rain stuff.

I am sitting at a bar looking out the window at the rain drops screaming from the sky, splattering the ground, while others trickle down the glass slowly in front of me, as if with ease and care. Those falling from the sky seem like they can't get to the ground fast enough, while drops on the window seem to have no agenda at all.

There's been a dialogue about my life lately and the decisions I am making, as well as those I am not. There are phases of my life where decisions embody the chaos of the falling rain. I can be impulsive, itching to go as if the ground beneath my feet will disappear if I remain standing there one second more. There's beauty in this; The rain droplets pouring out of the sky end up falling on the water that's accumulated, and it's a dance-filled sight. I am a believer of life as a dance filled sight.

And then there are those other times, those slower paces. The drops that aren't slowly sliding down the pane have come to a complete halt. The lesson to me is the value that's there, in the stillness. The dialogue that's been present in my life as of late revolves around this end of the extremes, and the drops that have stopped falling. Those drops equate failure, some say. They're equivalent to anxiety and timidity. And this is a tempting notion to believe if you see the world in a black and white fundamentalist sort of way. This is not the lens through which I view the world, and from my current seat, the drops in a fixed position on the pane-less window in front of me are creating a one of a kind spectrum that resembles clear stars in a clear sky. And it's these seasons, the ones lived at a slower pace, where things become, appropriately, exceptionally clear. This opens the world to a much more honest canvas, where decisions can be made with intention, and less haste.

Last evening the music was on and the windows were open, letting the red curtains blow in the breeze. Our apartment had a wonderful feel; life was present, as well as thought and conversation. My roommate needed to shift things, though, as she needed to study for a test the following day. "Mind if I turn off the music?," she asked. "Of course not," I responded. And then the mood shifted. I began to put things in their place. My shoes made their way to my closet, where they go but haven't been for some time. I painted my nails orange, something I have been meaning to do for a string of days. I read.

After studying, she apologized for cutting off the music so suddenly, as if there was something to apologize for. This was funny to me, and also kind. "I should have eased us into silence, instead of switching from one extreme to another," she said. I told her she didn't need to feel anything but good about cutting the sound. I put some things away, and got other things straitened out. I also like the silence as much as the noise. Stillness is as good of a thing as movement. Both have their place. This is the lesson gaining clarity.

musical moves.

Different season's of life tend toward different soundtracks. South Korea is littered with Bon Iver. Alexi Murdoch traveled with me through DC's buses, trains and streets. These albums, lyrics, and instruments take me back to places I've left. They bring up to the surface my varying states of mind.

While in DC, my most recent excursion, I was most often the odd one out. I remember eating at Black Salt, a fancy sort of fish market, and being put on the spot with the big question from one of the lunch guests. They were just getting to know me, literally, and asked me what I wanted out of life. In between bites of the most delicious burger I have ever had, I answered quite sincerely to be happy. The guest in front of me laughed. This laugh, sourced from confusion and an inability to relate, was the reaction I got more often than not. To her credit, the lady posing the question encouraged me. But her encouragement didn't litter my time there.

Confusion and an inability to relate were much more prevalent, and this norm left me confused too, and doubtful of all the things I had begun to believe, or believe I believed. All the sudden, I wasn't so sure.

This is not the healthiest state of mind. Alexi Murdoch's voice reminds that this troubled state was real; His lyrics and instruments were the like mindedness I was lacking.

Returning to Tulsa wasn't the remedy I was hoping for. I seek more. I want different landscapes, frames of mind, and fresh challenges. The soundtracks remind me that I am not always immediately ready for those things. My life right now is about rebuilding, and it's funny how things tend to just work out.

There is a newness to this season even if my zip code is nearly identical to the one before the last. In the future when I am looking back, the soundtrack I think of, whatever it turns out to be, will remind me of the peaceful stability that's characterizing life these days.

speaking of peaceful stability...

some days.

Sometimes, the whole of my day is begging for a good cry. I don't really know that's what going on for most of it. I go about my business busying myself with this and that and other things.

Conversations happen. People talk. I talk. People listen. I listen. I stir, busy myself, nap, stir some more.

