Adventurers Are We

My friend Lauren and I are adventurers. For example, she wants to be a professional mermaid. And I parked a really big truck perfectly on my first try. See? Adventurers are we.

This summer, we're keeping track of all the awesome things we do as adventurers. (I say "this summer," as though it isn't still spring. It sure doesn't feel like spring, as "bed time" now means lying on top of my covers and listening to raccoons dig through the dumpster out my open window.)

Fun Things We Do, #1: Riding the Legacy Trail.

The whole trail is something like 10 miles one way, but we only rode half of it - which is still 10 miles there and back. We felt pretty good until we were done and sitting in the truck on our way back, and then we were pretty sleepy. BUT NOT TOO SLEEPY TO DRIVE! Because we are responsible with big trucks that aren't ours. (Did I mention how well I parked it, on my first try?)

If you're a Lexontonian, I highly recommend the Legacy Trail. I'm already planning when we can go again. Look how happy my Schwinn is in that picture up there. He had a hard time stopping to pose for a picture, he was so street-greedy. Gimmee, gimmee, gimmee, he said. In so many words.

Fun Things We Do, #2: Ultimate Frisbee.

We take fun very seriously.

And I love Ultimate Frisbee. It fills me with joy and delight and pleasure and other generally positive feelings. There is something deeply fulfilling about leaping into the air and snatching a flying disk out of the sky which otherwise would have sailed away on the currents of oblivion (or at least would've just fallen down on the grass). Today was Sunday #1 of many Sundays to come playing Ultimate Frisbee in Vineyard's front yard. Hopefully by the end of the summer we all won't be as winded as we were today. Happy first day of non-stop running and jumping and sweating profusely. (HOW DOES THAT NOT SOUND LIKE THE BEST ACTIVITY EVER!)

Jesus said, "Where 8 or more are gathered with a Frisbee, there I am in the midst of them." Roughly paraphrased.

I'm glad I have Lauren to go on adventures with me. Stay tuned for more adventures from we adventurers. :)

the way to my heart

I know. I've already posted about daffodils once. But then I drove past some mini daffodils...and I love mini daffodils. So I have to post about them again.

When I was in high school, my friend Sarah had a pot of mini daffodils delivered to me in my algebra II class. It was probably the most delightful and unexpected surprise I'd ever received.

So I had to pull over and take a picture of some mini daffodils.

The minis.

But then I realized that we're past the "Oh look! Daffodils are blooming!" stage of spring, and now they're everywhere, and if I pulled over to take a picture every time I passed pretty daffodils, I would be in a constant state of hazard lights.

While riding by bike the other day (side note: He's so happy to see the sky and feel the air on his cylindrical metal frame), I passed several yards with an abundance of daffodils. Forests of them. Gobs. Heaps. Piles! Of little yellow faces nodding in the breeze. And I thought, "If a few of them were missing, no one would ever notice." If I came out at night, no one would catch me. I'd done it before. Successfully, I might add.

And then if I had them in my possession, smiling at me like sunlight in my vase, I wouldn't feel the need to take so many pictures of them.

"We have those flowers in our yard," my boss told me this morning. (I, of course, interpreted "those flowers" to mean daffodils.) I told him about my plan to steal some from one of the neighborhoods near me, at night, wearing a ski mask and rolling around on the ground like stealthy criminals do (hopefully remembering to have removed the scissors from my pocket prior to said stealthy rolling). He told me I could pick theirs.

Come on. Of course I could never do that. I can't steal warmth from people I never want to feel the cold.

He said they had all-yellow ones, and, his favorite, white and yellow ones. I asked if he'd ever seen the orange ones, because they look angry. Every time I pass a cluster of them I feel like they're yelling at me. "My favorite," I said, "are the ones that are all frilly. They look like bunches of lace."

This afternoon my boss walked in with scissors in one hand and a clump of frilly yellow daffodils in the other.

The frillies.

It was like my heart turned to liquid joy and ran through my veins and oozed out my pores with sparks of delight. (It's not as messy as it sounds.)

I think it's that they make me feel so loved, and that's a pretty priceless gift.

They're sitting on my desk in a water pitcher, smelling sweetly of earthy syrup and making me feel like life is simple and good. Crazy how a flower can make me so happy. But these do, and have, and will continue to, forever, and ever, amen.

I just love daffodils, and the people who surprise me with them. :)

the sun can come back another day

I woke up to a thunderstorm at 4am this morning, and I wasn't even angry.

I was terrified for a moment; my window was open and it was probably the loudest clap of thunder I've ever heard, so I immediately sprang out of bed and shut the window, because of course that will help keep tornadoes out.

It made me think of being a kid in the summertime. My brothers and I played all over the earth, and most of that earth ended up under my toenails. I remember drawing dirt pictures on the bathtub floor with my toe and watching the water wash them away. And Mom wondered why our water bills were so high. Artistic expression takes time, Mom.

From my front porch, you could look out over the river and see the storm clouds coming. (This makes me sound very Native American living in a tipi - but that's how I tended to live my childhood. Me hungry. Peanut butter sandwich, yes?) And my brother and I would race to see who could take the fastest shower, 1.) because everything is a competition when you're a kid, and 2.) because both of us were sweaty but neither of us wanted to get struck by lightening while in the shower. So it was more of a race against death, I guess. We always won.

That's one reason I don't mind thunderstorms, even when they wake me up at 4am: Because they make me think of playing Monopoly by candle-light when the power went out, and sitting on the porch watching pinkish spindly fingers in the sky. I can smell damp pavement and honeysuckle and remember the way the river turned brown in heavy rains. (Less-romantic fact: Usually it was green. Our part of the river was called the Little Muskingum, which is Native American for "muddy waters." Pretty, huh.)

I also don't mind thunderstorms waking me up at 4am because they make me think of this verse in Job 37: "God’s voice thunders in marvelous ways; he does great things beyond our understanding." Lying in bed early in the morning and being reminded of that is one of the most peaceful and comforting ways to wake up.

Happy first official thunder storm of spring. :)

spring

We all know how much I love winter. Remember this post? It talks about winter. And how much I love it.

It hasn't really been winter all winter here in Kentucky. That, to me, is a waste of winter.

I left my apartment under a slight flurry yesterday morning, but on my walk I passed these little guys:

I can't resist them.

I love winter, but if it's not going to be winter, I'm ready for summer. I haven't seen my freckles in months (if not YEARS), my bike has been whining about inactivity (and I'm tired of the whimpering), and the apartment complex I'm moving into in April has two pools. Holla.

Bringst es auf.

rainboots

I took my rainboots for a walk.
I knew that they would never talk to me
the way I wished somebody would,
but as I stood out in the wind & rain I knew
I wouldn't hear them if they could.

I wanted them to see the day,
to present them to the world
& say, "Here we are! my rainboots and I."

Did they know what it felt like to fly
on a swing, grasping cold iron rings in your hands
& leaving your fingers to smell like rust?

Or swap the dust of the diamond
for puddles like lakes of fallen sky
& mud that suctions you to the ground?

Could they hear the thunder, humming
like the strumming of God's bass vocal chords
& resounding promise of His presence?

Did they understand what it meant
that the ice is being sent into the earth
& what worth there is in a tiny crocus bud?

But silly me! they are just rainboots;
their skin is made of rubber flesh
& they cannot soak in a poetic life,
so I did it for them, ad hoc,
and wrote this poem on a walk with my rainboots.

"I suppose that's how it looks in prose. But it's very different if you look at it through poetry...and I think it's nicer...to look at it through poetry." - Anne of Avonlea