Alice in Wonderland

I live right by the sea, to my great delight.  I can walk out of my door and within a few steps, see boats resting dockside and clamber up on rocky cliffs that are currently full of miniature violets basking in the occasional sun and observing the waves below.

I also live near allotment gardens--small plots with little cottages that city dwellers like to retreat to when summer arrives.  Yesterday I strolled down the paths of this amazing little world within a world.  Colorful tulips and apple tree blossoms greeted me, walkways lush with purple blossoms, deck chairs pulled out from storage and cleaned cottage windows drew my enchanted gaze.

I stopped to chat to an old woman who was leaving her cottage to go back to the city center.

"I've been here since '35, when they brought me here," she chattered, with bright blue eyes and a purple knit cap resting on the back of her head.  "Of course, I didn't like to pull weeds as a child, but i had the mandatory carrot bed or weeded when my mother told me to.  Now I don't mind."

She has spent every summer of her life here.  In her little wonderland of brilliant blossoms.  We traipsed down a small lane together.  She agreed, as I marveled that she has surely seen many changes happen to the city through so many years.  "Back then that Kulosaari bridge was made of wood, and you had to pay 25 pence to cross it."

Way back then the area where I now live was considered "out in the country."  Now it is clearly city, but for these wonderful pockets of nature and gardens.  The city almost got away with taking the area for more apartment buildings, but thankfully, an uproar rose against it!

I will have to go visit my "Alice in Wonderland" lady again, dropping by for a cup of coffee on a summer day.

Cute Therapy

Because today was a rough day:

everyone looks good in a milk mustache

(photo pawned from the wide world of twitter)

Inspiration from Angelou and Frost

the makings of a phenomenal woman
enmeshed in mundane yet
important activity, little realizing
how each choice, maybe towards a
road less traveled or one
trodden black, will lead from
way to way, telling a story of
becoming--coming into being as a
work of art, fashioned by a Creative
Director whose idea of beauty is
not a fashion model's size, rather
the fire in my eyes, the joy in my
feet, the sun in my smile--the Life
he has breathed into me.  whether i
walk in a yellow wood, teetering at a
choice in the pale morning light,
my head won't be bowed,
for i know my Designer is proud,
delighted, in the span of my hips,
the swing in my waist, the
grace of my style. I don't need to
shout, jump about or talk real loud--
His eye is on me. and somewhere ages
and ages hence, I can say with a sigh,
He made me a woman, phenomenally,
and He has made all
the difference.

Rambles after a heavy day

It seems that spring arrived over Labor Day weekend.  Not in full regalia, but with the faintly shimmering green coat that makes you look twice to make sure you really are seeing it.  The weather, though, is still reminiscing about the good ol' days of winter and seasoning her breath with chill.

I've taken up some art projects in a therapeutic sense.  But you could also call it a highly disguised procrastination method to keep from doing my tax papers.  There they are.  On the bench.  Just waiting to be filled with correct numbers.   I will do them tomorrow.

On another note entirely, I read an article about people of character.  I had an "ah-hah!" moment as I read one section where it talks about how such people journey in life:

"People on this road see life as a process of commitment making. Character is defined by how deeply rooted you are. Have you developed deep connections that hold you up in times of challenge and push you toward the good? In the realm of the intellect, a person of character has achieved a settled philosophy about fundamental things. In the realm of emotion, she is embedded in a web of unconditional loves. In the realm of action, she is committed to tasks that can’t be completed in a single lifetime." -- David Brooks

Even now as I reread that, I instantly sense the many things I would like to extrapolate from it.  But suffice to say that I would not have said that my life is a process of commitment making or that character is defined by how deeply rooted I am.  I mean, I believe that to be true, but I wouldn't have thought to say it that way.  In the spiritual life, I see the connection with being deeply rooted in Christ.  But it was a new idea to think about being rooted: to people, a place, a calling, a time, and its effect on my character.  

It highlights the importance of community.  It's a topic I have frequently contemplated, desired, wanted to a new degree.  

Well, that is it for today.  No conclusions.  Just some thoughts on the scenery of this day.

TM

That's my title: TM. Training Manager.

Since the end of February, I have carried this title with some trepidation, a lot of excitement, and slowly, with more confidence.

I don't train people, but I take care of everything related to language training for BBi Communication, a language company that I have taught for since 2013.  So I start courses, enter all information into our systems, send out course checks and evaluations, coach teachers, make sure they get paid, hire new ones, and do a random assortment of other office jobs related to filing, selling and making excel sheets and reports.

On the plus side, I now have a steady schedule, steady paycheck, flexible work hours, a great boss and an arena I care about--intercultural education.  I also still get to teach English, which I love, as I have some special students at the moment.  On the down side, I have excel sheets and a rolling list of to-dos that doesn't have a place for a final check mark.  And really, that's not much of a down side, since I it's good to have things to do and there is a measure of satisfaction when the numbers add up correctly.

