chicago no.1, no.2, no.3

there is no one else i've shared a room with longer than ally. first, it was 315 petticoat lane, boyd hall, then a semester in prague, only to finish out our academic career with a spacious one bedroom on hunting. fall of 2000, we entered k-state together, she in interior architecture and i in architecture. our room was the best in the hall and if you ever came to visit, she would entertain you with quite a thorough tour. she stayed up with me at night as i finished up projects for she felt guilty sleeping as i worked. funny how she got over that one by fifth year. i am forever thankful for her motherly support in prague, and ally, what would i do without your fashion expertise? seriously?! but our friendship extends far beyond being college roommates and all the way back to the fourth grade in our brownie troop and into high school. oh, the stories we can tell.

it's been two months now since i was visiting her in chicago, so this post comes a bit late. apologies. in the past four years, i have made three trips to chicago and all have been with ally. each trip to chicago was so unique and entirely different, that they must all be shared.

in our second year of college, we ventured up to the windy city together. it was the biggest trip we had both taken on our own and my first plane ride. first time in the big city, ally prefered the airport shuttle to the 'el' and opted for a hotel off of the magnificent mile for safety reasons. i appreciated her cautious ways. far too often i fail to think things thoroughly and she keeps me balanced. we stayed in well lit areas and i hailed my first taxi after the comedy club night venture. oh, did we ever think we were big city travelers.

chicago trip no. two occurred rather accidentally and i accept all blame for this one. we were about to begin our semester in prague and we could not be more excited. we were on route to manchester, england to visit some of my family before we met up with the rest of our classmates in london. boarding the plane in wichita, our eyes teared up after goodbyes but we quickly turned our minds to the adventure that lay ahead of us and a six hour layover in chicago before life took us overseas. somewhere between boarding our plane in wichita, gate c45 in chicago, and the 7 hours that passed, i lost my passport. that's right. i didn't misplace it or leave it at home. i lost it. [read more here] thankfully, we were in chicago where one of the midwest passport agencies is located. we trudged to the last minute hotel and i made about 16 long distance phone calls to figure out what to do. we awoke the next morning at 4 to catch the shuttle at 5, to get to the airport by 6, to catch el and arrive downtown by 7, to be at the front of the line by 8 for an emergency passport. 24 hours and $286 later, the plane for manchester left again, though this time we were on it. needless to say, this was my least favorite of the three trips but ally couldn't have been a better sport.

ah. this last trip was different. after graduation, the girl who used to be afraid of public transportation and hostels, moved up to chicago on her own. she enjoys reading on her hour commute, buys organic food, and has successfully killed a cockroach by herself. she's a become a big city girl and i'm proud of her in that motherly-life-time-friend kind of way to which i am entitled. this trip, i saw the city from her perspective, instead of the tourist or crazy-passport-losing window i had watched through before. hers is a much better view.

i loved hearing the stories from her day to day living, the crazy couple down the hall and the guys who try to hit on her on the bus. we ate at her favorite restaurants, walked through lincoln park on a lazy saturday morning, and peopled watched downtown. one of my favorite moments from the trip was just before bed one night. living in a studio apartment, she has big windows along the backside which look into an interior courtyard of the building...as well as all the other apartments.

as we laid there in bed, the lights off and the noises from the city still lulling in the background, we watched the building settle down for the night. she told me of the man on the sixth floor who often plays his guitar at night. he lives by himself and has red hair. though she cannot hear him, sometimes he plays by the window like he's playing for her. then there's the lady a bit further down who one evening sewed a purse. there is a black cat which always sits in the window and then another with plants far over grown. she mentioned the people who've moved and those who've made new homes. we watched the lights go off, one by one, wondering what stories their lives were telling and what they were reading from ours.

this journey.

i will rise and i will stand,
getting off of my knees and my hands.
i will walk as You lead.
and look beyond what i can see.

i will speak from my heart,
and not let pride tear the truth apart.
i won't fear another man,
'cause he is dust just like i am.

