the infected.

i am sick.

helplessly, disgustingly sick.

i couldn't stand it - my favorite month ruined by first the freakishly cold weather and then the unpleasant crumbling of my immune system. i tried to ignore it. i went to the apple orchard on saturday despite a sleepless friday night and dry throat (i probably infected about 41 people with this unsafe approach). but saturday night was relentless. i felt like a mentally institutionalized patient - all shakes and shivers and cold sweat and confusion as the hours ticked by. sunday was not going to happen. i texted in sick (welcome to 2009, but i'd rather not talk to anyone in my naseous state) and had to cancel a homemade meal (made by me, no less) with the parents and future in-laws, and had to leave most of my church duties up to my willing fiance. i felt helpless. pointless.

the first 15ish hours were the worst. i thought i might just die right then and there. my sweat evaporated as soon as it came into contact with my boiling hot skin. i couldn't move. i couldn't think. i couldn't eat. i couldn't even throw up. it was lame. without david keeping a constant vigil, i probably would have keeled over sometime in those first miserable hours of infection.

i will pause here to point out that my mother is a nurse. this usually give people a sigh of relief. and yet, it has never been the blessing people assume it should be. "well good, at least your mom is a nurse." i hear it all the time. but she, maybe because of her extensive medical knowledge, avoids the sick more than every other person in the medical profession combined. and more than any other infected person, she has always managed to avoid her sick children the most. "i don't want to catch that!" she'd declare as she'd throw a piece of toast at me from behind a big bottle of Lysol disinfectant spray.

after the initial nastiness wore off, it turned into a slow uphill climb. healing by degrees, i came out of my cave of a room and consoled myself with the crappiest tv known to man (my antonio, tool academy, my sweet 16, some life documentary on sandra bullock) and occasional sips of water. i haven't watched tv seriously for over a year, and i learned a couple things in all my channel surfing: 1. channels play the same 4-6 shows on rotation, hour after hour, day after day. 2. everyone is incredibly freaked out about the flu. there were dozens of commercials - one even had a doctor rapping about how to wash your hands - advising on how critical it is to avoid the flu this winter. and there i lay, one of the infected.

i'd noticed this trend in the last couple days. in my quarantined state, i'd been blessed with only a couple interactions with humankind (other than david, and i'm not sure what to categorize him as anyway). when matt came up to check the internet, he did so with his shirt over his mouth. well played, but there was no joking later when he tentatively offered me a spoon for ice cream, almost dropping it into my reaching hand, like i was a begging leper. later, talking to alicia briefly in the hallway, i think i could visibly see her backing away from me as she asked how i was doing. in her defense, i could very well have smelled horrible. i hadn't bathed for a couple days.

but what ever happened to the slight thrill of getting sick? was it just elementary school infatuation? it was always a little walk on the wild side to share a cup, a game of russian roulette. maybe you'll get to stay home. maybe you'll get a free break. and you always bounce back stronger than before, with immunity built up! who doesn't want that?

apparently, no one wants that this winter. and after this last miserable bout, i guess i can't blame them. staying home sick only results in more work down the road for us big kids. and it rots our brains out with mindless television.

wedding dress: take one

i went wedding dress shopping last friday. a little after the fact, i realized that moment is typically a big deal in a girl's life. i should probably write about it.

if there is one thing that has been confirmed through all this preliminary wedding planning, it is that i am not a typical girl. not by a long stretch. people would ask about dresses and i'd shrug indifferently. i couldn't be bothered with a bunch of poofy, gloriously-blinding, lung-crushing contraptions when i can't even nail down a date or a reception hall. so, when my mother suggested that we go, i blinked like a child just waking from a nap to a snack of carrots, dazed but deep-down grateful for some motherly intuition nonetheless.

