Author: Katie Huey

The Best Years of my Life?

You know how people say, “College was the best years of my life!”? When I was in college, I hated when people told me that. College, for me, were some of the roughest four years of my life. Academia was a breeze and I was thrilled to learn about social dynamics, structures, and inequalities. Socially, however, those years were full of personal growth, individuation, and emotional development that was difficult to process through. I quite often felt alone, and isolated, and frustrated that I wasn’t having the best time of my whole life. I didn’t like to drink those feelings away either.

However, this weekend, we went back to my old alma matter because we had a few things to take care of in town. I instantly turned into a full blown nostalgia machine. Dylan and I walked around like those obnoxious adults pointing out buildings that had changed, developments that had morphed structures into plazas, and laughed about memories that took place back when our biggest financial stress was textbooks. I was filled with Buffalo pride – embarrassingly so! It became so clear to me how people can block out the bad, and choose to remember the good, enjoyable, and funny moments that shaped you.

I am so pleased with myself, to see too, how just a few years later I have changed as an individual. I think I’ve grown more confident, more sure of myself in a world that seems big. It is a beautiful thing, to return to a place, and to see that perhaps, you’ve out grown the you who you once were when walking those paths and crossing under the stone walkways.

We also got to go to Boulder’s iconic Pearl Street Mall and walk around enjoying the Colorado blue sky in the bustle of people on a Saturday morning. The walking mall is typically full of people displaying their talents, and asking for money. I ran into an interesting gentleman playing a really neat drum called a hang. Stereotypically, he screams of Boulder – bare foot and with dreads in his hair. After a conversation, he became so much more than a visual stereotype. Along the way, Dylan and I stopped to talk to this kind man about his instrument.

I loved so many parts of our interaction. Before he played the drum for us, Ryan explained to us that he does his best to match the rhythm of the music to the pace of people’s feet as they walk by. He intentionally tried to connect to the people around him in a way of perceiving others and giving back their energy in musical form. His first little beat was slow, and steady, and indicative of a Saturday morning stroll. The second melody he played, however, he described as what was going on in his head. It was fast, and staccato, and his hands moved around the smooth surface in a tizzy.

Isn’t it amazing how we can choose which energy to engage in? We thanked him for playing, and walked in the other direction. After we got a block away I couldn’t help but think that his intentional choice to observe others, absorb their energy, and reflect back in peaceful ways of musical talent was a marvelous practice. We turned around so I could ask him his name and if I could write about him here. Look above – his face is full of pure joy. So thank you, Ryan Post, for giving me something to think about on Saturday. Thank you for sharing a brief glimpse of who you are with us, and for choosing to be intentional in the energy you put out into the universe.

How can you be more intentional with your choices about what you are giving to the universe? What is worth matching energy, and where do you instead take care of yourself?

We found the old VHS

You know who is a genius? Kristen Wiig. Seriously, that girl makes me laugh in so many situations. This morning, when looking at my Twitter feed at 6 am as I waited for my boss to pick me up for an all day training, I came across this funny meme (is that how you spell it? I’m too tired, I can’t think straight). The tweet was referencing improvement at work, but I felt it resonate deep into my bones. At least in a humorous way.

With two weeks to go until the wedding, Kristen’s character from the movie “Bridesmaids” is channeling my inner insecurities. The little perfectionist inside me is yelling the same sentence. Replace Carol with Katie and whelp, you’ve got it. I’ve been staying up late and paying bills at night and making to do lists like a mad woman. My mom is going out of town next week (no judgement people – she’s a wonderful mother) but this means a lot of final lists and conversations about what to delegate to my dad. I’m sending lots of texts to my future mother in law and talking to vendors and I need to breathe at work. It’s Wednesday night, not Monday, when I usually post and according to WordPress it’s Thursday morning from wherever they keep track, so yup, I’m behind here too. I wanted to take a moment to reflect and to post. Please forgive me that this is my space to process and vent and purge all thoughts wedding. It’s where I’m at.

We knew August was going to go fast and it is flying. This week I was able to pause just a little to reflect on the beauty of home grown produce. Isn’t it fun to see gardens yield something you can actually eat. I’m not going to attempt to post recipes here but we did make a mean green bean salad with fresh tomatoes and cucumbers and a delicious dressing. The crunch of green beans are delightful.

