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!

pop-n-corn-n-flicks-n-friends.

Shortly before leaving Tulsa this last time, I made a kindred movie friend.

We both grew up in heavy movie households, and watching them made up a good portion of our separate but similar childhoods. Mine, however, was cluttered with a sibling whose love for film far surpassed mine. He had a part time job at a movie store with a middle aged scratchy voiced chain smoking lady named Nadine. His Friday and Saturday nights were spent retrieving movies from the back while she sat and took cash from an archaic register, and though he smelled like a chain smoker after leaving, his role got us movie discounts. My movie style made him crazy. He rarely, if ever, watched a film twice. He went through new movies like Nadine went threw cartons of cigarettes. I, however, adore watching the films that I love over and over and over until I know every single word and can laugh before the punch line is delivered to ensure I am able to say the punch line along with the actor. I remember picking out Troop Beverly Hills one Saturday and then watching his temper flare. Renting a movie about girl scouts trying to win the cookie selling competition in Beverly Hills wasn't strange for your average nine year old girl. His flared temper, however, had something to do with the fact that I had already rented it three times prior. My movie friend, the one I recently made, gets why I would do such a thing, and it was our first conversation about this trait that, I think, solidified in our heads the fact that we should be friends.

After arriving back in Tulsa this last time our first plans to hang out were a given: Rachel McAdams and the morning show movie at the dollar theater. I arrived at her lovely home around seven. I had been thinking about my goal of eating in and saving money, but that's about it. I just thought about it, and thought about it more, without actually changing any behavior. Being in her home was inspiration. "We don't eat out", she said. She's a newly wed and that's how they make it. They eat at home. She had just prepared a bean salad, which I have already replicated twice, and she was in the process of making popcorn for us to take along to the Theater. This was brilliant to me. She wasn't just popping microwave popcorn. She was heating the oil on the stove, putting the kernels in, moving the pan around, and literally MAKING POPCORN. This must have been where our childhoods differed. In my house, microwave popcorn was the only kind to be found, and theater popcorn was the only kind to be consumed at the theater. I felt like my world was opening up while sitting at her bar, watching her multi-task, listen, and move the pan, trying to engage without burning our treat.

The movie was a let down. We both agreed. But the company, as well as the food tricks I learned that evening, were worth all one-hundred and seventy-five pennies of my budget.

This past Friday evening, day two of my attempt to Immaculatize, a movie was in order. It had been a rough day for me, my roommate was up for seeing a flick as well, and I had a gift card which made it pseudo-free. We decided on something light hearted, and she brought up movie theater popcorn. I said we could totally get some for her, and referred back to the moment with the friend in the kitchen, pre-movie, popping her from scratch pseudo-free popcorn. This time I was in my kitchen pre-movie, but a multi-tasking friend was present still. Kyla worked on her project while she walked me through the process, and a few minutes after beginning, I had my bag of movie theater popcorn. It was an immaculate success. And this time, the movie, Twisted, wasn't a bust. We both agreed.

My first attempt at on-the-stove popcorn!

clean living.

A few days a week I can be found in a strangers backyard wearing safety glasses sitting on a five gallon bucket turned upside down. There is a purpose, other than getting arrested. The house is usually vacant, and I am there to clean the cement off of the bricks that have been torn from the house and need to be re-used for whatever remodel the new homeowner has in mind. Cleaning cement off of bricks involves a brick hammer as the tool and my thigh as the workstation. The task is hands on, which I enjoy, and monotonous, which I don't. My monotony secret weapon: podcasts.

One of my favorites is called Smart People Podcast. The idea revolves around interviewing smart people in various fields and asking them stuff that relates to their specified knowledge. Last week they interviewed a comedian, and I found myself laughing out loud at this guy's particular sense of humor and relatable self-deprecation. A good part of the podcast was about a term revolving around the word immaculate. He had been at a fairly low place a few months back in nearly every area of his life. Ten years prior he had spent a month abstaining from all of those things that all those health experts caution one to abstain from. It had worked wonders for him years ago, so he decided to, as he calls it, "immaculatize" once again. No alcohol, no pot no smoking, no coffee, no sugar, no fast food, no sodas, nothing fried, and nothing else any like any of those other things. Plus meditation at least twenty minutes a day as well as a lot of exercise (I can't remember the specified amount). The goal was to do it for thirty days. He did want to lose weight, but mostly he wanted to get out of the funk he was in and to a place where he could recognize himself, and LIVE as a person who is excited about life.

