Spectacular. Magnificent. Incredible.

I wish I could throw my body in the air to punctuate each of these words for you.

I am home after 2 weeks in Denmark and a brief visit to Iceland. I was sitting on a plane yesterday, a few Icelandic documentaries under my belt, when I peaked out the window to see something soul-screeching amazing.

When you fly west out of Iceland, bound for Seattle, you fly over Greenland and over a body of water called the Davis Strait. At this time of year the body of water separating Greenland from the uninhabited snowy fjords of Northeastern Canada is made up of giant sheets of fractured ice. For hundreds, even thousands of miles, jagged indigo veins thread their way through milky plates of ice. White cliffs jut curiously up from the sea and not a living thing can be seen. Nothing breathing, nothing photosynthesizing, nothing moving to the rhythms of the strange and stunning landscape. On this trip we were quite close to the North Pole, so we traveled for 8 hours with the setting sun. The light on the shattered landscape was breathtaking- everything awash in pink and gold, purple and blue. As I snapped a few photos out the window I felt my heart leap for joy. Leap.

For a moment I looked around, wondering what we ought to do. I considered promoting a collective dance. Or a subdued squeal. Something.

Instead, I just said thank you for every possible thing I could think of. I gave thanks for the plane and the pilot and human flight. I gave thanks for the sun and the moon and for the quirky bus driver who invited us to “stare into the darkness” when we arrived in Iceland, etc. etc. Like most people, most of my days are filled with the humdrum of daily decisions. I navigate life with unconscious consciousness. But yesterday I was given 30 minutes of magnificent.

It's amazing what 36,000 feet and a puny window can do for your soul.

A Wintry Update

I'm sicker than a dog for the second time this season. I need to stand in line with all the old ladies (a.k.a. the bright one's of the earth) and get a flu shot next year. Tomorrow Clark and I are bound for the land of Danes and I am already dreading facing the poor person who will be sitting next to me in 34D. They are going to despise me. I am drugged up and resting today, so hopefully will be in much better shape by tomorrow at 3:30 when our plane departs.

Clark and I are going to Denmark to paint my cousins' house. As a thank you they are flying us through Iceland on the way home. Who does this kind of thing? We're hoping to soak in some hot springs and admire the Northern Lights. Fabuloso!

There is much to catch up on and discuss in the world. We could discuss the assassination of the Iranian nuclear physicist or the genocide occurring in Southern Sudan. Or the exciting happenings in Myanmar.

This is all worthy chatter chatter, but I've only the capacity for celeb gossip. Britney Spears is getting married again, which nearly prompted me to buy a teeshirt with her face on the front yesterday when I was at Value Village picking up a few things for painting. I googled her this afternoon and was invited to follow ol Brit on Twitter. I think I can say with certainty that I cannot imagine wanting to follow someone less.

A few random updates from my neck of the woods:

On Sunday (the eve of Carmen Vs. The Flu Round 2) Clark and I went snowshoeing in the Cascades. Lovely.



We went to Florida to spend time with Clark's fam for Thanksgiving where I caught my first fish, swam in the Gulf of Mexico, and spent my first Thanksgiving holiday in a pair of flip flops.



I loved spending time with my fam for 2 full weeks over the Christmas holiday. Such a luxury. And now a Christmas confession: you all know I am a feminist and believe in supporting strong, healthy compassionate boys and girls, yet I admit I bought my niece princess gear this Christmas.

Shoot me now.

Happy Birthday UW!

One hundred and fifty years ago today , a young whipper-snapper bravely began teaching classes at the "Territorial University of Washington" in a rough and tumble mill town. According to the article I read this morning, Seattle was a shabby settlement where about 250 white folks lived in wood/mud shacks and spent their time gambling and boozing. When UW opened its doors, there were 2 distilleries, 11 drinking establishments, and one bawdry house (brothel) in the neighborhood. Ha! Seattle! Such promise. Such excitement! Clearly, this teacher had an inkling of all the possibilities that lay ahead. Microsoft and Boeing, send us your weary, innovative masses.

I am proud to say that my Alma Mater has come a long way. The first graduate was a woman, Clara McCarty, who went on to become the superintendent of Pierce County schools. Today the University of Washington is one of the oldest universities on the west coast and receives more federal research funding than any other public university in the nation. It is routinely ranked among the top public research universities in the country and the top-25 list in the world. Happy Birthday to the Huskies! Glad to be part of the story.



By the way, one of the primary reasons I went to this school had NOTHING to do with its prestige or academic rigor. No. I thought it was pretty. It "felt collegiate." Have mercy. That was my reasoning as an 18 year old. Whatevs.

It IS pretty.

