Sunday, April 8, 2012

Ghost Pirates (and Other Tales of the High Seas)

Tonight I am starting a new book called “Ghost Pirates” that I bought at the Dollar Tree the Halloween before last (so that would make it October 2010 for those of you who are curious and not good with math). I wore a pirate costume that year and bought the book because we were looking for costume accessories at the Dollar Tree when I saw it.

It’s a collection of short stories about pirates, ghost ships, etc., edited by Tom McCarthy. For $1 I’m not expecting anything amazing; hopefully I will be pleasantly surprised. Once I’ve finished it, I will post a review. I’m also in the middle of reading “Twilight” for the fifth time, and will post thoughts on that as well. Just for the record, I'm not obsessed, just enjoy a good story. Besides, Pirates and vampires….Orlando Bloom, Johnny Depp, and Robert Pattinson….need I say more??

Friday, April 6, 2012

The View From the Bench

Everyone should have a special place they can go to when they need to think, process, let go, just be alone with God. A place that reminds them of something or someone they want to remember. Every time I move I try to find one of these, sometimes more than one; this time, the place kind of found me.

There’s a trail that goes through Pullman; it’s paved, wide enough for three or four people to walk next to each other, great for biking. When I moved up here I didn’t have a car, and I would walk from my apartment to the North end of town sometimes, in the spring and last summer, and I found this trail. I love it. When my little sister came to visit last May we walked on it a few times. And we found a bench. I had stopped there before a few times, but it was different with her.

The first time we walked by it, I sat down and took a picture of what was in front of me. “This is the view from the bench,” I said. She liked that idea. It became a special place for us, something we could refer to in conversation that would bring up a good memory – a beautiful day, good company – and no one else knew what it was. She was only here for a week, then I took her back to where she had been living. She was supposed to move back here to live with me.

Well, things got crazy last summer and now I can’t even talk to her. I went back to the bench in July and took another photo, sent it to her on my phone, the view from the bench in summer. October is the last time I saw her, and didn’t get to talk to her again until almost March. That’s when I went to the bench again, to take another photo, the view in winter. I had stayed away because I missed her too much. Away too long, cause here’s what I found:
The City of Pullman, in it’s (I'm sure) “infinite wisdom,” removed the bench. My special place no longer exists. So today, when I had a conversation with someone I love, someone I trusted, a conversation that made me hurt inside, I wanted to go somewhere to be alone and process. I wanted to see a view from the bench….but it’s gone. I don’t know what will happen with this relationship, but I do know that God is always there, no matter what, even when I have nowhere to sit.

Thursday, April 5, 2012

I Had A Dream

Don’t you hate it when someone starts telling you about a dream they had, and you can tell they don’t really remember the details so they start making stuff up? It’s usually obvious where the actual dream ends and the embellishing begins. Why start telling about it in the first place, if you don’t remember how it ends?

Although, I must say, there are times when something reminds me of a dream I had, so I start to talk about it, and AS I’M TALKING the details of the dream slip away like smoke. Very frustrating. But. That’s when you stop talking, or pause for a few seconds before tilting your head thoughtfully to the side and say, “You know what? I just forgot the rest of it. Never mind.” Now honestly, that makes for a good story! (Confession:  forgetting details happens more often than I'd like)

Also, I hate it when you’re telling someone about a dream you had and they do that thing. You know, “that thing” when you say something that reminds them of a dream they had, and they interrupt your story to tell you about it? Yah. It’s rude. Like the giant vat of oil on Gilmore Girls.