The Drawbacks of Growing Up

Seattle rain is similar to the rain in classic movies.  It falls straight down with no slant whatsoever.  It doesn’t matter whether it’s misting or pouring, it all falls directly toward the ground.  It’s rather uncanny and unsettling.

The way it’s raining right now makes it acceptable for people to pull out their umbrellas and rain boots.  Most of the time it just mists and I laugh at the visitors holding umbrellas over their head as if it were the end of the world.  Obviously, this won’t be the right place for you if you can’t stand a little moisture.   

The clouds that are squeezing out the rain frustrate me.  They are so thin I can almost see the blue behind them.  It makes me think they are about to disintegrate and let the sun take control. 

But I know they won’t. 

There is actually enough rain cumulating in the gutters to sail aluminum foil boats, something I haven’t done for years.  I was a pro at making them when I was younger, and I’m sure I’ve retained the talent. 

It’s just the matter of finding aluminum foil and finding someone to do it with.  Honestly, these moments cause me to miss my siblings the most.  I could easily drag one of them outside with me.  Other kids my age, not so much.

Oh, the drawbacks of growing up.       

Making the Best of It

I was the luckiest girl in the world the minute I stepped off that plane.

The California sky was clear and bright blue and it was 65 degrees out.  I couldn’t contain how bubbly I felt—I wanted to skip through LAX to get outside quicker and breathe in the sunny air.  There was more to my excitement than just air though…one of my dearest friends was waiting to pick me up and drive me to my aunt and uncle’s house and I hadn’t seen her since winter break.

Over break I learned quickly which of my high school friends I wanted to spend time.  Friendships in high school were easy because I saw everyone, every day.  But once we split apart some people were easier to remain friends with than others.

Aubrey has been one of my close friends since 3^rd grade.  It seems like our friendship is indestructible.  We’ve both had moments where one of us was more out of reach than the other, but we always ended up meeting halfway and reestablishing our friendship.  (It’s also beneficial that we live a 2-minute walk away when we’re both home.)

When she found out that I was going to be in CA for 36 hours she was determined to spend time with me and I’m so glad that she came up with a way for us to see each other.  It was the perfect plan.  My aunt and uncle wouldn’t get back from church and lunch until 1pm and my flight got in at 10:30am.  So Aubrey picked me up from the airport and we spent the best two and a half hours together.

I easily picked out her bright red car, LMac, from the line of cars outside the baggage claim and she got out to greet me with a hug.  There was a lot of laughter those first few minutes, and the rest of the time as well.   

It’s in those moments that it feels like no time has passed at all.  But then again I could hardly believe we were in the car together, in California.  Maybe when we were younger we had dreamt about visiting the beach someday and taking a vacation together and now we were actually in the same spot together with our parents a hundred miles away.

Who cared that it was only for 2 hours? 

The first stop was In N’ Out, since making a trip to California and not eating there at least once is unacceptable.  I didn’t have breakfast that morning, so that burger and milkshake were some of the best fast food I’ve ever had in my life.  Aubrey and I were chatting up a storm and catching up on everything we had missed in each other’s lives since we last parted. 

When we had finished we hopped back into the car, stopped quickly at Whole Foods to grab some flowers for my aunt and uncle’s family, then drove toward the beach.  Our internal map seemed to be pointing us there and we could sense that our feet needed to touch the sand and feel the cool, foamy, waves.

We ended up parking by Venice Beach and we wandered through the stands of a market before we ventured out onto the sand.  It was as if I was filled with life the moment I walked onto the beach.  I think Aubrey could feel it too because we both threw our heads back and laughed.  It took a few minutes to reach the water and the salty sweet air stuck to my face as the wind blew through my hair.

The ocean is freeing, and seemingly endless.  It love looking at it and being near it.

I asked Aubrey, “Do you think I’ll get in trouble if I throw all my clothes off and jump into the water?”

She gave me the don’t even think about it look and smirked. 

We spent the next half an hour taking pictures, chasing seagulls, running from waves, and basking in the sun and each other’s company.  It was too short and ended far too soon.

