The Unpleasantness of Being Brave

I learned how to swim before I could walk. Water is the most calming force in my life. When I was in second grade my class got free swim lessons. Our district secured a grant for all of us to take swim lessons and diving lessons. I was ecstatic at the prospect. I was in my element during the swimming portion of the lessons. I felt competent and committed in the way that you only can when engaged in an activity that you were made to do. Then came the diving portion of the lesson.

This pool was Olympic regulation and the highest diving board seemed to me to be larger than any building I'd ever seen. I was selected to be the first to "dive off" the highest platform. Really what this meant is that the diving teacher would pick me up, tell me to stay straight as a pencil, and drop me into the water. I was selected because of my confidence in water. I climbed the board feeling a great sense of anticipation and excitement. Then I looked down. All of a sudden I felt Ike I was going to vomit. My body wanted to be as far away from the edge as humanly possible and as low to the ground. I knew that something major was at risk. I knew that by jumping I was risking something and it petrified me. What was interesting though was that I quickly realized that I could also not climb down the ladder without losing something. The whole class was watching and furthermore climbing down a ladder once you've realized how high you are is almost as scary as jumping off the board into the water. I had this acute sense of anger at myself for climbing onto the board thinking, "I could have just stayed on the ground where God intended me to be. I could be in the third row behind the other kids hiding out awaiting some other classmate's jump."

The diving teacher came and took my hand and said, "You do not have to jump, but I promise you that you will be okay and you'll always remember that before anyone else you jumped off the high dive. You'll remember that you were brave. You seem brave to me." I am sure that in that moment I did not seem brave, but I took his hand and let him hoist me over the board. I hung there little legs straight as a board. Before I knew it I whizzed through the air and was in the water. The impact reddened my legs and lit up my spirit. I felt like I had done something big. I knew that I had done something for myself. The decision was two-fold. I climbed the ladder and I made the jump.

Today I was reminded of this story. I had a conversation that has been at least a year and a half in the making. I found myself on the brink of bringing it up then would become ill. At one point I realized that I had already climbed the board. I could jump or I could do the labor intensive work of climbing down. I climbed up to the board the first time I shared something real about myself with this person. I took another step up the ladder when I began to regard their opinion highly. I took the next step when I began loving them. I realized that I've been on the board for a long time. For a moment I imagined that I might be able to climb down without anyone noticing. I no longer have a host of second graders bearing witness to my shame. I realized though that I have become my own second grade class bearing witness to myself. There is no hiding from yourself when you've decided to drop pretenses. I jumped. I brought up the dreaded topic. When I hit the water it stung and I was proud of myself for it. Who knows what will come of this recent small and specific act of abandon. What needs to unfold will.

Today I was reminded that we are never jumping alone even when we feel alone. We always have love hoisting us over the board. There is a choice. We can decide to never climb up the ladder. We can decide to climb back down. We can jump. After quite some time of living in fear of the climb and of the jump I am pleased to share that I remembered that I climb the ladder. I was reminded that I jump.

to a younger woman

i'm home sick with strep throat and it's snowing outside. what a perfect excuse for an afternoon blog post. a letter to my 15 year old self inspired by sugar's letter to her younger self.

sweet girl,

you are about to fall in love. relish that. your first love is a roller coaster. be an idiot. it is the first time in your life that you will be called to dig deeply into your insecurities. it is the first time you will feel you are a version of yourself apart from your family. when he says i will love you forever and then some believe him. later when then some has passed be grateful that for a time you stood under orion's starry belt and believed that you would have only one love in your life. hold that idea like an old woman holds a weathered photograph of her pregnant form. you will spend years wondering about this love and what it meant and what it means for future relationships. this is partly because you are young and naive. it is partly because you are you, uniquely designed to weigh, measure, and fortify memories. let it breathe. let to go. there is nothing wrong with the progression of the heart. be wild in your consumption of adoration.