Visiting the Land of Giants

“How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives.”
-Annie Dillard


Clark and I flew to California last week to visit the fabulous Smith family who recently moved to Fresno after 4 years living in Zambia. Among many fantastic adventures, they sent us to Sequoia and Kings Canyon National Park where we visited some of the largest trees on earth. As we drove to the park Clark mentioned multiple times, "You will want to hug these trees. They are irresistible."

It's true. As you wend your way along the hillside, perfectly carved out as a safe haven for these beautiful monoliths, you begin to think you are shrinking. The bark of these wise old trees are rust-red and unbelievably soft.

And of course, I couldn't help it. I stepped off the path multiple times to press my cheek into the bark.

The forest is a nice place to listen. There were times Clark and I whispered as if we were in a library. These trees are thousands of years old and reverence is required.

We climbed inside one tree whose hulking mass had been completely burned out on the inside, but was alive and flourishing against all odds.

I feel like singing that Phil Collins song now.


There is a small post office in the park. I hate that this itsy bitsy post office is rarely frequented, so I insisted we send some postcards and strike up a conversation with the postman. He told us all about bears and bobcats that periodically peer in his windows and it was fun to imagine his life in this sometimes-lonely national park.

Nothing like visiting the land of giants to reorient your perspective. Such a magical place.

Macklemore - White Privilege

WAIT

My friend Sarah taught me a new and helpful acronymn: WAIT.

Why Am I Talking.

This guy looks a cheery chap, right? The kind of warm, gentle man you'd like as your grandfather. His name is Charles Hodge and at Princeton he was considered a monumental theologian and purveyor of all things good and wise and Christian.

Today I was reading a fascinating little book and came across this startling quote by old Chuck:

"If women are to be emancipated from subjection to the law which God has imposed on them... If, in studied insult to the authority of God, we are to renounce, in the marriage contract, all claim to obedience, we shall soon have a country over which the genius of Mary Wollstonecraft would delight to preside, but from which all order and all virtue would speedily be banished.... There is no deformity of human character from which we turn with deeper loathing than from a woman forgetful of her nature and clamorous for the vocations and rights of men."

WAIT, Charles Hodge. WAIT.

By the way, what is wrong with Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley? Maybe he didn't like Frankenstein. I lived for a year in Hodge Hall in seminary and as I have been pondering this man this afternoon I cannot help but feel a little sorry for him. Amazing how a few harsh words can quickly fracture a legacy.

I hope he's loosened up in heaven, perhaps shared a martini with Shelley, and kicked his feet back in gratitude. Grace does a body good, Professor Hodge.

Words With Friends

I am a machine. A "Words With Friends" machine.

Playing this addictive game is one of the perks to living in what I have proclaimed to be "The Year of Semi-Employment" (think Chinese Zodiac, except more descriptive rather than predictive).

I've also been making time for real words with friends, gleaning a good deal of wisdom and sharing in friends' woes. I wish I could repeat the HILARIOUS phrase my friend Jennifer used to describe the early 30's for most of our girlfriends, but it made me burst out laughing on our walk around Green Lake. I cannot repeat it because it is full of crudity that potential future employers might not want to read on a blog. But it captivated me. Mostly because of this:

Life does not often turn out the way we expect. We all know this to be true, of course. But when you are 33 and educated and privileged and mostly happy and often disconcerted, you eventually slow down long enough to let this though sink in uniquely: MY life isn't as fabulous or important or deeply meaningful as I assumed it would be. Marriage, babies, religion, love, career.... Not exactly what I dreamed it would be.

Other realizations: Beauty and charm-- limited. One's ability to affect meaningful change in one's own life let alone the lives of others stricken by injustice or cruelty-- limited. This can be denied until our dying day, or we can do something entirely more productive: take it in stride and allow it to shape a more true and gracious way of living.

Someone asked me this week, "What is the most amazing thing you have learned lately?" Like a cursor blinking on a blank page I looked back and thought, "Amazing? Unless you are talking about babies or nature, amazing is hard to come by." But then I thought longer and harder. This week I had dinner with a man in his early eighties. As I listened to him reminisce and make plans for the future two lessons came to the fore in a new way: one, we humans do not stop wrestling with our identity EVER. And two, life rarely turns out the way we expect. Most importantly, neither of things are one of life's tragedies. Amazing.

Foiled plans sometimes pave the way for unimaginably good gifts.

As this man's stories unfurled like the cigarette smoke he gave up decades ago, I was reminded that foiled plans invite resilience, creativity, regrouping, and a whole lot of humor. Dry bones resurrect. Some old dogs learn new tricks. And God continues to stitch and sew and hem us in. Amazing. And more amazing. And hopefully, probably, rest-assuredly more amazing some more.