Showing posts with label a transition. Show all posts

magical plants and where to find them

(I'll give you a hint—they're all in California. I chose this title because this weekend I finally downloaded my California photos from my memory card and laughed because probably 80% were of the amazing flora of California. But what did you expect?)

I haven't written much (or anything at all, really) about this on my blog, but in January I was laid off from a job that I loved and where I had grown a lot in the time since I graduated. No matter the circumstances, that is a tough blow and January was a bit of a rocky period for me, due to this and other life chaos. The same day that I was delivered the news about my job, I sent an email to my dear friends Brooke and Layne to see if I could come visit them in southern California, visits long overdue and desperately needed. Within seconds (literally) of sending those emails, Brooke texted me: "MOVE TO CALIFORNIA AND LIVE WITH ME. pleaseeeee [praying hands emoji x4]" and Layne sent a similarly enthusiastic response. (the emoji praying hands are essential to the text message so I had to include them albeit in a janky way, as my sister Lauren would say.)

So after discussion of dates and researching flights, I booked tickets into Orange County and out of San Diego. I figured that by the end of February, either I'd have started a new job and would have this trip previously planned, or if I was still funemployed (a word coined by my friend Mary which I used with abandon) then it would be just what I needed—some sunshine and friendly faces in the middle of dreary February and a break from job-hunting.

en route to California

Since the Yosemite trip occurred earlier and arose from spontaneity, versus this trip which was in the works from the very moment of the January catalyst, I got many quizzical, "But wait, weren't you just in California?"s and responded with, "Yes, yes I was."

Oak Ridge Trail, Coto de Caza

Brooke picked me up from the airport and we went to dinner (YUM) and immediately afterwards to several bookstores to track me down a copy of "How Will You Measure Your Life?" by Clayton M. Christiansen, because she said it was the perfect timing to read this (it was). During the day while she was at work, I visited some of my favorite places (Balboa Island, Corona del Mar) and explored others on her list of recommendations (Oak Ridge Trail, San Juan Capistrano). I'd pick her up in the evening and we went home and made delicious dinners, played with Kako, went on froyo runs, went to the Newport Beach Temple, and climbed out onto the roof outside her window (a gently sloping terra cotta roof bordered by a pergola on all sides, mind you ;) to watch the sunset and talk late into the evening, covering just about everything in our heart-to-hearts.

Because my mom grew up in Orange County, I know the area fairly well for an east-coaster, but I loved getting to see Brooke's home and hometown, an area of OC I had not visited before. One of my favorite things was the morning I spent hiking on the Oak Ridge Trail—it was a quiet, beautiful morning and I had the oak grove to myself to sit and read and think. The gnarled oak trees, birds chirping above, and early morning light were straight out of a storybook, I tell you.

The Getty Villa, Malibu, CA

Brooke took a day off and we headed to Malibu to visit the Getty Villa. We loved eavesdropping on all the groups of school kids there on field trips and wandered around the gardens and all over the museum for much of the day. My last morning, Brooke took me to San Juan Capistrano, where we stopped in at the train depot for me to confirm my travel details, then wandered around Old Town SJC. Earlier that week I'd visited the Mission and loved learning more of the history of the area and admiring the beautiful gardens and Monarch butterflies.

the Mission at San Juan Capistrano

Corona del Mar

allontanarsi dalla linea gialla - San Juan Capistrano train depot

In San Juan Capistrano, while I waited for my train, I met up with another friend, Michelle, for brunch. I loved catching up and hearing about life since moving to California. Michelle told me what had been her three phases of unemployment (1. Vacation, 2. Desperation, 3. Complacency; ha) and we commiserated/laughed about my situation and current status in the vacation phase. After brunch, I made it to the train station which held an uncanny familiarity to those I traveled through many times in Italy. I loved that my train ride was bookended by visits with two of my friends whose friendships really grew during our time together in Italy.


I took a train along the coast to San Diego and the azure water, not surprisingly, also reminded me of Italy. Layne met me at the other end and my last days in California were spent in the best possible ways. We went to beautiful Coronado with a Trader Joe's picnic and walked around the neighborhoods along the beach admiring all of the beautiful houses. We tried to track down our favorite pear nectar from Italy, but settled instead for new flavors of San Pellegrino—arancia e melagrana (orange and pomegranate) and clementine. We went on lots of walks, read books, made lasagna from scratch, and made some great ice cream discoveries (Häagen-Dazs brigadeiro is forever our favorite).


