in my own skin

It feels like, for the first time this week, I am coming off overdrive. I have tuned into my usual online listening, Reign Radio, and feel all this crap tension I have felt all week drain away with the coming of the weekend.

It's a week I'm glad to see over. It was a heavy week; feeling like a hamster in a wheel, racing to get nowhere. Nothing really accomplished; getting out of it sweaty and exhausted, same place I started. But it's the way it goes.

I'm tired (as usual when I post) and stink of work day and cigarette smoke. I spent the late evening with neighbours of ours, drinking black tea with too much sugar, wreathed in smoke from handrolled cigarettes.

The neighbours; he's from Quebec, she's Cree, from Saskatchewan. I am more comfortable with them than with people my own age. He translated French recipes for me and we discussed WWII and his years in the Canadian airforce in the 1950's. I think the most fulfilling part of spending time with them is I know they like me; they call me "girl", send me off with gifts, invite me back. And that sure is something these days. Maybe I'm jaded, but my faith in people of my generation dwindles. People are so involved, so engaged, but there's so little community: They already have friends, church, committments. It seems there's little room or time to get to know another person or extend oneself. And it's rare that I can tell if someone genuinely wants my company or not.

So it's a strange mixture of feelings I sit here stewing in. Frustration, satisfaction, gratitude, disappointment, peace, uncertainty. Like something's healing. Like I want to lash out.

I feel frustrated with my faith. I feel frustrated with my hang ups. I wonder if I'll ever be in a social structure of believers; of people who can be real and help each other grow. I sometimes miss old friendships, however unhealthy. But I'm alien to the old; yet don't fit the new. Clumsy limbo. Awkward participant.

But I guess wherever this is going, I feel the molding. I can see that I need time; time to come out of the narcotic haze. Time to see my real personality cut loose. Time to be formed in the shape I have been rebelling against for so long. Time to let ingested untruths seep away. Time for Martin and I to see to each other's core, to find in each other more wholeness and blessing than we thought earthly possible.

"I know that everything God does will endure for ever; nothing can be added to it and nothing taken from it. God does it so that men will revere him."

"Behold, it was for my welfarethat I had great bitterness; but in love you have delivered my life from the pit of destruction, for you have cast all my sins behind your back."

mouth like a magazine

It's early, but I am already tired. It's a rainy, cold, dark day for August. The apartment's strewn with laundry brought in from the rain to dry but I can't bring myself to do a thing about it. I have been struck with inexcusable relaxation (borderline laziness) since returning home. It's nice - I like work and I'll drain myself finding things to do. So it's nice to chill out and not worry about chilling. Feels a bit like days of old although now the chill is natural and not chemical.

Ah, vacation. Tranquil, blessed, fleeting. Over all too quickly. I fully intended to write about Sweden and our time there (it's the best way to remember) but really, I've been too relaxed to feel like doing so. But here I am. Martin - he's one hour into his graveyard shift. I've got good, raw tunes going and moccasins to keep my feet warm.

Our travels left me both satisfied and strangely empty. It was a near-perfect respite. I had a lovely sense of familiarity in Martin's parents home; happy, at ease, feeling welcome and appreciated. His dad - a merry, well-read, warm-hearted man. His mom - smart, hard-working, the ultimate hostess. She has filled my daydreams with vanilla pastries, Swedish strawberries, home-baked bread, buttery cheeses, cream sauces, gooey carrot cake, rhubarb soup and pie, oh my. I never did weigh myself upon my return home. Why spoil it all? It was a food-lovers paradise. That's all I should say on that particular subject, or I shall weep over my keyboard.

There's so much I could say, and it all falls flat on the screen. I was sad to go. It seemed like we were leaving many good things behind... I felt sad and impotent, feeling Martin's heartache as he said goodbye to his nieces and nephews. He said they would remember less of him with the passage of time, and I had to work hard to hold back the tears. I fear that as well - but I hope it won't be so.

What I enjoyed most, in no particular order:

• Our Swedish wedding celebration, basking in the support Martin's family and friends
• Swimming and sunbathing with Martin at a lovely, calm lake
• Eating a whole bowl of wild blueberries with a spoon
• Blowing bubbles with the kids - I was strange but cool with the ability to make giant bubbles
• Sitting in Martin's parent's beautiful backyard arbour
• The crystal clear pure silence
• Receiving welcoming hugs - warm, good, real hugs
• Mocking stupid American movies with Martin on the plane
• The wood floors and artistic window sills
• Pastries at every meal
• Going "mining" with our parents in a very dark, cold mine
• The curious, blushing looks of Martin's nephews
• Standing at the rail of a ferry in the fresh, clean wind
• The cathedral in Uppsala
• Sharing a basket of fresh strawberries in the sun
• Understanding far more Swedish than I ever expected
• Beating Martin soundly at minigolf
• Soft beds, feather pillows, heavenly-smelling laundry soap
• Martin's nephew teaching me to count to 10 in Svenska
• Soaking in the fact I now have another fun, loving family
• The medival churches and climbing the tower of one
• Taking a little boat slowly across a sunset lake

Now, I must commence my study of Swedish with real fervour, and I must convince Martin to speak more around the home so my mouth can become bilingual. I've mastered "Can you pass the dessert, " and now I must move onto other basics.

