the routines to love.

Image: From here

When Tommy lets Apple in in the morning, she takes the stairs by two and I hear her coming up to pounce. She launches up and over the foot of the bed and lands on me, tail wagging to be alive and to have successfully completed her morning routine again, the one that means she belongs.

I love Apple's routines. And I always want to love mine too. When I get the sense to appreciate, and all the good things hit me, I say, "I'll never slip into ungratefulness again!" 

I love waking up next to Tommy. I love that he lets me throw arms around him at any hour of the day, night or morning. I love that we've got reclaimed wood on our ceiling and a little window with summer air carrying traffic noise in to wake us up. It's like Paris, or Venice, except it's Walla Walla and every bit as glamorous if I get the sense to appreciate. 

I love that I have a job. That I wake up and find some arrangement for my hair and lately, I find some piece of clothing that fits around this baby GIRL that is growing inside of me. I love that we have this baby. I love that she is exactly who she is! I love that she kicks. I love that she is ours! I love that we're here. I love this precious new routine.

I just love.

That's the thing with getting the sense to appreciate: love builds strong, full and everywhere.

She was sucking her thumb in her first ultrasound photoshoot. The cuteness was killer and the ultrasound tech said, "Well this was an entertainment for me today." I see it already: she (Indiana, Indigo, Kate, Ruby, Magnolia, Rhubarb...I threw that last one in for Tommy...) she is a joy-giver. She is dreamed up by the Joy-Giver.

Ok, I need to go arrange my hair before work. But this life is more than simply routines. And even if it is routine at times, this morning I have all the sense to appreciate.

skating into his seventies.

I met an old Indonesian man named K who has already skated into his seventies. I say skated because the way he described retirement, there doesn't seem to be anything choppy about it. Every day he glides through a series of routines--tea, eating, napping walking, reading, saying hi to his neighbors and their dogs and then napping again. K has been married over fifty years to a cute Hawaiian named Rosie who is four-foot-seven-inches tall. He told me that he proposed to her the day after she'd had her wisdom teeth removed. She was laying on the couch with a swollen jaw and K joked that without her wisest teeth, he hoped she'd have a lapse in judgement and take him up on his marriage proposal. She did and I love their story. K and Rosie painted their entire house bright blue a few years ago. The paint chip, K said, didn't accurately preview how brilliant the color would be when brushed on their entire home. But even though the color wasn't ideal (and actually kind of horrible) the house doesn't seem to bother K, and I sense it's because he is skating. And because he is in his seventies.

The whole reason I want to tell you about K and Rosie isn't to tell you about retirement or the blue house or the wisdom teeth. I don't even want to talk about skating really. Mostly, I wanted to say that Ken and Rosie are getting along like I'd always like to be getting along. They are quietly bringing the box of Triscuts on our drive to the country. They are happily laughing about their imperfect history.  They are affectionately saying, "Oh, you!" They are raking their hair over the balding territories of their heads and letting their finger nails fall off when they do and not trying to fix a thing that has always been good to them and is just now needing a rest. And even while their memory is slipping (which I can only imagine is so difficult) they are actively trying to remember. Running the good times over their hearts. Letting their life glow like a hot coal after a good fire. I want to get/go along like that.

lost/found in the little things.

On Friday night we ate chili over chips with all the other things my grandma had cut up to stack on our plates. I love going home. I love connecting with my family. We stayed and chatted for a while. My grandpa's head was back and eyes closed as he slept in his chair. My mom reclined back on my lap, her feet across my dad's legs. When we were sure we'd fall asleep if we stayed any longer, we packed our dishes and things to go home. My dad went to look at something in my grandpa's shop while my mom and I started chatting and loading the car. Lost in conversation and content to be together, we somehow got in the car and drove away, totally forgetting my dad. Haha. He called before we were even half way home (which is less than a few miles) and we went back for him.

Then today, as I was leaving, my dad checked my oil and packed a plastic sack of apples for the road, one of which he had cut with an apple cutter, leaving the cylindrical core intact and wrapping a rubber band around the slices so I could undo them when I was ready to eat. Little moments and acts and memories. And I don't ever want to get hung up in the big.

