Nine years ago I had a crush on a boy I had never spoken to, because he was beautiful and had blonde hair and played the guitar. His name was Chris. Eight years ago I gossiped about a girl I had never spoken to, because she was beautiful and had dark brown hair (I always wanted dark brown hair) and all the boys liked her. Her name was Sharon. Three years ago they met at a friends wedding. Today I was a bridesmaid in theirs. Not only are they one hot couple who is crazy in love with Jesus Christ, their relationship is a testimony to the goodness of God and his faithfulness to orchestrate billions of little details to fulfill his plans for our lives, in his perfect timing. (By the way, the wedding was lovely.) P.S. Sharon's the beautiful one on the left with brown hair. I'm the one covered in...shaving crool whip...er...stuff.

The Great Camping Fiasco

I love camping. I really, really love to camp. So when I asked Adrienne if she wanted to go camping the weekend she'd be home, I had idealistic mental images of a tent in the woods, kayaks in the water, and campfires in...campfire spots. Like most of my camping experiences. Well, Adrienne came home, and we did go camping last week. It just didn't look exactly how I had pictured. There were a series of mishaps and unfortunate circumstances that contributed to the crushing of my camping ideals. The first was the fact that when I got online to reserve our camping spots the morning before, every spot at Sheridan Lake and any surrounding National Forrest campground was already reserved. Hmmm. No problem...plan B...we'd just "find some place in the hills when we get out there." Second problem: the kayaks I rented at an affordable rate turned out to be 12 foot ocean kayaks, not 6 foot river kayaks. We had two of them. I have one compact car. Despite my most valiant efforts, my father convinced me in his logical engineering way that there was no possible way I could put two 12 foot kayaks on top of my itty-bitty hatch-back. So we were forced to borrow my brothers monster truck (Ford F150.) By the time we actually got the whole kayak transportation problem solved, it was rather late in the day, and Adrienne and I were starving. This was just fine, because we had planned on eating dinner at the Alpine Inn, which, in my humble opinion happens to be the best dinner in the hills. Unfortunately, the 1/2 hour wait for a table turned into a 2 hour wait for a table when they accidently missed our names on the list, and we didn't get out of the place until 10:30. By this time it was very dark, and the only place we could find to camp was a lovely AAA approved family campground near Hill City. Nice, but not really my idea of "roughing it." They only had one spot left. We didn't ask to see the spot until after we'd paid for it. (We were tired. Give us a break.) Refer to exhibit C. We were practically camping in a parking lot. It was 112 degrees during the day and 78 at night, so the campfire seemed somewhat impractical. The rest of the weekend continued in pretty much this same manner. Etc. Etc. Etc. A smidge less than ideal. Nonetheless, Adrienne and I had a delightful time. The whole thing turned out to be pretty hilarious in it's not-going-as-planned nature. And, we invented a new kind of water sport. We haven't named it yet. The general idea is that you paddle your kayak out to the middle of the lake, sit there until a speed boat whizzes by, and then "ride the wake." I don't think I'd call it an "extreme" sport, but we haven't perfected it yet. I'll let my know when we do. So, that was the "camping" (only to be spoken of with the use of air quotes) weekend. I'm actually leaving again in 5 minutes for another "camping" adventure, this time in a friend's cabin, with my huge family and lots of board games, and no fire (because there is a fire ban right now). And no 12 foot kayaks.

Exhibit C: The worst camping spot ever (red square)

Exhibit B: My 8 Foot Car

Exhibit A: 12 Foot Kayak

Sorry. I've been neglecting my journal. I was busy getting my kicks...

And delivering my best friend to her shiny new "grown-up" career. Doesn't she just look all grown up?

And attending some first rate sunset viewings...