As we walked back through the Venice market we stopped by a stand with various bracelets and beach bags.  At first we intended to only look, but once you try something on and you like it you end up buying it.

Both of us got a bracelet.  Mine with red, yellow, and green strands and Aubrey’s with sky blue.  It was fitting for both of us.

Now each of us have memories on our wrists of the day we got to spend 2 hours together during my mini trip to California.  It was definitely one of the best 2 hours I’ve ever spent with Aubrey, which is saying something because we’ve spent hundreds upon hundreds of hours in each other’s company.

I can’t wait for the next time I see her.  

First: U-District with Sarah
Second: Orange Women (my dorm floor)
Third: Venice Beach

Spoken Word in Written Form

Lately, spoken word has been the biggest fad,

Where you talk pretty quickly and sometimes rather fast,

Spewing thoughts and witty words

And being all poetic. 

But for me, it’s more like a rap

With a rhythm I can’t track.

It suits me, and I can relax when I find

A pattern of words to convey

And give meaning. 

It is not my strong point, if fact it’s my weakest

Rhyming during poetry I often consider form,   

And form for me means “cold” not “warm”. 

I like my words to flow smoothly, full of emotion,

Flowing like water and finding a way

To travel and embrace, to hold and give grace.

Often they don’t have much beat— 

Which seems to be rather unique,

And rhyming… it’s never been my cup of tea.

Ironic, since that’s all this poem seems to be.

But sometimes I like to be caught in the moment,

Thrown into words, for my pure enjoyment

And when they swell like the ocean,

They become a sea, and all I see are words

And me.    

I’ll let you in on a secret,

I’ve never tried this before.

I’ve written poems before, but not rap,

That’s for sure.

I’ve always been about breaking the mold

But spoken word is more than mere poetry,

It’s bold, 

like the letters that stand out in a text

Like memories that we’ll never regret.

WORDS are all I need.

That, and a bit of rhyming poetry.  

-e.carlson

Monday Moments: Backwards

Monday mornings are always a bit of a challenge.

Rolling out a bed never fails to be an obstacle and once I get going, things move rather slowly.  I probably open and close drawers several times before I actually pull out what I’m going to wear.  (Planning outfits would prevent this problem but I’m always worried that by the next morning I’ll have changed my mind anyway.)

Today I pulled out a blue shirt that I’ve owned for… probably forever.  I remember buying it at the store with my Mom and, due to the fact I’ve hardly grown, it still fits and it’s not worn out enough for me to get rid of. 

I noticed it had one black dot on the tag.  For a second I couldn’t remember why someone would have put one black dot on my tag but it quickly came back to me…wow, this shirt is old. 

When my mom used to do everyone’s laundry (years and years ago) she had no ideas which clothes belonged to which child, which makes sense considering there are 5 of us.  My clothes had one dot, child #2 had two dots and so on.  I can’t believe I’ve had this shirt since that time of my life.  I’ve been doing my own laundry for a pretty long time which means it’s probably from middle school and I’m currently in college.  That’s a little embarrassing. 

Then, unbidden, I remembered something else funny about my clothing from when I was younger.  When I was learning how to dress myself my mom would draw little arrows on my underwear that would point upward toward my bellybutton once I put them on.   It helped me figure out whether or not I had put them on the right way.   

I can’t even express how many times I put my underwear on backwards, regardless of the arrows, and how many times other people in my family put things on backwards as well.  Dresses, t-shirts, pants, underwear… it was always a problem.  My brothers were pretty good at putting things on backwards and inside out.  This is probably partially due to the fact we all learned how to dress ourselves at a very young age—it would have been impossible from my mom to dress all of us one by one in the morning. 

There’s a certain day I remember very clearly.  I was riding my scooter on the sidewalk behind my house and looking at my brother, who was on a scooter in front of me.  We were in elementary school at the time and he had his shorts on backwards.  The back pockets were in the front and the fly was in the back.  (How he managed to consciously do that I’m not sure).  Before I knew it I was doubled over in laughter at how ridiculous he looked.  I couldn’t tell him without laughing, and he ran back into the house to turn them around. 

