Just About the Break of Day

"Early in the Morning," Eric Clapton

Tamarack Beach; Dawn

Cause I like where I’m livin’ . . .
And I like what I do . . .
And I like what I’m seein’ . . .
When I’m lookin’ at you . .
I still like what I’m saying . . .
When I open my face.
I think I got the right feeling.
I think I’m in the right place.

-"The Right Place," Monsters of Folk

In Defense of Our Dreams

"Kings and Queens," 30 Seconds to Mars 

When Jimmy Buffett blasts the line: "Sometimes I wish I was back in my crashpad days, 'fore I knew what cash flow meant" into my iPod, I can certainly relate-- (unlike him, I'm sure). Everyday I see dozens of "For Sale" signs broadcasting the availability of a new condo or house, and sometimes I cringe at our current inability to seize upon the opportunity. There are lots of things I want to do before I die, and own a home (or a condo. Or apartment. Or a livable storage space) is one of the them. Other items I wish to someday check off my Bucket List:

• Raise a family. Can't wait. But not quite yet. 
  
• Memorize all the state and country capitals. So far, I'm done with the U.S. This, of course, makes me an excellent guest at parties.
  
• Travel to every continent. Except maybe Antarctica. I don't really have any desire to go to Antarctica. Andrew Denton said, "If Antarctica were music it would be Mozart. Art, and it would be Michelangelo. Literature, and it would be Shakespeare. And yet it is something even greater; the only place on earth that is still as it should be. May we never tame it." I agree with him. I like the idea that a pristine, hardly-touched piece of land still exists somewhere in this over-industrialized and under-appreciated world. I just don't need to go there to realize it.
• See U2, Rod Stewart, and The Killers live. I have to admit, I've been to lots of really great shows in my life. Aside from the hundreds (okay, dozens? My mom says I have an exaggeration problem) of punk shows I saw in college (as well the arbitrary slough of shows I saw in high school, like Third Eye Blind, Sugar Ray, Dishwalla, etc.) I've seen Dave Matthews Band (x2), Jack Johnson (x3?), John Mayer (x3?), Counting Crows, Ben Harper (x2), Black-Eyed Peas, Jason Mraz (x3), Steel Pulse, LOTS of country shows, and many others I'm blanking on right now. In terms of more "classic" type shows, I've seen Bryan Adams, Jimmy Buffett, Tom Petty, Garth Brooks, Madonna, and The Eagles (second row center! Better seats than Bill Walton!) BUT, there are still three bands left on my see-before-I-die list. 
• Write a book. It doesn't have to be published. It doesn't have to be read by all kinds of people. Really, it doesn't even have to be good. I just want to be able to finish it. 
• See Les Miserables live. Because I'm a little bit of a Showtunes fiend, I've been lucky enough to see a variety of live, professional performances: The Phantom of the Opera, The Lion King, 42nd Street (twice!), Mamma Mia, Aida, West Side Story, Newsies, The King and I, and of course Rent (x5...nothing can even come close). However, I've never seen Les Mis live, and it's something I've wanted to do for at least a decade. No matter how many times I listen to the soundtrack, I get goosebumps at the end of "Do You Hear the People Sing?"
  
• Cage dive with great white sharks. Trips leave from Ensenada; out to Guadalupe Island for five days. Cost is about $2,500-3,000, but Tim has friends on the boat, and can probably go as a crew member. I'm MUCH more afraid of spending five nights on a boat than I am of being in the water with a white shark...

I like that I don't quite know what's next for us. I like that my days, months, years--my life-- doesn't feel planned out, and I don't feel the need to adhere to a specific road map. Maybe we'll one day take our kids backpacking through Europe. Maybe we'll run a vineyard. Maybe we'll never own the two-story house with the spiral staircase that floats on the edge of my childhood fantasies. Maybe Tim's second car will be an ambulance. Maybe I'll still be teaching high school English in thirty years and loving it. There's so much possibility, hope, freedom, and beauty in the not-knowing. 

Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack in everything
That's how the light gets in. 

-Anthem, Leonard Cohen
 

COMPLETELY IRRELEVANT/UNRELATED SIDENOTE: Sometimes I pretend not to notice Bailey peed in the house until rightbefore I go to work, which means I'm so sorry, but I don't have time to clean it up! I'm posting this here because I can: Tim doesn't read "our" blog, therefore it serves him right to miss out on my intermittent confessions.

We've All Got Scars as Big as Ours...

