I Don't Always Clean My Room, but when I do...

I possibly just experienced the least productive day of my life.  Everything this morning was scheduled out perfectly and I was going to be right on track, but it all changed when I got a phone call during class.  After I got out of class I listened to the message on my phone, then called the lady back.  “Sure,” I said.  “Moving the interview to Friday at the same time will work just fine for me.” 

Changing the interview time for a job downtown meant I had three more hours of time to spare, so I kicked off my boots, climbed up onto my bunk bed, and snuggled under my cover while I watched an episode of Hart of Dixie.  (Let me tell you, watching the pilot episode of that TV show on Netflix is going to be the death of me, because now I’m outright addicted no matter how bad the acting may be.) 

Before I knew it, it was lunchtime, so I unwound myself from my cocoon and scrambled off my bed to grab some left over spaghetti out of the fridge.  People tell me it’s terribly unhealthy to warm up food in Tupperware containers since they’re plastic, but I do it anyway.  After my food had been nuked for a solid 2 minutes I climbed back into bed and watched another episode of my show.  As soon as that one finished I knew I had to start studying but, like any normal procrastinating college student, I had to check FB first. 

Which meant that I saw a post on my floor wall from one of the girls reminding the rest of us that the floor had to be decorated for Ashton Haunted Ball, which was occurring in 5 hours.  Other floors had started decorating a couple days ago. 

Let me tell you how much time we had invested into decorating.

None. 

So I took it upon myself, instead of studying, to walk down the hallway and pick up a wad of cotton “spider web-making” material to help aid in the decorating process.  For a solid hour I worked on my own, stringing spider web around the elevator and throughout the hallway.  Then a couple other girls joined me in the decorating process and I got sucked even further into it.  I couldn’t just leave after I had already done so much. 

Around 4pm I called it quits and went back to my room to study and get ready to go to dinner with my dad. 

I ended up cleaning my room instead.  Ironically, my roommate posted this photo on my wall right as I was in the middle of the cleaning process and it couldn’t have been more correct.

*sigh* I was wasting time away and I knew it. 

Needless to say, I didn’t study.  When my dad showed up (flowers in hand!) I took him through my hall, introducing him to various people and then I walked him to the guy’s side to show them that they had decorated for Halloween… with a Christmas theme.  They even had a TV, playing a never-ending clip of a crackling fireplace.  The last time I saw one of those was in a nursing home.

My dad and I left after a bit and drove to Ballard to find a restaurant I had chosen online, called “The Walrus and the Carpenter”, which is apparently named due to an Alice and Wonderland reference.  When we walked in and discovered it was a 45-minute wait we put our names on the waiting list and walked down the street to eat dessert at “Hot Cakes”. 

Delicious.  Always has been. 

We walked back to the restaurant and a blissful night of eating ensued.  When I eat real food it’s as if my stomach is a bottomless pit and I think I can proudly say I might have eaten just as much, or more, than my dad did.  We made sure we documented every food we tried on Forkly, a wonderful iPhone app that I highly recommend.  (If you want to read about my dad's last visit to Seattle, nearly a year ago, read Eating Happiness.)  

After dinner I got back to my room around 9:30pm since my dad and I first went to Will’s room to say hello.  They talked a lot about sports, no surprises there, and I would occasionally try to interject with something slightly smart and knowledgeable sounding.  Compared to most girls, I know a lot more about sports.  But, when a hearty conversation about terrible team-management is occurring between two guys, it’s hard to get a word in. 

So, eventually I get back to my room.  Did I study?  A little bit.  But a lot of other things happened within the span of three hours that were pretty distracting, and most of them won’t be served justice in a few words so I’ll save myself the trouble of trying to summarize.  After all, it was Halloween and no one wanted to settle in for a normal night. 

Welcome to my college life.  