These kinds of days, the cry-worthy ones, it's easiest to believe the worst about things. People aren't good. People disappoint. Hope leads to bad things. It's not something to foster. The snow is never going to end. I am in the wrong city. There are wrong decisions in life. I am making them. Stuff that's usually light weighs so much.

Dishes help. Taking a pan covered in muck. Letting it soak so the bubbles and water permeate the grease. Seeing the film begin to soften. Returning with intention. The sound of running water, the sound of the brush against the iron of a pan, the sight of suds growing, seeing their brightness break through the grime. Rinsing, watching the water run across a clean surface as the tears that have been needing to fall all day long finally do. Remembering that people are kind, snow melts, I am right where I should be, placing the dripping iron pan on the rack to dry.

snow days.

Last Saturday, I left the house overdressed. It wasn't the appearance of my attire. I wasn't donning a formal on my way to work. I was simply wearing too many articles of clothing. Saturday the twenty-ninth of January reached nearly seventy degrees. Almost forty-eight hours after this phenomenal heat wave, my roommate and I marveled at the sound of thunder that coincided with the sleet and wintry mix hitting our windows. Oh, and lightening too. Forty-eight hours after that, there's nearly thirteen inches of snow on the ground, snow days for most, and the option to leave revolves around how far we're willing to walk. Prior to the brunt of the blizzard, I heard tales of the grocery store. People were buying the necessities up in mass. I was not.

I am notorious for not shopping. The past few years I have dealt with the grocery store the way I deal with dirty unnecessary articles of clothing that sit at the bottom of the pile for a record amount of time. It's not a place I frequent. The refrigerator of my last apartment held little more than a bottle of ketchup and half-full to-go containers. Beginning this thirty-day experiment meant this grocery store behavior was not an option. The reason I wasn't at the grocery store preparing for the worst like all the other citizens of this frazzled city was because I had already been. Necessities had been purchased days prior, in split trips, the first of which was overwhelming.

I was on a limited budget, the things I was buying weren't on sale, and because of the budget, I would have to make the things I was purchasing stretch far. Really far. I would find something, add the price to my running total, refer to my list, pick up something that would make it through more meals that was less money, and then take a walk back to return the previously chosen items to their respective homes. Corn tortillas didn't make it into the cart, though they tried. Yellow peppers were there, but at least one didn't make it to the end. Cauliflower was shot down by the broccoli, and almond milk was rejected because of the not so nutty rice milk's cheaper price tag. When the storm hit and against all odds based on years of previous behavior, I was prepared.

The past few days in the little apartment on top of the hill have been an inexpensive effortless and disaster filled blast. I found a recipe online for pancakes made from egg whites and oatmeal, which I tweaked with frozen berries and nuts; My roommate partook and was thoroughly impressed. They were topped with pureed berries and banana, oh my. The afternoon held veggie chili topped with avocado instead of cheese. And then, in worst timing fashion in thirty years based on the record setting amount of snow that permeated the long and exhilarating walk that got us out of our apartment in the first place, we returned to find that our keys were locked inside. This led to cinnamon tea consumed in the apartment of a neighbor, while her zealous husband tried fervently to break us into our own home. After an hour long failed attempt, we switched to plan number two, which involved a new friend, his four wheel drive silver engine that could, and twelve years of snow driving experience accumulated from life lived in Colorado. He took us to south Tulsa to the home of our landlord, and we left with a bag of mangled mismatched keys and the hope that ours was somewhere inside.

The little silver key that could was in the little brown bag of mystery, and after an intended hour long walk that turned into a nearly five hour adventure, we were back in our cozy home, laughing at the humorous diversion caused by the subconscious action of turning a lock on the only access into the only place we really wanted to be.

the surprisingly delicious oatmeal pancakes. ingredients: oatmeal, egg white, splash of rice milk, almonds, blueberries, baking powder, baking soda, cinnamon, and nutmeg.

chili cooking. I put sweet potatoes in there on a whim. success.

three way chili consumed before our long locked out adventure. It got me through the afternoon!