The last time I had a full-time job was in 2008.  So let's just say that the post-burnout return to the workplace had me lying on the sofa after work for a few weeks.  But along with adding such a job to my life, I have subtracted a lot of other things, on purpose.  I used to carry a lot of responsibility in other things--charity, church, relationships.  I don't do that anymore.  I no longer mentor anyone, serve at church, or spend time doing things "because I have to."  I realized how much my identity was linked to these things in what had become an unhealthy balance.

Thus, I am living in a new era of my inner life, which also gives me some trepidation, excitement and slowly, more confidence.  It is time for new winds and dreams, spaces carved for art and being, and not so much of the doing; time for new skills and thoughts about the make-up of the world and my place in it.  It's a bit scary, very welcome, and timely.

She was five...

I had the delight of meeting a five-year-old last week.  We walked hand-in-hand around a snowy island and drank hot chocolate afterwards.  We also threw snowballs into the sea.

"Is purple your favorite color?" I asked her, upon seeing the color of her winter boots.

"No, it's my mom's favorite. But it's my funnest color." Funnest color.  I didn't know you could have such a thing, but my ignorance surely doesn't preclude its existence.  "My favorite color is turquoise." (She was clad in turquoise snow pants.)

We finished our drinks and watched from the large window as some older kids built a snowman outside.  The roof continually let go of huge snow chunks that distracted her as they fell to the ground. Suddenly she paid me a compliment, "You're so nice that I think you should have kids, and then I could play with them!"

The outing refreshed me so much that I still smile when I think of her laugh and her exuberance. Plus she gave me something new to ponder: what is my funnest color?

Then and Now

Yours Truly, Nov. 2006

Yours Truly, Jan. 2015

Those orange glasses, such a risk so many years ago, have remained a steady favorite these eight years.  I still like coffee, and I have short hair again.  Oh, how much changes, and yet doesn't change!

In the enchanting archipelago

coffee moment outdoors, august 2014

A memory from the archives.  Childhood friends together in Finland.  It was a dream-come-true.

32

Today I am 32.  It's only a number, but we mortals like to observe the passage of time, some more meticulously than others.  Thirty-two is one of those ages that marks you as an adult, there's no "young" to go before it, it stands on its own.  But, then I had to disagree with it as I actually scrummaged for its official definition:
"having attained full size and strength; grown up; mature."

If 31 taught me anything--through burn out, heart break, slowing down, changes, deaths, community living, the realities of my own limits--it is that I have much maturing and growing up to do yet.  I do not consider that I failed in 31, but what I mean is, that I experienced things within and without me to a degree that I hadn't before.  I was faced with my own brokenness, fatigue, weakness.

And in the midst of it, I found grace.  The grace to say "no."  The grace to stop, to rest.  To accept the limits of myself and others.  To receive love and care when I didn't feel worthy of it.  Actually, love and care don't come because I am worthy, but because it is the nature of love to give itself, it must give itself.  And I am loved by the Eternal, by my family and by many around me.  It is humbling.

So, as I step into the first day of my 32nd year, I am thankful.  I look forward to moving toward "full size and strength" day by day.  I hope I have the maturity to laugh at myself and not take myself too seriously.  I hope to learn many new things.  I hope the friendship I have developed with "uncomfortableness and unanswered questions" will become a more peaceful one.  I hope the dimensions of my life uncover surprises.  I hope for beauty and delightful conversations.  Sunshine and music.  For a pursuit of God for his sake.  For my sake, too.

Here, crossing the threshold of 32, I rest, with all that I am and am not.  And in that same rest, I want to take steps and risks that open up the path marked for me to tread this year.

A necklace

It seems that life is intent on reminding me of the validity and ubiquitousness of my favorite word: juxtapose (to place side by side, especially for comparison or contrast, fyi).  The sorrows and joys of life are lined up side by side, one dark, one light, followed by another dark one, then perhaps a light one--like beads strung on a necklace.

It seems that there has been a fair share of dark in life recently, as pertains to those around me and their processes.  My aunt has cancer.  A friend has heartbreak.   My own thoughts and energy have been murky.

But on a brighter note, my parents will move back to Finland in two days.  They are returning to a land that has changed much since they lived here, and from a country that is the opposite in weather, temperament and location.  It will not be a painless change, but I trust it will be a good one.

Then, along with this wonderful news of family reunited, there is once again the shadow side of loss. My uncle passed away.  I don't grieve on his behalf because he went somewhere that I long to go, to the other side of finite time, to a joyous eternal life.  But on this side of time, I feel the loss.  I know my aunt and cousins and their spouses and children have to deal with a new reality that is missing an important piece.  My uncle and aunt had been married for over half their lives; they met when my aunt was 14. It's not just a hole in your life when such a person passes away, it's a part of yourself that goes, too.

So, I sit here at the kitchen table, staring out at a brilliant blue sky and sunlit apartment buildings, contemplating the intricacies of life to the rhythm of the wall clock and my own keyboard typing. Light. Dark. Light. Dark. Each bead of the necklace is carefully juxtaposed by the one beside it, adding luster, adding beauty, adding content.

May we wear it with hope, ever with hope.