Too, the easiest dinner is home made bruschetta. Thank you to Giada for a great Bruschetta Recipe! I used the little cherry tomatoes that we have been growing on our porch in tiny pots. I am SO proud of these stinkin’ tomatoes that seem to want to grow every which way. Maybe next year we will have a lawn. It’s nice to slow down at night and have a glass of wine and a quality meal. I guess I do have that priority together still.

Dylan had a birthday yesterday! Poor guy is doing a fabulous job of letting his birthday be, well, not a huge deal this year. We did make time though to go out for a nice dinner and to enjoy each other outside of the house. We splurged a little, and it felt extravagant to be together and talk about ‘us’ before the madness of all of this settles in. Good madness, but a little overwhelming.

Over wine and a few courses of dinner I realized I have been with this man through so much. We started dating when I was 19. 19! That’s crazy. And here we are, more than a few years later, dreaming up ways to spend our money and formalize a life together. It made me remember when my biggest stress was registering for college classes; now the stressors are different, more adult, more like insurance plans and 401ks and institutionalized paperwork like marriage licenses. It makes me feel immensely blessed to have such a great person to help me figure things out.

Tonight, Dylan was away bottling beer for the wedding and so I went to eat with my parents. I wanted to watch “Father of the Bride”, Steve Martin style circa 1990 something. Long story short I couldn’t figure out the old VHS tape (yes, my dad still has the VHS) and this movie is not on Netflix streaming, and not in iMovie and so we settled for the 1950’s version with Elizabeth Taylor. Not as funny, but the story line is shockingly the same. Many of the lines are word for word.

Here’s a little back story on how much I love that 1990’s movie. When I was in elementary school my dad taped the movie on VHS from tv ( same tape as mentioned above) and I watched it over and over. It was my frame of reference for how weddings could be, complete, I suppose with the family freak outs over hot dog buns. Apparently, I watched the tape so many times, I wore it out, as evidenced by tonight. When I got engaged, my mom bought me a blender as our first wedding gift. I come from ‘ a long line of over reactors’ you see. If you don’t get that, you better watch the movie – best of luck finding it.

So tonight, as my heart aches a little bit, about the anticipated excitement and changes and loss of being a daughter in the same way, I wanted to watch that movie with my parents. And we flexed and we adapted and we did the best we could with the media that was available. I know, I know, first world problem. What struck me, however, was that my connection to comforting movies and stories and situations aren’t what are so important. All of that will change, or has changed, or is changing, and that’s ok. What matters are the social supports and love and extension and growth that comes with creating a new family. I had my mom on one side of the couch and my dad on the other, and that’s pretty neat. I’m so excited to move forward and be a wife. And a little bit scared, and a little bit sad too, in the most complex of ways. It’s time. There is beauty in this process.

Simple Sets of Circumstances

It feels wrong not to mention it. The loss that is sweeping the nation, and maybe even the world. I’m sad to hear that Robin Williams is gone, that he took his own life, and that we grieve the loss of one of the greats. I’m sad, too, that this icky darkness called depression continues to prevail. I know it’s a serious something; more complex that intense sadness, or loss, or a phase. It takes people down a trickling path that fades to nothing and I am sad. As someone who has depression running through my family, this loss makes me even more aware of the pervasive nature of this deep disease that can sink into us. I just want to say we will miss you. And to all of those out there who are struggling with out fortune or fame, we care about you too.

This news is making me appreciate the little things and encouraging me to create some excitement within my own day. Its the sweet moment of Dylan doing the dishes while I write (hallelujah), or the after work bike ride as we race just to be silly. It’s chocolate covered pretzels and budget meals of “fried rice” with eggs and peas and chicken because we try to save some dough. It’s the feeling that maybe we are more than just a spec on the planet, that our interactions mean something and have greater force than what we can even imagine. We each matter. We each ripple into one another’s lives and thoughts, and patterns and rituals. Who are you letting ripple into your own?

This weekend we took a much needed break and went down to the Botanical Gardens in Denver to see the glass exhibition by artist Dale Chihuly. Even though we could have been making schedules and checking lists and being productive I forced Dylan to wake up early so we could check something off of my summer bucket list. At the gardens I took a picture of what appears to be his mission statement, and it drew me right in. Simplicity in a set of circumstances. Circumstances that appear to be dark and hot and uncomfortable. Circumstances that shape and contort and form one substance into something greater, bigger, more beautiful than it’s original form.

