September the Great

September in Seattle is magnificent. Cool mornings and cool nights give way to warm, sunny days. The air is full of optimism. Kiddos and teachers are returning to their classrooms and like Tom Hanks once said, "It makes me want to sharpen and give away bouquets of #2 pencils."

I took a tour of the Seattle University campus today and it was fun to see a few students draped across benches in this little oasis on Capital Hill. It would be a fantastic place to work- if only a position would avail itself (or I could manage to get a PhD in the next three weeks).

I've been doing a lot of thinking these days. Thinking and brooding and feeling depressed 27% of the time. Another 6% of my life is spent feeling guilty for feeling depressed. Unemployment is hard. Underemployment is hard. Trying to "let my life speak" (as the Quakers and Parker Palmer say) is hard. I'm doing my best to re-remember that smart lady that lives inside me and knows how to navigate difficult seasons.

In the meanwhile, poor Clark.

When I was growing up my mom would occasionally say to me, "I am going put in an advertisement for a new mother for you." Stretched out on the couch, she would say this with a laugh, but I suppose there was truth in her intention. Being who I needed her to be was just plain hard. Lately I have been telling Clark that I plan to put in an advertisement for a part-time girlfriend for him-- someone who will be a fun and easy-going companion (preferably semi-unattractive). They can go hiking and to the movies and she will make light-hearted conversation.

I've mentioned him on the blog before and I really ought to introduce him to you more fully, but my words will not do Clark justice. Instead, take this picture for starters. This is the kind of man he is: the kind of man who will crawl into a bathtub, committed and in costume, to work on a movie for my nephews and niece (8 minutes of hilariosity). Clark is warm-hearted and creative and relentlessly good. He and I are making our way, trying to unearth a good life. One of these days we will be able to box up our wandering shoes in exchange for a season of rootedness.

Until then I'll do my best to minimize the time I spend with irrationally self-centered, sad Carmen and live into the jaw-dropping adjective assigned me this week: scintillating. Scintillating! A professor said it so it must be true. Scintillating is only assigned when one is capable and confident and compassionate. So, here's to it. Bottoms up. Drink it in. Let's radiate, people.