He did it, and it worked.

After chipping bricks that day, and once I had washed the film of cement off of my person, I spent a good portion of the evening reading more about his immaculate journey, and again, laughing out loud, a lot. His perspective was refreshing. He didn't claim to know much about anything, and he typed openly about his struggles and pitfalls with lots of sarcasm and humor.

And so, I decided to immaculatize. But first I ate a really big cheese burger.

A new year's goal of mine was to eat out less and save more money. This was a big part of why I decided to sign myself up for this thirty-day immaculate journey. An immaculate diet is do-able via the restaurants of the world, but it certainly isn't convenient. Developing that discipline is a part of what makes something like this fun for me, but it's a lot harder when I am surrounded by all of the things I am avoiding. So cooking in helps.

Alcohol is an expensive luxury, especially if you're particular about the kind of alcohol you drink, and concerned about what it actually tastes like. I am. Abstaining from this for thirty or so day saves money.

And my other conviction is health. My tendencies are mostly healthy. I don't crave meat a lot. I like vegetables. But liking vegetables doesn't equal eating them. Most days pass by without a green on my plate, even though I have read an enormous amount of material documenting their health benefits in nearly EVERY area of life. I get into the rut of craving the same things. These things aren't necessarily deep fried, but they aren't necessarily healthy either. A scone for breakfast multiple times a week? Sure! The more I thought about immaculatizing, the more I liked the idea thirty days of necessary vegetables. The goal is balance, right? So the hope is that an extreme of not many at all to an extreme of a lot will hopefully lead their regular appearance in my every day life.

Experiments are fun. Themes and words like immaculatize are too. This is why I am sharing all of this cool stuff here. Hey, I've got a blog! I have a forum. Sharing stuff about life that people can relate to and/or be entertained/amused by is what I do. Sometimes. So if I bring up the word immaculata or its sister non-word word, immaculatize over the course of the next thirty days, you have been told.

And here's my own personal twist: pictures! Those diet experts that advise people to make a major life change tell their followers to write it down. Record what you eat. Scratch down every morsel that passes through your mouth. Ate a chip off of your friend's plate? Write it down. Pizza for breakfast? Write it down. I am not dieting, and also, I don't like having to write everything down, so I am not doing this. BUT I do love documenting things, especially visually, so I am photographing my immaculate journey with my i-telephone, and then I am going to share these pictures here on whimsically far from the surface, starting now.

Day one! Post cheeseburger I was attempting only fruits and veggies throughout the day. I got these two things from Quik Trip. It can be done.

A trip to the grocery store.

This is a baby tangerine. That's not its real name, but I don't remember what its real name is. These things are delicious. Seriously. Immaculatizing or not, get you some.

welcome mat.

I have been so very absent from here. Formulating a cohesive and meaningful thought and then turning in into something more, and even further, something worth writing which is also worth reading, simply felt like an unachievable task.

After arriving on familiar soil, my need for anonymity became greater. Mostly, I think, I didn't want rich and invasive eyes to have open ended exposure to my trial and error approach to life. I gave in to this craving; Facebook was de-activated and Twitter abandoned once again.

Less time perusing through the lives of people I barely knew, I reasoned, would give me more time to write! Nearly two months later, I have posted one blog post that spans all of thirteen sentences. My brilliant anonymous plan failed the writer within.

Did you notice, though, that it's a new year? And, also, by the way, my absence has given me ample time to reflect.

There are people out there that tell me I think too much, and furthermore, that I think from too many angles about too many aspects of too many things. I disagree. They don't, and that's cool. But it's this part of me that births the things I enjoy writing about, and the things I enjoy sharing with those that read here. It's the time I have had for reflection that has brought me back here, nearly one month since my last marked visit. And I have things to share.

Here on this page, my main point revolves around the not knowing. It's rooted in doubt, this thing we're always cautioned to avoid. Believe! There's more life there, they say. I look at my life, the steps I have taken, and how they have stretched and challenged me. The times I have felt the most dead have been the times enveloped in a need to know.

Mostly, I don't. I have relinquished, at least for now, the pressure to figure out. Life has gotten brighter as of late. Peace and doubt can co-exist. The turkey chili I made for dinner was for sure delicious. I will fall asleep to the echo of the blues being played by newly acquired ultra living-compatible roommate. It's good to be back, in a multitude of ways.