the gift of time...

This past week, I have been reflecting on what things I am able to do because I am not working. My love of Portland has been the topic of this blog in the past, but, this last week I have had a bit of a "frenassance" with some of my favorite places.

On Sunday I was able to head to the coast to bask in the beautiful sunshine and to get some caramel corn. It was the perfect time to walk, read and photo-document. I love that I can get to the coast in an hour and a half and that I have become a huge fan of being at the beach in pants and sleeves. Here is one of the 150 pictures I took while exploring.

the loss of my playlists...

I have, many times, talked about how I am a little obsessed with the passage of time and all things related to the passage of time. I love calendars, remember random dates and anniversaries and keep greeting cards so I can look back at where I was a specific times in my life and compare it to where I am now.

A semi-tangible way of doing this was saving and cataloging all of my playlists from the last 3.5 years. These were either my creations to mark how I was feeling on a certain day or to make some task, usually sweating, less awful. Sprinkled in with these were the playlists that friends, one in particular, had made for me on birthdays, holidays or just hard days that called for a little help. They helped me sleep on planes that would be met with grieving relatives and saved me from a completely melancholy music collection.

Two days ago, my Itunes decided to purge itself of said mixes. Luckily, the music remains intact but arranged only by artist and album. I know that I can (and will) research and rebuild some of these mixes, but some are gone forever. In thinking through this reality, I have decided that it will pose a great challenge to repopulate with things are more current and move on from more of the sad lists that had become a staple. If you are a music sharing person, consider this your call to arms...

when the rain comes...

I am not a huge fan of Bob Dylan as a singer, but, I do appreciate him as a songwriter. One of my favorites is the song,"When the Rain Comes" and today I am reflecting on different facets of that song.

The rain has most definitely come in its wet and cold form down on the fair city of Portland. It has been helped here by the amazing wind that hit the coast at around 70 miles per hour and slowed to 45 miles an hour around the corner of my house (cue the halloween soundtrack music). I will tell you that I do not mind the rain in Portland and, on most days, I will be telling the truth. Today it makes me want to stay home and not join the soggy world that soaks my jeans and fills up my ballet flats.

The rain also has come in the form of contemplation and sadness for me and someone close to me. During an impromptu and providential meeting, we shared thoughts, tears, and support in a way that I feel only God can orchestrate. That exchange reminded me of this song and why I love it so much.

"When the Rain Comes" written by Bob Dylan

When the rain comes it seems that everyone has
gone away
When the night falls you wonder if you shouldn't
find someplace
To run and hide
Escape the pain
But hiding's such a lonely thing to do

I can't stop the rain
From falling down on you again
I can't stop the rain
But I will hold you 'til it goes away

When the rain comes
you blame it on the things that
you have done
When the storm fades
you know that rain must fall
on everyone
Rest awhile
it'll be alright
No one loves you like I do

When the rain comes

I will hold you

3 years in portland...

I am big on dates. I do not always enjoy the kind that can be awkward and start in the science fiction section of Powell's (done it) or the fruit, but, many days on the calendar hold meaning. I remember seemingly insignificant dates and then recall them with people that could care less what day I bought my Ipod.

This talent(?) or obsessive quality has made me very aware that next week marks my 3 year anniversary in Portland. March 15, 2007, my dad and I left Tennessee with all of my personal belongings stuffed into and on top of the Honda Civic Hatchback we affectionately call the "Iceberg." The only open space was the passenger seat for the non-driver and the space that my Dad's modest duffle fit into.

We started out on what promised to be, and fell short of, an exciting 2,750 mile road trip across the flat, corn-filled midwest. The wild, wild west my father was looking to see was soon replaced by miles and miles, and miles, of broken down irrigation equipment.We laughed, got lost, and listened to the only 5 CDs that were not buried underneath all of the stuff. (Upon arrival, my Dad told my best friend that if he heard "that guy" sing about,"what goes around, comes around," one more time, he would lose it.) It was a great opportunity to spend time with my Dad and a bad time to be our lower lumbar regions.

The sad part of this anniversary is that I cannot call my Dad to share these memories and laugh. He shared them with everyone he saw and at his funeral I was able to hear about how proud he was of me and how much he loved our time together on the open road. Our lives are journeys. Sometimes those we love come along for the ride and sometimes they go on to places we are not yet ready for. I am trying to continue mine knowing that my Dad would want me to go on many adventures and, when possible, take my little silver car.

How is the job search going?

This is the question that dominates or at least begins every conversation that I have. I know that it is a logical opener, but, I am feeling a bit overwhelmed and feel the need to whine a bit.

I feel really bad that this blog has become a bit, well, a lot melancholy as of late. When beginning to write, I thought that it would be a great place for funny stories and ranting about the wonderful adventures that I always find myself in. Well, hears to hoping that happens at some point...

Today, while looking through craigslist.com for jobs through tear-filled eyes, I decided that I am a bit tired of looking for a job. It is amazing that it only took about a year to declare this, but, I am growing very weary of the endless looking, cover letter creating, resume tuning, hyper emailing, responseless waiting that has become my life (or at least my professional one.) This by no means will make a change in my daily routing or drive but I felt that I should get that out there.

I look forward to the day that I can sit in front of my computer in a coffee shop with a latte instead of a drip coffee and write this blog. That is all.

movie cry baby...

I love to watch movies over and over again. My dad used to make fun of this and when I lived at home would beg to not have to repeat things we had already seen. I have been on a nostalgic journey through my favorite cinema lately. I am quite sure that very few, if any, of these films will be on the AFI: Top 100 list (unless they have changed to add the 10 Things I Hate about You), but, they are movies that I love and that have been standbys for my existence.

The thing that I have noticed is that many of these movies now make me cry. It is amazing how life can take things in a movie that you never even really noticed and now make it something that has you wiping your eyes. I have been a crier my entire life, and, not always a well timed one. Now I have an even shorter threshold for boo-hooing...

I guess I should just embrace this and go into all movies, whether it be animated, romantic comedy, or actual drama, with a packet of tissues and no shame and with the knowledge that feeling someone else's emotion just heightens the human experience.

violent perspective...

The past week has provided several (100,000) opportunities to really look at what life means and what it looks like to lose someone you love. The devastation in Haiti and the loss of a friends' loved one have taken me on a roller-coaster of hopelessness and disbelief.

These two tragedies look very different to the outside observer. The one that the world is watching takes death and makes it a number that we cannot fathom. I look at the pictures and read stories about the horrors that are in this small nation, but, my brain does not have the ability to comprehend that kind of loss. I think of the people who will not ever know what happened to their family, who will never have a funeral to sob through, who will not have a death certificate to pour over in hopes of a different outcome. People who will have to relive this event through thousands of pictures, piles of rubble and news stories the rest of their lives and will now have to redefine what life looks like.

The other story gets much less press. In that one, a husband, father, son and friend dies suddenly taking with him the life others had already planned out. They now face what it feels like to receive his mail, pass his favorite restaurant and to pick up the phone to call him. Also, they are now on a quest to find what life now looks like.

Disaster, whether natural or personal, happens everyday. I hope that in both cases there will be an outpouring of support and love that is supernatural and that there will be peace where it is least expected.