My Loves

Sometimes people tell you they'll do something, and then they don't, and all you can do is brush it off. Sometimes people say they will be there, and then they're not, and all you can do is brush it off. Sometimes people write you personal checks on accounts that no longer exist, so that when you try to cash said checks at the bank, the tellers shake their heads and say, "Sorry." And then the people who wrote you personal checks on accounts that no longer exist say they'll mail new checks as soon as possible, and then another check-less week goes by, and all you can do is brush it off. Sometimes employers don't pay you for months and months ... and months at a time, and all you can do is brush it off. Sometimes people say, "I'm a resource that's available to you 24/7," then completely shut themselves off from you and ignore all messages from you, and all you can do is brush it off. Sometimes people very explicitly tell you it's going to be one way, and you allow yourself to get into a situation based on that statement, and then once you're in the situation you realize it's actually going to be nothing like that ... not even a little bit ... and all you can do is brush it off. Sometimes people straight-up fail you, and all you do is brush it off.

Here's the thing about my world, the little world I live in. There are screw-ups and let-downs and people who fail me on a monumental scale -- yes. But I have to say, no matter what happens, I have a core group of friends -- girl friends, lady friends, strong, wonderful, female friends -- who stay by my side through everything. They make me laugh, they tell me I'm more capable than I personally think I am, they gather around me and dust me off, pat me on the back, pour healing potions down my throat, and they always, always make me feel okay.

So, how do I brush off the insanity? I throw it in a pile with all the other crap and I put in a dusty corner of the room, and I leave it there to erode. Trust me, there is a pile so big of false words and missed paychecks and broken promises.

But I never go in that corner of the room. I gravitate to the center, where all these wonderful women gather. And I spend five minutes in their presence (or virtual email presences on particularly busy days) and everything else just melts away.

Thanksgiving never ends for me because I have friends so above, so beyond, so much more, they simply leave me no choice but to brush it off and smile.

Busy Hands

My hands have been busy. Pause and stop, record and listen, pressing buttons to play back moments and cast them down in writing. Scrawling in chunky handwriting recognizable only to me, flying against the keyboard, letting individual letters press against the pads of my fingertips too quickly for me to even realize what has happened. Letters become words become sentences become paragraphs become pages become hundreds of pages -- all in a good week's work.

My mind has been busy. Ideas and lists and tasks checked off, projects that have been looming over me like the repulsive Portland sky finally broken down into manageable pieces, allowing me to navigate and conquer. There is too much to do, I tried to say, but I was shut up by a voice that said, simply, Shut up and do it. And so I did.

My body has been busy, stifled as it is, mourning the loss of sunshine and outdoor runs and feeling trapped in the box that is that sweat and germ-infested gym. Hating the moments that click by on the treadmill, longer than any moment in the open air ever pretended to last. Hating the proximity of others as they gather around, occupying pieces of equipment on either side. Hating being on this side of the window, not that one. Hating, hating, hating it, but doing it anyway because that's what we do. That's what I do.

I have been busy, brushing off invites and turning my nose at anything beyond a must-do or a have-to. No time for frivolities, I tell them --play will come later. And so I sit in my box, staring at another box, typing up boxed-up sentences and piling my belongings in boxes along the bed, taking respite only to visit that box of a gym or that box of buildings that house the errands I simply must attend to.

It has seemed like torture, some days. This business, this boxed-in-ness. But now that I'm standing on top of that pile, that mountain, that weight, and now that I'm looking down and seeing what all I've done, what's behind me, what's over -- I wouldn't trade it for anything.

I have been busy. I have been productive. And now when I leave for school, I can rest easy, knowing there's nothing else for me to do here.

Friends and Neighbors: Ginny Maffitt

Read about Ginny Maffitt, a volunteer botanist at the Tualatin River National Wildlife Refuge -- a very neat lady!

Tigard-Tualatin-Sherwood Times

Beaverton Valley Times

Running For Kristen: Week 35

We're getting closer to the end goal. For 40 weeks, I'm setting aside $1 for every mile I run to donate to a cancer foundation in honor of the other Kristen Forbes, who died of cervical cancer at the age of 23. For more on her story, visit www.kristenEVE.org.

This week, I ran 8 miles, bringing the total amount raised to date to $350.

Gratitude

Things I'm Thankful For Right Now:

Alicia Silverstone, Antioch, bearded poets, Biggest Loser, Book Club that should actually be called We-Don't-Read-We-Just-Hang-Out Club, books, cancer research, cookbooks, cupcakes, dreams that keep me going when I feel burnt out, employment, family, friends that go above and beyond the call of duty, goals, Greta the Grand Am (still holding strong after all she's been through), hiking, hilarity and the hilarious people who cause hilarity, interviews with people who make me smile, laugh, think or stretch, Jillian Michaels, kickboxing classes taught by Kendall, Los Angeles, mentors who inspire me to believe in myself as much as they believe in me, MFA programs, naps, Oregon, poets, Portland, quiet time, reading incredible books that remind me why I want to write, running (even when it sounds awful), sisters, suncreen, sunshine, talented people who inspire me, talented poets, the other Kristen Forbes, underdogs, vegan cupcakes, views,waterfalls, writers, writing, writing, writing.

The Countdown is On

"Uh, I just had to call and say that I'm like a little kid before Christmas, I'm so excited," my friend Natasha said when she called me today.

"Dude, tell me about it."

So, grad school residency is 16 days away. I'm leaving in 15 days. To say I'm excited for that and completely unfocused on everything else would be quite the understatement. Residency is my favorite time of year -- come June and December, I'm one happy camper.

Reading and writing and wining and dining and reading and writing and beaching and sunning (okay, I know it'll be December, but believe you me it will beat this weather) and reading and writing and talking shop with people who give a crap about reading and writing, workshops and lectures and dinners and late night conversations and coffee conversations and mid-day conversations about reading and writing ... Bliss. Geeked out bliss.

15 days ...

Double Trouble

"A sister can be seen as someone who is both ourselves and very much not ourselves - a special kind of double."
--Toni Morrison

I think I'd be a much less nervous person if my sister would stop having so many surgeries. Then again, I was a nervous child, so maybe it's just in me. But still, I wish she'd stop having so many surgeries.

You know, as a personal favor to me. (It's all about me.)

Lately I've been feeling like my memories are harder to access, like enough has happened between childhood and now that the moments don't stand out anymore. I think of my sister and I think of the look on her face when she accidentally shoved me a little too hard and my hip bone landed on the corner of a desk and immediately drenched itself in black and blue. I think of her making chocolate chip cookies and setting aside a small portion to bake with chips omitted, knowing that's how I preferred them. I think of the buttons she pushed so hard, the crying and screaming in public that ensued. I think of the time I gave her a bloody nose because I thought she wouldn't feel it when I put a pillow over her face and punched as hard as I could (no really, I thought she wouldn't feel it). I think about her whining when her steak wasn't cooked enough and starting a family war when she stole one of my grandpa's fries. And I think about how she was the only person who could make me feel better when everything was going wrong.

She's still one of the only people who can make me feel better when everything goes wrong. And she's still the first person I call with news good or bad. And I wish she'd stop having so many surgeries.