I guess the image of refining under fire is not a new one. We burn away the chaff, ask for God to grant us refiners fire, or purify our selves in the form of a golden phoenix. This extended metaphor in this man’s work got me thinking though, and I was so appreciative for the beautiful pieces of work he creates.

Delightful and fun and playful these pieces are. You want to reach out and touch them, taste them to see if the vibrant colors remain as sweet as they appear. They are tactile, and have movement, and give room to interact – which I tend to think provides the best artistic experience. Both the art and the viewer get to have a relationship in interpretation. I think that’s neat. I wished the instillations allowed for you to walk through them, like the works of Jean Claude and Christo. Maybe Dale doesn’t trust us viewers with such fragile pieces of work – I guess I wouldn’t either. Glass is much more delicate than fabric.

It seems, at times, that sets of circumstances in all of our lives are out of control, frustrating, unmanageable. Dale got me thinking, however, maybe they are all just simple, and if we let other forces bigger than us have a hand in creating who we are meant to be, we can come into our own form of beauty, as eccentric as that may be.

What forces are at play in your life? Are there simple moments you are thankful for today?

*All works shown done by Dale Chihuly – pictures taken by me.

I Think Ferris Is Right

I’ve got that good old Ferris Bueller’s Day Off quote stuck in my head. Can you believe how young Matthew Broderick looks in this photo? Do you think he looks at this picture and thinks of his character’s iconic quote, and thinks “sheesh, I’m sick of hearing those words but a heck of a lot has happened since I became famous for saying them?” Maybe I will tweet him and ask.

I have been dwelling on this thought a bit over the past few days. I think maybe since August 1st when I woke up and said, “Holy Moly it’s August!” Or I looked at my count down app on my phone and realized I have just 33 days left until the wedding. We’ve been counting down and planning and hoping and changing and growing so much in the last two years that it feels rather surreal to be only a month out to the big day. I’m not going back to school, but I’ve got that feeling of back to school anxiety as I know the summer is winding down. We didn’t get the chance to go camping, or take much vacation, or go to the beach because we’ve been meeting caterers and doing tastings, and scrimping on budget, and making things out of tulle and poking and proding ourselves into dresses, and laughing through this funny process called planning a wedding instead.

I was writing in my journal about how messy our house is, and how frustrated I can get that I don’t feel like I have a ton of time to catch up on laundry and I want envelopes to go away, and receipts, and planning books, and to do lists to reach completion. It would be nice to see the surface of my kitchen table. Then, I felt like this little voice was saying, ‘the wedding is going to be done in only 33 days! Enjoy this mess, enjoy the tulle, enjoy the to-do lists’. Ferris is right – this is all moving kinda fast.

This week I don’t really feel I have one prolific beautiful moment. Instead, maybe I just slowed down a tiny bit to observe a few beautiful moments in other’s lives. On Friday night one of my best friends came to visit and we got to catch up on life and talk about dating and boys (are we old enough to call them men?) and we decided perhaps your twenties are the decade you figure out all that you thought you were going to do is a scam; it’s more fun to start doing all that you want to do. That’s a freeing thought isn’t it? We were downtown and I saw a mom with 4 kids all in matching pastel outfits eating ice cream on a bench, That’s a beautiful image. Summer is about ice-cream, and bright colors, and lining up with family to enjoy a nice evening out. Or maybe you don’t enjoy it so you just get your mom to buy you ice cream.

Saturday I got to take my new favorite bus downtown with my mom. We joked about the people riding it, talked about social anxiety, and I waited patiently for her while she got her hair done. I know we may not always live close enough where I can ride my bike to her house, walk to the bus, spend all day with her wasting time and drinking coffee and playing caddy games. Have I mentioned how awesome my mom is. She made me a wedding bib – isn’t this beautiful? I’ve been having so much anxiety about spilling Italian food on my white wedding dress that we’ve always joked about me wearing a bib for the big day. Well she made one. And it actually looks kinda elegant. It’s beautiful to me. I can’t wait to wear it.