I was talking to my friends on the way to breakfast this morning and I asked them, “Did you guys ever put your underwear on backwards when you were younger?  Or other clothing in general?”

Apparently they didn’t.  Apparently my family is the only one who ever had an issue with it.

#mondaymoments

My Flower Memories

When I was a freshman in high school I saw dried flowers hung on a wall at a friend’s house.  Her mom had dried them and was keeping them around for decoration.  I was captivated.  I wanted to dry my own flowers and keep them for a bit of sunshine on a sad day.

So I started drying all of the flowers I received on my birthday, from various celebrations, from shows at school, on Valentine’s Day…any flowers I received were dried and placed on the bookshelf in my room. 

Eventually they started to pile up, but I enjoyed their preserved presence too much to throw them out.  At the same time some of the memories from certain bouquets were like a thorn in my side.

Remember whom those were from?  Remember what happened after that?  Remember what was said to you?  Remember this, remember that…. Remember? 

It took a strong emotional force to finally make me get rid of flowers after a certain point.  Letting bouquets of flowers sit in my room for months provided beauty, but also hurt at the same time.  In a way they were just piles of break ups, dates gone wrong, and dances that ended in tears. 

Looking back I wonder why in the world did I keep some of them around so long?  

I should have thrown them out the moment it was over.  But I didn’t because I cared too much about when everything was going right, and I remembered too easily all the times that went well.  At one point those flowers were everything, and then just around the corner they weren’t anything but I didn’t know how to get rid of them.

I especially remember throwing out a certain bouquet.  I had told myself many times, get rid of it already, you don’t need those flowers anymore, but I never walked over to pick it up and carry it to the trash can.  I don’t remember exactly what happened that made me march into my room one day and purposefully carry them to the dumpster in the garage, but I did.  And once I threw them out, I felt lighter.

If I remember correctly I ended up throwing out the rest of the bouquets that had been resting on my bookshelf as well.  I wanted a clean slate, I needed to start over and collect new memories, memories that would hopefully be happier and easier to look at. 

However, the cleaning process happened again about a year later and I once more cleared away all the flowers I had collected.  I didn’t want to keep them around anymore.  That time it was a little easier though, because I was getting ready to leave for college and start a completely new life.  I wasn’t going to leave a bunch of dead flowers around that wouldn’t mean anything to my sister. 

Now that I’m here I’ve started drying flowers again and hanging them from my dorm room ceiling by the window.  There’s not really a better place to keep them.

I have a bouquet from Pike Place, a bouquet from when my Dad visited me and took me out to the best dinner of my life (which you can read about in the blog post Eating Happiness) and a bouquet of roses from when my boyfriend and I made our relationship official. 

 I am fond of them, and I am fond of their memories.  And looking back I was fond of all my other flowers at one point too.  Which makes me realize, no matter what flowers I end up throwing out I’m sure I’ll get new ones that mean just as much, maybe even more.

I just hope I won’t be parting with the ones I have anytime soon.  

Unexpected Nostalgia

Today I’m dressed as if I’m two years old.  Ok, not really.  But I am wearing overalls, which just so happen to be some of my favorite apparel.  In Seattle you can pretty much get away with anything.  Plus, any outfit that looks weird can just be considered “hipster”, and that definitely works in my favor on the days where I randomly mix a bunch of things up and wear them.  Most of the time I’m a simply a jeans and t-shirt kind of girl.

Yesterday, my UCOR class was talking about forms of art and someone said that people are artistic with the way that they dress.  That definitely doesn’t apply to me.  I hardly care what I wear, as long as it fits and I can run around in it.  I also have to wear clothes that I’m not afraid to get dirty because I’m a rather messy human being.  It’s not worth buying a $50 shirt if I’m going to spill ketchup on it and ruin it during lunch. 

