A great theologian, but doesn't care much for God.

It's taken awhile to get used to it, but I'm starting to like my room.

It pretty much only looks like
this for about half a day
on the weekends.

It mostly looks like this.

Westside walk it out

Jill and I took Huck and Emmy to Discovery Park to explore some unknown terrain. We wear North Face jackets, so of course we go on many excellent adventures. Actually, I think my jacket was from Target and Jill's was Arcteryx. I'm not sure what that says about us, except that maybe I'm less adventurous than I think...Anyhow, the park was beautiful.

Over the woods and through the...woods

The Puget Sound

Magnolia Bluff and the Puget Sound

:)

Sew fun!!

Yes, it's a really bad pun. But I've discovered the funs of sewing and I just can't hide it. J-pants and I spent an entire weekend sewing: she made me a kick-ass apron, and I sewed us pillowcases (I'm still working on sewing in straight lines). Martha Stewart for the win.

Moscato makes everything better

Our pillowcases!

These made Lila's pillowcase

What? Homemade fried mozzarella balls?
How did this picture get in there???

I was hideous until this apron.

Most fun.

Blankets (because everyone needs a transitional object)

Well, most people do, at least at some point in their lives. A transitional object (for those who aren't psychologists or didn't take Dr. Walker's Theology & Philosophy class) is a tangible object that provides emotional support during any given situation, the stereotypical security blanket or stuffed animal for a child. It makes that person feel safe and grounded when things might not be safe (or grounded).

Yes, I'm falling off
the bed while sleeping.
But I still have Smoothie!

I have one very old, very transitional object. His name is Smoothie, and he used to be my grandfather's old Hawaiian shirt. I'm told I stole the shirt when I was 2 or 3, and I've been carrying bits of Smoothie around with me ever since. My mom carried pieces of him in her purse, I remember holding him in my lap during church, and I can count on one hand the number of nights I've slept without him. Two years ago, my parents gave me the biggest piece of Smoothie left; I'm already preparing myself for the day when Smoothie finally dies and I have to replace him (because let's be honest, giving up Smoothie is not an option). I nearly always have Smoothie with me, and I've been known to tear rooms apart searching for him.

But I've also realized that Smoothie is part of a wider category of transitional objects: blankets. There's something soothing about the weight of them, something calming about the protection they provide. I have about a dozen different blankets just between my bed and the couch, a variety of quilts, throws, and comforters (and one electric blanket I got this year for Christmas. I don't know why I haven't owned one sooner!). I stopped sleeping with a flat sheet a few years ago because my feet were claustrophobic, and I switched to sleeping with just my not-actual-down comforter. This snowballed when I moved to Atlanta and experienced a really cold winter. I simply stacked blanket upon blanket upon blanket, and suddenly I was the blanket lady. I'm okay with it; I feel safe and warm and snuggly when I'm wrapped up in them, and I like to be safe and warm and snuggly. Among my favorites are a quilt my sister sewed for me, a rag quilt my bff and I made, this heavy, nubbly knitted (or crocheted? I have no clue...I think knitted) thing my aunt made me, and a fantastically soft fleece blanket my boss gave me for Christmas. There's also this old, old, old, old blanket I used to take naps with at my grandma's house. I slept with it for years and it started to fall apart. It's currently in the To Be Fixed pile, which reminds me that I need to fix it (i.e. ask my mom to do it).

So blankets. Besides actually sleeping, they're my favorite part of naps and night times. I'm confident they have magical healing powers similar to the strength of a unicorn's mane. Or Jesus' beard.

MLK Means Mandatory Volunteering

The door outside the theater

Yes, I know it actually means Martin Luther King. But as an AmeriCorps service member (my technical title), it means a mandatory work day; specifically, a mandatory volunteer day. Let's just say I had a less than stellar attitude about waking up early on my day off to volunteer because someone told me I had to. I signed up to volunteer at this place called The Arts Exchange, and the two other AmeriCorps girls at my site signed up, too (though only one actually showed up, ha).