Returning in Style (or Trying)

Anyone you ask who knows me well could probably tell you I’m a jeans and t-shirt girl.  There’s not much to my fashion beyond that and when I went to SPU for my freshman year (a year ago now) I often felt like a total scrub in comparison to some of the other girls there.  I’ve never been one to really care about what others thought of me fashion wise and I paraded through the year in my jeans and my t-shirts and my sweatshirts and sweatpants.

I even wore a pair of plaid pajama pants to class one morning and then to lunch and I got a ton of compliments from different guys about how cool they were.  I’m pretty sure the girls thought I was out of my mind though and after that I didn’t wear them out in public anymore. 

I didn’t realize how into fashion Seattle is in general and after a certain amount of time I got to the point when I decided I kind of wanted to look really cute some days too.  Sure, I dressed up really nicely if I ever went on a date with Will or out somewhere special with friends, but otherwise I didn’t really bother very much.  At least in my mind I hardly tried. 

When spring in Seattle hit it was as if the clouds were producing sundresses instead of raindrops since they seemed adorn every girl on campus.  The few sundresses I owned had been left at home since I had no idea that 70 degrees in Seattle was basically considered sundress weather, or summer for that matter. 

Let’s just say I finally decided it was time to add some clothing improvements to my closet.  This summer I bought a new pair of boots, some new jeans, new cardigans, scarfs, and lots of different things that could be layered.  I even bought some new dresses!  My mom spent a lot of time shopping with me this morning and she helped me pick new things out.  I had a lot of fun spending some time with her before I head off to school and even she bought a new sweater for the fall. 

I feel like I’m ready to return to Seattle in style.  Sure, I’m going to have a lot of days when I dress like my casual self and forget what the word makeup means but at least I know I’ll have options if I ever feel like looking cute.  (It seems like people hardly recognize me when I really try, which makes me laugh a little.) 

One more day of packing tomorrow and then I’m returning to my college home! 

Time & a Fishbowl

I realize I’ve been a terrible liar.  Every time I say I’m ready to write, I don’t.  I think it’s partially because I’ve put too much pressure on myself to keep my blog going, which has worked negatively and caused me to say pretty much nothing.  And of course life happens and sometimes I’m just not good about leaving time for myself to open a blank word document so that my words can flow.

So, no more promises and no more saying “I will” or “I won’t”.  I’ll write when I can and I have no idea when that will be.    

At the beginning of my freshman year of college, a year ago now, I started my blog.  It’s incredibly hard to believe that everything went that fast.  Looking back it was as if I snapped my fingers and transferred myself to now.  Freshman year was wonderful and full of new learning experiences and a completely new life.  This year I’m going back to something I already know and long for, which makes me almost more excited than before. 

I’m in the same spot again, trying to pack and wrap things up before I leave, but this time most of my things are waiting there for me and I’ll have to pick them up along the way.  I told my mom yesterday that it’s going to be like Christmas because I don’t remember half of what I actually packed in all those boxes.  As I open them I’ll start to rediscover bits and pieces of my college life from last year, and somehow I will reassemble those to help me start this year.

I’m going to be rooming with one of my best friends from my floor this year and we have already talked a little bit about how we are designing our room.  Believe me, it is going to be amazing once we actually move in and organize things, but at the moment we aren’t entirely sure how it is all working out.  I’ve been crafty this summer and I’ve made magazine coasters and wall hangings that will hopefully help add to the aura of our room.  

My room at home is once again littered with bags that I’m shoving everything in to.  It seems like I managed to collect a decent amount of things to take back with me to school this year.  For example, I’m taking a fishbowl.  (Most of you are thinking, why take a fishbowl when you can buy one up there?  Well, it just so happens I like this one and that’s exactly what I told my mom when she asked me that question.  She said I’m going to have a problem taking a suitcase of glass up to Seattle, since I’m also taking some mason jars as well… I’m not a hipster but I think they’re cool.) Anyway, I want a fish in my room this year and my future roomie said that’s fine as long as I’m the one cleaning it. 

