Stunning Saturday

Today was marvelous.

It began with an attempt at a long night of sleep, something I could always use. It wasn't as lengthy as hoped, but restful enough with a bed time just at midnight. I woke up and worked on a blog post I intended to use this week. (It'll be utilized at some point... Probably.) After an hour or so, I woke up Bryan and proceeded to make us both a delicious cup of butter/coconut oil coffee. (Don't knock it 'til ya try it; it's freaking off the chain AND is super filling.) I'm always pleased to share my weird food and beverages with anyone who tolerates me.

After chilling for a while then getting ready, we went to Willow Lawn for a light but filling lunch at Zoë's Kitchen. The goal was to get just the food we'd eat, but even a Greek salad was too hefty for conquering. (That failed goal turned into leftovers to be enjoyed in the late afternoon and on.) Target was next, and we spent over an hour exploring the store and scanning for our newly made (and soon to be heavily adjusted) wedding registry. The adventure allowed us to really picture our next few years. We'll start our united life with whatever delights and necessities our loved ones gift us in the coming months, and I think that's seriously cool community support. What an awesome thing to feel so (potentially? since we don't know if we'll get really anything?) loved and supported! We stopped at Kroger for potluck contribution supplies, then went to Ellwood Thompson's for a Barefoot Bucha fill up. At home we had some time to prep the food for later cooking, read, and listen to chill music.

For dinner, my mentor and her husband graciously hosted us for some super tasty burritos before we ventured to the north side for some DANCIN'. Music ranged through a few decades but the bulk of it was form the 1970s. The style and movements were unfamiliar to our 90s babies' bodies, but it didn't matter. I just went with the flow and copied people, and Bryan just moves in the same amount of awkward no matter the type of music or situation. Even with his lack of attention to the actual beat, dancing with my betrothed was a hella fun way to spend my evening while meeting my step count goal. Drink tickets came with our entry, but since Bryan doesn't enjoy alcohol, we ended up getting 7 drinks instead of 4; all but 5 were Northern Neck ginger ale (a Bry fave) and 2 were some dang tasty pinot noir (a Steph delight). Throughout the evening we had wonderful talks with Karen & Jim who not only fed us but bought us tickets to the dance.

Once home, we (predominantly Bryan) began cooking our stuffed mushrooms for tomorrow's fellowship lunch. I frantically grabbed my computer and started recording this gem of day.

None of our undertakings were monumental, yet throughout the day one of would comment on how great everything seemed at that (and all) moments. It was simple, average, and potentially boring. Despite that, it was a sunny, glorious, busy, praise-worthy Saturday I needed to record. The time spent together doing normal tasks was wonderful. It makes me really appreciate the value in a lifelong partner, a person who can turn the mundane into joy with the elementary addition of presence.

I so look forward to our seemingly far away future days like this one. Spent simply but together, they are little nuggets of rejuvenation for me, and I believe they at least somewhat are for my severely introverted fiancé.

What a wondrous time we have and hopefully we be given.

Menstrualightenment [part 1]: An introduction

The Australian Open began this past Monday, on January 19. I'm not a huge tennis fan, but I was made acutely aware of the event by a housemate of mine who not only has a special tennis mug he only uses during tournaments, but also woke up at 3:45 AM to watch a match about which he was particularly excited.

I haven't kept up with (and don't care anything about) its winners or losers, but one media post caught my attention. A top British player was knocked out early on, and her statement about "girl things" sparked a load of internet chatter about monthly cycles and their impact on pro athletes.

The Guardian posted a rant-y and wonderful article about these issues with concerning female athletes and women at large, and I really appreciated it. It led me to several other awesome pages, and it really fed into my menstruation zeal.

As of late, I've done quite a bit of thinking on and talking about those inevitable monthly (or quarterly) crimson delights (or terrors). Towards the end of 2014, I decided to make the switch to reusable menstrual products, a choice that has elicited a range of response from those I know and love. It's a change I have enjoyed and heartily encourage, despite the occasional challenges. I've had to attend to my body and its systems, and I've become more comfortable embracing the nature of my creation. Plus there's the incomparable joy of saving many items from a landfill.

