place

i first understood the notion of place when i rented an apartment beneath the home of a local mother of four. this home of mine stretched from the front of the house all the way to the back, but only on the right side. the other side contained two much smaller studio apartments, and in the back was an extra two car garage that stood under another apartment. the family's residence dwelt on the second floor of the main house.

my memories of the year spent in this place remain in my thoughts with nothing but fondness. the house was old, and it was falling apart in places, and it was not always conducive to energy efficiency in the wintertime. however, there is not a single moment spent in that home that i would trade. i remember weeks in december spent curled up under the window unit reading Anne of Windy Poplars and listening to the ep Poison and Wine on repeat. i remember sitting at my desk writing letters to various friends because the romance of written correspondence can be replaced by nothing. i remember sitting at the kitchen table on lonely mornings staring out the window with my french press coffee. i remember playing host to old friends and making blueberry muffins in the mid mornings while they lazed in my bed reminiscing in giddiness like preteens waking from a sleepover. i remember long conversations with a special ginger friend about life over tyson chicken patties and pasta. i remember writing final papers and exams in the wee hours of the morning with The Half-Blood Prince rolling in the background as we needed to be prepared for the soon-to-be-released 7th installment. i remember knitting on the borrowed pullout couch while movies entertained. i remember the cold early morning walks down two blocks to work. i remember the countless treks across the street to class every day. i remember becoming more myself than i ever had before as each corner of this place closed in to familiarize itself with me and mold me.

our hobbit hole is what we called this place. the ceilings were surprisingly low, and like a tunnel, it wound its way to the back of the house lined with carpet, tile, paneling, and plaster. this is where i lived when my views of the world and my perceived responsibilities in it as a Christian were drastically remodeled and became unrecognizable by my younger self. this is where i truly felt at home, at my home, as the walls and features reflected my being. 

much of the time, the world looks at the envied life of a globe-trotter, those few with the fortune, the smarts, and/or the luck to be able to travel from one place to another, never settling for long before the next adventure pulls. and the world views those lives as amorous and charming. and for those who truly feel the calling to live such a way, and can do it with the peace that is necessary, they are doing what is right. and sometimes i myself desire such liberty. and perhaps the moments will make themselves available for a season or two. however, there is no other kind of peace that can replace the peace of present permanence. in my year of residence in the hobbit hole, i knew sooner or later i would be filing out with all of my possessions, but for the time i was there, i could not think about that. i had to be at home should that truth of home be for one year or for many years. 

photo by Rachel Guerry

place is as much a part of who we are as humans as anything else that makes up our days and memories. place is to be treasured and loved as an old friend would be. 

i should like to continue this journey through the notion of place in future writings.

'i just believe in putting kindness into the universe'

Three and a half weeks of travels, and I still don't feel like I've seen the world. I guess this hunger is only temporarily satisfied like my normal daily hungers. I love every new experience now that it's all in hindsight, but I was all too ready to return. And I surprised even myself with that.

I think often of what makes life full and meaningful. And what I just did certainly ranks at the top of that. But I fear that many will too quickly assume extravagance and heavy expense are necessary. But truthfully, fullness is, the majority of the time, found in candles and fresh flowers. Food prepared by familiar hands. Live musical sounds. Invigorating conversation by those drunk on the excitement of being together. An afghan and the written word. 

I find my life unsettling in its awkward position of the in-between. Contentment and desire. I choose always to be happy where I am, but I always want more. I always want to see something else while I want to stay home and sleep.

And now, two weeks after those travels have ended, I can't believe that so much of what I have been working toward has finally happened, and I'm left with the only thing I know how to do now, which is to ask: now what? There are too many things that I want to do in my time in this world, and I've mentioned many of them here before. But if there's anything I have to do, it is to keep writing. And through that I will hopefully find a way to all those other things that I want. I would love to one day lose myself in the titles of librarian, teacher, editor, writer, bookseller. But at the same time, I have piles of yarn, cookbooks rarely opened, journals still unfamiliar to the pen, a guitar case collecting dust, tennis balls somewhere, and I swore to myself that I would learn to french braid and drive a manual before I died. I would also like to master chess and sourdough bread. I have patterns and fabric waiting for me, and if I believe about the world the things I say I believe about the world, I better learn how to make my own living. And I mean make my own money as well as make my own food and clothes and gardens and sugar scrub. 