Today I walked down to Gwinn alone to eat before I started my day.  People kept asking me where my twin was (since it’s Twin Day for homecoming week) and I told them I didn’t have one.  Half of me wishes I had said she’s in class so that people would have tried to find someone all day that looked like me. 

But I didn’t say it.

I ended up talking to a few people and then I found a spot to sit and eat.  I tend to wander around Gwinn for a little while before I decide what I want to eat.  Today I spotted grill cheese sandwiches and french-fries and knew that was exactly what I wanted. 

I grabbed a sandwich, loaded some fries on the plate and then added some ketchup on the side.  To top it off I filled a glass of lemonade.

Now I was eating like a two year old as well, instead of just acting like one. 

I suddenly remembered when grill cheese sandwiches and french-fries were the only things my siblings and I would eat when we went out to dinner with our parents.  We survived on grill cheese when we took a family vacation to Yellowstone one summer.  And we always asked for a glass of lemonade, never water. 

Before I knew it I was having nostalgia to the max.  As an 18-year-old college student, I was sitting in my college cafeteria longing to be young and eat grill cheese, french-fries, and drink lemonade all the time. 

Those times have long passed—but that doesn’t mean I can’t take time to enjoy one of my favorite meals of all time every once in a while.

There are some things I won’t ever grow out of.  

The Bathroom Wallpaper

I went on a run with one of the girls from my floor this morning and after we returned we decided to stretch before we went inside.  We were talking about our families and telling different stories of the pranks we’ve played on them.

It made me realize that there was one I would really love to share.

It involves my beloved sister Rebecca, who is quite a few years younger than me, and one of my best friends Aubrey who is now hundreds of miles from me.   

My Mom decided when I was in 5^th or 6^th grade that she wanted to redo what we called the “kids” bathroom.  The walls were coated with ugly wallpaper that must have dated back to the 80s.  I can still remember what it looked like, with purple flowers and blue patterns that vertically lined the wall. 

Aubrey and I were in charge of peeling all of the old wallpaper off of the wall so that my Mom could prepare it for the new paint.  My middle brother joined in on the fun and before my Mom said “Go!” we were stripping it off the wall.  It had already been peeling and the task wasn’t too hard. 

However, there were certain spots that wouldn’t budge.  I don’t remember if I went to grab forks from the silverware drawer or if my Mom provided them for us, but I remember having the silver utensil in my hand and using it to scrape pieces off the wall.

10 to 15 minutes into the task my younger sister, who must have been about 6 years old at the time, wandered down the hallway into the bathroom to see what we were doing.

She stood in the doorway in her blue floral patterned dress (she was always wearing a dress during that era of her life), and she asked, “What are you guys doing.”

Aubrey casually answered, “Taking this off because your Mom wanted us to.”

Rebecca looked as if she didn’t believe us.

I can imagine the mischievous grin that spread over my face, and Aubrey’s as well, when we decided to step it up a level and see how far we could push things.

In a sarcastic and impish tone that should have been unknown to an 11 year old I said, “No Rebecca, actually we are destroying the bathroom wallpaper because we feel like it.”

Aubrey added, “Yeah.”

Before either of us knew what was happening, huge tears began to swell in Rebecca’s brown eyes and spill over onto the rest of her face.  She ran back down the hall and down the stairs.

Aubrey and I on the other hand couldn’t stop laughing.  We never stopped to contemplate that we might get in trouble for a teasing lie. 

However, within minutes my Mom marched up the stairs, took our forks away and sent Aubrey home.  Rebecca wasn’t the only one crying after that. 

We tried to tell my Mom, “But we told her the truth before!  We were just teasing!”  She wouldn’t hear any of it and after Aubrey was out the door, I was sent to my room.

I don’t remember who took off the rest of the wallpaper after that.  I assume it was my Mom, but the rest of the details about the bathroom being redone have escaped my memory completely. 

I should have been sorry, but I don’t think I really was. 

In fact, when I called Aubrey to discuss the story with her before I wrote about it we were both laughing all over again. 

Good times.