ramblings to pedro

“what you are in love with, what seizes your imagination, will affect everything. it will decide what gets you out of bed in the mornings, what you do with your evenings, how you spend your weekends, what you read, who you know, what breaks your heart, and what amazes you. fall in love, stay in love, and it will decide everything.”- pedro arrupe

Dear Pedro,

Let me start by saying you don’t know me. I don’t know you, either, actually. But I came across your quote on a card once – I’m a huge sucker for cards, stationary shops, snail mail, and I have a hunch you may be the same – which is why I’m writing you.

I’m also writing to ask: how was it that you found your love for which to fall? Because you see, I’ve been searching. Perhaps searching is the wrong word – I haven’t been focused on falling in love, but more on living my life in the hopes the love will appear. It hasn’t yet, I’m sorry to report.

I was touched by your words when I read them. I have since copied them onto several friends’ wedding gifts (always crediting you, you’ll be glad to know) and saved them on my computer to read over several times. Pedro, your words are beautiful, and simple, and moving without being overly dramatic. But, I felt the need to present a crucial point: easier said than done! Easier said than done.

I anticipate, Pedro, that you may respond that your “love” doesn’t have to be a “lover.” It could be a passion for a job, or children, or clean water for developing countries, or rescuing animals, or environmental cleanup, or whatever floats someone’s proverbial boat. You could even be talking about something horrible to love, like money – I’m sure money gets a lot of people out of the bed in the mornings and affects what they read, what amazes them, and decides almost everything. And I get that – what I’m in love with doesn’t have to be a person.

Actually, you could have been writing about faith. I know that my everything should be Jesus, because, Pedro, I believe that God and his grace are the reason I’ve made it thus far in life without going insane. I do believe in the peace that passes understanding. But I’m looking for someone who wants to chase after Jesus with me. With, Pedro. I’m looking for fellowship, comfort, and LOVE from another earthly person. I very much want my love to be a person.

You might have stopped reading at this point, Pedro, and if so, well, I don’t blame you. I started this letter thinking I had a point, and perhaps I do not. But, in case you have a brother or a handsome friend or something, could you please pass this along?

I’m not opposed to meeting someone hilarious, a bit weird, who loves children, dogs, the outdoors, roadtrips, chocolate chip cookies, dancing…Someone who knows how to wear cowboy boots, or is willing to learn. Someone who wouldn’t be frightened by my family. Someone who shares my faith, talks in accents that are not native to him, and believes America and democracy are absolutely worth fighting for.

I know it’s a lot to ask Pedro. In short, I’d like to thank you for your wise, poignant words. I’ll be sure to pass them along to others and continue to accept the fact that God may very well want me to be a white Whoopi Goldberg. Who's that, you ask? Well, you’ve seen Sister Act right? She lives in a convent for much of the movie... Anyways, I’ve taken up enough of your time.

Sincerely yours.

ben rector, ladies and gentlemen!

tonight i should be doing report cards like a machine. but i'm not a machine, i require breaks. breaks to listen to the best music out there.

and...i should have been doing report cards last night but instead went to houston house of blues to see this awesome band called brother of pearl. and i kind of know them. meaning at least three of the band members know my name. or recognize my face. or whatever. i digress.




brother of pearl=awesome band. similiar to old crow medicine show but with a gospel kick and less cocaine references.

so the band i was there to see was opening for: a dude named ben rector. didn't care, never heard of him, wasn't there to see him. well... turns out that...

i. am. obsessed. dude plays the piano like he invented it. (he could totally give the piano lady at grace dc a run for her money if you know what i'm talking about.)



he's 23, christian guy but plays mainstream music, wears suspenders, has poofy crazy hair, (obviously i loved him off the bat), a voice that is out of this world, he's from the south, and he's just...awesome. writes his own stuff, plays a few covers, i don't know why he's not a household name. other than he probably refuses to sell out to a label. or something.



anyways, way too much of me talking. you can read his bio here.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ben_Rector



OR go straight to the music. and to itunes to buy.
http://www.benrectormusic.com/store/music/into-the-morning/




one of my faves:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C14IWlbWlMg

peace. love. ben rector forever.

"are y'all a bunch of moviestars?"

There are moments when life seems overwhelming, a daunting to-do list with sadness pouring forth from almost every face I see...And then there are the moments, hours, times we can cling to, times that renew our sense of possibility and hope for the world around us. Moments filled with laughter that makes your face hurt. Sunshine and blue skies. Work forgotten for a day or two. Enjoying the company of old and new friends.

I could have done without “scary gary” - his obscenities and requests to turn the music down and up and demanding to know if we were movie stars. Other than that the loud, stoned neighbor though, it was a nearly perfect weekend.
Some highlights: Jenkins nearly destroying the pizza dough, Stephanie attempting to pour tequila, Heidi’s backpack purchase, the Bistro 108 waitress, people asking if we were a bachelorette party more than once, the vineyard, Marnita’s Alaskan celebrity status, calling the Lllano county sheriff, Elizabachel & Sara rolling their hair and looking like glamour shots (they are not invited back), taking five or six times for me to get the boat back in the slip, and, let’s not forget being the ONLY people in Cooper’s BBQ not wearing camouflage of some sort.

I’ve said it once, I’ll say it again – I’m blessed to have such wonderful friends. I’m not sure if I met someone like me that I would want to stick around. But, these ladies were all wonderful company this weekend and mostly laughed with me, not at me. I’m not sure the hill country will ever be the same.


Here’s to loud music and scary neighbors. Here’s to The Holiday. Here’s to Lucy the newborn. Here’s to Texas wine and backroads driving. Here’s to a lot of things, but mostly, here’s to good friends.

doubts about the meaning of heightened security

How do you get Janet Napolitano on the phone? I don’t want to talk policy, or red state vs. blue state drama, I just want to file a security breach report from the NATIONAL airport.