you will always love water even after the 6am water polo practices are only distant memories. spend as much time in the ocean as you can; you will not always live near it. don't spend too much time thinking about leaving. the sea is your first great love even proceeding the aforementioned adorable boy who will give you a bracelet among other things with your name, first and middle, engraved on it. you will return to the ocean methodically. it will be your metronome of self. sand and sea are blessings you cannot escape.

when you walk around the park that day in july eating raspados with your ponytail askew and your shin guards flopping around your cleats walk slowly by each tree, over each uneven slab of concrete to the place where your friend stood laugh and speak loudly over the music. don't ever be drowned out by anyone's music unless of course what it has to say is more important.

watch your brother sleep. remember everything he says. learn about joy through his reactions to the world.

when your english teacher asks you to join the cheerleading team because they need girls with good grades it is okay to say no even though she is exquisite in your mind. you have never been nor will you ever be a cheerleader. your teacher will still become one of the most important women in your life. down the road a young woman you've poured into will put into words to you what you always wanted to say to that teacher, "thank you for knowing that who i am is infinitely more interesting than who the world suggests i should be. thank you for fighting for my mind."

when somewhere down the road you find yourself in your first college dorm and a boy spends an hour talking to you about your hopes and dreams and how your hair really does look like light on the sea at dawn do not arrogantly presume that because you are from a rough neighborhood you have everyone's number down and he is a flirt without substance. he will later surprise you with one of the most meaningful friendships of your young life.

keep loving on people the way you do. never doubt that wisdom. be brave in your friendships. you will be called into bravery many times in the years to come. face those times with conviction, laughter, and a belief that forgiveness is the great victor. sweet girl, forgive all the time the large and small pains. you will learn to tattoo forgiveness onto your palms everyday. your faith will run like a living red ribbon through your veins, a more glorious option than blood. do not resist any of this.

when far down the road you realize you have lost touch with los angeles and its people, your people, do not be afraid to reach out. life is a winding river that sometimes comes full circle. do not fear the circle.

when, in your freshman year of college, you have strep throat do not hesitate to share a room with a girl who also has strep throat on the dorm ski trip. you will lay in bed together sick and discuss jane austen. others will find it amusing and photo worthy. late at night your throat will be burning so badly you're crying and she will be equally feverish. do not be afraid to pray together. this girl will become your one of your best friends in the world.

in a few years from now you will walk out of a friday afternoon practice with a body drained from a distance swim, eyes burning with chlorine, and mind fatigued from competition. do not forget on this day to go and visit your best friend who is not feeling well. do not forget to bring her a get well present because she loves presents. her room is a shrine to color. do not forget to brush her thick black hair so long you could live in it. do not leave the room without talking to her about your boyfriend and how she is sprung for the introverted Russian boy with an older brother so beautiful that he reminded you of snow. etch into your mind the calla lily rosary she has taken to bed with her and rests between her thumb and middle finger as she spells out all the details of how she wants to kiss the Russian. do not forget to do any of this. on monday she'll be dead.

wear her ring everyday on your middle finger until the years and mornings spent sleeping instead of swimming have rounded you out and you must move the ring to another finger. do not fear this. do not put away the ring for the fear of the flesh. your body and soul will round with time as you move away from girl and to woman. this is natural. do not waste time or creativity on the fruitless pursuit of a perfect body. dear sweet girl, love your precious fingers.

when you are 26 you will be showering. it will be snowing outside. you will not be living in los angeles. your breath will unfurl against the cold air. you will submerge in heat, water, and lather. this same ring will catch your hair tugging at the tangled mess of waves. you will think of your job, the time sheets unsigned, the patient returning with a question, and the coffee pot left out. you will think of the man you love as a brother, or a friend, or a lover, or something in-between. for a moment as your hair grips your ring you will think of this best friend and her long unruly mane. you will think back to when she died and you could not speak to anyone. you could only manage a shower letting the water's weight and monologue move you from one life to the next.

sweet girl, do not forget water will always be your vector to self.



photo: me at age 15 before a water polo away game with blue lipstick

autumn list

this fall i am:

waiting to hear back from grad schools.
appreciating my new roommate.
loving the fall colors.
drinking many, many cups of coffee.
visiting my sf family.
thinking about new mexico.
walking my lake.