Wedding Bib fit for a Queen

Today, as I went to get coffee at the coffee shop that is WAY too close to work an older woman was outside singing and playing her guitar. (I broke down – resisting lattes is SO hard). What courage it takes to be yourself and be vulnerable with a guitar and a beautiful voice and some lyrics that portray her view of the world. I’m not good at slowing down, and I spend a lot of time wishing I was somewhere else. I think this week, though, I was just reminded to look for the little things again because heck, this year is moving pretty fast. Only 33 days! And then the next big adventure will begin.

What little things can you notice if you slow down? Would you wear a wedding bib? Do you like 80’s movies?

It Doesn’t Ask for Our Attention

I’ll admit it. I’m crabby. I am feeling really frustrated about insurance, and cars and claims, and deductibles, and how life costs money. When I’m crabby, it’s hard to focus my attention on the beautiful in life. However, if there is anything this journey this year has taught me, the search for beauty is a choice, one we get to select over and over again. So here I go, choosing it.

This week we watched The Secret Life of Walter Mitty. Did you see it? I think it got mixed reviews – maybe three out of five stars. I can see why it wasn’t blowing reviewers socks off as the story line was a little slow, and there was not a lot of plot development. However, I found the main message, or at least my interpretation of it, to be a beautiful thing.

(SPOILER ALERT – I’M GOING TO TALK ABOUT WHAT HAPPENS IN THE MOVIE)

I think our culture does a fabulous job of telling us each day that the ordinary is just not enough. We go to our jobs, are frustrated with our bosses, and are told to be quiet or squash our ambitions for fearful reasons. This is where I love the character of Walter. He’s quiet, he’s reserved, and to others, somewhat odd, but he has these great moments of daydreams that he keeps to himself. I can so relate. Maybe it’s an introvert thing. Walter spends time imagining how he would react to situations in wonderful ways even when the mundane, the frustrating, the obnoxious all creep in. He spends too much time beating himself up because he hasn’t done anything noteworthy by his own definition which heck, don’t we all do. Maybe you don’t; I do.

Then, however, through a series of events Walter gets some courage and goes on an adventure seeking a solution to his work woes – climbs a mountain, beats up a shark, sees a volcano erupt – all to return to the fact that the thing he was seeking was right in front of his own eyes. The best part is that Walter’s own hero actually views Walter’s contributions to life as extraordinary. I can’t fully explain it, not really, how beautiful it is to be reminded that your contributions are enough. That maybe self fulfillment can come to you in the mountains of the Himalayas, or by moving across the country, or taking huge risks. Or maybe, instead, self fulfillment can come in the reminder that the key to my being enough is saying, “Hey, you are ok. Your contributions matter”. Perhaps I have more answers in my own pocket than I could ever find in the great “out there”.

Walter’s hero says a line in the movie that I had to write down, “Beautiful things don’t ask for attention.” Isn’t that true. Things are beautiful just because they are, because I slow down to appreciate them, because they are in our backyards, on our toes, near my desk chair, in movies that I watch on a Sunday night. The ordinary can be extraordinary if we let it. See the movie. It’s great.

I found two other small nuggets of beauty this week. The first is fruit.

Peaches from the Western Slope

Each year my parents buy big boxes of fresh peaches from a lady who comes up from the Western Slope and sells the flats of fruit out of the back of her van. I count down to August because these juicy treats are to die for. I was at my parent’s house last night and stood over the sink eating the yummy fruit with juice dripping all over my face and hands. I intended to slice it up, but one bite in and all the sudden there is no time. So delicious. I can’t wait to bake them in puff pastry and eat them with vanilla ice cream, or put them in a smoothie, or commit to standing in front of the sink each morning eating a peach for breakfast. I will have to adjust my morning routine accordingly.

And this guy – check out this sweet older gentleman who refused to let a physical disability and age hold him back. I know nothing about him except that his epic dance moves have gone viral. I love the video, I love his attitude, I love his choice in this moment.

Thanks for letting me rant and rave and focus on a few good things. I feel better already. What is in your life that feels ordinary, but maybe, just maybe has a glimpse of extraordinary? Do you like summer fruit?