*because in this journey when the night is done
*i will set my face towards the sun.
*i will not look back, no.
*no, i will not look back.

i will learn as i go,
and test the things that i think i know.
i will love without return,
light my fears on fire to watch them burn.

i will hope in unseen things,
and i will dance when my heart sees.
i'll believe just like a child.
let my fondest dreams run wild.*

i will rest for a short while,
and then i'll go another mile.
i will be what i believe,
and i will give as i receive.

and i will choose without regret,
cause rolling dice is a coward's bet.
i will seek for what is real,
and not let pain teach me how to feel.*

[matthew perryman jones]

stick shifts and safety belts

'as you step on the gas, simultaneously let up on the clutch. go slowly on both and listen to the sound the car makes. the engine will tell you when you need to switch gears.'

i was teaching my littlest sister how to drive a standard. the lesson occurred partly because she wanted to know, partly because i thought she needed to know, but mostly because i'm tired of being the only female in the house who can handle such a vehicle and hate driving it to work with heels.

she looked at me with all the confidence of one who only knows in her mind, camouflaging the real fear of never having tried it.

'it sounds easy enough, it looks easy enough,' i'm sure she thought. her nose crinkled up as she made her first attempt with the blue ranger out of the asphalt stall. the little pickup jumped forward like a grasshopper in a field, jerking us along with it.

she turned to me, eyes wide in shock, 'what did i do?!'

'it's not what you did, it's more what you didn't do.' i explained again how the clutch worked and how it must be let out slowly.

attempt no 2: jumping truck
attempt no 3: jumping truck

attempt no 4 got us around the parking lot and into second gear. she liked second gear better, less jerking. it was the starting and stopping that was the problem. she began asking questions, ones she wouldn't have known to ask before and ones i couldn’t have answered until i watched her. we spent the next hour moving from row to row till her little body relaxed and the frustration on her face melted into an accomplished smile.

back in the neighborhood we went for loops around the block. i remember taking the same routes when she first learned to ride without her training wheels...we couldn't go around enough then.
'just one more time?' she asked this time.
i smiled, ‘of course.’

as she got out of the truck, she turned back to me with her smart-aleck grin. she did a little hop in the air and tapped her feet together.
she had done it.
it was a proud, older sister kind of moment.

47 days, 22 hours, and 32 minutes i begin my trip for india. i can't help but think i'm sitting in the driver's seat as my little sister did this weekend. i've read my books, talked to people who have been on similar trips and had tea with native indians. i stand as one on the other side of understanding a culture, on the other side of mistakes i'll make and on the other side of preconceptions. i don't know what questions to ask or what answers i need.

i sit in this seat, my hand on the ignition, one foot on the clutch and the other on the break. the passenger's seat is empty for i don't know yet who will guide me when i get there. people tell me i'm brave for going on my own. i don't feel like it, i guess i just don't know what i'll face to have to be brave about. i sit in my car on the other side of the world, on the other side of seeing, on the other side of understanding, knowing despite my preparation, it's going to be a bumpy ride.

p.s. yesterday, the day after writing this post i was rear ended in the little, blue pick-up waiting to turn by a car traveling 40mph. the poor little, fiber-glass accord... it really stood no chance against my steel bumper. ah...for once, it felt good to be a truck driving girl.

p.p.s. the post was originally named after cake's song, though only because i had 'stick shifts' in the title. after the accident...the 'safety belts's seemed even more appropiate.

world on fire

watch this video

http://www.worldonfire.ca/

legacy

i like walking around cemeteries. i know...kind of weird. i guess if you find comfort, not fear in death, you may understand. at the risk of sounding sarcastic and insensitive, there are few places i can go to feel more alive and more thankful for each breath i take.

my walks over the years often take me to these solemn gardens. in prague, i would lose myself in the sea of tombstones seeming never to end. the krakow concentration camp bared no physical markers of the millions who died within it's walls, but i could not avoid the thought of the fate they suffered. i stood proud as an american when i visited the arlington cemetery in d.c. such honor displayed and i am humbled by the sacrifice. and then there is my favorite, sunset cemetery in manhattan, kansas, just down the street from my apartment. as the heat of the day was disippating and the evening breeze pushing it's way through, i would often find myself in that little cemetery, unwinding from a day in studio and preparing myself for another night of work.

i've come to realize i allow my mind to dwell in abstract thoughts far too often. however, in such an atmosphere, even those concrete in their thinking cannot help but indulge in reflections. as i read the names on the stones, i wonder what their story tells. who were the characters? what were their dreams? the dates reveal their beginning and end, but it is the '-' in between that i find important. what memories does it hold? what difference did they make in it? what legacy did they leave?

i'll never leave a legacy until i understand the significance of my '-'
as i wander, my contemplations always end on this thought.