I got through security with a boarding pass for someone with the name of Andrew Carpenter. Do Seriously. Do I look like an Andrew Carpenter? I’m on the phone with my dad to tell him about how I had just seen Dana Perino (former White House Press Secretary) at another gate, and I hang up the phone to look at my seat number. I notice that my boarding pass is – WHAT? It says First Name: Andrew. Last Name: Carpenter. Security! Security!

Its times like these I wish for a BonQuiQui voice. I cut around the line of people at the Continental desk because, hello, this is making a bit nervous.

“Excuse me! I thought I should tell someone. My boarding pass is for a different name and I just now noticed.” (Boarding had already begun and I was worried they would take a while to clear this issue up.)

I tried to announce my news too loudly. No need to alarm people. And no need to draw attention to the fact that I’m an idiot. (And, for the record, so is the guy checking IDs at the security entrance.)

The airline employees start whispering to each other and take my boarding pass. While looking it over and entering information into the computer, they ask for my driver’s license. Well, it’s in the bottom of my very full purse. (Why I bought three books on my trip is beyond me- as if they don’t have bookstores in Houston?)

The ask each other questions. “You already waived it?” “Yes.” “You closed out the other?” Yes. I remained calm on the outside, but inside was beginning to imagine myself sitting in a small, brightly lit interrogation room, explaining to officials that no, I was not a terrorist, just a blonde who didn’t check the name on their boarding pass until after using the restroom, stalking a former WH Press Secretary for a few minutes, and getting a diet Snapple peach tea for the flight.
Finally, I found my ID and they had a new boarding pass for me. “It’s not even a similar name,” one said to another in an angry tone. They whipped around the counter where I was leaning to be stand face to face with me, very serious demeanors.

“Listen. You won’t get them in trouble but we need you to describe the ticketing agent that gave this to you.”

I stalled. “Well, I checked in online, all he did was print my pass and hand it to me. Really it’s the security agent that didn’t do their job. He didn’t even notice my ID and boarding pass didn’t match!”

“Well, we can’t deal with that now. We need to know the agent who gave you this pass. You won’t get them in trouble.”

“Actually, I remember his name. Hugo.” I said rit eluctantly, quietly. They immediately turned and returned to their side of the counter. One of them picked up a phone and punched a few numbers. As he put the phone to his ear, he flashed his eyes over to me. He said: “I will be getting them him in trouble.”

The other agent looked at me, clearly ready for me to move on. I held my new boarding pass for Courtney Robinson. “Thank you so much,” I said with a smile. I was glad they didn’t arrest me. “I’m really sorry about the mix up.”

He narrowed his eyes at me. “Don’t apologize! You shouldn’t be sorry. Safe travels.”

The longer I thought about it, as I waited in line on the gangplank-or whatever you call it- I looked for Andrew Carpenter on my flight, I realized – this is scary. Sure, they checked my bag for liquids, telling me I barely met the regulations because of the number of tiny containers I have (have you seen my hair, sir? It requires a lot of attention from those tiny bottles, thank you.) Yet they didn’t even double take when my Texas ID was very different from my boarding pass. At least it was the same flight, but different aisles and seats. Oh, and DIFFERENT NAMES.

This is what we call heightened security? Really? Exactly how low were our standards before we heightened it? I mean sure, there haven’t been many blonde, white, urban, preppy terrorists who hide explosives in their Steve Madden boots, but... hello! There is always a first time. DHS, I suggest you step up your game. Pronto.

let all the crazy hang out

she is one of those friends that you can't find on every street corner. our friendship is the kind where you know each other's hearts and minds, you rarely hide anything, you let all the crazy hang out, if you will, and she loves you just the same.

she is not the kind that you need to try hard when you're around her. actually, the opposite - i was getting over a cold/flu bug all of last week, and constantly sniffling and blowing my nose. i actually asked her at one point - how's my nose? yes, she is the kind of friend that checks for boogers without judgment. (did i just say boogers? i must really be an elementary school teacher.)

she's the kind of friend who is cool without seeming like she tries to be. strangers approach her to comment on her stylishness. co-workers beam in her presence. boys bake her cookies from scratch and hand-deliver them.

i had such a wonderful three days with her-from wine tasting in the countryside of virginia & basking in the sun, to just crashing on her bed to watch a movie on her laptop. (I won't name the movie or you wont' believe the part about how she effortlessly cool she is.) Her face when a friend from her hometown/high school called to say she was pregnant was practically glowing with joy - she delights in the delight of other's good news.

i'm glad to have and undeserving of a friend like her. a friend who pushes my faith to be more real, my laughter to be more often, and my pursuit of happiness to be more earnest.