Frozen fingers - purple for Luwam,
white for me

It was freezing. The inside of the building was colder than outside, and I was in the group working in the basement. The purpose was to paint the theater, classrooms, and some hallways. I painted the basement hallway. It was a creepy basement and a creepy hallway. My first thought was, I've seen this place in a nightmare. It reminded me of Shutter Island or one of those movies about Alcatraz. Or even Sunland, the decrepit mental institute in Tallahassee.

Basements are scary

I did learn a lot about The Arts Exchange, though, and met a couple of the artists who have space there. That was cool part. Luwam and I explored the building on our snack break and wandered through some closed (but not locked :) doors. It used to be an elementary school until some community group bought it so artists and dancers and whoever else can use it. Like Vampire LARP-ing and a martial arts studio (seriously). I like community stuff like that - people who love and care for an old building and use it for some offbeat purpose. One of the artists had a pretty awesome mohawk and a really cool earring (making the whole thing way more legit). Another looked like a pirate, sans the parrot.

Geared up

So was the day as terrible as I thought it would be? Yeah, kinda. Those things are always unorganized, I probably have some form of asbestos poisoning, and my fingers would have gotten gangrene if I'd stayed 10 minutes longer. But I warmed up to the actual Arts Exchange - the building and what it does - and I had fun making up songs while painting in the basement. One was about asbestos dust using Luwam's name, sung to the tune of "Look Down" from Les Mis. So even though it was not awesome, it wasn't a total waste. And we left early to get Panera.

Newsie Yearsie

Snugging with Josie and Max

This year, I spent New Years in Florida with my parents, sister, and niece. Mi madre went to bed first, around 9:30pm, and Sarah made it until a little after 10. My dad stayed up the longest with me - finally calling it a night about 11:30pm - so it was Josie, Max, and I who kept cozy on the couch and watched Anderson Cooper and Kathy Griffin in Times Square.

And I'm not a big resolution setter, though that seems to be a big part of things. It's way too much pressure and causes me undue anxiety to reflect on the past year and come up with some big, life-changing ideas. But I do think goals are a good idea, and there are some things I probably could do. Like stretching. I think stretching will be a goal. My hip flexors are tighter than a electromagnet's copper coil (interesting fact: did you know the Florida State University, my dear alma mater, has the world's largest electromagnet in it's Mag Lab? My sister also did several elementary school science projects involving electromagnets). So, stretching. And reading some Buechner every day. I like Buechner. There. Two things to try and do this new year. Booyah.

Christmas Post #2

Well, it should actually be #1 because my sappy reflections on my freakin' fantastic niece follow from the week of Christmas, but I wrote my Lilabug one first because she is freakin' fantastic. So here's what else happened:

I spent the entire week from Christmas Eve through New Year's Day in Florida at my parents' house. My sister and niece were there. For the first time in my life (seriously) I attended my home church's Christmas Eve service - that would be the church I grew up in, am a member of, and will always be a member of unless a magical unicorn tells me to join somewhere else. We usually go to Catholic mass on Christmas Eve with my family, but since my grandma died things have been different. We did get together with family post-Protestant church service to do the traditional dinner and gift exchanging. My 4-year old cousin Thomas told me to "Go away!" when I sat next to him. I didn't. I scooted a little closer.

Christmas Day was something different, too. It was on a Sunday this year, and since I'm avidly opposed to too much church in one weekend, I didn't go (just kidding. Well, not about the not going. I didn't go. It's just that I'm not a fan of going to church on Christmas Day. A little weird, a little psycho? Yeah maybe, but whatev). The rest of my family went, though, except for Lila. She and I hung out at home and played. I felt a little bad about not going, not because I was missing out on church but because Sarah was playing handbells (a nod to our teenage years of handbells and youth choir). But I really enjoyed the time with Lila and not having to get out of my pajamas.

The rest of the week was nice. I slept in until I heard Lilian babbling, and then I got up and tackled her (followed by getting back in bed for a little bit. It was a holiday, after all). I played with Lil, seriously kicked some puzzle ass, watched some movies, and read two books (Harry Potter 7 for the 3rd time, and the first book of The Hunger Games. It was awesome). I also saw a couple of friends, started making a spoon ring, and went to church on New Year's Day (but not New Year's Eve. Don't get crazy).

Yes, I drink my bottles in a tutu

Who is the boss? I am the boss, not you! Not you!