Magic?

     I was strolling to photography when I looked up to spot a little white flake on its dive down from Heaven. I watched it from a fair distance up as it turned and spiraled torward me. Little did I know this little flakes intention was to land on my eyelash and send a chill down my spine. Oh how I love the snow! Being from California anytime there is a little hint of snow, it's so magical. I know people from Oregon just don't appreciate it as much as I do. People always make fun of me for walking around with my head up in the clouds literally and figuratively speaking, unfortunately not physically (because I am shorter than average).
     I was walking down the street with my mouth open, never did it occur to me others may be watching. So I left my mouth wide open with a grin on my face trying to catch as many icy little flakes as I possibly could, as I sang a song (which no one could possibly understand because my mouth was wide open). I heard a man chuckle as I walked past. I quickly closed my mouth and blushed. He said, "Ain't no reason to be blushin' about enjoyin' the little things." He continued with, "You sing your song, and catch your snow flakes! Don't let peoples' laughs get in the way of that miss thang." I smiled and kept on walking. Who was that man? Maybe just a man, maybe an angel, or maybe God? I am not sure, but I had a warm cozy feeling after he spoke with me, and the temperature outside should not have allowed such a feeling. Either way I'm grateful for the snow, and for the man I encountered on my silly walk.

A Little Slice of Ganache

            I shoved the last item I could possibly jam into my suitcase and headed out the door.  As I was packing each item individually I kept thinking this is a stress I shall put a way, and this is a worry to think about later, and here is something I just don’t want to think about ever. I was in dire need of a break, so thank goodness for the opportunity to fly to Arizona.

            Shea and I stepped off the plane, and headed for baggage claim. I saw Toni and immediately a huge grin grew across my face. It is so nice to get away for a while. Not to escape, but to have a little break. We talked for 2 hours about life, and everything Mr. Hayashi (my choir director) from high school has been up to. We arrived at their house and had enough time to drop off our things, and head back out. I wanted to support Derek, Mr. Hayashi’s son, and friend of mine in teaching a dance class that night. Shea loooooooooves dancing, and by love I really mean abhors, and would be happy if he never ever had to lift a finger or toe to music. Unfortunately for him, he chose a boogie-down queen, and I love to dance even when there isn’t an occasion. Quick tangent…Shea and I were in Pita Pit once and a song came on so I decided to interpretive dance it in front of everyone directly to him, he was super embarrassed, and I loved it! Anyway back on track. We went to the dance and Shea was actually pretty good. I loved having the opportunity to dance with him.

            We walked outside after the dance was over, and saw a little car zipping into the parking lot…I knew it was Hayashi. We embraced, and it felt so good to be back in his company. When we got back to his house we stayed up talking to him until 3:00AM. We relived old choir memories, and stories we did not want to ever forget. I even acted out my inner monologue to several of these stories, which happened to be comical to my surprise. When we hit 3AM I thought we should go to bed, I mean Hayashi is getting his Doctorate, he needs his beauty sleep. 

            The next day, Friday to be exact, we went to class with Hayashi. Who needs coffee when you get to listen to Hayden at 9AM?  After that a brief study sesh in the library, followed by weird music theory (I can’t remember the official name of it right now, but it was really bizarre, Shea can help me with this later). The best part about the school day was choir, his director was hilarious. Plus the choir was singing Mozart, and it’s pretty hard to go wrong with Mozart (well you can, but they didn’t).

            New York Voices came after the class to give a clinic in vocal jazz, which was AMAZING! We saw them that night, and their performance was flawless. I do not have a clue how anyone watching them couldn’t tap a toe, or bob their head. I got to take a picture with them, and I got their autographs. It was totally wicked!

            Saturday we woke up bright and early to go to the Desert Museum in Tucson. I learned quite a bit about birds, and strange desert animals. I was glad to be protected by the wire and glass from some. When we left the museum, we headed to where Mr. Hayashi teaches a small jazz group. I got to sing with them, and it was just like old times.

            Sunday was Shea’s 20’Th birthday. Toni and I made him chocolate ganache, which I fittingly call death by chocolate cake because it is literally to die for. We packed up our things, and ate our final meal together (which was also superb).  After dinner we sight-read Mozart’s Requiem, which was impossible and sounded like a train wreck, at least on my end. We said our goodbyes, and finally flew back to Oregon.

            This pretty much sums up my trip to AZ; actually it doesn’t even scratch the surface really of how amazing it was. At least it gives you an idea. One of the parts I know I will always remember was Toni asking Shea what three blessing he had received in his past year alive. The very first thing Shea said was “Well I guess the biggest blessing would have to be meeting Coleen, and getting to be with her everyday.” I KNOW!!! So amazing right? I shall stop rambling now, and actually do something semi-productive. Until next week…

Aborting A Mission

            I am currently on an airplane somewhere over the state of Arizona wishing I were flying to Mexico, and not back to Oregon. At least I am sitting by a very cute sleeping man (Shea), and I am grateful for the free quiet time to write (minus the baby screaming two rows behind us). We had such a wonderful time in Arizona, but more about that in the blog to follow. This blog is to make up for last weeks. There isn’t really a moral to the story that follows this entry; simply a story is all it’s meant to be.

Shea and I went out to lunch at a Chinese restaurant in town.  It was just us and one other pair. We ordered and continued chatting about our day and how school was beating us up in different ways. We both couldn’t help but over hear the other pair’s conversation. At first I thought they were definitely a first date duo trying to talk, which was super awkward. I thought well this may be the first date, but it’s looking like it will be their last. Then Shea said he didn’t think it was a first date he thought it was a father and daughter. I giggled wondering why the conversation sounded so badly to me.