That was a bit of a rave. But it brings me to my next point which is a bit of encouragement. Go to your local farmer's market before you make a trip to Walmart. When your clothing rips, don't buy new ones right away. Make a friend who has a sewing machine. When you meet your copains, don't go out to eat, make a mess in somebody's kitchen. If your house is stuffy, try to plant something before you pay too much money for the Febreze plug-in. These are only a few of the many places and moments where community sprouts, and through that, I believe one can find that life is full, because everything you think you need and all the things you weren't aware you needed are hidden there.

Nothing is ever lost to us as long as we remember it

The days have rolled into a lull. And I am more than okay with this, mostly because I know that this lull will not last. In a matter of weeks I will be back into the routine that I have known and grown to love, a routine that has been mine for nearly four years. It will be the last of this routine for me. Graduation looms on my horizon, and I'm at the point now where I don't know how I feel about it. We've been in this long-distance relationship for a while now, I'm nervous about how well we will be acquainted when we finally meet. I'm excited, though, and I've been waiting and looking ahead this whole time. I know I'll be ready to leave. There may be a pull in my heart towards this place and these years, but there will be no desire to stay.
In every season of my life, I have been as eager to leave when it was over as my heart has been melded to everything associated with it while I was there.

I've never had any trouble attaching myself to people, places, and times. If ever there was any struggle, it was simply in the expressing of such felt attachments. If I could, I would send out a big I LOVE YOU to every soul and moment that so touched my life while I was in its presence. I love you for being gracious in allowing me to be near. In allowing me to sit on your green lawn and cry on your pillowcases under your windowsills. I love you for cooking for me and letting me sleep on your couch and ride with you. I love you for showing me what I didn't know and exposing me to something greater. I love you for holding my hand and paying for my dinner. I love you for laughing with me and at me, and for playing the music for that time of my life. I love you because you know what I don't and see what I don't, and because you love what I'm learning to love. I love you for your smiles and your precious faces. For your innocence and your experience.

Sometimes my arms aren't long enough

to reach out and gather you all
into my embrace to squeeze you tightly
to simply say "I love you this much."

I wish my arms were big enough
because nothing fully shows you
how I really feel when you're near me
or how you bring my heart its warmth.

I wish my arms were strong enough
to keep you locked inside
because I never want to let you go
to leave me and live your life.

I wish my arms were enough
to hold myself so tightly
to make up for your being away from me
and bring me the love
I miss giving to you.

Oh, you're in my veins, and I cannot get you out.

The word "summer" connotes a medley of sweet sensations for everyone. We all seem to understand eating strawberries on the porch. We all seem to know sweet tea in mason jars. We all seem to smile at the memory of watermelon stains on our white, sweaty shirts. We all love the smell of cut grass (though not necessarily the cutting of grass), the ever abundant green outside the window, the tangled hair from beach wind, and of course, the kiss of sun. And with all this is the fondness of reading a good book in the bed of an air conditioned house, homemade ice cream which tastes just as good indoors as it does when in melts in your bowl outside, and whipped cream. Always a fondness for whipped cream.

Every year when September comes through my door (yes, it comes straight through; it never knocks) I always feel as though I never got enough of summer. We are good pals, Summer and I. You see, I am a July baby, and while I do love every day of every season, I have a special connection to the mugginess and the green and the closeness of the sun's heat and light. And I am always sad to see it leave, even though I know it will soon return. I love winter, I love spring, I love autumn, but to me, they are always transitions to get me to summer - a destination of sorts. Which is true when one has the mindset of a student. I don't care what you say, summer is a destination.

In heaven, it will always be summer, and it will never be hot.