Also, our baby shower for Nilmini made things hit home! We're going to have a new nephew soon. We can't wait!

her morning testament.

This morning it was early--
it was six-forty-five--
when I drove past a woman
basking on the corner.
She sat on her walker
on the seat between its handles,
wrapped in a sweater
with a testament in her hands.
Matthew, Mark, Luke, or John--
a gospel was in her hands.
Six-thirty, seven-thirty, eight-thirty, nine--
time was on her hands.
The sun folded over and into her book
light for her loving, light for her life.

common ground.

Today my dad starts his 5th round of chemotherapy to treat the cancer they found in his body this past January. Thinking about it too hard makes my nose burn and the tears come. We are so lucky to say that his half-way PET scans came back clear--no more cancer. The treatments have been doing their job. And while that is so reassuring, we still ache through his low days when the chemotherapy seems like too strong a dose--when he can't eat or talk easily.

I got a call from Michael a few days ago. Michael was a blind camper in my gymnastics class at Mivoden a few summers in a row. A big guy, Michael was hard to spot on tricks. But he mastered somersaults and served as a solid and ever-positive base in the acro-pyramids. Michael calls me often. I have to admit, I don't always take his calls, but sometimes I do. A few days ago I did. He usualy calls to play me a song he's learned on his violin or one on a CD he's recently purchased. He puts the phone to the CD player speaker and leaves it there for minutes on end as sonatas play. After the song is done, he'll come on saying, "So, what did you think?"

This call he had sad news. "My cat got cancer and we had to put him down. Nose cancer...he was having trouble breathing."

Just the word cancer is so different now.

Michael went on, "Also, did you hear about Celine Dion's husband?" No, I said. "He has cancer too--really sick. I don't know what Celine will do if he doesn't get better."

Michael's voice is bow-heavy with empathy (my fisherwoman friend uses the term bow-heavy and I love it.) He talks for a good 15 minutes about the tragedy in Celine's life--to face losing both her husband and manager.

Michael quiets. "How are you doing, Emily? What's new?"

I tell him about the kitchen remodel, about the food photography I've been doing, and then, tell him that my dad also was diagnosed with cancer. "Oh Emily, I'm so sorry."

We chat longer. There is just so much empathy in the call. And so much common ground between Michael, Celine, and me.

I thought about this quote from Rob Bell's book Drops Like Stars. I had to look it up again and I love it.

We plot. We plan. We assume things are going to go a certain way. And when they don’t, we find ourselves in a new place-a place we haven’t been before, a place we never would have imagined on our own. It is the difficult and the unexpected, and maybe even the tragic, that opens us up and frees us to see things in new ways. Many of the most significant moments in our lives come not because it all went right but because it all fell apart. Suffering does that. It hurts, but it also creates.

I'm praying for my mom and dad today as they go through this next round of chemo. It isn't easy. I never knew how hard it was. But I'm so proud of them. I'm also so proud of God for carrying them like he has. So grateful.

So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand. Isaiah 41:10

A few quotes I love.

On Marriage..."Many of our differences have become strengths and the others don't really matter. We've learned how to take care of each other and, more importantly, we've gained the desire to do so. Marriage is hard. But so is parenthood and keeping fit and writing books and everything else important and worthwhile in my life. To have a partner in life is a remarkable gift. I've also learned that the institution of marriage can help heal us of our most unlovable parts." -Richard Paul Evans on The Huffington Post

On Stories...“Story is the language of experience, whether it’s ours, someone else’s, or that of a fictional characters. Other people’s stories are as important as the stories we tell ourselves. Because if all we ever had to go on was our own experience, we wouldn’t make it out of onesies.” -Lisa Cron in Wired for Story

On Bumps and Deep Waters..."When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you..." -God in Isaiah 43

baby fever.

 

I've launched my storytelling business--Emily Star Poole Studio and Stories. I find so much JOY in images lately! This was a shoot I did early this week. Everything a little boy needs to become a man!

30 before 30.

I started writing this over a month ago and forgot to post...