In all honestly, I’m a little bit scatter brained right now trying to keep track of everything that I need to do… and then I remembered that it’s been almost a year since I started blogging and I thought to myself, why not take some time to write?

There’s always a little bit of time to spare.   

Procrastination at its Greatest

I hadn’t run in weeks, and I was stressed, so I ran.  It’s good for me to take stress and run it off instead of shoving it down inside of me and trying to digest it—stress is indigestible, like gum or aluminum foil.   

My favorite part of running alone is setting my own pace, which I think I’ve written about before.  I can stop and look at whatever I desire and take time to observe the world, instead of quickly running past it.  I’m honestly more of a run-walker instead of a runner.  If my mentally allowed me, I could continue to run for a decent amount of time, but I’m too curious about things and I end up slowing my pace to walk. 

I ended up running (and walking) to Gas Works, since I haven’t yet this year and I’ve wanted to for a while now.  Plus, the sun was out so there was nothing I wanted to do more than get outside and enjoy it while it lasted. 

It was also an excellent way to avoid studying for my psychology test.  There are twelve days left in the quarter and things are starting to pile up.  I wanted to get off campus and escape it, even if it was only for an hour.

I can’t remember exactly what I listened to, but I do remember that the air smelled wonderful, clean, and warm.  Spring is hiding right around the corner, and I found that I could breathe easier knowing that fact.  I ran down the hill from the dorm, down the street, across the Freemont Bridge, and toward Gas Works.

I ran off everything that had been worrying me for the past weeks and let it fall off behind me as I pushed my legs forward.  Running isn’t merely a distraction—it’s a way for me to release the tightness in my body and rejuvenate my mind.  It breaks me down physically, and builds me up emotionally.   

I ran through several shipyards, past yoga studios, hair salons, and offices, until I finally saw a large hill of green and knew I was close to my destination.  Once I was there I made my way to the top and I was surprised to find that I was nearly alone, except for a girl running on the other side of the park. 

Anyone who has been to Gas Works knows how breathtaking the view is.  It doesn’t matter if the sun is out or not, the view will still be spectacular.  (However, having the sun out doesn’t hurt, that’s for sure.)  I pulled out my phone and took several pictures.  I tried to take some that aren’t the typical view you see from Gas Works, and I think I succeeded with a few.

It was what I needed.  I needed to run, and I needed to capture the moment in a different way.

And now I'm sore, which happens to be a great feeling because it proves I worked out.

Detached

Bloom

Looking for Heaven

(I highly suggest listening to the soundtrack above as you read this blog.)

I was required to go to SAM (the Seattle Art Museum) for my UCOR class to look at an exhibit on Gauguin… let’s just say it wasn’t the most entertaining thing in the world.

Sure, there were a few paintings that captivated my attention, but otherwise I glided through that exhibit like I was slipping on ice.  It wasn’t my style and now I have to write a paper on it.  How am I supposed to write about something I didn’t enjoy and have no desire to write about?  Guess this is where the “fake it ‘till you make it” part of college comes in.  Ironically, my teacher was talking about it in UCOR and that’s exactly where I’m going to apply it. 

Anyway, once I got myself out of the Gauguin exhibit, I proceeded to walk through the rest of the museum to explore the modern art.  There were various photographs, a room full of vinyl records, a huge black rat seated on a white pillow, a piece of armor made out of dog tags, glass sculptures, and too many other things for me to list off.

The SAM is rather spacious and allows for a lot of room to walk around, like most art museums.  When I was looking at certain pieces I felt like Elizabeth from Pride and Prejudice during the sculptures of Pemberley scene (Kiera Knightly version).  Part of me felt like there should have been classical music playing in the background as I found my way from one work of art to the next.  Instead of slipping on ice I was merely flowing through the space, taking my time to admire certain pieces more than others. 