            Shea and I got our food and started chowing down. The couple behind us began their conversation again. The girl kept talking about how she felt it was the right decision, and she didn’t think her mom supported it. Her dad then said you are making the right choice; you’re a freshman in college and not ready to have a baby. Then the bomb hit, you need this abortion the father exclaimed. At this point Shea and I both just gawked at each other. I guess we were surprised because we hear about abortion, but we never really know it’s going on around us in reality.

My heart broke for the girl. I kept waffling back and forth with the idea, should I say something or should I keep quiet. I wasn’t sure what I’d say, maybe lower your voice. Or maybe I’ll be praying for you, or perhaps don’t do it! I just felt like I should say something, even though it was not my place at all to do so. We both left around the same time. When I looked back at their table I noticed the father had left his glasses. I wondered if this was a sign, maybe I was supposed to run them to him and say something. So I grabbed them, and shouted after them, they did not hear me. I was not sure why I felt so strongly, but I did. I am glad I didn’t end up talking to them after all. Like I said there were just no perfect words to say. 

Going...going...gone!

            Well…it’s the fifth week of photography and I have never been more frustrated with something in my life! The first week started like any other, everything was easy. I was catching on really quickly, as per usual. When we hit photo shop everything went down hill. I would spend three hours editing one photo (a photo I wasn’t even happy with in the first place), and still after the three hours felt like I had accomplished nothing. I was excited about film photography, and the idea of developing, and printing my own photos. Until, week five rolled around and we actually started developing film. That was probably the most stressful experience of my life. “So we put the film in this container for 30 seconds, then the next for 2 minutes, then the next for 6 minutes, while it's pitch black? Then wait…wait…wait, you lost me at putting the film in the container.” Not to mention we have to put the film into the container totally and completely blind!

Even if my photos aren’t very good, I am learning a lot which I did not expect to learn. I am learning that flaws are okay. I am learning that if I don’t listen to clear instruction, I am going to have a crappy outcome. I am also learning to be happy with the finished project, because it took me 80 10 steps to get there, so I might as well enjoy it. I am also learning that once I snap a photo, I can never go back to that moment. Every picture is unique in that way. Each photo is a time capsule, taking me back to a memory which will only happen once. Even if I tried to re-create a scene, or an idea, the photo still wouldn't be the same. Either because the elements have changed over time, or the people have changed over time. This idea is what I appreciate most about photography: we only have one shot in life, and we had better take it when we have the opportunity, because once it’s gone, it’s gone. 

Battle Scars

I recently read an article on a woman politician speaking of having three war stories. She states in her interview that war stories are the stories, which define you. She states that if you have three war stories, you’re on a great path. If you don’t quite have three, you have more living to do. War stories, or at least her definition of them are when you stand up to a bully, or make a bold statement.

I don’t have three war stories yet, but I do have battle scars. My definition of battle scars consists of the good, the bad, and the ugly parts of the war. The war I fought most recently was the war of the fat ass. Yes, it sounds obscene, and the scene was exactly that.

I was in line at my campus coffee shop trying to grab a cup before running to my next class. The two boys in front of me got to the counter and apologized to the barista for not being able to order quickly. “Sorry, that fat ass wouldn’t get out of my way!” One of the boys exclaimed. The barista’s mouth dropped, she was stunned, frozen by the comment. I tapped the boy’s shoulder and asked him to repeat what he had said, just to make certain I heard it properly. He said the comment again, and his buddy laughed this time. As many of you know, I am not wasting away by any means, so I was especially taken aback by his comment. I proceeded into war with my weapon mouth locked and loaded, “I would watch what you say about her fat ass, because one day you could be working for it. One day you might need to kiss that fat ass to get a promotion. One day you might have fat ass kids, and love them dearly, and one day you yourself might be a fat ass.” I continued with, “If you have any sense of self-respect and dignity you will apologize right now for your actions!” His mouth had dropped to the floor, and if it could have dropped any farther it would have. Everyone in the café was clapping, the boy then apologized to the barista, everyone in the café, and the girl he had insulted. I admit, it probably was not the best way to handle the situation, or the classiest, but I had to do something.

The good battle scars I took away from this are to continue to stand up for what’s right, enjoy applause life sometimes brings, and be happy with yourself as a person. If I were not content with my own body image, I never would have been able to stand up for the girl. The bad battle scars I took away from this were using profanity in public (not the best thing to come out of a ladies mouth), and the pain I could relate to in the girl’s eyes. The ugly battle scar was the comment I will forever keep in my memory, along with the laughter.

            So maybe I have one war story, but I am enjoying the battle scars most. I feel like they are more important than the actual war. Once the war is over, it’s over, but the scars you take away you’ll keep for life.  

Weird Week

This poem is making up for last Wednesday's blog that I did not post. Life got crazy busy.

Weird Week

I’m in a weird mood

Can’t find the right attitude

Each day says goodbye

Silence is my reply

I don’t wake up feeling good

I don’t wake up feeling bad

I wish I understood

I wish that I could

The question is me

And who I ought to be

No more lies through a mask

Learn no when they ask

Learning when people speak

Learning throughout the week

Waiting for life to unfold

Waiting for dreams to be told

Hope is my inspiration

Heart my identification

Next week will be fair

I’ll see you when I get there