I'm sitting here at the dining room table in my parents' house where amy brothers and I have blown out candles on ballerina and dinosaur cakes that my mom made. I did science projects and algebra homework here. I worked on my application to PA school and then to writing school at this table. I showed up to this table last July with Tommy and there was a big silver box wrapped in tin foil, flowers everywhere around it, star chandeliers were hanging from the ceiling--it was Day 7! Proposal day!

I've been thinking about my 30 before 30 list. Since I'm already a ways into my 29th year, I want to get it done soon and get started checking things off. Here are some things that are on there now:

1. Run a marathon
2. Start storytelling business
3. Know each of my neighbors in Walla Walla
4. Pray more actively, listen more actively
5. Learn to make three Indian dishes
6. Have my grandma teach me and my sisters to make tamales
7. Conquer my closet....Read The Secret Magic of Tidying Up and apply it 
8. Send a care package to Chad
9. Become a boss at altering clothing
10. Tell my grandparents' stories
11. Bike from Walla Walla to Spokane
12. Join/start a women's biking club here in Walla Walla
13. Start a children's clothing line (a very small one)
14. Establish a remembrance photography service for people who lose a child at birth
15. Submit 3 stories to magazines/journals

...I'm half way there! If you have any ideas for the list, I'd love the help!

Emily

going down.

I was flying back from Illinois a couple nights ago. The flight had been tremendously turbulent; the seatbelt sign had stayed on the entire flight and I'd finished my tea without setting it down for even one break fearing it would tumble off my tray table. Finally, the captain came on over the intercom and said, "Well folks, I apologize for the rough road. But we're not far from our destination. We'll be landing in Seattle in not too long." The little four-year old girl seated on her daddy's lap a row in front of me piped up, "We're going down!!!!" She meant it in the best way...not like "Mayday, mayday we're going DOWN..." She meant it like we're headed home. We're almost there. Her dad laughed and said, "Honey, maybe you should say, 'We're descending....'"

On another note, I've been listening to Matt Redman's song You Never Let Go. I've heard the song before, but lately I find so much peace in the lyrics. On a third note, we planted our first wheat field in our front yard! And today....I found the seeds SPROUTING....little green wheat-stalks-to-be!


You Never Let Go - Matt Redman (Music Video With Lyrics) from 24william24 on GodTube.

goose breath.

This morning, down by the river, during the cold winter hours, I could see the breath of the goose who was sitting on the rock which was in the middle of the river like an island.

Now, the most important part of that last sentence is that I could see the breath of the goose. 

It came out of his beak in a thin whistle of smoke as he gathered his breath before flying. It came, curled and faded with each exhale. And soon, after I'd gotten too close to his living, breathing body, 

he flew. 

At the sight, a chill and a tickle fell across my skin. 'Goosebumps' they call it--which now, for me, feels very right.

lil notes and such.

On Being Married

I'm pretty sure being married doubles the number of times per year that you get sick. If I start with a cold, Tommy will get it eventually and the reverse the same. A couple days ago I picked up his congested head thing and two nights ago I coughed until the early morning hours. Poor Tommy! In the dead hours of morning, I felt him roll out of bed and heard the boards of our old stairs creak as he made his way to the main floor. A few minutes later he was back upstairs switching on the lamp. Tall husband-man, sleepy-eyed with a glass of water in one hand and Nyquil and mentholatum in the other. "Here babe," he handed me the water and while I swallowed the large clear capsules, he began applying the minty-smelling oil to my chest and neck before saying, "You poor thing," and switching off the light.

On Making a Home
I've been blessed by having a lot of time to "set-up" a house. Often I think of Esther, my Chadian host sister, and the times I witnessed her learning hard lessons about home-making. Once, after an early morning of coal making, Esther made the mistake of bagging the coals up before they had cooled completely and placing them against the wall next to the family clothes. Around 10 a.m. a fire started in the hut where the youngest children were still sleeping. Everyone got out ok, but the family clothes burned. Esther wept. She was embarrassed. Learning is hard.