I got stuck in front of a few different paintings, including one called Puget Sound.  The artist painted it (sometime during the 1800s) without even visiting Seattle and therefore only knew what it might look like based on descriptions from the explorers who had already been there.

I was captivated. 

Somehow he gathered enough mental pictures to attempt to capture the essence of the Puget Sound.  Though it doesn’t match how we know the Puget Sound to look, there is a certain aspect of the painting that is incredibly beautiful… it’s the aspect of expectation, and excitement.  There was something to be explored; something that was yet to be obtained, and the artist desired to know what it was and attempted to predict the beauty.   

If felt as if I was looking at America through the eyes of someone from the 1800s—I was viewing it the way that people viewed America as they were started to explore toward the west coast.  If I didn’t live so close to the Puget Sound, I would have never known it was incorrect.

In a way I think the artist did a better job of painting what heaven could possibly look like instead of painting Puget Sound. 

But isn’t that what man is always searching for?  Something infinitely beautiful and breathtaking?

I think we all are. 

I think that’s why we have art. 

Puget Sound by Albert Bierstadt

My New Favorite Season

The American culture is all about shoving as many activities as you possibly can into the span of one day.  Which means we rarely sleep, or get enough sleep.  Yet, there are days when I simply love taking my time.

Today I took my time walking to breakfast, eating my food, writing my notes, thinking about what I would say in class (there is nothing that drives me more crazy than a person speaking blurbs of nothingness), and walking back to my room. 

Walking up the Ashton hill can be quite to exerting activity, unless you walk slowly. 

So, one step at a time I walked up that hill and took time to breathe in the crisp Seattle air.  Seattle is somewhere between Winter and Spring—and I think it is now one of my new favorite seasons, even though it doesn’t have a name.

When I take time I pick up on little details that I don’t normally notice, like extra cracks in the sidewalk and the different textures of the pavement.  I love letting the breeze touch the tip of my nose and play with my wispy bangs.  For a brief moment I closed my eyes and let it touch my eyelids.

I was suspended between worlds of emotion, yet I felt nothing.  I initially labeled it as borderline grumpy, but that wasn’t it either.  I was just quieter, more subdued, and peaceful. 

Life flows in a happy medium when I take my time.

Drifting Thoughts, Late at Night

Last night I studied a lot for my bio exam.

I studied until the point that the words on the page weren’t registering with me at all.  I decided to call it a night and then wake up a little early to go to breakfast and study a bit more. 

Due to the fact I had taken a power nap a few hours earlier it was near impossible for me to fall asleep with the ease I normally do. 

I lay on my left side…

I turned to my right side…

I lay on my stomach…

I flipped over to lay on my back…

And I eventually went back to lying on my left once more.

I tried rearranging the covers, switching the position of my arms and legs, and repetitively fluffing my pillow in different ways.  Nothing was helping.

With a sigh I turned myself slightly and lay on my back, allowing myself to trace the outline of the Colorado flag on my ceiling.  My eyes moved up and down, up and down, around the “C”, and up and down once again. 

The window was open slightly, allowing some cool air into the dorm room and I appreciated its clean scent.  I’ve taken to leaving my blinds open at night and cracking the window a bit.  I like being able to see outside. 

My thoughts began drifting.  I don’t remember a thing I thought about, but I must have thought about a lot since it felt like I was lying there forever.  At one point a car passed outside and the lights streaked against my rooms ceiling, creating a random flash back of how many times that used to happen at home in Colorado.

I let my eyes take in the flowers hung from my ceiling, the posters and paintings on my wall, my roommate’s photographs, the cut-out snowflake on my window, and the texture on the ceiling.  I think it’s the first time I really took time to survey everything, and soak in what I have here. 

I felt peaceful and comfortable. 

I felt like I belonged.

I felt like I finally accepted Seattle and, in return,

It accepted me.

Somewhere in all of that I fell asleep.  