Here’s to You

Sometimes, I worry about development – about our houses and our gyms and our stupid super stores taking over the planet. Yes, this trend is concerning and I want to rip developer’s “FOR SALE” signs out of those open fields. But then, I take a road trip to the Mid-West. It is when I drive through parts of Nebraska, Iowa, Minnesota and Wisconsin with miles and miles of corn, and I think “Ok, we’ve still got plenty of open space.” I am so snobby that I fail to remember that lack of things to look at on I-90 means food on the table, corn in my belly, orange soda in my hand. I’ll admit it, I’ve got some Colorado elitism in me and I carry some opinions about our neighbors to the east. I am, after all, a Colorado Buffalo. Sorry Husker fans. Did you know there isn’t a Starbucks within 200 miles between cities in Nebraska? I looked.

This road trip helped me to identify a few growth areas within my personality – say some acceptance for slower ways of living, a respect for those who don’t sport my same coffee addiction, and a questioning look into my privilege of honestly craving carrots and hummus on the road rather than fast food. This trip, too, gave me an appreciation for roots, and for tradition, for open spaces, and for love that families create.

Dylan’s grandfather passed away last week. It wasn’t expected, and he was fairly healthy at 84 years old. It was less than 48 hours between finding out he fell, to finding out he had passed on. News like that is never easy to absorb. It is easy, however, to mobilize, and within a few days we packed up a car and ordered snacks, and loaded our Kindles to make the 15 hour drive to Wisconsin because nothing else in that situation would make sense. Seven adults in a Ford Excursion is a lot different than a road trip with the cousins when you are ten or eleven. We still had fun, still made the most of it.

It can be, at times, hard to find beauty in tragedy or peace in the midst of suffering. My experience participating in Dylan’s family as they began to grieve was very different than that of when my own grandfather passed away. We all handle emotions differently and my family is known to be, well, “over processors” when it comes to emotion, so I wasn’t sure how to act or what to expect.

Tears were shed, and stories were told, and laughter was more common than silence or weeping. I was exposed to a Catholic funeral, a viewing, a rosary – cultural experiences I had never had before. We ate a lot of cheese curds, our sandwiches had butter on them, comfort food was shared.

This is Grandpa as a kid – an original Cheesehead I suppose

What I found to be most beautiful in this experience, however, was pausing to reflect upon all the lives this man created and influenced and impacted. Gerald had six children, and a few married or committed to someone, and a few of those six had their own children. As the grand kids grow new additions get added on – me included. He has three great-grandchildren. Gerald served in the Army and the Navy so many men from the VA, or VFW or Knights of Columbus came and shared their respects. What a powerful thing it is to honor someone who has served our country.

I feel so blessed to be a part of their story – that I could hold some tissues, and hold Dylan’s hand, and give support to a family that has long ago accepted me as one of their own. It is never easy to lose someone you love, and even harder to think about what they will miss in your own lives. A part of me is really sad that the wedding did not come sooner – had we not postponed, both of our grandfathers would have been able to attend.

While I did not know this man very well, I have been blessed to be exposed to the beauty of what he created. A family of expansive love that gives freely, and ask questions, and has fun. So here is to you, Gerald Sullivan. Thank you for what you have given this world, and by extension, what has been given to me. Please know that you are loved.

Catching the Bus

White bread. Vanilla valley. Pick your diversity slur, and maybe, just maybe, my hometown has been called one of those names. Or rather, it’s a lack of diversity slur. We have a bad reputation for being homogenous; the same without variety and flavor. As a sociology student, this accusation bothers me. I’ll admit it, when I travel, I get uncomfortable because I am fairly used to being in a white majority town. At home, the whiteness of faces and culture, and middle class expectations are an extreme norm for me. I know this subject matter is an extremely sensitive topic. I hope I can approach it with an open and accepting lens. If I offend, I apologize. I’m open to discussion.

Diversity is important and I try, so very hard, to look for it, to seek it out, to ask polite questions, that maybe, at times aren’t incredibly ‘pc’. Because, well, you can not help where you come from. But here’s the thing that I’ve been thinking about a lot this week. As you know, our cars got pretty dinged up in the hail storm (dinged up – is that grammatically correct?). That means Dylan’s car is in the shop, and he is using mine for the commute. Luckily, oh so luckily, the town we live in just got a new transit system put in that goes from the South end of town to the North and its free for the summer. So each morning Dylan has been dropping me at the bus, and I’ve had to run a few times to catch it. It’s a great way to go to work. I don’t have to focus, and I’ve always been a fan of public transportation. Because when you are on a bus, you have to accept diversity in lifestyle choices, in clothing, in language, in experience. When that little box with wheels that you spend so much time in needs repair, you have to branch out, raise your head, and make eye contact with all kinds of people you didn’t even realize lived in your town.