I've made plenty of mistakes already. I left the oven on once, got glitter paint on our back porch, screwed a few holes into drywall with regular screws, and stirred the tofu in to my thai curry until it fell apart into what looked like blended curds of cheese. It's so humbling to make mistakes. But I've also grown and found things I would never have known were in me: a love for unique cup coasters, cast iron cookie making, fresh spring roll wraps for dinner, lamp vs. ceiling light, floating shelves, bench seats, breakfast nooks, and a freshly-wiped-down table. I'm learning things left and right--like how to plan a meal's preparation so that everything is as hot/cold as it is supposed to be when it is finally served. I now know the benefits of steel wool, Goo-Be-Gone, Swifer mops, and a razor blades on oven rust. I'm in the process of perfecting some Emily Star Poole specials (the secret is that you use the star-shaped cookie cutter on everything). Mostly, in all my "homemaking", I just want everything to eventually come like second nature. I want to eliminate all the thinking about doing so that I can think about people (husband, kids, guests) while still doing what needs to be done.

On Finding Work

Work up here in WA has been a journey! I finished teaching my first quarter of college writing courses last quarter. We read Anne Lamott's essay "Shitty First Drafts" the first day of class and drilled into our minds that writing is a process. Even with that blatant hint that their first drafts would probably be drafts, many students would complain of feel frustrated with themselves when the paper wouldn't "flow" the night before. While I enjoyed the student part of the job so much, I faced a lot of my own insecurities in the job as well. At least four times a week the thought would cross my mind, "They're gonna find out that I'm a fraud--not a real Englishy person!" Tommy told me that was silly. Others told me that I probably knew more than I thought I knew. But even so, I had to constantly remind myself that I had something to offer my students, and even, that I could bring them something that nobody else could. (I still never really knew what that was, only that, because every person is so different from one another, we all, without fail, bring something unique to the table.) So, I journeyed through my first quarter. I learned to grade off of rubrics, explain the function of a thesis, ask respond-able questions, and how to balance encouragement and affirmation with constructive feedback on their work. One romance bloomed in the classroom. The seating chart was adjusted to accommodate.

This quarter I won't be teaching and decided to go on the job hunt once again. I'd like something more full-time. Something collaborative. Something purposeful. I'm applying for a few things, and saying prayers whenever I think of it that I would find my way into a place of service somehow. Something where people need me to show up. Someplace where I can hear people's stories.

On Exercise
I haven't found a routine up here yet. It's SO cold. And the having a cold thing isn't helping either. But it's on my list of things to settle into. I'm playing intramural basketball and tonight is our first game. I'm in it to have fun and maybe it will spark the exerciser in me.

Much love,

Emily

Family Photos

red-head in the fog.

After two and a half years living in hot weather far from my family, I'm sappy/happy that both fog and a sister get to be in these pictures. Love this sis!

thick black rims.

I met a lady who wore thick, black glasses like hula hoops circling her dancing eyes.

Tommy and I have been wanting to tell stories lately. We've been thinking about how to do it. Photos, words, sound bites. I told him, "We need to find people not only with good stories, but good faces, too."

Now, I don't mean pretty...I mean, I do, but not like the magazines print it. I want to print pretty like an egg falling off the counter and cracking in a perfect mess--in the shape of something we can all recognize or relate to.

"Your glasses are adorable," I told the lady.

"Oh, thanks. I get lots of compliments on them," she said as she tipped them off her nose to inspect the rims. "I got them because, you see, I have one fake eye."

She pushed her face an inch forward--permission for me to take a look.

"Oh, I see it now," I said, looking closely. Although I had noticed a difference between the eyes from the moment I met her, now I could see the unique edge of the glass implant and the way it was nestled loosely in its socket, under the thin curtain of her paper-thin lid.

"These glasses make the eye less noticeable."

She put the glasses back on her face. And again, her eyes started swinging their hips--dancing inside those thick, black rims.

wedding bells.

Oh, I want to write again! I get the urge to, but I've been so stuck in this quiet little bubble. I blame it on my poor multi-tasking abilities. Going to Chad, moving, planning a wedding, getting married, getting settled in a house, starting a new job--it's felt like a lot came (a lot of good things) all at once and I didn't know where to start in writing about it! But I need writing for remembering. By pinning a few words to the moments and experiences that move me, I think I keep them better.

I just got a few wedding photos back. Just a few previews, little wedding bells ringing from the photographer (Sweet Jen Young!) saying, "Remember these feelings?" and I do. I've got every bit of heart for this man!