The Premonition of a Calling

In my UCOR class we are talking about what it means to have a home, and where we find our identity.  We are also talking about gifts, and how people manage their talents.  It seems like we have extremely in depth conversations every day, something I’ve been longing for in a class since I’ve been here.

I’ve finally found it and it’s like a breath of fresh air.

Today, a gentleman from Tent City (which is currently located on the SPU gym track) came and spoke to us about what it’s like to be homeless.  He felt that he had constantly burdened his family by always couch surfing between their homes when he lived in San Diego, so he traveled to Seattle for something new.  Now he lives in Tent City, a community of homeless people that has a few simple rules.

           1)   You must be 18.

           2)   You cannot be listed as a sex offender.

           3)   No form of drugs or alcohol is allowed. 

I listened extremely attentively to his story and soaked in every word that he said.  For being homeless he is extremely literate, I thought while he gave a simple and straightforward speech about his living style and how he felt about other peoples’ reactions toward him. 

Turns out, quite a few homeless people have jobs, but they don’t have enough money to pay rent.  They would rather use the money for food, clothing, or things that they consider more important and essential.

I was shocked to find out how ashamed and embarrassed he was of being homeless.  It wasn’t something that he could help and it hurt him that other people looked down upon him because he didn’t have a consistent roof over his head.  He was burdened by the fact that homeless people have the reputation of always being drug addicts or criminals, something that is far from being the truth.  

Our guest speaker was clean-shaven,

Bathed,

Dressed accordingly,

Intelligent…

And homeless. 

He told us, yes, sometimes people are on the streets because they have substance abuse issues, but a lot of the time they simply can’t afford a home.  They don’t have enough money to sustain themselves on the “typical” American lifestyle. 

He now speaks to the mayor and advocates on behalf of the homeless people and the community of men and women that live in Tent City.  Every few months they need to move locations, and someone has to figure it out for them.

At first my classmates and I were timid about asking questions, but once one person raised their hand everyone else had something to ask as well.  Eventually I raised mine.  “Have you ever considered writing your story down so that people can read it and learn from your experiences?  And so they can understand what it’s like to be you?”

He looked at me, smiled, and then answered, “I would love too, but I don’t have time.  There are so many other things for me to take care of and I wouldn’t have the time to write out my story.” 

Bummer.  It would be such a great story to write.  I bet it would be a great story that a lot of people would read.

My mind became a whirlwind of thoughts as I continued to listen to the rest of his answers to various questions, including one about religion, which turns out to be a sensitive subject in a camp full of people without homes.  (I find that totally understandable.)

Before I knew it the questioning was over and the man I would have never taken for homeless if I had passed him on the street, left. 

Then I bowed my head and without warning tears started slipping from my eyes.  I couldn’t stop and they were spilling over my cheeks and down my face.  I wasn’t making a sound, but I was gushing tears everywhere.  What is going on?  Why am I crying? 

My friend Rochelle saw me.  “Oh my goodness, what’s wrong?”

I started spewing something about how lucky we are and how much we have and how I wanted to help them somehow.  I just couldn’t believe they were right down the street in tents in the middle of Queen Anne, Seattle while the rest of us were snug in our dorms and pretty houses.

It was if some kind of spring inside of me had burst loose.  I have known for a long time that I have a heart for homeless people, but I didn’t know it was so strong that it could cause me to be perfectly content one moment and spewing tears the next.  All I wanted to do was run down to Tent City and spend the rest of the day talking to the people who live there. 

The wheels in my mind were, and are, still turning.

What if working with homeless people is my calling?  What if I can somehow pair that with the incredible gift for writing that God has given me?  What if, what if, what if…

I’ve decided I’m going to seriously pray about this.

My heart is telling me that this isn’t something I can ignore.

I’ve gone my whole life seeing but I feel as I’ve I finally need to DO something. 

It would take far too long for me to explain how these puzzle pieces have fallen in place the last few months but I do have a general idea of what I need to start doing, and I’m slowly working on that.

