if only teleporting were an option...

all i can hold onto...

So much pain and no good reason why
You've cried until the tears run dry
And nothing else can make you understand
The one thing that you held so dear
Is slipping from your hand
And you say
Why, why, why
Does it go this way
Why, why, why
And all I can say
Somewhere down the road
There'll be answers to the questions
Somewhere down the road
Tho' we cannot see it now
And somewhere down the road
You will find mighty arms reaching for you
And they will hold the answers at the end of the road
Yesterday I thought I'd seen it all
I thought I'd climbed the highest wall
Now I see the learning never ends
And all I know to do is keep on walking
Walking 'round the bend singing
Why, why, why
Does it go this way
Why, why, why
And all I can saySomewhere down the road
There'll be answers to the questions
Somewhere down the road
Tho' we cannot see it now
And somewhere down the road
You will find mighty arms reaching for you
And they will hold the answers at the end of the road

Amy Grant, Somewhere Down the Road

gone...

If you have read this blog, you would know that it has the tendency to be a bit melancholy and a lot sad. I have tried to keep that from happening with every entry, but, it will be happening with this one. I received the most upsetting news about a friend and her family and it has captured my thoughts, my mood and my mental focus.

Loss of a loved one is something that I have a bit of experience with. I lost my brother and my dad within 14 months of each other and both to tragic accidents. That was tough. I have gotten many pity nods and,"I can't believe that"s, but my dear friend lost her niece and her sister/roommate in the span of a few hours. Hours. That is where my brain shuts down and my heart breaks for her.

This is the girl who came to my side when my dad died because her dad had died suddenly. The first person who was honest and told me that my life would never be the same and that it would suck for a very long time, but not forever. This is also the person who I still call roommate though we have not lived together in years. This is the person who I wish I could hug and let cry and snot on my shoulder.

I feel that if you have been through this hell that you would be given words to say or a grieving how-to. I have no more to say or to do than anyone else. I know a few of the things not to say and that not saying anything is the worst thing I can do, but, I do not have the magic to release her from this. I do know that people have helped me face the unimaginable and that I will be here to help her do the same.

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.