Well I guess you don’t have to accept diversity that is represented. I choose to look for it, to have conversations, and to make eye contact. It’s fun, and a little bit scary. I don’t know much about these people, where they live, where they work, or what their families are like. It’s easy to judge based on clothing, based on bags, or Apple accessories what kind of life they may live or where they may fit in the world. It has been beautiful to see how much diversity exists in my little town, just on the bus. Quite often, we flock to people who are like us – we want to be able to talk about shared experiences and it’s difficult to cross into circles that are out of the ordinary. I’ve got my work friends, my gym friends, my church friends. None of those people that I know have bus friends. ( I know, I know, if I was in a city, perhaps this post would go without saying, but hey, I don’t. I live here) Maybe I’ll have a bus friend. The reality of the matter is Dylan’s car will be fixed in a couple of weeks, and I will likely go back to my personalized box with wheels. Its more convenient, more reliable, more timely (let’s be honest, public transit in this town isn’t great). However, we are moving in the right direction. It is helping me see how I contribute to the mix as well.

Part of my job is to train volunteers who want to give their time to our agency. Working with at-risk populations we spend a lot of time talking about the “Hidden Rules of Class”, by Ruby Payne and Philip DeVol and how our expectations shape and change our behavior. I expect to be able to drive a car to work – one that I own myself. A large amount of the population does not have that luxury. What is important to me, in this aspect of the training, is that it is not about us “people who have it together” helping those people who are “transitioning, or needy, or looking for hand outs”.

At the beginning of the training I ask the volunteers to answer T/F to these questions:

I was raised in poverty
I was raised in the middle class
I was raised in wealth
I have experienced homelessness
I am employed
I have a good relationship with my family
I know a friend or loved one who struggles with an addiction
I know a friend or loved one who has spent time in jail
I am religious
I have people in my life who are proud of me
I have felt lost and unsure at some point in my life
I believe in myself

Typically we have about 20 people at a training. There are always at least 8 or 9 people who answer yes to every single question. So despite our gender, or our class, or where we live, or what kind of Apple accessories we cary, there should be things we can connect on.

So thanks, public transportation, for letting me think about the beauty in what makes us different, and the beauty in what makes us the same.

How would you answer those true/ false questions. Do you take the bus?

Find Your Passion

Look at my tomato plant! This little guy is growing. I can’t believe it. And to think my mom just started it from a seed. She’s a little jealous since I am growing them on a deck, they were spared from the last hail storm. Her little veggies got shredded a little before salad season. I seriously can’t believe that this process is working! My lettuce, eh…. Carrots – they are taking a long time – delayed gratification and they grow down. I can’t see their progress. But I sure do put hope in these little tomato plants. Oh the metaphors, the lessons that vegetables can teach us. I could do a whole extended metaphor thing here, but I don’t think that’s the direction I want to move tonight.

Instead, I’d rather focus on Chickens. Felted Chickens.

Look how cool this little guy is. He has tons of friends, and the artists that make these guys were so wonderful! This is truly not something you see every day. Take a moment to learn more about the artists The CitygirlFarm. You know what’s funny? I’m not sure why these caught my attention because frankly, I hate birds. But these were so innovative, and pretty, and I, for some reason or another, am drawn to fiber arts. Funny, too, because who thinks of resting their feet on chickens?

This weekend we got to go to the Cherry Creek Arts Festival in Denver – a favorite of mine each summer. I love walking around the ritzy neighborhood, thinking about how some day, just maybe, I will be able to purchase some original art for the walls of my home. I usually just collect business cards, and hand outs that the artists share their contact info on. Free art! Even if it is in miniature.

I love looking at how artists spend their time and creative efforts. How refreshing it is to think about how people choose to break out of the every day monotony of paying bills, worrying about what’s next, and instead channel efforts into different mediums and landscapes, and lines and textures. How freeing it can be; to express yourself on canvas. Or wire. Or sculpture, Or paint. I did a lot of art in high school – somewhere along the line I got afraid I wasn’t good enough. I was traumatically affected when my high school teacher told me my work didn’t have a theme, that the connection wasn’t strong enough through my threads of pieces. As a perfectionist, this hit me hard. I’m better now, but still think I should dabble more into art. There is beauty in choosing to create regardless of what the critic thinks.