I loved getting to know Layne's husband, Jesse, better during my visit. We visited him at work and in the evenings watched Jimmy Fallon clips, the Bachelor (his commentary was the greatest—"I want a pet monkey!" "How about a pet baby?"), and the Oscars (Lady Gaga's Sound of Music performance blew us away and Jesse laughed at our reactions from the other room).

One night as we sat talking in the living room, we each kept going back to the DI gumball machine for more sour Skittles. At one point it got jammed and Layne tried to take the lid off to clear the chute...instead the top came off and the candy skittered all over the floor. We were all laughing so hard and had tears streaming down our faces as we picked up all of Skittles from remote corners of the room and from between sofa cushions—it was one of those great, "I love life" moments.

Layne took me to the Mexican border outlet mall (hello, Twilight Zone), we visited Jesse at work, and I helped her/assisted in wrangling four- and five-year-olds in Primary as we laughed about their antics and the funny things that they said. We savored the most delicious meal at Tender Greens after attending the beautiful San Diego temple and basically had one giant heart-to-heart that threaded throughout the duration of my visit.

San Diego

This trip to California was so wonderful and it was just what I needed—it was so healing and so good for my soul. It was a bittersweet ride with Layne to the airport when it came time for me to go back to real life, but this visit just established many more to happen in our future (next time to meet sweet Heidi)! It is amazing the changes in oneself that can be wrought by a change of scenery. This trip to southern California and my trip to Yosemite will always hold a special place in my heart, for the moments of sunshine they provided in a brief but dark time of life. I will always be so grateful for that as well as for these dear friends. xo.


P.S. Adrienne and Jess had me on their podcast Fledgling for the episode "Wanderlust." I mentioned this trip in the interview so thought I would mention the episode here. The previous episodes are also great and I recommend listening to them all!


P.P.S. here is another photo from Layne's recent visit to Utah, just because.

to give thee experience

I had thoughts in my head and now that I am at a keyboard, they are becoming more inarticulate by the minute.

Suffice it to say that I have an unspeakable gratitude for life—my life, this life. I love the Italian verb "to live"—vivere. It is so expressive.

One of my favorite quotes from one of my very favorite books has always said so much of what I feel.


 . . . . 


*from D&C 122:7 "...know thou, my son, that all these things shall give thee experience, and shall be for thy good."

 **also: if you have not already, might I recommend that you watch the First Presidency's Christmas Devotional? The music was incredible and the talks so wonderful. I am so grateful for this Christmas season and the way that everything in it directs us to our Savior Jesus Christ. (also Lauren and I loved that the oboists and French hornists were seated in tandem in the Orchestra at Temple Square—that could be us! #teamvines)

welcome to earth

"These all died in faith, not having received the promises, but having seen them afar off, and were persuaded of them, and embraced them, and confessed that they were strangers and pilgrims on the earth. ... But now they desire a better country, that is, an heavenly: wherefore God is not ashamed to be called their God: for he hath prepared for them a city." –Hebrews 11: 13, 16

 . . . . 

I have had so many thoughts and feelings in my mind and heart the last number of weeks but I just can't seem to put them into words. I love the verses above in Hebrews 11 (also this whole chapter) and this phrase "they were strangers and pilgrims on the earth" has resonated with me for as long as I can remember. Recently my own sense of being a stranger and pilgrim on this earth has been felt anew and so poignantly; everything seems to underscore this. I think this is why I can't quite put it into words—it is a moving target of emotion and thought, and sometimes words are not adequate.

listening:
Come, Thou Fount of Every Blessing (oh I love this, and the French horns & orchestra)
General Conference

around these parts


Earlier this evening I rode my bike down the street to read my book on a park bench in the out of doors; after a week in the wilderness and a day back at work, I wanted to be outside again. A few fat raindrops spattered down intermittently on my head and lap, but I remained hopeful and forged ahead with the Misses Honeychurch and Bartlett as they were situated in their new rooms with views.