(also, bonus points for being her friend: she lives next door to semi-celebrities with the coolest dog ever. check it out here. http://taza-and-husband.blogspot.com/ seriously, in the blog world, they're semi-celebrities.)

i wear my sunglasses in the produce section of kroger because i'm that cool

this has nothing to do with education reform. instead, .... fashion reform.

i went to the grocery store on monday, before meeting dr. katherine for a loop around memorial park. i needed some apples, but more importantly - the supplies for a science experiment. two actually. we are dying carnations different colors AND making homemade rockets. (or sort of.)

anywho, i digress, and i should be entering grades into my data tracker. moral of the story, i'm throwing some carrots into my cart in the produce area and i notice this dude, super thin, nearly six feet tall, who is wearing a euro-esq outfit. He has on skinny navy slacks, a really tight dress shirt, and a super skinny tie. AND he's wearing ray-bans. in the produce section. while he's weighing lemons or whatever. i really, really was tempted to say something like, hey buddy, you could probably find the bruises on those more quickly if you TOOK OFF THE SHADES ...but i didn't. i did notice, however, that he was proudly wearing an id badge on his shirt pocket. HOUSTON INDEPENDENT school district it boldly proclaimed. He continued to meander and we nearly bumped into each other later. seriously, its dark in here with those raybans on, isn't it? kinda hard to see the other humans?

he's in my age range so i started wondering - is he TFA? If he is TFA, someone needs to tell the kid - this is urban, low income houston you're working in, bud. not a european city where people appreciate that sort of thing. and really, it wouldn't be that bad, except you're walking around kroger in the heights, looking all smug and self-satisifed, with your ray bans and your hip skinny pants, and your students probably don't even know your Big Goal. Maybe spend a little less time reading GQ, and little more time looking at the TAL rubric, eh?

I'm totally kidding. Well mostly kidding. Well, I don't know.

I do know this: I'm rambling about how perturbed I was with a dude wearing sunglasses in a grocery store as he checked out some produce...what is the world coming to?

william's monument

i jotted these thoughts down in oklahoma in july, so they're a bit out dated. actually, i should have posted this sooner because now, william is homecoming king, and it doesn't seem oringinal or cool to think william is cool. everyone knows it. but people, let me tell you, i knew it before you did. as soon as i'm governor, we're building a william chenoweth monument. i'm putting it in college station though...sucka.

if i could make a monument to any person that i know currently alive, it'd have to be william chenoweth. i mean, really. talking to him is like talking to my brother - in the sense that we know each other well, we have shared memories, and he passes gas at inappropiate times. how is he so mature? i don't know. how is he so humble? i don't know. how is he not a celebrity, because he's as cute as zac effron and as nice and morally upstanding as...well i can't think of anyone as nice and morally upstanding as he.

he called me to see how my trip was going, just to chat, "such a thoughtful young man" as my mother would say. on top of that, he's like talking to a good friend. our phone convo was less than ten minutes but meant so much to me.

as we were getting off the phone, he said, "alright, well, be safe. and don't smoke any weed." as if he were the older one in this picture, the more responsible one.
i laughed out loud. "thanks willie. love you!"
"I love you,too." what kind of a seventeen year old kid can say that to a loud, obnoxious, weird, annoying older-sister type? i can think of none.

and that is why, just as davy crockett and sam houston have sculptures of them floating around this state, i propose a willie chenoweth statue. we can put it on wheels and move it around as he moves...perhaps one day it will wind up in college station, outside the baseball stadium??? (I'm not crazy. I know his statue would be in the visitors dugout. but still, it'd be tight...)

*any readers of this blog that happen to know the chenoweth boys should know i love john b. just as much. however, i don't think we need a statue of him (or gentry rob) just yet. quote book? absolutely. most definitely. here's a few john chen quotes for ya just to emphasize the point.
"i think i may have been a bit too aggressive in my poop slinging."
"fish fear me. women want me."

missing montana

i've only thought about montana a handful of times since I've left there. Didn't take much time to reflect on the adventure, the beauty, the gloriousness of it all... but I found these notes in a bag, scratched out on a scrap of paper, and I realized... the solitude of that week, the beauty that surrounded me, the vast amounts of free time staring me in the face, waiting to be filled... you might say that in big sky country, there was a marvelous light.

I’m kind of obsessed with the Missoula way of life, and you should be too. The mentality that work is merely a way to pay the bills, and life is for play, adventure, happiness, well…that is just something that has fallen by the wayside in massive cities like Houston. I will admit, these people have dreadful winters, days when the sun has set by 3 pm and weeks that pass without visible sunshine. So, they pack a year’s worth of living into the glorious three months of summer here…A typical summer day finds a thermometer resting to around 50 degrees in the early morning and late night hours, the sun rising before 6 am and setting long after 9:30 p.m. Last night, around 11:15 p.m., I stood on my porch and could see stars above. Yet off in the distance, towards the west, the sky was still light blue in lingering twilight. Midnight rolled around before complete darkness fell on the valley. I stand in this valley alone, my family far away, but the promise of home and familiar friends a mere week away. And yet, I stand here not alone at all - not even just for the spirit faith promises us, but for all the memories and the people packed into my heart, my memory, my very being. I know - have witnessed - that life does not last forever. Jay Chenoweth, Wesley Gentry, Wesley Bright... I know that life is only guaranteed for now.

And I can't keep the smile from my face, knowing that my life, my right now - though not perfect, not without pain, is full of joy and blessings and love and peace and music and laughter. My life, all our lives, are completely worth living - with gusto at that! I'm glad to have made this roadtrip and spend this week here if only to reconnect to that thought... as the moon hung in the sky last night, a vibrant, deep blue like I'd never seen the sky, I knew... this is really an ordinary moment, just me, on the porch of a rented small cabin, staring at the stars. But our lives are thousands of ordinary moments, and that makes for one extraordinary journey. I'm selfishly glad that my journey isn't over yet.

gratitude

gratitude...

I’m sure I’m not the first to have these brilliant thoughts, nor will I be the last. I am not original in my thankfulness, nothing particularly unique or witty about my ramblings, however, if your heart is full, you let it overflow in the hopes it will spill over some goodness or love or joy onto someone else.

So, here’s the thing. It is so easy to become exhausted, delirious, crazy with the hours we work at extended-day charter schools. (And so many, many other places of work.) But through the insane work pace, and the difficult situations so many of our students are facing at home, through the sweat and the tears,I am left with such a glad heart.