...A token for the pain we hide inside of us
Everyone's scared that somebody knows
You push it aside, yeah, that's how it goes
If you've ever heard a beating heart
A rhythm for the songs we're too afraid to sing
Nobody here is perfectly fine
A delicate frame, a fragile design

-"Nothing's Bigger Than Love," My Favorite Highway

I had three tough talks with three different kids today, outside of class time. Kids who are hurting. Lost. Angry. Afraid. Kids who are making poor choices and know it. Kids who feel like the world isn't on their side and they don't have anybody in their corner. And, honestly, it was really hard to discern care whether or not they could tell the difference between a "when" adverb and a "to what extent" adverb.  Needless to say, I've been thinking about these kids a lot today, and in turn it's made me think about how, so often, happiness is a simple choice. That's not to say I don't completely empathize with my students and strive so intently to make their lives richer and more promising, but I do think it's important for people, of all ages, to endeavor to make the conscious choice to let themselves be happy.

It's so easy to let the deconstructive words and thoughts seep into our reactions. So easy to let life's minor intricacies or delays twist and distort into downbeat, sometimes even destructive patterns of a day. Sometimes, it's such a choice to shape the way we remember a morning, a phone call, or a facial expression. Sometimes, I have to remind myself to focus on the good, and the improving, and the hopeful, rather than the fear and anxiety and regret. In Bless Me, Ultima, Rudolfo Anaya writes, "the tragic consequences of life can be overcome by the magical strength that resides in the human heart." And he's right. The abilities to react, interact, rebound, and choose are so uniquely human, but in order to experience this "magical strength," people must choose to open their hearts to happiness.

I think I do a pretty good job of looking at the glass half full. But sometimes, I know I worry too much. About school. And grades. And lesson plans. MLA format and concrete details. Seeing enough of my family. Of Tim's family. Tim's new job. Keeping in touch with friends. Forgetting to grocery shop. The cyst on Bailey's back. Getting a dentist appointment. Calling AT&T.

And it's then I have to stop. And take a breath. Because my life is a good one, and the (sometimes arbitrary) worries that cloud my mind vanish like stardust when I start thinking about everything I have to be thankful for. Like my health. And my family. And Tim. My friends. A job I love and still get excited about. Dense fog and hot chocolate on an early November night. The fact that Bud Light Lime now comes in a can. Our new fish tank. Living a block from the beach. Bocce ball in the park on a warm fall day. Knowing all the words to "We Didn't Start the Fire." SVU re-runs. Margaritas with extra salt. Running in the dark under the streetlamps, listening to the crashing waves. My students' jokes and laughter.

I can't "fix" all my kids. I can't be the glue or the puzzle piece or the duct tape that magically makes their hurt and frustration and sadness go away. I can't mend broken hearts or fill empty promises or erase spiteful words. But I can offer a listening ear and be a voice of reason. I can give encouragement and remind them that no matter who or what has ailed them on any given day, they are the sole people in charge of whether or not they choose happiness. And hopefully, that's enough.

“Happiness is like a butterfly: the more you chase it, the more it will elude you, but if you turn your attention to other things, it will come and sit softly on your shoulder…”

– Thoreau

'Neath the Cover of October Skies

Moondance," Van Morrison

Three weeks ago, we flew to Rocklin for Lindsey and Matt's wedding. The entire weekend was just perfect, and Linds and Matt were glowing the whole time:

Tim and I arrived Friday, and spent Friday night at Aunt Robin's house for cocktails, music, and hanging out. Good food and company were beyond plentiful:

Siblings

 Sisters

Arbitrary yager shots

The next day, Saturday, was the wedding rehearsal, and there was a palpable excitement in the air:

Eventually, we made our way to a local softball field, where we played softball for hours. Everyone had a blast:

 Sunday was the wedding day. Love, excitement, and celebration surrounded every minute. Lindsey was beautiful, calm, and collected all morning, and she was an absolutely stunning bride. It was the perfect day, and I was so honored to be a part of it. Matt and Linds are lucky to have found one another, and I know they have a lifetime of happiness ahead of them. Welcome to our crazy, chaotic, and amazing family, Matt!

Congratulations Matt and Linds! We love you!