The rest is unknown, but I will be keeping everyone updated.  That’s for sure.        

Rants about Coffee, Snow, and the Sun

What better place to write than in a coffee shop?  Typical Seattle.

Today the sun decided to show its face and it was the perfect day to take a walk down the street to Tully’s, which is just far enough to make me feel like I’m escaping the SPU bubble.

This week has been crazy with the snow.  I’ve had no routine and no motivation to do homework—not to mention I’ve been surrounded by white walls that look like they want to swallow me.  (9 days of no class and hardly any chance to get off campus doesn’t serve me well.) 

My dorm room has turned me into someone that belongs in a crazy house.  I hadn’t reached the point quite yet where I wanted to bang my head against the wall but I was pretty close.  I ended up throwing a baseball indoors in the lounge with a couple guys from my brother floor last night because we didn’t have anywhere better to go and we needed to be active.  Just imagine us throwing a baseball with several huge glass windows waiting to be broken and some vending machines.  There are countless ways that simple game of catch could have gone wrong, so thank goodness nothing was shattered in the process. 

The best part were peoples’ faces when they walked through the lounge and saw what we were doing.  Priceless. 

I think I’m safe saying everyone has been restless.  Extremely restless. 

When the sun slowly peeked out from behind a cloud today my spirit immediately rose.  The sun wasn’t supposed to appear until next Friday, and when I found that out yesterday (meaning I would have had to wait for a week) I just about died.

But today God humored Seattle and let the sun shine.  I kept telling everyone I was ready for the snow to be gone and people kept saying, “But you’re from Colorado, you’re supposed to be used to this!”

Touché.  But it snows in Colorado and then the next day the sun comes out.  I’m not used to having the sun gone for three months straight. 

So now here I am, contentedly writing in a coffee shop and repeatedly looking out the window to check that the blue sky is still there.  Who knows when I’ll see it again?

Hm, I should probably start writing that paper I came here for in the first place.    

Snowpocalypse

This week I’ve been living in an uncanny winter wonderland.  It hasn’t snowed this much in Seattle since 1985, and no one knows what to do about it.

I’ve loved every second of it, especially since I’m from Colorado and 4 inches of snow in Colorado isn’t enough for us to even begin thinking about a snow day.  Try four feet and then we’ll talk about it.  Here, the Seattle governor has declared a state of emergency. 

Everyone here knows how to drive in rain, but once you throw slush and ice into the equation it’s a different story.  Not to mention Seattle is full of hills that are 30 to 40 degrees steep, which turns them into awesome sledding hills and danger zones once they’re covered.

The hill that everyone climbs to get to my dorm has become a sledding hill during the past 2 days.  People have been sledding in laundry baskets, large Tupperware, on trays from Taco Bell, and even “watch your step” signs that they stole from inside the dorm.  People have also had massive snowball fights that involve 50 or more people from all over campus. 

Basically, it’s been a huge party.  I haven’t had school in 6 days now, and if school gets cancelled for tomorrow I’ll have had 9 days off when I go back to class.

Yesterday I bundled up and went out to go sledding.  I ended up getting soaked but it was worth it in every single way.  As my friend Sarah put it, “If you put Elisabeth on the 6^th floor and snow on the bottom, a record will be set for the fastest a person has ever gone down 6 stories of stairs.” 

Since words hardly convey the joy of snow, I’ve decided to share pictures to continue the story.

The ends of a snowball fight that occurred below my window, making it impossible to study because all I wanted to do was watch! 

The hill in the bottom left of the picture is where everyone has been sledding for the past few days, not to mention accidentally slipping down while trying to walk to dinner.

Me with two of my closest friends at school taking some time to enjoy the snow!
 (Photo credit to Taylor M.H.E.) 

The graveyard behind SPU, covered in a beautiful and peaceful layer of snow.

I fogged up the window and drew some love.  What a beautiful day!