It's not always been a topic of enjoyment. I remember learning all about the reproductive system in a 5th grade girl scout seminar. A nurse came in, presented a slide show on the impending changes (doom) within us all, and gave us git bags filled with pads, tampons, chocolate, and info booklets. I was incredibly curious, and read the little books cover to cover almost immediately. And then again. After that, I felt well prepared to come into true womanhood. I remember spending a whole weekend just lying on my bedroom floor, awaiting my period. At some point it became clear that my desire wouldn't beckon my uterus lining forth. 

Later in adolescence, periods were not so exciting — a burden at best, a misery at worst. My high school friends and I came up with a code for pads and tampons so we needn't utter the words amidst the listening ears of other students. 

"I need some money." 

"Dollars or coins?"

"Coins."

*tampon discreetly transfered*

It wasn't a great code, as we would frequently borrow actual money from one another and have to get clarification every time. But it worked. So went our casual embodiment of the unnecessary shame of our female forms. 

Even before my menstrualightenment, I saw the small positives. That whole continuing the species is kind of cool. Additionally, periods can be a unifying way to serve your fellow woman. All have known the horror of being ill-prepared, and all have lent whatever they have to a sister in need. I've taken a tampon from a complete stranger at least a couple of times; I don't think it's too weird. We have an unspoken code, and every gal has every other's back. (Or vagina, more accurately.) 

Sadly, more frequently than support through communal pads, we have ubiquitously shared a sense of embarrassment. The not-always-so-smooth slip to the bathroom, bag in tow or pocket bulging with supplies. The sitting out at the water park or absence from pool parties at young ages. The particular and unfortunate smell of a bathroom stall. I remember as a middle schooler thinking how OBVIOUS it was that I was on the rag since I otherwise rarely went to the bathroom, and I very inconsistently carried a purse.

We ladies speak of our necessary and beautiful bodily functions in hushed voices, sharing a bar of chocolate and complaining of our individual side effects. 

Why is the topic of menstruation so difficult for our society? Some may argue it's the blood, but we seem to be pretty fine with common band aid situations, save a few phobics, and last time I checked, menstruating women don't exactly splatter about their deep red goodness with each step they take during those 4–7 days of every month. 

To speak of our menstrual lives should not require immense courage, nor should it bring about faces and sighs of disgust. A mention of side effects shouldn't make the athletic world blow up with alarm.

I am anti-period-negativity. We ought to embrace it. Perhaps not all can adore it; some go through a lot of mental and bodily struggles. But at very least we must work to destroy the shame and enable other ladies to love and serve their bodies well. How lovely it would be for the topic of menses to be as normal and straightforward as it is for us to experience it.

This is just an introduction to what will likely be several blogs riding the crimson tide. My thoughts are numerous and scattered right now; I apologize for the lack of good flow. But you're welcome for all the period euphemisms. 

The dot deserves attention. I'm happy to give it.

Stuff, beans, and magic joy.

It's just week two of 2015, and already I've silently and audibly lamented my uninteresting existence. I have this desire to express, to have discipline in this uncomfortable but healthy way; yet still I bumble about and think only about how I have no thoughts.

Sometimes it might not be all about thoughts. (Frankly, I doubt my thoughts are really worthy to hang in this intense blogging world..) Sometimes there are just things. Things and occurrences and moments and stuff, and perhaps sometimes those are enough.

For example, today. Today was ordinary and magical.

[The beans pictured may or may not be magical.]

The ordinary: I went to work, then Zumba, made dinner, talked to my roomies, procrastinated laundry, and on got on my computer.