david's bridal made the most sense - cheap and chock full of dresses for every size and shape. upon arrival we learned that people typically make appointments for these sorts of things. they then asked me what 'style' i liked. oh boy. here we go. i sputtered some long train of juvenile gibberish: "i don't really know i mean nothing too frilly not really a lot of fabric some beads but not a lot and maybe a little lace sometimes but not a lot nothing too girly but not too plain not like a prom dress or something..." the receptionist smiled sweetly, a little sorry for my lack of estrogen, and decided to try and help me with dress jargon like "A-line" and "bodice" and "corset back" and other words that made no lasting impression on my memory. i winced and nodded when appropriate.

finally, a chipper consultant came to my rescue, and guided my mom and i to the racks of dresses, where she abruptly abandoned us. i felt swallowed up by the rows and rows of plastic protective coverings that were stuffed full of taffeta and silk and chiffon and embroidery. somewhere in that madness, was the dress of my dreams. or so i'd been told. how to begin?

my mom tackled the racks with fervor, going for variety and anything with straps (mom later lovlingly reminded me that my small boobs and broad shoulders would do me no good in a strapless dress. broad shoulders?!?! i never even though i had broad shoulders). i followed her lead, meekly plucking at gowns here and there, until we'd acquired 6 or 7 dresses acceptable for trying on.

the whole thing had gone predictably enough, until i found myself alone in a dressing room with the first dress. i eyed it warily. as i took it off the hanger, it exploded into a topsy-turvy heap of foamy white on the dressing room floor, like a bubble bath gone wrong. i stood there perplexed, and decidedly reached for the undergarments they had provided. i was told to first put on this contraption (casually referred to as a "bra" to prevent panic and hyperventilation) to slim my form under the dress, but with over 2 dozen hook-and-eye fastens that were destined never to meet around my crushed ribcage, i realized i was in deep. i didn't even bother with the "slip," but instead crawled into the first dress.

i shuffled out of the dressing room, hauling heaps of extra fabric behind me. i looked around for affirmation from my mom, who had dissapeared into the bridesmaid dresses section of the store. thanks, mom. real magical moment here. i climbed up onto a carpeted block, and stared at my reflection in a hundred mirrors.

and there i was.

how many times had i seen this moment in movies? how many times had i heard friends talk about their first trip to try on gowns? how many times had i imagined this moment (ok. that's a stretch. true, i may have imagined it with a distant sort of curiousity, but certainly never dreamed about it with a hopeful shimmer in my eye)? and there i stood. i didn't really feel very special or magical. it was just me. my apparently broad shoulders and my small boobs, in a white dress. nothing to write home about, let me tell you. i felt like a jumbled junior high kid all over again: awkward and discombobulated.

thankfully, things went uphill from there. mom gave honest advice. i found some dresses that i looked good in. elizabeth came and fulfilled the role of a great best friend, even trying on the unending supply of bridesmaids dresses thrown at her with a smile on her face. all said and done, i learned a lot. and while that dress of my dreams may still be out there, at least i know what i'm looking for.

and i guess i take comfort in knowing that a dress is such a minute, trivial detail in the grand scheme of a wedding... of a life. i am marrying my best friend, my partner in crime, the man of my dreams. that's all i could ever ask for. these laughable, challenging moments are all the easier to overcome with him at my side.

creature comforts

fall arrived after winter this year, but isn't life like that? we strain and strive, shiver and screech out our niche, claiming territory with fervor and blind determination, and then one day we stop. it is typically something monumental - a death, a new life, a betrayal, a union, that forces us to halt our rudimentary madness and take a look around. do you see the leaves? do you taste the air?

running, i can almost capture the season in my lungs. it's the real reason i started, and the only reason i continue. with ragged breaths i soak up wet leaves, grass clippings, and long shadows. they become the spongy material inside of me. it was the insulation i never realized i needed.

so i take these little pieces, these gifts that get me by, and i stack them up. my writing, my running, my family, my fiancee, those sunday night conversations that break past the surface with all the joys and sorrows our hearts can hardly bear. but i still find myself looking around every corner with anticipation. i still believe there is something great, and i get itchy with curiosity and hope for MORE.