As I driving the highways of Houston, often weaving through traffic, my appreciation for the gifts in my life is sometimes overwhelming. Though they may be scattered across the country, in Arkansas and DC and New York and Oklahoma and small town Texas and so many other places, it really is your friends that make your world go round. I don’t have to see them every day, though that’d be nice, but friendship can either make your life or break it. I am thankful and undeserving of the wonderful people that have crossed my path, people who have met me and not insisted that I should be in some sort of institution. People that continue to love me just the same. They even laugh at my jokes sometimes. Or read my blog.

If a third grader, or anyone, asked me for an example of friendship, I would have so many moments and memories to give them. But I guess I’d sum it up like this: My roommates ask about my day when I walk in the door, they occasionally ride bikes with me, and daily listen to me singing loudly and off-key in the shower. They are there, alongside me with struggles and joys of their own, yet they always care.

Muhammed Ali says that “Friendship is not something you learn in school. But if you haven’t learned the meaning of friendship, you haven’t learned anything.” There’s a lot about my job that I could complain about, but there are lots of benefits as well, like re-learning the importance of wonderful friends.

I am blessed beyond my wildest imagination. And for that I will always be grateful.

the first female congresswoman

Who knew that the first female congresswoman was born in Missoula, Montana, where I spent a week this summer? It's true. She was the definition of a hippie, fighting for women's lib, and in the 40s, she was the only Congressperson to vote against war with Japan. (She thought FDR made it all up...)
Anyways, there's this awesome shop in Missoula named after her that sells all sorts of free-trade products from all over the globe, specifically products made by women in struggling countries where they have literally no job opportunities. I could have spent my life savings on things like giant frisbees with peace signs on them, weird posters, and what not...

I found this on a notecard and thought it was a perfect description of the school where I teach...our leaders are fully committed to all of these things, not just TAKS scores, and encourage teachers to be too.

I also really like this poster...who wouldn't?

Here's a brief bio I hacked from a few websites if you'd like to read more...: Jeanette Rankin was born in Missoula on June 11, 1880. After graduating from Montana University in 1902, Rankin worked as a schoolteacher. She became a member of the Republican Party and in 1916 Rankin decided to run for Congress. Rankin, who campaigned for universal suffrage, prohibition, child welfare reform, became the first woman to be elected to the House of Representatives.

One of her first actions was to introduce a bill that would have allowed women citizenship independent of their husbands. A pacifist, Rankin was one of the 49 members of Congress to vote against war with Germany. Rankin's controversial views on the First World War, trade union rights, equal pay and birth-control, lost her the Republican Senate nomination in 1918. She therefore stood as an independent but without the support of a party machine, was easily defeated. She remained active in the Women's International League for Peace and Freedom and the National Council for the Prevention of War.

In 1940 Rankin was elected to the House of Representatives on an anti-war programme. Rankin maintained this position and in December, 1941, was the only member of Congress to vote against the declaration of war on Japan. Rankin was convinced that Franklin D. Roosevelt had deliberately provoked the Japanese attack. Once again her pacifism made her extremely unpopular with the electorate and she decided not to stand for re-election.

In the 1960s Rankin established a self-sufficient women's co-operative in Georgia. Rankin was also active in the campaign against the Vietnam War and on 15th May, 1968, at the age of 87, led a women's demonstration against the war in Washington. Jeannette Rankin died at Carmel, California, on 18th May, 1973.

You can find the notecards and posters here: (though different from the shop in missoula)

http://syracuseculturalworkers.com/

renza, wyoming, and buffalo bill

Its been quite the busy day. Monday, july 12...I loaded my car and cleaned out the cottage I had rented this past week in Missoula, said goodbye and tried not to look in the rearview mirror too much. Approximately four hours and 202 miles later, I found a nice new friend at the Bozeman airport. Turns out, it was long lost Renza Sharpe, here to conquer Wyoming & Colorado with me! Hooray!

Several u-turns, a log-cabin drive-in restaurant (basically Abraham Lincoln's version of Sonic), and 220 miles later, we crossed the state border into Wyoming and wound up in the Wild West town of Cody. It’s named after the Pony Express rider and Bison hunter named William Cody – oh, I guess you can call him Buffalo Bill if you want. (town has a population of 8800. it’s a huge tourist destination in summertime because it’s the east entrance to Yellowstone park.)

So, yesterday, while laying around giving my knees a rest after the Missoula half marathon, I read up on Cody and places to stay. There was a normal, nice looking B&B that had decent photos online. They were the only place in town within walking distance of the main street, had reasonable prices, etc. We show up today and its cute: screen porch, red door, etc. We walk in to meet the owners, they show us to our room, the Mary Eleanor room. It’s named after each of their mothers – Mary, and Eleanor, respectively.

Their pictures are framed above one of the twin beds in the room, and Mary’s wedding dress hangs on the opposite wall. If that’s not creepy enough… turns out they’re both deceased. So basically we have a dead woman’s red velvet wedding dress – I said red velvet, that’s right – and their photos watching over us all night. Creepy? You betcha.

Did we mention we share the hallway bath with another guest room? It was supposed to be empty, so no big deal, I thought. Turns out a German dude in his late forties by the name of Ulrich is staying across the hall. (Could I make this stuff up? Probably. But, seriously, this is all true.)

We got to hear Ulrich Von Lichtenstein's very thick, very real German accent when Renza, without knocking, pushed the bathroom door open. “Ohhh! Jest a moment.”

Clearly someone was occupying the bathroom. I had watched this take place from the doorway of our room, and Renza's facial expresssion... priceless. Before I could find out if she’d seen anything, I threw myself on the bed trying to contain loud bursts of giggles at the thought of Renza barging in on an aging German man. Turns out, he was behind the door and she didn’t cause too much awkwardness, Ulrich was not seen nor too embarassed. But the poor man! Apparently they don’t have locks on the bathroom doors in Deutschland.