Your eyes shine through me

You are so divine to me

Your heart has a home in mine

We won't have to say a word

With a touch all shall be heard

When I search my heart it's you I find

-Beloved One, Ben Harper

Got a Devil's Haircut in My Mind

 Beck

This week, because I'm cheap and efficient opulent and swanky, I went to Supercuts for a haircut. I've never been a fan of expensive, drawn-out salon visits (see: my hockey-baseball-fort-building-tree-climbing childhood), and so up until a few years ago my mom cut my hair. This choice doesn't have to do with saving money (although that is a plus), but rather with sheer laziness. I upgraded to the much-fancier "Campus Cuts" in college (yes, that's the one located IN the UCLA student store), and have since been a regular at any local Supercuts ("regular" is a term I apparently use loosely, as I venture into one of the establishments approximately once every 6-8 months). Without fail, my hair-cutter pretends to (poorly, I might add) hide her shock once she learns I only buy grocery store shampoo and conditioner! And don't deep condition once every 10-14 days! Inevitably, sometimes even before my haircut is over, I am led to the wall of "magic" products, all of which promise to cure split ends and solve world hunger. Inevitably, also, I pretend to "think about it" and perhaps "come by later in the week to pick some up." (This is a new and improved tactic, since up until about a year ago, my shame and guilt usually found me leaving Supercuts with 5 new conditioning balms, a reduced bank account, and a little less dignity).

So on Tuesday I got a haircut. The girl who cut my hair sliced about an inch off the bottom, re-did what she thought "were maybe an attempt at some layers?", and cut my bangs. However, apparently I misunderstood her, because I could have sworn when I answered "yes," the question had been: "So do you want your bangs to kind of look like mine?" rather than "Do you want me to close my eyes and pretend I am a scissor-wielding toddler?"  Due to this miscommunication, my awesome bangs now look like this:

I guess what they say is true; you get what you pay for. Compared to what I know many of my friends pay for haircuts, Supercuts is a steal.

However, I probably should be out spending that saved money on hats and headbands.

The Summer's Out of Reach...

"Boys of Summer," Don Henley

Me: Cliches are basically phrases that are so overused, they've lost their meanings and don't sound like formal language. You never want to use them in formal writing. Somebody give me an example...you guys might want to write the examples down in your notes.
Bree: I can't move a muscle.
Ethan: All's well that ends well.
Zach: ...like having sex on prom night.
Me: Please don't write that in your notes.

Me: Okay, there's a little more background information I want you to have before we start reading. Please take out a piece of paper.
Mike: More notes? Dude, you're killing me, brah.
Me: Excuse me. Did you just call me "bro?"
Mike: No. I called you "brah."

I think it's going to be a good year...

Skies Are Painted Colors in the Cowboy Cliche

Didn't have a camera by my side this time
Hoping I would see the world through both my eyes
Maybe I will tell you all about it when I'm
In the mood to lose my way with words
-3x5, John Mayer

On my run along the Carlsbad bluffs tonight, right at the point where I usually turn around, I stopped almost suddenly to look out at the water. The sun was settling just above the horizon line, a giant globe of reds and oranges and other colors that completely obliterate the spectrum and can't be defined by simple words and token shades. The tide was low, and people speckled the sand; kids searching for sandcrabs in overturned rocks and couples holding hands in the light, lapping surf. A line of seagulls flew overhead, and a few surfers paddled lazily farther out to sea, seeking the day's perfect set before heading home. In that instant, I found myself wishing I had my camera. I wanted to capture this moment; these little intricacies of the sun and sand and sea that remind me why I love the coast. I wanted to freeze the picture before me for eternity; bottle it up in a postcard on the refrigerator or frame on the wall. But then, I realized a big part of the beauty in front of me lie in the mere fact scenes like these aren't able to be frozen in a photograph. You can't "summarize" a scene, much like you can't really summarize a novel (Hemingway would cringe in his grave if he found a student trying to sum up A Farewell to Arms in a matter of abbreviations and muddled clauses). A photograph can't imprison the way salt air smells minutes before the sun dips under the horizon. It can't memorize and recall the way birds soar effortlessly through the sky, slicing a thin black line into the otherwise perfectly blended copper and apricot horizon. And then, ironically, I was so glad I didn't have my camera. Instead, I wanted to breathe in the moment in front of me; recognize and appreciate the fleetingness of time and space and life.

A typical (how can a sunset EVER be typical?) Carlsbad sunset looks like this:



It's entrancing and magic and almost as surreal as a Key West one (or even Santa Barbara, for that matter, but there'll never be a sunset in the world that compares to one of those). But I didn't take that picture. I was too busy appreciating the world through "both my eyes," taking in the sounds and smells and each one of the sights, which happen to extend far beyond the realm of any lens.

(Today I finally overcame
Trying to fit the world inside a picture frame...)