The magical: Throughout the morning I was impressed and thankful for my (brand new) co-educators. They care, teach well, and are patient with the kids. They make work fun and make the time pass swiftly, even on a morning when we had 30 entire extra minutes to use. After the in-class "field" trip, I went to a local coffee place and treated myself to TWO beverages over the course of several productive hours. Though the barista insulted me by condescendingly explaining a macchiato — I freakin' know what a macchiato italiano is, lady — the treat of delicious caffeine was working overtime on my happy-making neurotransmitters. Lesson planning went well (at long last), and I feel less nervous about sharing my ideas on Thursday. After work I went to Zumba and had a BLAST, moving like a fool, in pleasantly disguised exercise. At home, Kate sat in the kitchen floor and chatted as I stirred and adjusted a very non-reciped many bean veggie soup. We two opposite yet harmonious souls independently instagrammed the same picture today. James joined us after a time, and praised my impromptu and uncertain soup concoction. Carolyn shared of her life and spiritual journey at house prayer. Soon after, James and I waltzed in the hallway, simply because we learned he had gone to cotillion (mega lawl).

Did that magical sound ordinary? Perhaps it is, written hastily like that. Most magic happens in the cracks, in those minuscule spaces between letters in a word.

Magic, expanded: This morning, a sweet little girl gave me a hug before we left the classroom. Before that, I watched the amazement slowly spread across several third graders' faces as they realized we were talking about feces. Tonight's soup came together without assistance from a broth, stock, or tamarind mix, and somehow was super tasty (despite the use of questionable celery and seemingly dusty beans). I was accidentally Zumba-ing in the kitchen while cleaning up, and Melissa spotted me from the hallway, busting up laughing. In a rare and glorious fashion, all 6 GotHs gathered in our small room this evening.

I love those common, marvelous times. Those spaces throughout the day don't demand attention; they tend to casually and quickly pass. Those teeny, quiet periods are chock-full of true joy. I occasionally fear being desensitized to these good and worthwhile happenings.

Lord help me to be savvy in this practice of magical mini-joys. Let them abound as I seek them and try to see You in them.

Seeking simplicity.

Post-undergrad and pre-established-life is an odd and wondrous time.

I'm living in Richmond, VA with incredible co-interns, working for a non-profit whose mission I fully support, and doing life without reference to academics for the first time since age 5.

Despite the marvel of now, the world seems far more fascinated by what's coming/the end goal/the five year plan. But hey there world — just one hot second. I'm alive now and doing things, things that definitely matter.

This stage of life is marked by some serious pressure to sift through the complexity of the future. This occasionally comes at the cost of the present. We young whippersnappers are expected to pro/con all our options and have thoughtful answers for every grandma, uncle, and passerby that demands the storyboard of our lives.

That's a bit complicated. It's complicated even though I can finally articulate a rough idea of my next five years! I say it, the same blurb time and time again, but I can't and won't guarantee that any of it will come to fruition. And that's super OK by me. 

As I turn the corner and face 2015, I want to focus more on this living thing. I'd like to strip away that which hinders and have a clear vision for what's here in this moment. Constant planning and nonsense can (and does) seriously convolute the now. I'm tired of missing out on the beauty before me while constantly jumping up to peek over the wall of tomorrow.

There is wonder in today. There is meaning in simplicity. There is purpose in the mundane. 

Our constantly stimulated lives cause us to forget these truths. I'm up there with the best of them — Instagramming, Facebooking, emailing, texting, blah blah blah. Yet when I pay attention, I can truly delight in stunning, simple moments. My Amélie moments.

The feeling of swishing my hand around while rinsing rice in warm water.

The sound of straightening a stack of addressed and stamped envelopes. 

The taste of brilliantly repurposed leftovers.

The sight of carefully made latte art. 

I shall seek a simpler, slower pace this year. I'll read for pleasure and write and snail mail and blog and craft and cook. I'll do those glorious things I miss and love, things my tortuous lifestyle has pushed out of view in the past many years. I'll work in random GRE vocabulary because I'm throwing down (standardized test style) in a few months. I shall seek joy and find it, because joy is good like that. 

I'm pumped about it all, and you should be too. Living is too marvelous to not be totally stoked most of the time.