is it foolish to dream for so much at twenty-five? is it foolish to crave a life with more suffering, more community, more poverty, more discomfort, more prayer, than i've ever known? when i say 'here i am, send me,' do i know the weight of my words? and is it fair to rope the love of my life and my unborn children into this potentially dangerous existence? i pray my motives are never selfish. i know i've been given everything and more in this time of waiting. i'm astounded by all the answered prayers in these lonely 2 years home. i will keep waiting... but i think i'm ready.

fargo, ND

what a perfect weekend. and it's not even over. it contained all the elements that i love so much, so i'd like to record a little here:

a 7 hour roadtrip. 14 hours total. north through gorgeous rolling fields splashed with an array of warm fall colors and occasional old barns and caved in buildings and dried out acres of corn, topped off by a breathtaking ocean of sky saturated with clouds. perfection in october. an excuse to do nothing but take it all in, for hours on end.

reconnecting with old friends. riverside is a community that just keeps on giving, years after i've left. swimming and chatting in the hot tub with nathan, ben, jon, tiff, joe, and david i was so at peace, so comfortable and content to catch up and find that we all can connect so effortlessly.

a wedding. a lovely celebration of life joined together. i've never seen reid so happy. liz glowed as a graceful bride and everything was smooth and assured. i was honored to be able to be there, after so many years of loyal friendship with reid, it felt like watching my brother get married. it had the right focus and feel - it fit them perfectly.

and all the little bonuses in between - great girl-talk and wedding magazines and coffee runs and thrift stores and snow swirled photographs and dancing and dozing and glimpses of heaven.

i forget, so often, how blessed we are.

symbols

what symbols do we carry in our culture? what tokens represent something much larger than themselves? i would venture that there aren't many meaningful ones in america. there are status symbols; there are cars and clothings lines and bumper stickers and flags. there are heirlooms and artifacts and first-editions. but very few tokens are given that are life long and universal. it's all just 'stuff' right? in the end, you can't take it with you anyway.

on friday night, on a rooftop overlooking the des moines skyline and sculpture garden, i was the recipient of a symbol. a collection of metal and rocks, a cool band wrapping around my ring finger, trapping light and glitter, winking a declaration that my life is forever changed. and while i have never been a girly-sqealing-girl, i was instantly absorbed by the enormous representation of it all. i realized, all at once, that it is never about the ring. at least, it shouldn't be. it is about what the ring communicates to you -to everybody- the commitment, the devotion, the love-of-my-life completeness of it all.

at it's best, life is to be lived with your soulmate by your side. a union mirroring Christ, a union of servanthood and sacrifice, of laughter and adventure. words can't capture all the excitement. so we try to capture it with a symbol. i will wear this ring until the day i die (i have never owned anything like this). This ring may be passed on to children and grandchildren. i don't understand why you would ever change it, ever alter it, ever tamper with it, ever break it from its original meaning. it is one of the few things in this cardboard, temporary culture that is meant to last.

(the meaning, not the symbol)

delayed transmissions

the slow sleepiness of autumn has draped over my shoulders, causing a lethargy that thickens the flow of creativity. something dark and sweet, like molasses, results.

i am not prepared to fold up and tuck away the stretched-long shadows of summertime profiles. but i know it is for the best.

...

a couple snippets:

a weekend in chicago brightened my september considerably. to be immersed in someone else's family, to have formalities slip away so that the moments of confusion, of yelling, of escape, of laughter, of silence, of miscommunication, of pride and humility and teary-eyed love, all weave together to complete the picture - it was a privilege akin to witnessing the creation process of a masterpiece. because, disagree if you must, but i believe the best art God ever created was the art of the dynamic, fully (mal)functioning family.

saturday afternoon was a treasured break, wandering the streets downtown, finding quaint thrift shop gems, sipping discounted coffee, and stumbling upon a spontaneous art-fair bustling with hipsters and homeless, professors and students, small dogs and scarves and bikes and patchouli and the sun sinking low. holding hands and lingering from tent to tent, sparks of inspiration ignited.


there is always so much more to the story, but i've got new books and polaroid film and road trips around every corner. i can't hide out too long here, or i'll miss something worth recording later.