We also went to the Cody rodeo this evening – I had to explain to Renza, my environmentalist love, that the way they get the animals to buck is by tying a rope around the things that make the male horses and bulls… well, male. “I’d like to see someone tie a rope around those cowboys balls and see how they like it!!!” She exclaimed more than once in the next hour. Also, did you know Renza is from the steer wrestling capitol of the world? She should be explaining rodeo stuff to me. Sheesh.

Last thing of interest – we bought some locally brewed beer (Missoula Big Sky Brewing Co) and planned to pop a top out on the Buffalo Bill Dam, while watching the sun hover over the horizon, past the giant reservoir and mountains. But, we didn’t think about twist offs or needing a bottle opener.

Don’t worry though. I used the nearby chain link fence to pry the top off of our bottles. Sure, it was messy, and though I didn’t even finish my entire beer, it tasted good as we sat on some boulders off the highway, wind blowing the Wyoming air in our faces, the Wild West soaking into our bones. Or at least the wild part...

Renza’s mom thinks we should refer to ourselves as Thelma and Louise, but Renza objected to that because they set things on fire, stole lots of stuff, and ended up dying at the end of their adventure. So, we’ve come with alternate names. Gertrude and Betty Lou. You can call me Trudy. And this is my friend Lou.

And yes, that's us, cartwheeling and laying in the middle of the highway, across the Montana-Wyoming border.

like i said, it's been a busy day.

four-dollar-tube-rentals

Life is a funny thing. This afternoon I found myself floating down the Clark Fork River in a tube rented from the Army Surplus store in town. I was surrounded by strangers, new friends who had taken me in, the lonely Texan in town all by herself.

Some of them I had met the night before, at a beer festival on the river in downtown Missoula. A few of them I had just met, while we were hiding the keys to our cars and leaving them in various parking lots. We put our tubes in the river at a place referred to as “White Trash Beach” and floated a few miles down the Clark Fork River, the water rushing from rains a few weeks back and chilling our toes at a balmy 58 degrees.

My chacos bobbed on the water and the smell of sunscreen hung in the air as we floated through some small rapids. As we got out of the water an hour or so down the way, some of the locals headed to work (as bartenders at a local upscale hotel) or wherever. I thanked them for being so nice to a random out-of-stater. I drove a few people back to their house with their tubes in the back of my Dad’s dust-covered Acura. As they climbed out, I found myself grateful for the chance to have time off from work, to get in a car and escape the familiar, to make friends and go tubing and just to appreciate all that the world has to offer. I found myself so thankful for the peace that doesn't come from a fulfilling job, or a close family, or fun friends back in Houston - though those things are awesome - but it comes from faith and from His Holiness and knowing that there is someone else in charge.

My first 48 hours alone in Missoula have passed, and I think the adventure is just beginning…
Peace. Love. Suntans & sunsets.

"I keep asking that the God of our Jesus Christ, the glorious Father, may give you the spirit of wisdom and revelation, so that you may know him better." Ephesians 1:17

carwash waterfalls

My stomach felt as if someone was repeatedly punching me with gusto, hoping to cause pain. My head hurt, my skin was clammy with sweat and I felt hot and cold at the same time. I was trying not to complain too much, but I felt horrible. I was thankful my mom was awake and ready to drive the first shift that day.

After about an hour on the road, we stopped for some vitamin water and gas. I sat curled up in the passenger seat, leaning against a pillow and alternating between clinging to a blanket and kicking it off me. I faded in and out of sleep.

My mom decided to drive us across the street to get the car washed, which I sort of processed before falling back asleep. The next thing I knew…water was raining down on me. I sat up immediately in shock, cold water soaking through my shirt, my nike shorts, dripping off my face and soaking my pillow in a few places. I immediately registered that we were in a carwash and that my side of the car was the only part getting wet. “Holy shit!!!!” I yelled loudly. (My apologies. I know I should have more original, less offensive things to scream in a moment of crisis, but, I don’t.)

Apparently, the sunroof had not been properly closed the night before when we were stargazing in the dark night of Utah. (My fault, I’ll admit, but I feel that is irrelevant.)

My mom, laughing at me in my wet moment of rage, ripped back the sunroof cover. “DON’T DO THAT!” I yelled, pushing her hands away. I knew that the water hose was coming back around and we needed to CLOSE the sunroof, not open it more. I managed to press a few buttons before the machine whipped its soapy waterfall back around, and we sat back in our seats.

I smiled but could not bring myself to bust out laughing, as my mother did for the next few minutes while our car was cleaned and I ripped off my soaking wet shirt. I wrapped myself in the blanket and dug around in the back for dry clothes, while telling my mother I found it very suspicious that a) she had the brilliant idea to wash the car and b) only my side of the vehicle had taken in water – on top of that, not one inch of the actual car got wet.

Nope, my body and clothes were the only victims of the icy, weird smelling carwash rainwater. Thanks, Mom. It’s never boring when you’re behind the wheel.

you need to visit santa fe

"I lift my eyes up to the hills, where does my help come from? My help comes from the Lord, maker of heaven and earth." Psalm 121:1-2

Day Three: Wednesday, June 30
No traveling, we parked in Santa Fe for an additional day and night

Perhaps it because I arrived with little to no expecations for this place, but Santa Fe has been delightful. It is a small town, busting at the seams with culture, history, art, and hippies. (Newsflash: its probably time to remove the "Impeach Bush" bumper stickers from your cars.

