kelp knot

I want to be at the beach.










I want it to be warm enough to walk barefoot in a t-shirt with my jeans rolled up. I want to be watching the surf with a cup of coffee. Today, I don't get any of those things, but I took this picture when I went for a day trip last month; at least I like this picture. And Paul Simon, who is pretty much the only thing I want to be listening to lately.

Faith. Hope. and Love.

Isn't this wonderful.

Truly right?









This sweater is made of hand spun and most likely hand dyed yarn. My Fiber Based-BFF (FB-BFF) may be nutzo sometimes, but hell, the girl is talented. The buttons are pictures of Scorpio, my Zodiac sign, Mother Theresa, a well dressed Indian man who might be a god but I don't really think so, and George Washington. (She's also sorta funny). It's soft and warm and gender neutral by design. It is a baby sweater and it was part of my 30th birthday present. It made me cry. The beauty of such a gift and the faith it held in it was more than my lonely heart could process.

My most deeply held belief is that happiness is a choice. (I know, I mention this over and over) The world isn't always exactly what you want it to be, but you choose whether to be mired in the ugliness and disappointment or to should deal with what you have in a way that allows you to continue to be happy. I try to do the second.

But somedays it's hard, and other days it's just impossible. On days like this it's nice to have people around who will carry the burden of faith for you. FB-BFF has offered to do that for me. Literally. Most days I want babies and some wonderful soul around to help me raise them. I want them to have long hair and cloth diapers and play in the sand by the river. She knows this about me. Her own children are so beautiful and she is such a good hard working parent, it sometimes kills me to be around them (although, I get far, far to few opportunities). She knows I fear this will never be part of my reality. She knows this and has graciously offered to carry the faith for me, to believe for me when I'm not sure that I do. This sweater is the talisman of her belief.

I started thinking about Faith and Hope (as big ideas worthy of capital letters) after reading a few of my friend Andrew's blog posts. He was talking about the placebo effect and religion. Which I get. I am neither as well educated nor as well opinionated on this subject, but I get what he's saying.

Here are his exact words which I'm fairly certain he will not mind me re-posting. (Sorry, Andrew) "The major gripe I have with religion is that instead of encouraging others to have faith and hope, they insist others have faith in hope in the same things they have faith and hope in."

I love the simple, eloquent and perfectly exact phrasing.

It made me think of a friend I had when I was younger. He was the son of a minister, a Chinese missionary, who had married and brought his wife back to the United States where he led congregations of Chinese Americans. He lived in the same city as me for about four years. He moved to California sometime during high school and we kept in touch, over the phone, for several years. For some reason, he was the first person I opened up to when my parents were splitting up and I felt like I couldn't hold anything, especially myself, together. And we talked and I cried and he told me he'd pray for me.

I felt no cynicism or irritation at his offer, instead, I felt incredibly lucky. I have never been a follower of any religion, and my own spiritual leanings are a rather complicated mess, but when my friend told me he would pray for me I felt thankful. We both knew I didn't believe, but in praying he was holding me up to his highest power. Offering assistance in the form he felt would do greatest good. This was sincerity and love in a pure form. He couldn't help me, but hoped that maybe his prayers could.

(Quick note, I've had other people say this to me and I did not feel as grateful. There was nothing shallow, pandering or overly pious in his offer and his support, which was crucial to it's importance.)

I feel this way about FB-BFF's offer of faith. She knows my limitations. She loves me anyway and still chooses to believe for me. That is love.

This seems critical to me. Love gives shape and support to faith and hope. All can exist simultaneously, but strength comes when the three are fused. In order for that faith and hope to have a shape and substance, there must be love backing it up. Which is why religion sometimes makes sense to me. I understand how all three can be wound together; I understand how such an idea would be enticing. Though I myself cannot believe, I can understand how someone would want to. What I don't understand is religious doctrine that is based on hate or fear....how can hope and faith, both necessary to maintain and grow a religious following, flourish under those conditions? Or why should it when love is so much...easier, freeing, warmer, softer, more welcoming... pick one. I'll be overly simplistic and just go with better. Love is so much better.

My heart is not so lonely these days. The sight of her magical talisman, in my underwear drawer wrapped carefully in tissue paper, seems more sweet than bitter these days. Her faith is still stronger than mine and I am content to let her hold on a while longer, especially because she has not yet asked me to relive her of that particular burden. My handsome friend fills me with a sort shapeless hope that is happiness. Gaining in both strength and consistency I'm in no hurry to mold, poke or prod it into anything more than what it wants to grow into.

My FB-BFF can hold onto the faith, I will nurture the hope, and continue to appreciate that I am surrounded by love.

(Note, I worked on this post off and on for almost 3 weeks. That fact speaks more to my current lack of focus than any other thing. Oh, and Andrew's blog is here: http://oudevoida.blogspot.com/)

The last solider at Fort Stevens.

An unexpectedly dry-ish day in February, accompanied by an old roommate who'd never seen the Oregon Coast. I love playing tour guide. Or perhaps, I just love the beach. Possibly both.

Working an an actual post, with writing and thoughts and the like. Maybe later today. Molly is beating me in the blog posting competition, although Andrew is beating both of us.

and I am apparently incapable of writing a complete sentence.

a tall order...

but none the less, a gradly noble idea.

I know this is silly.

Okay, I know. But, I just found out that Cross Canadian Ragweed broke up. (New band: Cody Canada and the Departed) My favorite band is not together any more and this sorta rocks my world, not in a good way. This ranks with two other strange cultural events that have had a strange emotional impact that is silly even to me.

1. Watching Andre Agassi play his last US Open tournament. This was the tournament where is back gave out. I cried watching him play. I was 26.

2. The end of the storyline for the For Better or For Worse comic strip. I had never felt like I had grown up with a character, but I felt that way about the kids in that comic strip. I was 28.

Go ahead and laugh, it's a bit ridiculous. But really, my world is rocked.

Things that have made me happy this week.

1. Five days in Oklahoma City on Tinker Air force Base with the following:
a. Babies who are no longer babies
b. More snow than any of us wanted to deal with
c. She who is talented and wise but whom I often still think is full of shit
d. Talking and talking and talking

2. The women on both sides of me at zumba this evening, on my right the woman was tall and willowy and blond and everything she did was graceful. On my left the woman was red faced, and kept laughing when she turned the wrong way. They both smiled with me during the whole class.

3. My current music obsession Jason Boland's, Comal County Blue and Robert Earl Keen's collection, Best.

4. The book I'm reading, The Shadow of the Wind, so good.

5. Reading blogs written by my smart, funny, insightful friends.

6. My 6th period...4 good natured boys with wildly different personalities. But, they like one another and they like me.

7. My beasties, both the good one and the bad one.

8. That my handsome friend took me to the airport last week. I like being humored.

Old

I don't feel old. Sometimes however, I am rudely reminded that, in fact I might as well be dead because, "Basically after 30, your life is over."

Ahhh, teenagers, aren't they jerks? Clever, surprising, wonderful, unruly, jerks? Most all of the ones I deal with are that sort.

One of my classes does not shy away from reminding me, constantly how very old I am. One of these lovely students sings a song, I have no idea where it's from, about a nursing home fire...the chorus of which is (I'm not kidding) "Old people burning, Old people burning."

I thought I'd share this artistic rendering of what thirty really means.

Oh, and while playing taboo with the class this was one of the conversations that took place.
Student one, giving clues: When you're thirty you are...
Student two, grinning widely and guessing: OLD!

Again, I know everyone is jealous they don't work in a high school.