This week in history

Some of the best decisions I’ve ever made happened during this middle of August week in years past.  Usually, I find August to be a filler, a waste of space, summer slowly interfering with the arrival of pumpkin spice lattes and cooler temps.  I don’t suppose I give August enough credit for the days that changed my life.

Case #1 

The year is 2002.  I traveled lands far and wide to a place of sunshine and humidity.  I left my homeland of Michigan and the safe choice of college in (of all places Minneapolis, freaking, Minnesota) for the tropics, for the great, world renowned, Southeastern College.  That’s right, COLLEGE and I will cherish those last days before it became a Disney resort University all my live long days. 

If I remember correctly, on this exact day TEN YEARS AGO, was the freshman community service project.  We were bussed to a local park, that I am certain we never visited ever again, to free it from the oppression of air potatoes, the great offender of all weeds.  Looking back, could this have been a massive joke?   Quite possibly, yes.  I remember the dehydration, being stranded under a pavilion, in the afternoon rain shower, while other students showed off their coolest human tricks, this was our moment, to make our mark, after all!!  Mostly, I remember the people I met, who became my friends instantly, because that’s how it was in college… and that is in my opinion, the very best quality of post-high school education.  Real-life-post-college-adulthood-friend-making could learn a few lessons here.

Case #2

The year is 2006.  I wake up in a camp on a dusty mountain in California.  I was already smitten with the land of wonder. My new co-workers and I are making a pilgrimage into a tiny little town called Los Angeles, to sit in the warehouse of the company office and listen to guy named Ernie tell us about car insurance.  It was wildly boring. Thankfully, promises of a fun evening staved off death by insurance safety lectures.  The night before, one person in particular was talking about going to a concert in Hollywood.  I was mildly impressed that he was familiar with this artist named Mat Kearney and I wanted in… also I was excited about shopping and Starbucks, before returning to our wilderness camp.  I didn’t ride in the same van  or even hang out with him that night, but it was our first conversation.  I fell in love with a sweater, a marvelous red and white striped beauty.  It cost exactly $188.  Every last co-worker of mine thought I was insane and made fun of me. Clearly, they had never heard of Anthropologie, not the most fashionable bunch. I didn’t buy it, I still wish I did.

The following night at dinner, we found ourselves sitting across from each other.  He made fun of me for liking Dashboard Confessional.  And the rest is history. 

 

College and California… the best decisions I’ve ever made, and that’s all for today’s episode of this week in history.  Until next time, friends.

Evening in Missoula, the dance of the water at dusk.

A typical sequence of events on a Monday afternoon, walk to the mailbox, check e-mail, read a text, so ordinary.  We spend minutes and hours, living and doing these normal things.

Yet, there are days when each note plays out like a grand orchestra, conducted by the most brilliant of masters. The skin shivers, the breath quivers, the tiny forming eye wells, I have a friend who calls these secret messages. Yes, indeed.

And you consider how each piece played out, how the sender mailed the letter at a certain time, entrusting it to the system who took x amount of days to deliver it to you, and how a random errand meant you were the one to walk across the grass to the mailbox, when usually it’s him.  After catching your breath, another message is waiting for you, but not moments earlier, right now.  Because in the raw emotion of blessing and awe, these words transcend their usual power, once again taking your own limited breath, so you only can inhale love from the origin of love itself. And it rushes past body and into soul, leaving you amazed at the one who pens the story of our days.

We don’t always see how our actions touch others, how one small ripple shatters the smooth, glassy surface and prompts the dance of the water at dusk.  My lovely friend was drinking tea the other day, it was called Evening in Missoula.  If this dance had a name, the dance of the water at dusk, it would be Evening in Missoula. Lights once still flicker and sway extending past their origin, tiny currents lap the shore and wash over the stones, smoothing them, in contrast to the gritty sand.  One event sets this scene in motion, creating a masterpiece to behold, but no one dwells on the exact boat or breeze or rock that started it. 

In the same way, life can feel trivial, the stirrings we respond to, the encouragement and light we send, but perhaps it’s the best way, so we step out of view, letting the true masterpiece shine.

It’s magic really, and not the card trick kind, but something so much bigger than our wildest imagination, something that connects us all to each other and to the heavens.

 

on the bat pandemic of 2012…. that never was.

We are on day seven of the plague over here.  After we came home from the cabin, the kids got sick.  The husband got sick.  God spared me for the sake of my family, I’m sure, but people, my battery is exhausted.  Funny little story, all seven of the other kids that were also at the cabin have been sick all week and some parents too, that is not the funny part.  This past weekend, when we found out, someone suggested that it might have been caused by the bat feces that was swept up from the deck, where they all played.  Well, upon hearing such possibilities, we took a trip to the doctor, who wore a face mask and scared my children, just to be sure that we were not going to be the origin of the great bat feces pandemic of 2012.  I mean, I watched Contagion, it happened here in Minneapolis. For twenty-five minutes in the car and in the waiting room, we entertained ourselves with the  hypothetical events that would happen if in fact the great bat pandemic of 2012 was real.  Of course, it was only funny in our exhausted heads.   And as it turns out, the real problem is  four little infected ears. 

The doctor humored our inquiries about the diseases caused by inhaling the fungus found in bat feces (how disgusting was that sentence?), and I’m pretty sure he searched WebMD or something.  I mean, I already did that.  He tried to get H to talk to him, which of course he didn’t, because he not overly conversation with strangers, especially people wearing masks.  And then went into a full monologue to the baby girl about the flowers on her shoes, so he could check her ears and eyes, she fell for none of his tricks.  I don’t know, again, maybe the mask?

Alas, the verdict was nothing that will ever be make it in the history books or future documentaries.

Miracle of miracles, they are willingly taking the medicine, which is now recorded for all time and I know this has to end soon.  We are going to make it!  Until I have more eloquent words, some photos of items recently added to the shops.

His name is Thatcher and he’s new in shop.  Feel free to visit him here.

Stripes. Hood. A touch of green.  The Finley Hoodie.

This lovely winter jacket is made from 100% French wool.  The Claire Jacket.

 

I’m sorry for the sentence about about the fungus and bat feces.  The end.