We've strolled, we've climbed hills, we've had sangria and discovered galleries. The buildings are 400 years old in a few places and the trees are as wide as small automobiles.

I love Santa Fe - how much there is to do outside, even just sit and be...and the art and charm this city has to offer. The only flaw I've found is that the Georgia O'Keefe museum is only exhibiting her abstract works currently - what a let down. A security guard told my mom and I: "Excuse me, ladies, but I think you missed a room." When I told him that we had not, he said, "Um, yes, I walked you walk right by this room and now you're leaving without visiting it..." Duh. Because the stuff in all these rooms is pretty much weird or ugly or something my third graders could have made. Love ya, Georgia, but seriously...abstract? Not so much. Poppies? Anytime.

I'll have to tell you more about Soulman Sam and my mom and I dancing inside a jazz bar on an otherwise calm Wednesday night... but I'm sure you're tired of reading at this point. Happy Summer, thanks for reading. Peace. Love. Hippies.

coolest yard art ever (above)

(this guy was near our hotel)

(It's over 200 years old!)

This was at the top of a hike that started literally across the street from our bed & breakfast. It was about 2/3 mile and a bit of a steep slope to reach the top... and you could look down over the city... beautiful at night, and quite the workout.



Mark Twain!!! Obviously I had to kiss him. And say... "I'll be your Huckleberry..."

santa fe & st. francis

we spent tuesday evening and wednesday in santa fe. off their main square is st. francis's basilica, which was built in 1870s. But there has been a church/adobe structure occupying the spot and holding daily mass since 1610. (read 400 years.)

i loved the st. francis dancing on water statue outside - it had quotes from his life/prayers all over the statue.

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace,

Where there is hatred, let me sow love;

where there is injury, pardon;

where there is doubt, faith;

where there is despair, hope;

where there is darkness, light;

where there is sadness, joy;
O Divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled as to console;

to be understood as to understand;

to be loved as to love.
For it is in giving that we receive;

it is in pardoning that we are pardoned;

and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.

-Francis of Assisi

happy birthday, gentry!

wednesday was gentry's birthday and i wasn't near the internet to share this fact with the blog world.

his girlfriend is on a young life trip, his dad is flying around montana, his mother and sister are relaxing in santa fe, and he had to work all day. sometimes, i think growing up is silly. i wish when i was seven or eight someone would have pulled me aside and said: Newsflash. Enjoy the cake and parties and frolicking now. Because when you hit the real world in "adultland" it will not be like this. so i'm telling you that now, younger bro. sometimes adult reality bites.

but still, we should stop once a year and celebrate the fact that we've made it around the sun another time. because life in the adult world isn't that bad...its actually pretty awesome!

happy birthday, midget!!! even though people tell you that you look like a face model in GQ and that you quote movies like ace ventura incessantly and you're a foot taller than me...i still love you more than you even know. and now we're both 23! yahooooo.

day two: meeting coast to coast dan

Tuesday June 29
Start time: 9:49 a.m. Marfa, Texas
End time: 6:20 p.m. Santa Fe, NM
Total Miles: 530

Day two was a busy day on the road. After many rotations on the odometer, we finally made it out of the great state of Texas. But first, we had our eyes peeled Tuesday morning, looking for the Prada Marfa building on the highway between Marfa and the next tiny town, Valentine.

Prada Marfa is an art project planted in the middle of nowhere Texas in 2005 – it is a store front that has no working doors, contains real prada shoes and handbags from the 2005 season. It is one of the most photographed stores in the world, apparently. Upon googling it recently, I read several different editorials questioning its purpose, who was behind the project, etc. The sign says that two artists teemed with an architect as just a fun project to promote art and style in an otherwise rural area.

Some people say that the Prada Foundation claims to have nothing to do with the structure, that it would be using art to advertise, which would be wrong, rude even to the people of Marfa. But, one article asked, when is art advertising? When is advertising art? An interesting question, but really, I’m not sure I cared on Tuesday. I was just excited to be standing at a weird, much-talked about building that I had seen in Texas Monthly and other publications.

We looked around and snapped a few pictures, about to climb back in the car bound for Santa Fe, when a guy on a bike approached from the opposite direction we were traveling. He pulled his bike to a stop and asked if we’d like him to take our picture together. “Um, sure,” I walked over to him with Frere Jacques (my camera.) I squinted at him in the morning sunlight, immediately noticing the heavy trailer he was pulling behind his bicycle, a box of Wheat Thins strapped right on top. I also immediately took notice of the pistol tucked into his cycling short’s waistband. (During the forty minute conversation that followed with this man, Coast-to-Coast Dan, my mom never noticed he was packing heat.)

“Are you with the bikers we passed a few miles ago?” I asked this fifty-plus year old stranger.
“Oh, no, I’m not with them. I met them last night. They’re too young and too fast for me. One of them beat cancer, so they’re riding together as a ride for the cure.”
“Are they riding from California to Florida? Are you?”
“Ya, we’re all riding coast to coast. I started in Cali, I’ll end up in Florida. That’s where I’m from.”
“That’s so awesome!!” My mom enthusiastically piped up. Dan proceeded to take our picture as he laughed at the Prada Marfa. He hadn’t heard about it before, but, much as the other cars that stopped when they past it, found it hilarious and definitely worthy of a photo stop.

Dan continued to tell us that he was riding across the country via bicycle, he had been in a three year relationship with a wonderful woman in Florida, but they had split up and he had given her his whole heart, everything he had.

“Well, that is so good! That is so healthy!” My mom waved her hands in the air as she spoke. “I think that is so much better than drinking away your problems or just staying in your house upset – what a healthy, cool way to work that out!”