My new line when I don’t quite understand someone else’s hobbies, or maybe am just a little jealous that I haven’t honed my own true talent yet, is “find your passion.” Well Thecitygirlfarm certainly found their passion – and they got to share it with me – and I love it! And this weekend, at the art festival, it seemed just like all those people were doing just that. I love the beautiful conversations art invokes, the way artists open their eyes and shift their perspectives and are brave enough to put their view into form, and offer it up to be sold into people’s homes. That is such a beautiful combination – vulnerability, perspective, artistic truth, culture. How wonderful.

Below are some of my favorites from the festival. Check them out. What questions do they make you ask? What’s your passion?

Katharine McGuiness – “The Sky is Falling”

Ginny Herzog – “Detroit”

Jerry Brem – loved the book paintings – someday, in my library maybe

Chris Dahlquist – the business card title is “object maker” – what a wonderful title!

Liz Quan – the coolest porcelain lights ever! And she works in Colorado!

Jessica Magee – loved the abstractions and the colors – you just want to stare at the pieces

Debo Groover – funky polymer clay and mixed media works – love love love

Delicious Ambiguity

You know those quote cards – the colorful ones, or maybe just black and white with neat font – that are so great to send to friends? The one’s they expanded into mugs, and t-shirts, and wall art, and journals because their beautiful aesthetics and wisdom combine into merchandise that we just have to have? Well maybe you don’t HAVE to have them, but I’m drawn to those 4 dollar 4 X 4 cards. And when I was in high school I collected them – in fact, I they are still duck taped to the back of my old bedroom door at my parents house.

Thanks to my Dad who sent me a pic of my old bedroom door. Some things don’t change.

I talk about my love of quotes a lot here, and this week I’ve been thinking about Gilda Radner and the card that I put on my door when I was fifteen when I really had no hands on experience with living in ambiguity. Because when you are in high school, or when I was in high school, things were pretty clear for me – success was spelled out, roles of interaction defined.

And I’m learning, this year, that those rules of predictability and behavior and pattern go right out the window the second you admit two things: 1) that my choices can not be made because of other people and 2) that other people are going to make choices without me in mind, and I’m likely going to have to adapt. Sometimes that makes me feel sad, but sometimes that makes me feel strong. This week, that is making me feel strong. Changes are happening, and have been happening, at work, but instead of feeling scared or insecure, I am being reminded by friends and loved ones and myself that I am strong, that I get to learn, that I get to choose how I want to adapt.

Too, this week was one of the biggest hail storms I have ever lived through. Ok lived through is a strong sentence, but I did hide in the bathroom and immediately called my mom. You may move out, but she’s still the first I’m gonna call. You can’t exactly tell from the picture below, but we had piles and piles of ping pong ball sized hail in our apartment complex. You know what else comes with apartment complex – or rather what isn’t included? Garages. That’s right, both of our cars got lots of ping pong sized indents on every panel of our vehicles. It adds texture, says the optimistic me. The realist me says it adds a hefty expense this month – even with insurance – and it’s sorta a ding to the budget.

Our neighborhood got shredded, trees everywhere, gardens ruined, roof after roof needing replacement. And boy, was that one unpredictable. But you know what was beautiful this week? As Dylan and I went for an evening walk a few days ago I came across a wonderful cherry tree in someone’s backyard. The branches were overflowing onto the side walk – little bursts of red fruit holding so much promise saying, “I’m hanging on, I’m not quite ready yet to fall.” The way the sun was setting made them glow a little bit, and I love cherries. I may have to go knock on these people’s doors to ask if we can have some fruit that is extending over into public space. Cherries. How simple, how delightful – especially in the piles of leaves and shredded canopies, and carnage of something unpredictable.

So I return to Gilda’s thoughts, and say you know what – I am not going to be able to predict things and protect myself by knowing what to expect – not all the time. If I can’t look for some little bursts of color, some wisdom in accepting I’m not going to know, my journey will be a bit more peaceful. Take time to enjoy the sweetness of cherries, have immense respect for the power of nature, and gratitude for insurance. Dancing with the unpredictable is honestly getting a little bit more fun. Just a little bit.