at the end of the day, when the curtain is pulled and the lights are flipped, what will be left? did i invest in something that will out last my breaths or will all that i lived for die with me? do i have something to offer? did i work to live or live to work? will i leave having made a difference? or in years from now will my existence have mattered?

i usually spend my walk coming up with more questions and few answers. i make goals and dreams in hopes of using this life i've been given for something. i'm in that twenty-something age group; i'm expected to set such high aspirations for myself. but soon, the world tells me, i must put such ambitions away and trade in my idealistic thinking for reality.
maybe.
perhaps i'm too naive to understand the real world.
or perhaps i understand it all to well.

if i am to follow the trend, the husband, mortgage, 2.5 children and chocolate lab are around the corner. such contemplative thoughts will soon be overtaken by responsibility and dreams by parental duty. the years will pass by like days and before i realize it, i will find myself again walking through cemeteries, though now for other reasons. the reflections i once pushed away in the busyness will now be at the front of my mind as i wonder when my time will come. i'll remember the the goals and dreams i set so long ago and wonder if i met them. did i make a difference? did i use this life i've been given for something more? what did i live for? what did i do with my '-'?

there are more thoughts on this bouncing through my mind.
but this post has already become far too serious.
they can wait.
just know that in the end, only love wins.

[legacy. nichole nordeman]

i don't mind if you've got something nice to say about me
and i enjoy an accolade like the rest
you could take my picture and hang it in a gallery
of all who's who and so-n-so's that used to be the best
at such'n'such ... it wouldn't matter much

i won't lie, it feels alright to see your name in lights
we all need an 'atta boy' or 'atta girl'
but in the end i'd like to hang my hat on more besides
the temporary trappings of this world

*i want to leave a legacy
*how will they remember me?
*did i choose to love? did i point to You enough
*to make a mark on things?
*i want to leave an offering
*a child of mercy and grace who blessed Your name unapologetically
*and leave that kind of legacy

i don't have to look too far or too long awhile
to make a lengthly list of all that i enjoy
it's an accumulating trinket and a treasure pile
where moth and rust, thieves and such will soon enough destroy

*

not well traveled, not well read, not well-to-do or well bred
just want to hear instead, "well done" good and faithful one...

*

bubba icky

i was only a year and a half when he joined our family. my dad tried to get me to say 'brother eric' but it came out as 'bubba icky.' i've called him that ever since. i no longer like the correct pronunciation. when we were younger, he probably should have annoyed me as a typical little brother should. perhaps he didn't because he's not a typical little brother or because he's always been more of a friend than a brother. don't get me wrong, he still found ways to tie me up in my sleep, sabotage my tea parties, and throw me in the pool fully dressed. but without such things, what would a little brother be?

growing up so close in age, our friends and activities, interests and hobbies often overlapped. i played legos with him, he played school with me. our two story clubhouse was a water balloon fort, cruise ship, camper, whale spotter, and the location for the toad olympics [the best event was when the one where we put the toads on the roof to see if they would survive the 15 foot drop. toads are resilient!] i was his magician's assistant and bike riding partner. we spent our summers ruining our clothes with tar on the streets and bubble fights in the kitchen from the dinner dishes. the memories together are too numerous to recount.

i was nine and he was seven when great-grandma johnson passed away. grandma johnson would have called herself a collector though to everyone else she looked like a packrat. i remember walking down a narrow passage in her house between piles and piles of cookbooks, many her own. then there were her dolls in the living room, the large one in the corner always seemed to be looking at me. i never returned to her bedroom after one time i peeked in and saw her wigs lined up on their styrofoam heads on the dresser. i had always wondered why her hair looked blue.

when grandma died, mom put a giant grocery bag full of jewelry in front of me for me to select some pieces to remember her by. i wished i would have realized then that all fashions cycle...what i wouldn't give for that jewelry now! but i didn't and instead picked a silly starfish with pearls on it and and watch that didn't work. eric peered over my shoulder curiously; he carefully scanned his eyes over the shinny pieces. he picked a few up, inspected them only to place them back into the pile and look for another.