No such luck, however (with the rain, not the rooms; they get their Arno views), and the drops fell more and more quickly with some accompanying booms of thunder. I marked my place, stowed my book in my bag and pedaled off for home. The rain came first and I was quickly soaked. The rain streamed down my face and turned my hair stringy and wet, as rain is wont to do. Someone walking on the sidewalk yelled in irony, "Stay dry!"

Once I parked my bike under the awning and deposited my water-logged shoes and bag inside, I stepped back out. Since I was already soaked to the skin, I figured I may as well enjoy the rest of the thunderstorm outside, just because.

Because I have not done so in far too long.
Because thunderstorms are a hallmark of summer.
Because tonight's felt especially apropos.
And because I love rain and the feeling of being alive while outside in the rain.
 . . . . 

Last night, or this morning, rather—12:43 in the AM to be precise—we got home from Glacier and stumbled bleary-eyed in our front door with our camping gear. The house was dark and I had the sensation of arriving at home after a vacation. This was in fact what I was doing, but I have not had that feeling for longer than I can remember and it was quite unexpected to experience it coming home to the bath house.

I thought of this a few times throughout the day as I stepped back into my normal routine and caught up on emails and errands and everyday life. It wasn't until my post-rainy day shower that the pieces started to make sense in my head and now I am happily situated in cozy clean clothes and sprawled on my bedroom floor making more sense of things through words on a (web)page.
 . . . . 

If you have never heard of the quarter life crisis, well neither had I until I arrived at this particular milestone of young adulthood (specifically my college graduation) and found comfort in its being a somewhat well-founded concept. The QLC is real, and I have found myself grappling with it over the last little while and I've hinted at that here and there.

I love what my mom frequently says, quoting a family friend: "Life doesn't get any easier, it's just a different kind of hard." This is my current type of hard and as such it's okay that it's inexplicable and undulating—it's the nature of this beast. I'm grateful for the friends by my side whose words and experiences and comforting presence make things a little less scary since we're in this together.
 . . . . 

Part of the reason for my wonderment at the aforementioned returning-from-vacation déjà vu is the fact that in approximately one week I will pick up and move to a new house with a new address and a new fun name that is yet to be coined. How could I be so attached to a place that is only temporarily home?

I realized that the feeling I experienced when I walked in the door was less related to this particular space but more related to this particular place in my life. One of my favorite quotes from Pushing Daisies captures the sentiment perfectly: "And so the piemaker had come to understand home did not mean four walls and a door you never walk out of; home was a feeling of where you belong."

I am where I belong, despite the shifting of homes and addresses and roommates and quotidian surroundings—I am in a good place and doing my best at building the life that I hope to live.

This is a little disjointed and it's getting late so I am sending this out into the void and going to bed. Goodnight dear void (and how well that quote fits this context).

from my little corner of the world/internet,
E




listening: "Slow Dancing in a Burning Room" - John Mayer & "When You Come Back Down" - Nickel Creek

selected quotes from recently read books on my shelves



"And it never failed that during the dry years the people forgot about the rich years, and during the wet years they lost all memory of the dry years. It was always that way."  |  John Steinbeck, East of Eden, p. 6

"So much held in heart in a life. So much held in heart in a day, an hour, a moment. We are utterly open with no one, in the end. . . . We open windows to each but we live alone in the house of the heart. Perhaps we must. Perhaps we could not bear to be so naked, for fear of a constantly harrowed heart."  |  Brian Doyle, The Wet Engine, p. 66

"A good night's sleep, or a ten-minute bawl, or a pint of chocolate ice cream, or all three together, is good medicine, Doug. You listen to Tom Spaulding, M.D."  |  Ray Bradbury, Dandelion Wine, p. 156

"But in a book I read and cherish,
Going to Walden is not so easy a thing
As a green visit. It is the slow and difficult
Trick of living, and finding it where you are."  |  Mary Oliver, Going to Walden, New and Selected Poems Vol. 1, p. 239

as of late: summertime


chocolate for breakfast. and for a bedtime snack...
dinner on the patio. two patios. pizza for both dinners, incidentally.
to read or to reread, that is the question.
watermelon + mint simple syrup. a match made in heaven and again in our kitchen.
books and running clothes indefinitely strewn about the perimeter of my living space.
lots of little X's and edits to my Ragnar miles.
the season of outdoor movies (pictured: The Secret Life of Walter Mitty).
an ever growing list of ice cream recipes that I want to try (jeni's beet ice cream, meet beets in my garden).

oh summer. (the best)

outdoors-y


Because sometimes it's good to remember places you've been.