Oh, here we go, I thought. Dan seemed nice enough, cool even, but I had a folder in the car with timetables on it. We had miles to make and I didn’t my mom talking to this dude for an hour. Which is kind of what happened… After he told us several cool stories about people he had met thus far on his journey, he even quoted scripture at one point, we got in the car.
“He was such a neat guy! How crazy that we met him at Prada in Marfa.” I said.
“He was awesome!” my mom said, climbing in the passenger seat.

“True, but next time, if you’re going to be twenty minutes late getting started, we cannot spend forty minutes talking to bicyclists with pistols in their pants.”

“We only talked for ten minutes and he did not have a gun!” Oh, mother. Your concept of time amazes me.

I was wiping the windshield in Van Horn, a little south of El Paso, when a Lockheed Martin trailer and suburban pulled into the gas pump next to me. The guy was probably way too old for me (like late 30s but who’s asking) and I couldn’t help but notice he was quite handsome. A little old lady walked over, nosily inquiring about his giant trailer. “Are you headed down to clean up the gulf sir??”
“No,” he laughed and looked over at me. “I’m going to meet with border patrol, this our new line of surveillance equipment. I’m a sales rep.” She kept talking to him and I figured I should stop staring. He smiled and nodded as I pulled away and I couldn’t help but think it would be really cool to hang out with a Lockheed Martin sales rep who pitches presentations to US Border Patrol.

Next we headed to El Paso and Santa Fe. I’ll have to fill you in later about that – though I have been to Mexico more than a few times, I was shocked to see the contrast in El Paso and Juarez, just because of a river and fence. Lives are so different on each side. I had to wip out the pen and journal to jot some thoughts down lest my brain explode.

(Before leaving El Paso though, we supported the economy by shopping at the Lucchese outlet. Lucchese boots, oh how I love thee. Too much, I know.)
We arrived in Santa Fe that evening. When Mom and I were strolling the square, I asked a nice looking man to take our picture. Not only did he inadequately push the shutter release and we did not get a picture out of the deal, he followed us around the square demanding to know if we were really sisters. Surely, you’re sisters. Nope. Surely. Nope. Goodbye, sir. And goodbye, blog world.

head west, young man

davy crockett statue in ozona

day one: monday june 28

depart houston: 6:16 a.m.

arrive marfa: 4:11 p.m.

total miles: 589

favorite moment: in san antonio. around 9:30 a.m. my mom, after i had missed the exit for I-10 west, told me it would be fine if we continued on highway 281 to johnson city. "courtney," she said, "surely I-10 will connect to 281 somewhere along the way and we'll get back on track."

yes mother, your logic makes sense to me. 281, which runs north from san antonio, is bound to connect to an interstate that runs due east and west from california to florida. i stubbornly but politely refused to do anything but find our way back onto I-10 and head west. (which only took us about 8 minutes and 4 extra miles.)

the llano river in junction, texas

My feet are propped in a patio chair as I sit here in West Texas, a town called Marfa, home to 2500 people and known mostly for two things: the movie "Giant" and and the Marfa Mystery Lights. My mom and I drove here today from Hosuton - just shy of six hundred miles and ten hours in the car. Many things amazed me today: the ability to pack a few bags, save some money over a few months, research a few things online, and hit the open road for three weeks. The terrain of Texas is another amazement. We began our journey in a sprawling swamp full of dozens of nationalities living in the same monstrous city, and we rest here in a dry, pleasant town of mainly Mexicans and white folk that boasts a handfull of street signs and buildings, so rural that if you sneezed while driving on the highway, you might miss it altogether.

The large fountain is gurgling loudly in the courtyard where we sit, the Hotel Paisano waving the six flags that have each flown over Texas at one time or another. Our room is the very one Elizabeth Taylor stayed in for two months while filming 1963's best motion picture "Giant." I knew about the classic in high school because Memorial High was built in 1964 during the movie's height of popularity. Whoever has the task of choosing high school mascots named us the Mustangs because they ran horses on the Reata, which happened to be the title of our yearbook.

Anyways, its a great movie full of stars like James Dean, Rock Hudson, and a young Dennis Hopper, all of whom based at our hotel for several weeks during the movie. The hotel is much unchanged and full of charm - charm that may have long worn out to most. However, if you appreciate the glory days of decades past and Texas history, as my mom and I do, you would enjoy both the hotel and the town of Marfa. And almost anyone could appreciate the desert air and cool temperatures.

I'll have to fill you in our "light viewing" another day. For now, I'm in Santa Fe and getting ready to explore this marvelous, artsy, cobblestone town tomorrow.

Peace. Love. Border Patrol. (they're everywhere. who knew?)
Courtney

head out on the highway...looking for adventure

I want to sit in quiet solitude and listen to the Blackfoot river trickle past. I want to laugh with my mom until my face hurts while wandering the streets of Santa Fe and sipping sangria. I want to watch the sunrise in Montana, and set in Yellowstone.

I want to plunge into a swimming hole, and hike til my feet hurt so much they feel as if they’ll fall off, I want to explore and read books for hours and take long naps. I want to see the mystery/alien lights in Marfa, and see the Great Salt Lake and watch a moose and a bear and a wolf (from a safe distance.)

I want to remember why we’re on this planet and escape the stress and fast paced chaos of the real word. I want to cruise through Wyoming with the windows down, music blaring, wind in our hair with the fabulous Renza Sharpe. I want to make a complete fool of myself whilst fly-fishing.

I want, I want, I want. It’s going to be a selfish three weeks, to be certain. But I’m okay with that. I think sometimes we need to be a bit selfish to be more prepared to live life self-lessly. Perhaps that’s a cop out, but this past year has definitely been a journey of sacrifice and sleep deprivation, and I’m ready for a reprieve. (And certainly thankful that this is even possible. I know some people don’t get five week vacations, or they spend those weeks earning extra money instead of spending what they’ve saved.)