'what are you doing?' i said as i pushed him away. 'this is for girls.'
'i want to pick out a piece.' he said.
he selected a small, black pendant with gold trim. in the center was a black rose surrounded by small quartz stones, though many gone.
'someday, when i get married, i'm going to give this to my wife.'
'it's ugly,' i told him, 'she'll never like it. no girl wants black jewelry.'
he looked at it thoughtfully. 'someday i'll give it to her and she'll love it because she loves me.'
i rolled my eyes. yuck.

on saturday, my brother became a husband. after six and a half years of dating, he made megan his bride. the wedding was beautiful and the reception a wonderful celebration of their lives together. people where there from all chapters of their lives, family from both sides, and friends who have been essential in the building of their foundation together.

before the festivities were in full swing, i pulled out of the bottom of my jewelry box a little black pendant. one spring when we were cleaning the basement, i ran across the little treasure. assuming my brother had forgot his promise, i stored the piece myself until it could be given to a new owner. i told the story again to them both and placed it in eric's hand. he smiled at megan as she pinned it on her shirt, 'i love it' she exclaimed. he told me long ago she would.

congratulations to you both.
as iron sharpens iron,
may you be refined and strengthened by each other.
may God make your lives together beautiful.

for more wedding photos, please visit sosebee photography

front porch living

[click photo for more]

written may 29, 2006
i sit in the airport once again, this time unaware of the people sitting besides me or walking in front of me. sometimes you forget how much a person means to you until you say goodbye. my mind is still at the front of the airport where i just left holly. it was the kind of goodbye where you don't say much for your watery eyes say it all. i let the tears fall unashamed. some people, we don't feel deserving of, and we find ourselves blessed to call them 'friend.' she's one of those. my dad says holly's my 'kindred spirit' so for her, i count my blessings twice.

the history of our friendship is short but deep. though we grew up less than a mile apart, it wasn't until three years ago that college life brought us together. we've walked countless miles, cried precious tears, laughed until our stomachs hurt, and prayed through painful times. i've tried to follow in her footsteps, learning to love the way she loves, but i fall far from her example. she's the kind of person who meets you where you are at with no preconceptions, and loves you as you are. you can't help but be drawn into her presence. when you talk, she listens. when you're not talking, she's still listening. she has this uncanny way of hearing beyond the words you're speaking and breaking into your heart. at first, many people do not understand why they feel such a peace when they are around her and find comfort in her words. if you're with her for very long, you soon realize she has learned the tenderness of the Father.

the fall of our last year of school, i helped plan her engagement [one of the best ever and i wouldn't have expected anything less from you, phil] we spent the year preparing for life's next step into marriage and the joys/worries that go along with it. she was one of the many things i had let go of last summer. i stood besides her on her wedding day and handed her over to phil knowing he was the one created to hold her heart. they will celebrate their one year anniversary soon, though not in a fancy hotel or an exotic location, but in the deep south of louisiana. when most couples are too concerned with health insurance or interest rates, having babies or buying cars, holly and phil are rebuilding a city and loving people in desperate need of attention. they're not just donating money to such a cause, but themselves. i like that about them. you see, they don't want to get 'comfortable,' or complacent. someday, perhaps they'll settled down with a mortgage and kids. even then, their spontaneous, adventurous, giving spirit will remain alive.

this is all to say, she's one of my favorites. phil has already left to begin training and holly has the task of finishing her first year of teaching before she joins him. so i came to fill his place...or at least as much as i could. we spent the weekend enjoying each other's conversation, company, and companionship. no tourist-y things to do, places to visit, or schedules to tire ourselves over.

we let the sun [or the dog, thank you traveler] wake us up. we enjoyed breakfast and silence on the porch each morning followed by long walks around town. on friday she took me to school with her and i witnessed the crazy life as a teacher. what powerful opportunity to reach lives, but how utterly exhausting. her students asked me again and again to repeat words for them because they loved hearing me say 'bag' [they say it like the 'bag' in bagel] we visited the little shops downtown and i ate cheese curds for the first time. we read books and took naps. we ate late dinners with red wine and fell asleep watching movies. we challenged each other and prayed together.

i decided someday, in addition to a porch swing, i must have a hammock under a big oak. i also decided as much as i liked walking with a dog, i don't like taking care of one.

it was the best kind of vacation.
time to reflect, refresh; to reconnect and redirect.
yes, it was nice.

and one day, my friend, we'll meet again on your porch. you'll drink your coffee and i'll drink my tea. you'll tell me what phil did to make you laugh and the latest adventure you two are planning. i'll share stories from india and of the mishaps that always seem to find me. we'll laugh about 'bottom noodles' and 'mom socks' even though no one else understands. we'll smile knowing such friendship is unique and seems to grown stronger with time. we'll sit together at our Father's feet and give thanks for the journey. He will continue to be faithful and all will be well.