Geneology

I am doing it--My geneology. And the reason why I am doing it is very plain to see!

Those are the only words I remember.
Anyway, I've been getting really into family history lately. I just love reading all the stories and getting to know the people that make up my family tree. Here's an example of a woman I found--there's only a little bit recorded about her, but for some reason I just feel really close to her. I feel like...she and I are really similar, somehow. I don't know why. Anyway, here she is:

ROCK THE VOTE!
JAM THE VOTE!
BE THE VOTE!

Gooooooooooooo AMERICA!

10 Awesome Things About Being a Graphic Designer

1. Everyone says "cool" when I tell them what I do. Like I'm an astronaut. This makes me feel good, but also slightly deceptive, considering that I spend a LOT of my time on boring, non-creative layout and at most have maybe 2 creative pieces to my credit. Cool.
2. I can wear baggy clothes and lots of eyeliner and...people chalk it up to being artsy.
3. I draw pictures all day.
4. I understand some of the jokes Pam and her art school friends make on The Office...and I laugh heartily just to prove it.
5. At work I am continually referred to as a Creative. 'Creative' is a noun here.
6. People request random things all the time--like an invitation to a daughter's baptism. And when asked if they have any ideas about how it should look, they may toss in some helpful hints like "You know, white...some sort of frilly stuff...maybe a 3-D dove or something..." So then I laugh and say "sweet"...and then I realize they aren't joking. WHAT? A 3-D dove? Seriously?
7. I pretty much get to exhibit the full range of emotions and temperamental behavior...people chalk it up to being artsy.
8. I don't get in trouble at work for searching Google images or watching YouTube--it's creative research.
9. I hear this phrase at least 5 times a day: "I'm no artist, but..." (Usually said before delivering an opinion on something I've created.)
10. I work with some awesomely quirky people. I am becoming quirky-er every day because of it.

Eddy Utah

Eddy is going to be a famous model.
Libby and I are entering these photos, and I swear if he doesn't win I'll...quit life.

September

Today I said goodbye to September.

True, some days I said I wanted to sleep through this month. It hasn't treated me the way I would expect a favorite to—sometimes it almost felt like February. But one doesn't alway love a thing because of how nice it is, or because it earns it. Sometimes you love something simply because it exists, because it's a part of you. When I looked at the calendar and saw tomorrow, I realized that today holds so much of finality, of things needing to be put to rest.

So I took a drive. I chose a route I don't travel every day but that is still dimly familiar. It began as something of a stress reliever, with wind in my hair and the music turned up loud. Soon, however, I started to see things that pulled the full weight of farewell firmly into my thoughts.

I saw hints of deep colors, muted by the lateness of the season, and receded waters that spoke of more abundant times. I saw pockets of intense, unexpected storms, with painful jabs of lightening and blood-tinged clouds—like those days when the cold came suddenly and reached all the way to my heart, when the emptiness filled my bones without words and without touch, and I knew the coming winter would be the coldest I've weathered. Those storms fought for my attention, but they were surrounded by mild, comforting, everyday sky to draw my eyes away.
I followed winding roads, sometimes expecting the curves ahead and at times being surprise by how sharply they cut through the scenery. I recognized that shoreline, that peak, that wandering path. I glanced at that arbitrary roadside stall, and the significance of it took my breath away.

As the sun set on my scene, I wished for more. More light, more warmth, more of the colors I can now only illuminate with my imagination. Eventually I yielded, and said goodbye to something so beautiful—how achingly beautiful I can never convey, no matter how well you think you know these parts.

I am infinitely sad to see it go, but I hope there will be other Septembers...or, at the least, a few great Octobers.

I used to be a boy. Er, uh, I mean tomboy

Let's take a closer look, shall we?

Old Beyond Years

...Tears For Fears.
I told someone the other day that something I said was an inside joke with myself and they thought it was weird. Is that weird? I have LOTS of those.

Anyway, it feels like forever since I had the writing bug, and here it is! Probably very boring for most people but here are the thoughts of late:

I'm finding that life is a simple process of turning into one big cliche. When you're a kid, you don't sit back and wish for the good ol' days. When you're still a kid but old enough to know what people mean when they wish for the good ol' days, you swear you'll never be like that. At some point, major life milestones start happening, and no amount of proclaiming them weird or surreal changes the fact that you are indeed growing older, and you are in fact living all those scenarios you most surrealy imagined.

Point is, I feel old. Some great shift has taken place in the last year or so, and suddenly I'm remarking that summers feel shorter than they used to; good friends don't keep in touch like they used to; my body doesn't happily take a beating like it used to.

I'm 26.
26 isn't old, by logical standards. By 14-year-old mentality standards, however, it's ancient. And while I claim a certain amount that immaturity, I never anticipated that at age 26 I would pull a muscle doing routine things like, say...shopping. Or that I would gaze at a toddler and be overcome with amazement--and jealousy--at the amount of energy they possess.
I never dreamed I'd so unmistakably notice things changing.

I've watched my father, over the years, become more emotional, more appreciative, more drink-in-the-moments minded. Maybe it was his heart attack--Maybe it's the increase in grandchildren. Maybe it's just plain aging. Whatever it is, it seems that we soften as we go. Things mean more. I feel it more profoundly when I am hurt, or when someone I love is hurt. I have less tolerance for the violence and cruelty I see in the world around me. I wonder more often if I'm doing what I should and being someone who matters. I am so keenly aware of the moments that result in happy memories...and of those that will teach me something difficult.

If I feel like this at 26, I can't imagine 46, 66, and beyond. I'll probably spend all my time remarking about how strange it is that I'm 46, 66, and beyond. Or about those days when gas was $4.25 a gallon. Or about how weird it is that I used to never think I'd find it exhausting to sleep in a tent and hike and eat granola bars and get sunburned but now I do.
I want the wisdom of age and the vitality of youth. I guess that's what everybody wants, but that's not the plan. Maye I'll settle for the ability to do the splits. And stay up all night for fun. And work a minimum wage job with summers off.

Maybe you grow old and look back on your life and wonder if it all really happened. And a small part of you wonders if it was all really that short, that amazing, and that meaningful. In truth, it probably wasn't. But age lends meaning to everything.

So I guess I welcome the rose-colored lenses.