Unexpectedly, Happiness

This past Tuesday found me on a bus full of undergraduates, headed to Harrisburg for a day of choral festivities.

Now, because I adore that man at the piano in the picture on the right, and because he has kept me playing the piano during my doctoral study years, I will not tell you that it was THE-LONGEST-DAY.

I will tell you, however,  about some unexpected moments that occurred in the middle of THE-LONGEST-DAY that I'm not telling you about.

Thing #1: An unexpected break, in the middle of the afternoon.

Thing #2: With the aforementioned unexpected break hovering before my eyes, I picked up my phone.  I called my favorite Mrs. Noll of the State Street Academy of Music.  I said "Mrs. Noll, I am in Harrisburg, and I have 45 minutes.  I'm coming to State Street, and I'm going to find you."

Find her I did.  Happy we were. (Glowing even....)

Thing #3:

I also found one of my favorite former piano students, the lovely and talented Miss Bailey.  

We squealed at the unexpectedness of the moment, we rejoiced, we took a picture.

Thing #4:

While walking down the street to find Mrs. Noll, I walked past a man selling flowers.  I smiled at him, and he smiled back.  Then he said "Wait!  I want to give you these!"

He handed me a gigantic bouquet of sunflowers.

He said, "If I can make someone happy today, that's a good thing".

And I said, "You have made me the happiest".

Flowers make me happy, always.

But unexpected flowers?

The happiest, by far.

And so, at the end of that LONGEST DAY that I haven't told you about, I climbed back onto that bus.  I gently placed my flowers in the seat next to me.  And I reflected on the small happinesses in life that keep us going through those inevitably long days.

And I am reminded:

In every day--even the longest ones--look for small, unexpected, gracious ways that say "God is good to me".

And then, pass it along.  Unexpected moments, after all, can bring happiness that lasts for longer than even the longest day.

Let me hear it now: H-O-L!

Many long years ago, Lisa & I naively sat in various places across New England, dreaming & conversing.  Hashing out life as we knew it, and as we wanted it to be.

 Then, she married this boy.

We quickly discovered that we were all 3 cut from the same mold, and that the dreaming, conversing, & hashing could continue with barely an interruption.

Thus we marched through our 20s together.

We added some unexpected elements to our friendship as we went:  new locations, broken dreams, enhanced appreciation for elaborate food and drink, a funny little dog.

We also collected some nuances our dreaming hearts hadn't seen coming: laughter made precious through unanticipated tears, hope distinguished by the confusion it took to get us there.

And thus we arrived into our 30s, graciously.  Lovingly.  Knowing, and being known.

That would be why this past Saturday afternoon found us all in Johnstown Pennsylvania, touring Lisa's aunt & uncle's dairy.

Wearing hair nets.

You see, we have realized that a friendship like ours requires scheduled get-togethers, and so--we schedule them.  Religiously.  And turn them into grand events under the umbrella title HOL!, aka Hash-Out-Life.

[aka Lauren Lisa & Geoff Get Together and Hash Out Life.  AKA--we need to, and cannot imagine life otherwise.]

So, after a delicious Fall-lined drive back to my place, we jumped right into more traditional HOL events.

A main characteristic of HOLs (and Fall HOLs in particular....) is The Margarita Master.  He's a wizard.

And he pretty consistently manages to knock me off my feet every single time.

That would be why I stopped wandering around the kitchen pretending to be making dinner, declared myself useless, and plopped couchside...

...while Geoff finished dinner--a beyond ridiculous Pasticio that had us all drooling,

[In fairness to me, that meat sauce bubbling away in the front there was entirely my doing....before the tequila took over....]

....and, while Geoff and Lisa did the dishes.

[I'm telling you--my defeat was intense.  But--again, in fairness to me--my tequila ingestion is limited to HOLs, so I have absolutely no defenses built up against it.  Essentially, you could say I've been set up for disaster by the people I trust most.....Hm.]

Eventually, we ate (while angels sang in the background).

We laughed.

We hashed out life, 

with only minor moments of snarky commentary.

And we dwelt in that peace of knowing, and being known.

At some point I was able to get myself together enough to make us some dessert (because when I said to Lisa "I don't think we need dessert, do you?" she looked at me as if I was about to be cut off from tequila ingestion for all future HOLs.  As if I were crazy, and betraying everyone involved.)