[Zion National Park, a couple summers ago]

 . . . . 


I have posted this quote before but it is coming to mind now:

"That was a memorable day to me, for it made great changes in me. But, it is the same with any life. Imagine one selected day struck out of it, and think how different its course would have been. Pause you who read this, and think for a moment of the long chain of iron or gold, of thorns or flowers, that would never have bound you, but for the formation of the first link on one memorable day." --Charles Dickens, Great Expectations, p. 69

I can see a very clear, although gradual progression which started on one such day with a visit to Zion National Park. I had the most wonderful weekend with this group of friends and it opened up a whole world for me of the beautiful outdoor experiences to be had right in the state and the very valley where I live.

On Saturday I went rock climbing in the wild for the first time in Rock Canyon. I was a little exhausted from having gone on a long hilly run that morning (shaky, fatigued arms and legs are not the best foundation for great climbing) but I got a taste for things with a couple partial climbs. I loved it, I loved that it was a beautiful day (the photo is Jess climbin!), and I loved the feeling of becoming more comfortable outside of my comfort zone.

spring and things

Rainy days. We have had so many good ones lately (our garden is happy about it, too).

Mackenzie and I tried our hands at macaron baking. That chocolate ganache though...

Keds and green grass and impending adventures.

Remember this Meyer lemon ice cream? I made some and it was quite labor intensive (hello delicious lemon curd from scratch) but worth every second.

My other Liz. Such a lovely bride.

Picking a movie to watch with Lar and Age...in other words, a hilarious process. Half of these are pink.

A Cinco de Mayo fiesta (I made this backdrop from tissue paper and Emily dressed for the occasion. perfect.)

This had my name written all over it. It was heavenly. (lemon greek frozen yogurt with a blueberry lavender swirl. yes.)

Our backyard berry patch!

Rock Canyon on my 4 mile [hilly] run today. I could not get over this view. We live in a beautiful world and I am so fortunate to live in an especially beautiful part of it.

. . . .

Lately I find myself going into panic mode whenever anyone asks questions about my life and my future. I think this is partly due to my loving my life as it is right now. Not that I am resistant to change or stagnating, because I am neither. Rather, life is so good and I am bursting at the seams with appreciation for these moments that I know will not last forever. I loved Bishop Stevenson's talk "Your Four Minutes" from April's General Conference. It was a wonderful reminder to set and work towards worthy goals and other worthwhile endeavors. So I am finding ways to grow while staying put, and it is good. Sometimes hard, but so good.

23.


I'm finding my way through uncharted territory, this no man's land that is young adulthood. The world is my oyster. What an incredible, yet incredibly daunting thought.

I'm attempting to own my I-don't-knows rather than offering them up sheepishly. I don't need to know everything because I know the things that matter most, and I am slowly figuring out the rest that matter a lot. There are certain opportunities in uncertainty and knowing this lets me consider.

I will pick a sandy beach over snowy mountains almost every time. The waves crashing, the tide receding, the sun rising (or setting) in the watery distance. Sailboats bobbing and salt in my hair and the ocean air filling my lungs. I love this feeling.

I want to be confident with my words, bona fide confidence.

My bookshelf: Morocco, Italy, reading, cooking, classics. Design, introversion, Audrey Hepburn, bee-keeping.

Life these days: alarm clocks and memos and photos and emails. Wool socks and honey lavender tea and sun salutations. Heart-to-hearts over indoor runs. A heating pad at the foot of my bed as my modern heated brick. Reading late into the night in bed with a flashlight to wind down my restless mind.

I use Oxford commas and the subjunctive tense. I jot notes in the margins of my books. In the future I see myself as one of those people who won't own a TV. Maybe a projector for watching movies. Or maybe my laptop will suffice.