Hm. Still relaxed. Still sleepy. Methinks I will go find my book where I left it and burrow under a quilt. Adjö!

voyage

Martin let me know that my blog was getting boring because I hadn't updated it in awhile. So although I don't care if anyone thinks it’s boring, I am updating it to say that I probably won't be updating for the next while. We are leaving today to the fine province of Småland, to visit Martin's family.

I am looking forward to the peace and quiet, and am excited to get to know Martin's family more. (And meet the many that I haven't met.) My parents are going as well, and Martin's parents are putting on a fine wedding celebration for us, including program planned by Martin's witty brother-in-laws, and a fantastic dinner cooked by Martin's uncle (yes, an actual Swedish chef).

What's not to anticipate? I am a little envious of my parents, who are also going to Denmark, but I will have ample opportunities in my lifetime, I am sure.

Martin and I will get to relive my last visit to Sweden - visiting the place where we got engaged, "Martin's" lake, the nearby ruins. We are actually so organized we've packed our wedding clothes so we can have "wedding" pictures taken in Sweden... I am starting to think I am a closet romantic. I believe my dear sweet husband has helped me come out of that particular closet. I even call him "honey", and worse, more sappy nicknames which I will not mention publicly.

Where was I going with this? Anyways… the photo is portrays the classic colors and architecture found around where Martin lives. If it looks to idyllic, too pastoral, too serene, to be real, that’s because it is. But it is a real place. (I can attest to it.) It’s one of the most fantastic, beautiful, well-tended, calming places in the world. (I even know someone who tells me this little spot in the world holds her heart - she calls it her Narnia.) I agree, although my heart is held by one of the sons of this ethereal place.

So, ciao!

first venture

On the Oregon Coast.









First gasp.









A look of delicious secrets.








The rolling northeast storm.








Regretful goodbye.

birthdays suck

It's been a long day, and I am feeling moody and excluded. It doesn't help that I am home alone, the heat oppressive, with woe-is-me jazz playing, and our fan making an irritating rattling noise as it oscillates. Martin is working graveyards at his new job at a local homeless shelter, so I won't be seeing him till after 8 a.m.



















I can empathize with this poor dead jelly fish I took a picture of. He was just floating along, all pretty and bright-blue, and then he dies a lonely death, washed up on the Oregon Coast. Well, not totally alone. There was thousands of his dead jellyfish buddies washed up along with him.

Am I really feeling that mopey that I can empathize with a dead jellyfish? Yes, yes I am. And I can hear his final farewell playing on CBC Radio.

Ha! Now I am being silly. But seriously, long day. Plus, tonight Street Church made it's usual loud appearance across the river. (I found a neighbourhood call to action taped to the apartment building door tonight - the 'hood is riled. They want Street Church to TURN IT DOWN.)

Now the Stampede fireworks have started and I am reminded that the blessed calm of Martin's village in Sweden will be a sweet haven for the last two weeks of July. The city is nice when you feel like it - when you want a little silence it can make you downright ornery.

Wow, I'm really a ray of sunshine. I think it's bedtime. How'd this all start? Oh yeah! Birthdays that suck. Well, I think I truly transitioned into adulthood. I admitted to myself, nay, recognized, that birthdays, beyond the age of 18, really do suck. I'll be honest, I looked forward to putting back a pint or two or six on my 18th birthday, and that anticipation was fulfilled, although not with good results. However, my point is that your birthday is way more important to you than it is to anyone else. And it never really fails: My birthday passes and I realize, man, that totally, undeniably sucked. (This is no reflection on certain persons by the name of Martin or Mom, by the way.) I think I was just a big kid, all like: Woohoo, my birthdays comin', I'm gonna have so much fun and everyone who loves me is going to make my day super awesome.

I guess I should be glad I have addressed my naivete, and now I can move on like the cynical soon-to-be-birthday person that I am. Maybe when the day comes I'll treat myself to a loaf of rye bread or something.

;-)