My apologies for neglecting the journal. I've been out galavanting around the country again, trying to satisfy my wanderlust, which I've determined is a chronic condition that is only growing more severe with time. Three weekends ago I was in Minnesota for my cousin Katie's wedding. While there I beheld three lovely sunsets, (see photo) and visited the one and only Spam Museum (see more photos - the one is of my little bro - in the provided Hormel costume - and my little sister - too cool to put on the costume - racing to see who can get a better time producing and packaging fake Spam) A top notch museum. (Take my word for it...I've been to many a random museum...I know what I'm talking about.) The following weekend AJ and I took a killer roadtrip down to Phoenix. It was terrific. We traveled a bit of Route 66, ate at "Earl's Diner - World Famous Since 1943," and picked up many many hitchhikers. Just kidding. About the diner part. Okay, seriously - about the hitchhikers. To my middleschool and highschoolgirls: NEVER EVER EVER PICK UP HITCHHIKERS. IT'S VERY DANGEROUS AND I WOULD NEVER EVER DO IT OR LEAD YOU TO BELIEVE THAT IT'S A GOOD IDEA. Alright. That said, we honestly didn't pick up any hitchhikers. One, because her car was literally packed to the gills with stuff and there would have been nowhere to put them but my lap, and two, because in New Mexico there are signs every 75 miles that say "High security prison nearby. Do not pick up hitchhikers." Stupid NM roadsign putter-uppers. They should know better than to do that to a person like me. Lucky for AJ, we didn't see a single hitchhiker to pick up after that. Anyhow, we had a grand old time. Well, until the part where I had to come home and leave AJ in Arizona. (Did I mention all my favorite people are moving to Phoenix?) She does, however, have a lovely classroom (see photo) with lovely clean chalkboards and a little reading nook, and her name on the door, so I'm delighted for her. And a teensy bit jealous, because I've always wanted a classroom, even though I don't really want to be a teacher. So, those are some more tales of my journeys. I think I'm home now, for the rest of the summer. Unless I leave again. ;)

I should have said I was sorry...

Some things just "blow over." They say something, you say something, they're hurt, you're mad...or some variation on that theme. And sometimes it's best to just walk away for a little while. Let everyone cool down, take a breather, forget what it was all about in the first place. And it all blows over, like it never happened at all. But sometimes, it dosn't work this way...doesn't blow anywhere. It just hangs over your head, toxic and hiding the sun, tying knots in your stomach. And it doesn't matter who said what first or who hurt who, because if you don't do something about it, if you let it stay there long enough, it settles in and eventually the smog is too thick to see through, and the trees all die and you both get permanent lung damage, and your kid's kid's kids will all get cancer or be born with extra toes, because you thought it would all blow over and it never did.

Dearest Em: Whoohoo! You are getting married tomorrow! (Surprise!) I must confess, I'm a little disappointed. This probably means that we will never be roommates in a tree house (I am certain Jesse would not allow it. Actually, he'd probably go for the tree, just not the extra girl hanging around the house all the time.) However, I can look past this issue, and I want you to know that you are very much loved (by me, by God, by your soon-to-be-husband, and "all the other people whose names won't fit here but were essential, influential and indispensable in multiple aspects of the creation of this album - you know who you are.") You are also very much prayed for and will be greatly missed. (Why are all my favorite people are moving to Pheonix?) Know that you can come visit me in my treehouse any time you want. We will eat vienna sausages and microwave cajun rice (or not) and drink coffee and cranapple juice and listen to Carbon Leaf and talk about our mutual love for...certain color schemes, shady ethnic restaraunts, and "the outdoorsy type." If the weather's nice we'll go for a drive and get "lost" in a canyon in Colorado and be late for church. Until then ~ Peace, love, and lucky second-hand finds. See you tomorrow. ~ Marci

Willful Insomniacs Anonymous

It appears that I am back to my old ways. It is 2:44 am and all the resolve I had to be in bed early (i.e., before 1 am) has gone out the window. Correction: I still have the resolve, but since it is actually past that time now, it's worthless and irrelevant resolve. You know, like eating "The Frankenstein" (10 scoops of icecream, 5 toppings) at the Totem Inn (yes, I have done it) and talking about losing some weight, in between bites.

I have a touch of a cold and I was tired all day long, and I haven't had two normal, restful, 6-8 hours worth of sleep, back-to-back nights in over a month. So I had good intentions. But now I am wide awake and this is the healthiest I've felt in 3 days. So I feel like I should be doing something. Specifically, I feel the need to create. It's this strange craving I get every now and again...okay, about every 6 hours. The feeling that I need to be painting, or writing, or even just playing with some food. The sad thing about this is that to be a functioning person, to get the things done that I need to get done - like work...and...stuff - I usually have to supress that desire. Responsible people can't just sit around playing with their food all day long, right? (Okay, so a few lucky ones can, but these jobs are really hard to come by, and I'm still waiting to hear back on my last four interviews for the position of culinary architect.)