here are a few shots of colorado fall.

holy mother of sauciness and the like

that is an excessively indulgent title for a post, yet it has to be said that this is an excessively indulgent recipe. it's simple. it makes almost any pie better. it makes almost any day brighter. it makes almost any waist wider.

this is not for the faint of heart. it is not for the feverish dieter or the concerned citizen. it's for the long days. it's for when you want to say, "honey you are so dang handsome that i've decided to pour heaven all over your food." it's that type of sauce.
Fixings:

1 stick butter softened, but not melted
1 to 1 1/2 cups powdered sugar
2 Tbl Whiskey or Kahlua (whiskey is best unless the dessert you're heaping it on has chocolate as a primary ingredient)

Mixings:
Mix the butter until it's fluffy and add the sugar slowly. Then mix in the booze. Heap on top of pie or any other food of your choosing.

It can be stored in the fridge for later indulgences.

Thank you Ree Drummond!

Halloween Cup 2012

yesterday one of my closest friends in denver moved with her new hubby to the east coast. i'm happy she'll be in the fall new england glory, but i'm going to miss her a lot. at her going away sleep over she brought up a most excellent idea that i will share here as i think that many people should adopt the idea of the halloween cup. the concept and origin are listed below:
why: my friend for one of her going away gifts got a large trophy that reads, "best halloween costume". she loves dressing up. it was fitting and generally awesome. something has to be done with it.
what/when: the idea is that there will be an annual get together on the weekend closest to halloween to compete for this trophy among our friends. the inaugural cup will begin in 2012. i am very excited. perhaps unreasonably excited. note the fervor with which my friends and i embrace dressing up below (and above).
where: each year the party will be thrown by the person who won the cup the year before. next year it will be at my friends house in Connecticut. then whoever wins it hosts the next party.
how: how will i contain myself until next halloween? unanswered question....

do you have fun holiday traditions?



photos: jedi ballerina and retro virus (had to be there), not quite sure...any occasion to wear that gold skirt, nymphs for beltane...yes beltane, tuesday dinner in college, rainbow bright, because it's always a good idea to dress up and sing on tables, the cook crew at sierra camp 2006.

love train, august 27th 2011

this past weekend my dear friend tamra got married to jeff. they fell in love last year in the great state of colorado. they are wonderful people and had a wonderful wedding.


it was unique as they are unique. it was on a train in leadville, one of the highest altitude towns in the USA. we made merry in our beautiful mountains. congrats tamra and jeff; we love your love.

some shots of the day.

patience and pork

well hello blogosphere. it's been a while. perhaps we should have titled this post "naughty bloger number we're not counting anymore because it's been too many times".

my kitchen is all a flury. upon arriving home from a dinner date with a dear friend i began preparing to make pork tenderloin in the slow cooker. there is a back story as is true with any recipe worth making.

pork and i have a tenuous relationship. i like to think that i abhor pork. i write off my love of bacon and sausage as mere flukes. however, there is a recipe that i found recently embedded in the pages of a used book that lives on a particularly disorganized bookshelf titled "great literature" in a particularly eccentric book shop near my house. the book perported to be about the history of early denver, but was mostly about buffalo bill and the controversy over his gravesite. oh joy.

the book's main secret was this recipe. it was written on old paper by hand and was barely legible. it called for a boiling pot, but i interpreted that to mean a slow cooker. i have set out to recreate the recipe tonight. somehow i think that when i eat it tomorrow with friends we will step into a trance like food coma portal and come to understand a world in which books about buffalo bill's gravesite are high literature. needless to say i cannot wait.




hopefully the slow cooker will melt the pork into submission. i do not have the patience or time for tough meat.

i will report back tomorrow on the success of the dish and whether it is as delightful an experience as the finding of its recipe card was.




here's wishing you a wonderful night and one that hopefully includes old books, good friends, and a slow cooker.

photocredit: {ree drummon}