And she was right, because here we are.  Once again.  Sitting together, having learned a few things that make us perhaps less naive but a thousand times more--in countless ways.  Eating some of the best apple crisp on the planet (if I do say so myself), restored in heart mind and soul.  Having conversed, having hashed.  Having reaffirmed: We are in this thing called Life, together.  

Pass those Cheese Curds Please...

This week found me in Madison WI for the annual meeting of Big Ten Music Educators.




I will not bore you with the details, but here are the highlights:

• Beer and fried cheese curds with my WI friend, Amanda
• The opportunity to madly scribble thoughts into my "dissertation notebook"  (We are now one step closer to knowing what we're doing for said dissertation, and this is a good thing...)
• Afghani food
• A walk around town, which included an all-too-brief immersion into a local used book store, and a few moments of reflection near this very bizarre tree on this very windy lake

The best part of my trip, however, was that I returned home to find Geoff & Lisa settling into my living room for the annual State College installment of Lauren Lisa & Geoff Get Together and Hash Out Life.  Stay tuned for our adventures!

This is for keeps

Six months ago my parents celebrated their 35th anniversary, and my siblings and I said "Hey! We should celebrate that too!"  

Hence, this past weekend found us all in NJ, wearing coordinated clothing and whitened smiles.

After all, what better way to mark 35 years of life together then to document proof that it happened?

A picture, after all, is for keeps.  It's difficult to refute.

And it speaks for itself: It happened.

Now, lest you think we spent our entire celebration day sitting in a photo studio, let me fill you in:

We did not.

Since we are staunch believers in celebrating with food, we returned to Mom & Dad's 

where Keith & Marisa took charge of the appetizers.

This included lighting meat on fire.

(Leave it to Keith....)

After munching on the yummies and spending time with Grandma (who had been coerced into joining us for awhile...), it was time for main course preparation.

A menu of Filet MIgnon with Balsamic Syrup, Savory Risotto, and Roasted Ratatouille requires putting people to work...

...cutting vegetables like eggplant, peppers, zucchini.  

Oh, and onions.

(Sorry 'bout that Kara...)

The table was set with the wedding china, the wine was opened and allowed to breathe, and the food was laid out before us.

15 minutes later...we were done.

Fortunately, however, Dave & Kara had prepared two pie plates of deliciousness to help us finish off our evening.

We indulged with exclamations of wonder, over subdued conversation and genuine laughter.  

Reminiscing.  Being.  Tenderly loving.

Because here is the thing about being a part of a family:

You're not always going to know how to share your deepest heart. You're not always going to see eye-to-eye. You're not always going to chatter away with exuberant joy, or fully understand the severe mercies of each other's lives.

But you're always going to love.  

This family, after all, is for keeps.

Sure signs that you're getting old...

A) When you crinkle your forehead for any reason, it stays in the same place for a few seconds longer than it should.  (Wrinkles!)

B) One morning, your eyebrows suddenly appear to be taking over your face.  (Really?!? Is this possible?!?)

And then, most importantly of all,

C) Your younger siblings start to have babies:

Congratulations to Keith and Marisa, and welcome Baby Kooistra--we can't wait to meet you!

The Hill I Never Want to Climb

Every morning I wake up with two options:
Drive to school, or walk to school.

Driving involves traffic and traffic lights, pedestrians and a parking lot nowhere near my office.  It is almost always a bit of a hassle, and almost always lines my soul with a layer of crankiness that pervades my day.

Walking, however, involves tree-lined streets, quiet, and birdsong.  It is almost always lovely, except for what I have come to call:

 The Never-Ending Hill.  

Twisting, winding, steeper than it looks.

It goes on.


Forever.

Every morning I wake up and think about that hill, and by the time I leave my house, lock the door, put away my keys, and get myself out to the driveway, I have usually decided to dig those keys out again:  It's a day to drive.

Driving is easier, see.  And my day is so hectic, and involves such a scattering of places to be and people to see and things to do, that if I have my car parked 20 minutes away in the parking lot as opposed to 30 minutes away in my driveway, it just seems like my life is more organized.  Like I'm not unraveling, quite so much.

But really? It's that dang hill.  It sits in my subconscious.  It taunts me with its inevitability, and laughs at my lack of control over it, 'cause there ain't no way around it:

If I'm walkin', I gotta face that hill.

Now, this past week has been one of internal upheaval.  The kind of week where my brain is just a riot of anomaly, and I do not know how to dig myself out.  The kind of week where all I can see are hills that I would do anything not to face.  And so every single day, when confronted with the choice of walk or drive and wary of unraveling, I chose what felt easier: I drove.