This constant suppression of creative energy results in a fear of starting a project when I do have the chance, because then I'm always afraid I won't have time to finish - something I am notorious for. However, while this may be the case, I suppose it's still better to have a hundred unfinished creative endeavors lying around our lives than to never even give them the chance to become something. That said, I'm going to go raid the fridge for art supplies.

Behold the lovely Young Life Malibu Club at the mouth of the Princess Louisa Inlet in British Columbia. Behold especially the majesty of God's creation (i.e., the physical evidence of His love for you and I) I just spent an incredible week there, hanging out with 10 of the coolest highschool girls in the world. I also spend about 48 hours on a bus and 10 hours on two ferries. I'm exhausted and not quite fired up about going back to work tomorrow. But don't get me wrong. I'm not complaining at all. I am not oblivious to the fact that I'm one of the luckiest (read: blessed) people in the world. And I'm home for the rest of the summer. I promise. And, Steph and I buffered the "back-to-the-daily-grind" blow with some serious midnight thunderstorm puddle jumping. So I think I'll be okay.

Ireland was perfect. They had to kidnap me to get me back on the plane to come home. This photo was taken from my hotel patio in Kilarney.

Whoo hoo! That's right! It's about time. I worked dang hard for that pretty piece of paper that says "Diplomas for May graduates will be mailed the first week in June, pending final grades." So techinically speaking, I have yet to actually graduate. I guess if I miscounted my chickens before they hatched, I might be back in school in the fall. But I'm going to run off to Ireland today and not worry about it for two weeks! Whoohoo! You kids take care. Later.

What's for lunch? I don't know. Haha. Gross.

Overheard.

I needed to stay home tonight and organize stuff. You know, all that random stuff that piles up at home when you're busy. All those things that can wait until some unspecified time when you have a chance to get to them. Catalogs. Bank statements. Newletters. Court subpeonas. Invitations to tea with the queen. That kind of stuff. Anyway, I was going to stay home and take care of that stuff and balance my checkbook, and make a shopping list. But then I remembered that I needed to return a few DVD's I rented last weekend. So I took those down to Hollywood video, and decided that I should study for my last final. The act of studying at home is a real challenge for me, so I headed for Bully Blends Tea House. I got my coffee with one cream and one sugar, and my cranberry orange scone and planted myself and my textbook at the little tiny table by the front window. At a table nearby were three people, (a chinese guy, a funny mustache guy, and a girl in a blue shirt) hovering over something that apparently was pretty fascinating.

Now, I must have read Harriet the Spy one too many times when I was kid, because I'm a compulsive eavesdropper. Lucky for me, we were about the only ones in the place, and the three people were loud talkers. The chinese guy on the right was a coin collector. The other two people clearly didn't know anything about coins, which was just fine with the chinese guy. He was passionate about the subject, and he had an intruiged and captive audience of two. Plus the owner of the shop, and myself, though I tried to look like I was all wrapped up in my chapter on film theory. He talked and talked and I learned all about a coin with a picture of a horse on it, and how there was a production error and a small number of coins ended up with three-legged horses instead of four-legged horses. This lucky guy had a three-legged-horse-coin, which he claimed was worth "a whole lot of money", and he was pretty proud of it.

After a few more show-and-tell coins, the conversation switched gears and they were discussing having children versus not having children, and how old is too old to still not be married, and why the blue-shirt-girl's brother's wife's hairdresser's cousin's poodlegroomer's friend can't have kids because she waited too long, and how the mustache-man's fiance of 4 years just got deployed with the national gaurd. That's about the time I actually started reading my text book. But I was distracted again when the chinese guy reached into his bag and pulled something out.

"Have I ever shown you my sweetheart? She's my one true love. She's not perfect, but I love her, and I think she's beautiful."

I quit reading again. I was taken aback. This man was in love. And not afraid to talk about it. He went on.

"Most coin collectors would say, 'Look at those scratches', but I don't even care. I know, most men treasure women, or their cars...but not me. No, sir. She's the only one for me."