The past ten months have been a lot about doing “whatever it takes” to serve 38 preschool students growing up in poverty. Occasionally that meant skipping happy hours, dinner gathering with friends, travels to visit other friends, wedding showers, movie nights, and bike rides. It meant late nights working and early morning alarm clocks that I tried not to smash to smithereens. It meant books that sat stacked in the corner of my room, waiting to be read but never having the time. We all, whether you’re in Teach for America or not, in a non-profit or a Wall Street firm, sacrifice a lot for our jobs. But this past year has been insane – and it hasn’t been about building my resume or finding a nice paycheck in my bank account. It has been about changing the education system in America, and being one tiny piece in a giant pie.

The way I see it is this: the education reform currently sweeping our country is like an apple pie. I am one tiny grain of cinnamon in a tiny teaspoon, miniscule but part of something much bigger. I am not something that would be missed if I was not here, however – collectively, my work is important. Because I’m pretty sure that apple pie tastes very different if you forget to add cinnamon.

Anyways, it’s going to be a crazy, wild, glorious three weeks. I know at times it will be lonely but I’m ready for that, eager for it even. I have a new journal, empty and waiting for me to fill its pages with the nonsense bouncing around in my brain. I have a heart thirsting for more grace – hence the bible in my backpack and the scripture I’ve written on some index cards. I’m excited to spend time with my parents, time with myself, and time with Renza. I’ll miss my brother and Katherine McClellan… but I’m sure I’ll get over it.

It’s really happening. Montana. I always said “one day” and now, at the end of this week, I’ll arrive. I’ll find myself on the same old streets Norman Maclean used to walk, and stand on the riverbanks where they filmed “A River Runs Through It.”

Montana, here I come. Getting there will be half the adventure – first stop, Marfa, Texas. My mom and I depart tomorrow morning at 6 a.m. and arrive in West Texas by nightfall.
I’ll be back soon, with a detailed report about the “lights” and if I saw James Dean’s ghost in our hotel.

Happy Summer! Til next time,
Courtney

a cluttered chaos

they say that some people are more visual than audio, more logical than whimsical, more literal than imagined... well, i am quite the visual person.

i compare many things to photos, i often expect things - like my bedroom decor, people i meet, and my day to day life, to look like quality photography: something artsy, and charming, warm, full of light, usually packed with color and emotion and boldness.

i realized lately that i want the thoughts of my mind to resemble one of my favorite places: anthropologie. i would love if my thoughts were similar to the storefront - everything is in their place, everything is supposed to be there, even if they are eccentric when looked at all together. most women, ages 17-50 roughly, can agree that there is something they love in anthro. either the candles and their intoxicating scents, or the accessories, the quirky home goods, the glorious sale room, the flirty skirts, the ruffles...i could ramble for hours. the belts! i almost forgot the belt selection...

i wish my brain looked like anthro. charming, witty, sometimes definitely weird but loved just the same. warm, colorful, everything folded into its place. its not true. my thoughts are messy, some of them don't belong with who i'm trying to be and what i'm chasing after. my thoughts are sometimes too weird, or not at all charming, and my brain is not ready for a magazine photo shoot. (obviously, you say.)

somedays i'm grumpy, or confused, other days i'm dancing and their isn't any music playing. (and i'm pretty sure there is only dancing allowed in anthro if the music is on and the manager has previously approved it.)

maybe life/thoughts are not supposed to be like store displays and planned atmospheres. Maybe the messiness and chaos and unassigned flow of thoughts are more beautiful because they are just that: unplanned. real. three dimensional.

as much as i wish my life, my thoughts, my day to day, looked more like a photograph you could get lost in, maybe that would be boring. how would we appreciate our times in anthro or in moments such as these pictures if that was typical? if that was everyday? maybe i should embrace my quirky, mushy, messy brain and its chaotic moments. maybe we all should. in the meantime, i'll appreciate these photos stolen from other blogs.

glorious wilderness

My brother is hiking through the backwoods trails of central Colorado as I type. He's on a YoungLife trip referred to as "Wilderness," and Memorial High school typically takes students on the trip after their junior year at school. Its a huge spirtual and physical challenge as kids hike for 10-12 hours each day, carrying all of their own supplies, setting up their own tents each night, and dealing with things like family turmoils from home, boyfriend or girlfriend drama, college decisions, and just the general trials of growing up in your late teen years.

It was an incredible week, one I referred to for years as one of the best weeks in my life...and that description is probably true today. I was envious and excited for my brother as he packed on Saturday, throwing all of his name brand equipment together - "look what I got on sale at REI!" Oh, sure, it was on sale, gentch. His sweet girlfriend - really my friend too - made trail mix and cookies for him to take on the 18 hour bus ride.

It brought back memories of my own trip, and all the fun I had: hiking when you thought your legs would fall off, stars so thick you thought you were imagining it, singing songs, memorizing bible verses, dealing with tough issues and silly things that made you laugh til your face hurt and tears welled in your eyes.

I'll be praying for my brother and all those kids on the trail this week, thinking happy thoughts for their safety... and jealous thoughts that I'm inside a classroom in Southwest Houston while they glance to their left and right to see forests and the Continental Divide.

I know they'll have a fabulous time. Thank goodness I'm headed to Wyoming/Montana in a week, otherwise I'd probably have begged to hide in the back of the bus and join them. This is the verse we chanted while we hiked several times each day:

"The Lord is my strength; he makes my feet like that of a deer and enables me to soar to new heights." Habakkuk 3:19