What feels unpredictable to you? What surprised you in the midst of situations that seem to leave some destruction behind? Do you grow fruit in your backyard?

Think About It

It’s 8:15 pm and I’m doing the dishes, and we hear a knock. A little bit unusual because well, we don’t really know anyone in our neighborhood. I open the door and our neighbor comes in, a super nice lady, and she lets us know that water is pouring through her lights in the kitchen. Are we running water? Something is leaking.

We check the washing machine, but no, wait, that doesn’t make sense. Our washing machine is over her living room. It must be the sink. Open up those double doors, and yup, sure enough, a u-pipe (Dylan taught me what it is called) has popped out of its proper place and water is drip, drip, dripping not into the correct pipe, but onto our cabinet floor, and yup into the kitchen below us.

Now this my friends, is not a beautiful problem. In fact it was pretty gross. This problem made me immensely thankful for indoor plumbing – something I do not spend much time thinking about. This little predicament, too, made me immensely thankful for living with a man. Dylan jumped right up, got out the tools, the bucket, cut the pipe and got it fixed – even before our landlord called us back. I quickly became the flash light holder, and we worked through the problem. Team work makes the dream work – as one of my previous co-workers used to say.

Isn’t it incredible how quickly, in a moment of stress, we fell into traditional gender roles here. Dylan’s fixing, I’m helping. I was doing dishes – he knew which tool to use. And this is by no fault of our own. I would say we both strive to have a balance of power in our relationship, an approach of equality, a respect for one another’s strengths. But the simple fact of the matter is – HE KNEW HOW TO FIX THE SINK AND I DIDN’T. AND THAT”S OK!

As the time passed and our evening wound down, I started reading a really interesting book called, “The Meaning of Wife”, written by Anne Kingston, all about the historical implications of being wife, living that title, embracing that role. It’s an intriguing thing to think about, wife, and even though I’m only on chapter two, this author has got my wheels spinning.

As you may know, I studied Sociology and Gender Studies in college, so these topics are right up my alley, and are dear to my heart. I’m excited to delve deeper into the book. I was raised by a strong woman, one who taught me to question my role as one who identifies with this particular gender, challenge patriarchy in respectful ways, not accept the status quo. We frequently chatted about feminism at the dinner table, about reversal of traditional gender roles, and how I can appreciate what women have done for me making great strides in terms of equality. There are not many years that women have been spun in a positive light, and that makes me sad. Really sad. And I’ve struggled a little, if I’m honest, to accept that I’m getting married before a graduate degree. That I’m acquiring the letters MRS. before MBA, or MFA, or MSW. Because I was the one who laughed at those girls who wanted just a MRS degree. But here I am, ten weeks away from the big white dress, and the name change, and the new adventure as life partner. Call it whatever you want, I’m going to be a Mrs in a world that doesn’t favor wives, doesn’t promote equality, and sends so many messages about the right way to perform “wife”. They say men gain while women quite often lose in marriage – lose what? I’m a little afraid to ask.

So where are you going with all of this Katie – you might be thinking? How is a nasty sink and your love of asking questions beautiful? Well, I think, this week, I am finding the beauty in thinking critically. I am an individual who participates in a much larger societal structure – I can’t embrace social problems with a desire to change broad societal trends without crippling anxiety and anger. How do we stand up as women, aim our target at change, and want simple acceptance at the exact same time. Isn’t it all so complicated? Pick an angle – Christian wife, working wife, educated wife, stay at home wife – and there will be a critic from every single lens. And so, as I embark on this new journey, as a woman, I get to think critically and ask how do I want to do it? Be a wife. What do I want to value? What do I want to bring to this new position – because my individual participation in an insitution that demonstrates immense privilege can change things. I get to walk into this new journey and read and learn and ask questions. Oh I love asking questions. But sometimes, this world get’s overwhelming with all of the self-help recommendations, the shoulds, the how-tos. There is so much beauty in saying “Well looky at this – isn’t it funny how quickly we fall into situations because of gender – and how many forces are going against us – and how many critics we may have by choosing to do these things. But when I take the time to sift through all of those voices, I’m left with the ability to think critically – ask questions, and go from there.

What is your experience in being wife? In having a wife? Or maybe, in fixing sinks?

52 Beautiful Things

An imperfect attempt to find some beauty the world has to offer. One week at a time.