Until this morning, when I looked myself in the eye and said
"Girl! You're walking.  Don't even think about that hill, and don't be such a baby."

So, ok.

I walked.

I drank in the air, the sunshine, the birdsong.

And I was reminded of something that I already knew, but conveniently tend to forget:

 That hill is not really all that bad.

Most of the time I get so consumed in my thoughts, my prayers, my music, or my phone conversation that I get to the top and I say,

"Wait! What just happened?  Am I done? Is it over?"

And it is, and I'm fine.  In fact, I feel better--because I am aware of the blood in my veins and my cheeks feel cool and warm all at the same time, and I know that I'm alive.

So today, as I trudged up that hill with my earphones in my ears, my thoughts buzzing around my brain, my blood pumping through my veins, I realized something that I need to remind myself to remember:

The hill always looks big.  The climb may not be the most fun.  But--put your head down, and walk it.  It might not be as bad as you think it will be, and when you reach the top you might just feel better.  And though it doesn't mean it's over---there are a few more little hills before you reach your office, and then there are a few bigger ones on your way back home--it may just mean you're living.

And in the end?  Sometimes you've gotta make the choice to face that hill, 'cause there ain't no way around it.  Just remind yourself to remember: you will be fine.

How blueberries remind me that I have the strength to stay

Sometime this summer I found myself standing in the grocery store, frozen in front of a display of the most beautiful blueberries.  So plump, so pretty, so fresh.  Not to mention--so cheap.  


I couldn't resist.  I bought an enormous amount.  Far more than I could devour during their life span, and far more than I had any business buying.

I brought them into my home, and looked at them lovingly.  Then, I promptly froze them.

They say blueberries are one of the best things you can eat--that there are a multitude of vitamins nestling inside of those purply-blue skins.  What's more, they say the purply-blue is a result of the high number of antioxidants that blueberries contain.

(Since antioxidants supposedly fight wrinkles, and since I am recently highly aware of my wrinkle-potential, I find this fact to be compelling.  Hence, the enormous amount of blueberries now in my freezer.  I am not merely a sucker for pretty blue things at practically no cost, you see.  There is obviously much more depth to me...)

Sometime in the past week, I took one of those frozen blueberry containers out of my freezer.  I set them out to thaw on my counter, and then stowed them in my refrigerator.  Those blueberries were now available--ready to nourish me.

And so, this morning, as I went to dig a handful out of the container to add to my yogurt, and as I noticed the purply-blue stains that were suddenly covering my fingers, I remembered something.  And--though it may seem completely unrelated--it struck me as important to note.

What I remembered was this:

This is the first time since I left my parent's home at the age of 18 that I have lived in one place for longer than 3 years.

Now, I realized this a month ago, when my 3 year anniversary in State College hit.  And, it might not seem like such a big deal to you, my faithful friends and readers.  But here's the thing:

THIS IS A BIG DEAL.  

The reason I didn't bring it up when I first realized it was that I was a little afraid that it wouldn't stick.  That I would freak out at the realization of this long-term commitment.  That I would run away.  Move to Alaska or something dramatic like that.  I have reason to fear this reaction, because--this is what I always do.

When life isn't what I thought it would be--I run away, to someplace where I think it might be better.  

When I've lived too long with the same people--I run away, because it's inevitable that they'll figure out all of my flaws any day now.  

And when that little restless voice inside of me starts to wave it's arms and kick it's feet--I run away, because I know what that voice is reacting to.  It's reacting to a bigger Voice that is saying, "Now that you're comfortable, your feet on the ground, you're going to have to deal with those things you don't want to face."  

And the restless voice says: Run.

But last year, when an opportunity came for me to leave, I looked God in the face.  And I said: I'm going to trust you--not that you'll guide me as you take me to the next place.  I'm going to trust you to give me the strength to stay.  

So here I am.  With a stockpile of blueberries in my freezer and a few in my fridge, reminding me of three important things:

1.   Sometimes God sticks you in a freezer and let's you get good and comfortable.  But, if all you continually try to do is get yourself to the next freezer, you'll never thaw.  You'll never be available to nourish anybody, including yourself.  And everybody you might have blessed just may start to wrinkle.  

2.  When you're good and thawed, you're going to see the stains on your hands.  Purply-blue, beautiful stains.   Stains that come from life-giving juices.  

And,

3.  Stay.  It's ok.  You have a stockpile of Strength (with or without antioxidants) to do it well.