face.  Second chances are so potent because they bear witness to what happened before.  Even if it isn’t a redo, whatever it is, its no doubt been birthed from dreams, experiences, and people of the past that brought you to the now.

A wise man once said, “We can only begin with what has happened. We owe the future the past, the long knowledge . That is the potency of time to come.”  We don’t owe the future a new start, we owe it the self that has been created out of the collective of our past.  We love to separate ourselves from the things we have done, the ways we have treated others, we often say that is “what I did, not who I am. ”  And I get that,  I do.  To be fair, perhaps my perspective is skewed, because for me personally, often it feels as if my imperfections and failures have been the rule, rather than the exception.  Therefore  to separate the lovely moments from the gritty ones seems some sort of deep disservice to both, if not just blatantly dishonest.

I had a homecoming of sorts this past weekend. Laying in bed each night exhausted, my jaw all achy and worn out  from smiling so big all day.   Ive been gone for as long as I was there.  How can that possibly be?

I have to say, this was the first time that I didn’t tip-toe my way back into town. I just came on in, guard down,  just the way I like it. Sometimes people don’t like that. Sometimes they like to take the opportunity to put you back  in your place if youve dared to show up happy,with all your selves and all your pasts right out there in the open.  And someone did just that. Seized the moment to subtly remind me that I should be quieter and step more lightly, maybe hang my head just a bit lower. Id be lying if I didn’t admit that it stung a little. I know enough, to know this wasn’t personal.  And I only  know this to be so, because of all the times Ive passively jabbed at others, all the times Id wanted others to stay broken and ashamed if only so that I wouldn’t  feel so afraid.

Sometimes we have a hard time with this- allowing others to rise up out of the ashes. Mostly because we are so bad at allowing our own selves to rise.  Letting our pasts  be ours. Fully. Claimed. I think Im getting better at it.   Not because my past was somehow bad, and now life is good. Or that I know things now that I didn’t then, and ESPECIALLY not that what I am doing now somehow redeems something before. Grace isn’t a trajectory. Rather, I’ve become addicted to the way the past illuminates  life now.

And so I laid on my back, old friends by my side, changing leaves and familiar canyon hills above us,  and we laughed until we cried.

There have been people in my life who meant me well, taught me valuable lessons, and others who have meant me ill and, have given me ample notification that my world is not meant to be all peaches and cream.

I have made many mistakes and no doubt will make more before I die. When I have seen pain, when I have found that my ineptness has caused displeasure, I have learned to accept my responsibility and to forgive myself first, then to apologize to anyone injured by my misreckoning. Since I cannot un-live history, and repentance is all I can offer God, I have hopes that my sincere apologies were accepted.

You may not control all the events that happen to you, but you can decide not to be reduced by them. Do not complain. Make every effort to change things you do not like. If you cannot make a change, change the way you have been thinking.

-Maya Angelou

Because

she tells it so much prettier than I can.

I pulled into Nazareth, I was feelin’ about half past dead

Nothing like starting off the week with your neti pot.  I awoke this morning to a nice little sinus infection.

My penance for a weekend of bluegrass dust and zero downtime.  I desperately needed a recovery day from last week, but guests and friends and bluegrass arrived Friday evening  and I’m a firm believer that when life gets good you don’t send it packing. And in living up to its end of the bargain, the weekend was glorious, if not a bit relentless. I stuffed down my exhaustion, told my body to just KEEP IT QUIET, and she did.  Mostly. Until this morning, the drip-drip- pressure-headache..”you didn’t think you were really going to get away with that did you?”

Crap. I sat in bed for about 20 minutes after waking up this morning. Ya know, just to be certain that yes, I am actually feeling this bad. Got dressed to make one of those romantic trips to the drugstore where your selections are as pitiful as you feel; kleenex, floss, saline packets, dish soap while you are at it. I feel like these are the moments in which the universe stretches her equalizing powers, to remind you of your ordinary humanness.  On the way to the checkout you shuffle by the gossip magazines with the perfect- bodied-bikini- clad superstars the story bi-line, “the secrets from their Fiji vacations.” You keep shuffling and put your kleenex on the conveyor belt.  You wonder if Angelina Jolie buys her own floss? Probably not. She probably also doesn’t get ‘told’ rather than ‘asked’ by her landlord at 8am to move her car out of her own driveway (this just happened).

Days like this you just do the best you can. You take care of yourself. You remind yourself to say please and thank you. You go through your routine.

In my journal this morning,

” If this summer was defined by mountains the fall has revealed that it will be defined by music.

Physically, Spiritually, Metaphorically; Mountains- Music.

Oh, and I’m exhausted today.  ”

In my head this morning,

and this,

Good night moon, Good night city

Just sitting here, eating a leftover half of  an avocado with a spoon.  Listening to a new mixed CD at 12:56 am.

Its been a long day, evidenced by the state of my bedroom and the little heaps of clothes in various corners. Each heap a soft monument telling the story of where Ive been and what Ive done on this particular Thursday. A connect the dots leading to the last and final heap of converse, jeans, and a  sweater for nighttime in the city. My sweater a bit coffee scented from the splashing I gave myself trying to chug a coffee pre-Bazan concert.  Sitting here feels like the first time Ive stopped moving today. I am so very exhausted but not quite ready to crawl into bed, I need to take a couple decompressing breathes. So here I sit hands on little black keys.

Nothing  really at all to say tonight, other than sometimes life is far too good to me. So good I worry that its all a big trick, and the joke will be on me and my naiveté for buying into all that beauty. Trick or not, tonight I am pure worn out from lifes good intentions. Its large helpings of love.  And glad that sometimes, perhaps most times, when you pray for something you will find yourself in the midst of what you’ve asked for. You’ll find yourself standing there, looking up through the San Francisco skyline wondering if you are more elated by the sheer existence of what you’ve asked for, or more so that someone somewhere out there, heard your little voice? Your little voice among the billions of other voices, somehow they heard it and knew it was yours. wow.

So thank you, for hearing.

thankful

…for impromptu Monday night dinner parties in my living room.

Hebrew songs, rabbit stories, wine, and appreciation.

keep the old, the old are gold.

Got to catch up with an old friend last night and I was reminded how much I like having old friends.

Getting to stand back and see the trajectory of someones life. Sometimes I think God lets us do this to remind us that we are not isolated in a place, a moment, or a season, we ourselves, are a greater history and collection of our pasts moving forward.  Im grateful for those who are able to see me outside of my present moments, because they have (and I am in awe of this even now) been willing to stand by for so many of my moments and my seasons. And so I- them and they- I,  hold a collection of these moments of one another in our repertoire, of who we are, who we have been, and often knowing more than we  know ourselves, who we will become.

Its been just over a year since I moved to the bay area. I  can hardly believe it. I think of, especially the women in my life who have held me together here. Leaning and holding me up  from far away places around the country. The give and take becoming so intertwined that the leaning can hardly be deciphered from the holding and so it becomes one sustaining force.  Perhaps this is why I am feeling so especially thankful and nostalgic for the longevity of friendships in my life.  Sticking around long enough to see each other through it all.

Old friends, with a supporting cast of strong coffee and good books, my lifeblood this year.