I love driving in the rain. Not heavy, torrential rain with the windshield wipers flying haywire, but a steady rain. Those are rare in Utah and when it rains this kind of rain, I am so very very happy and it fills an ache I forget that I have for this small part of home on the east coast.



listening: Dark Matter - Andrew Belle, Unbelievers - Vampire Weekend, Billy Jean - the Civil Wars, the soundtrack from "The Secret Life of Walter Mitty"

some reassuring and beautiful words.

"Opposition, rather, is the indispensable element of mortality and strengthens our will and refines our choices. The vicissitudes of life help us fashion an eternal relationship with God—and engrave His image upon our countenance as we yield our hearts to Him." —Elder Timothy J. Dyches, Nov. 2013 Ensign p.38 (from this talk)

fluffy snowflakes and lingering fall leaves.

listening
Bye Bye Blackbird - Joe Cocker

This song appears in the film "Sleepless in Seattle" in a scene when Tom Hanks doesn't really have any answers or solutions. Just a song. Sometimes you just have to make do with what you've got. (also the soundtrack to this movie is really great in general.)

Sabrina


The original Sabrina, Billy Wilder's film starring Audrey Hepburn, Humphrey Bogart, and William Holden, has long been one of my very favorites. I grew up watching it and have always loved it for so many reasons. Sometime in middle or high school, I saw the modern version—but all I could remember to date was not liking it. Knowing it was highly likely that my bias came from the simple fact that it was not the original, I recently watched the 1995 adaptation of Sabrina again. And I loooooooved it. The theme by John Williams is beautiful and haunting. The film captures the 90s so well, and it remains true to the original while introducing its own humor and nuances. Oh I loved it.

It has been ages since a film moved me as much as this viewing did. The themes of transition and growing up and refinement struck a chord in me and so I redact any past statements denouncing the '95 version. This movie was so beautiful.



[Lest you be worried, my love for the original remains strong; I have simply added another to my favorites shelf.]


[image source]

thinking things

Lately two thoughts have been resounding in my mind and in my experiences, namely that life is beautiful and life is hard. These simple statements encompass fundamental truths that I've always known, but I have felt them so frequently and so deeply as of late. This summer has been full of beautiful moments when life is absolutely perfect and I wish I could stop time and bask in it. These moments are so fleeting but I'm thankful they are frequent. And perhaps they are more beautiful for their brevity, as we don't have time to become complacent. Life is beautiful and ephemeral and it overwhelms me in the best of ways and I am so so thankful.

But life can also be so hard. And sometimes it's hard without obvious cause or reason and I'm left wanting for explanations that I cannot have. But later I am always thankful for the depth and dimension these moments add, for the perspective they continually form and shape. I'm thankful for people, for friends and family and strangers who are all on this earth to learn and who help me and who I hope to have helped also. I'm thankful for these things that we share, that make up human experience, that make up life.

here's to

here's to...

books and reading and book clubs where you pick and choose and sometimes discuss the books in question and sometimes you just talk about other things.

beautiful bungalows with backyard gardens on quiet streets. the setting for my evening runs these days is the loveliest.

seats at the bar and jokes with the chefs.

purchasing plane tickets and impending adventures.

talk of bicycles, summer bike rides, and helmets—safety first!

a sister who sends photos and updates from Paris to the family group text.


and some songs that I love lately – "Firewood" and "Small Town Moon" - Regina Spektor; "I Wanna Dance with Somebody" - Ben Rector, "Submarine" - John Mayer

okay

My dear friend Lauren and I have been telling each other, almost constantly for the last 5 months, "We're going to be okay." We're experiencing together the difficulty that is growing up. I can't pinpoint exactly what that is.

Nothing is really wrong, yet everything feels at the very least, hard.

Sometimes it's the best we can do to put on a good face and repeat our motto.

We're going to be okay.

{ untitled }

{which is a title in and of itself}
lately I've been feeling quieter.
more thoughtful.
and very thankful.

January was a bit rough. February has proven much nicer. And although it is still snowing a lot and I do not love that it is snowing a lot, occasionally the snow is that magical airy type that allows you to see individual snowflakes.

That's all.

Gilead

"As you read this, I hope you will understand that when I speak of the long night that preceded these days of my happiness, I do not remember grief and loneliness so much as I do peace and comfort—grief, but never without comfort; loneliness, but never without peace. Almost never." –Marilynne Robinson, Gilead, p. 71

[this book. Oh it is wonderful]
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