Wow. Such passion. Very strange and lovely.

What's for lunch? I don't know.

I adore my job. Not because I have the rare privilege of assisting in the occasional transmetatarsal amputation, or even for the virtue-cultivating experience of daily suppressing the desire to go on loud rants about the evils of Medicare. I mean, those things are great and all. But mostly I love my job because I meet so many people that I would otherwise probably have no contact with. And if that were the case, I would really be missing out.

One of my favorites is a patient we'll call "Susan." I only see Susan once every 60 days, when Medicare will pay for her periodic diabetic foot check. She is mentally handicapped. A paraplegic. In her mid-thirties. Always accompianied by her case worker. And always happy to see me.

We have essentially the same conversation every 60 days.

"Susan! How are you today?"
"Very good. It's good to see you. How are you doing? What's your name?"
"It was still Marci, last time I checked. And I'm doing great."
"Oh hi Kathy! I will call you Kathy. Hi Kathy!"
"Wait! I thought you were Kathy!?!"
"No! I'm SUSAN! You are Kathy. Hi Kathy. How are you Kathy?"
"I'm just super!"
"What's for lunch? I don't know. What's for lunch? I don't know."
"Ummm. I'm going to have...donuts. What are you going to have?"
"Hot dogs. We're having hot dogs. What are you going to have?"
"Ummm....spinach enchiladas."
"What's for lunch? I don't know. What's for lunch? Do you like hot dogs?"
"Only at campfires and baseball games. Do you like hot dogs?"
"Yes. I LOVE hot dogs. It's so good to see you Kathy."
"Well, it's good to see you too!"
"Hot dogs are made out of carrots and peas."
"Really. Is that so? Where did you hear that?"
"Bible study. Hi Kathy. Hi Kathy."

Last week was even better.

Enter the doctor:

(Doctor) “Hi Susan!”
(Susan) “Hi Patty!”
(me) I thought I was Patty!”
(Susan) “I’m Patty. You’re Kathy. Hi Patty. Hi Kathy.”
(Doctor) “Hi Patty. How are your feet doing these days?”
(Susan)“Just fine. I got my nails painted. What’s for lunch? I don't know."
(me)"Hot dogs. I'm going to eat 10 of them."
(Susan)"Hot dogs? Yuck! I hate hot dogs. It's so good to see you Kathy.”
(me)"You too, Patty."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Anyway. I'm headed off to Chicago for the weekend to learn about foot deformities and shoe inserts and the like. I get to go the cadaver lab again this year. I'm pretty stoked about that. Nothing wierd about a bunch of severed feet laying out on tables in a fancy hotel ball room. Nope. Nothing weird at all. ;) Have a nice weekend.

I know it's spring...

...because all the little allergens have come out to play! I hate taking medications, but thank goodness for antihistamines.

I also know it's spring, because I looked at my calendar (graduation in less than a month) and panicked. As per usual Marci correspondence study habits, I'm nowhere near being done with my classes. But it's sunny and 75 degrees out, so the world could be coming to an end, and I'd probably still be in a good mood. I'd write more, but I think it's a sin to be inside on a computer on a day like today, so I'm heading out to enjoy a little more sunshine before I have to go to my meeting. Adios.

At the risk of sounding like something Hallmark would print on a coaster set, let me just say this: old friends are important. The kind you can see after not talking to them in 2 weeks, or 6 months, or even 4 years, and have a good conversation, and leave just feeling better about life in general, but not feeling like "keeping in touch" is going to be a burden. The kind where you can say, "I'll see you later." and not know when that's going to be, but just know that it will happen sometime, sooner or later, and you will pick up wherever you happened to leave off. I've gotten lucky enough, a few times in the last couple of weeks, to run into some of this type of friend, and have lunch, or coffee, and enjoy one another's company and conversation and brains and point of view and stories for a while, and then go our separate way, having been blessed. Of course you have to have the people that you keep up with and communicate with on a regular weekly or daily basis. People need intimate relationships. But it's also just nice to catch up with people who "knew you when..." and have had enough distance from you to notice you change and grow as a person. Anyway, I'm exhausted, so I'm going to head out. I'm still housesitting, and not staying at home these days, so I can't write at the ungodly hours of the night. And the horses are probably hungry. I'm out.