So It Goes

Today I was thinking about my final hours as a college student. The day was nothing special, besides the fact it happened to be 12/12/12. It was the worst kind of rain outside: Seattle drizzle. That misty stuff that nestles its way into my tresses, doubling its size, and not in a lusciously voluminous Pantene way at all.

The center cushion of the couch had become "my jam" as Julie put it, and I spent the morning sitting there in my pjs with laptop in its appropriate lap location and flashcards in hand. There were a lot of Facebook, Pinterest, Twitter and Instagram breaks. Oops. Obviously I was ready, or just really bored of studying, or just didn't care anymore; most likely a combination. I drank two cups of English breakfast tea, one of peppermint green tea, and a 20 oz. bottle of VitaRain. (My bladder proved surprisingly resilient, despite the fearful reality that I was literally locked into one of my exam rooms for two hours that afternoon.)

I walked down into the basement of the Art Building to take my last final, ever. Down in that cement hallway were three types of people. The art advisor was giving a tour of the building to future students of the university who looked a little out of sorts, perhaps anxiously anticipating sleepless nights in the studio, and fateful reviews from professors and peers. There were also test takers waiting outside the exam room, buzzing with excitement in having nearly finished the first of three rounds of finals this school year. Then there were people standing silently and staring into space. That was me. Maybe some were graduating seniors pondering their future and thinking, "Oh crap." But maybe the other silent bystanders were, like me, experiencing a curious and unexpected inner calm. I felt it necessary to imagine myself a wallflower, physically detached and taking it all in one last time.

While waiting to be let into the room, my professor came up to a group of us, erroneously taking our reserve as a sign of nerves. She told us not to worry; that she had created a very fair exam. What she didn't understand was my sense of peace. I had spent the entire quarter endlessly reading, rereading, memorizing, and gaining understanding of concepts, and frankly I was done with it all. I was ready to move on; ready to stop listening to the unoriginal obnoxious overachievers and moody future art historians; ready to regain a balanced life; ready to see the light of day (literally) and the friends I had been missing so much.

Two hours of writing later, I emerged. I called my mom. I called my brother. Then I walked home, got in my pjs, turned on Father of the Bride, and rearranged my bedroom. Thrilling way to celebrate, I know. But it was necessary. I felt the need to re-nest, and the need for the comfort of home by watching my family's favorite movie.

Weeks later I still have felt no particular "I'm done!" moment. Perhaps it would have been more grand and momentous if I didn't have to wait until June to walk in my graduation. Is this depressing you? I hope not. I apologize for not being more exciting. What I realized through all of this is that life moves on pretty quickly. One moment you're slaving away at your studies, and the next you're set free and released to the world. It's all rather surreal, isn't it? I imagine Dali's images of warped clocks, which appear as if they are melting over the objects on which they hang. Time is a continuum of moments fusing into other moments, always moving forward and never really having a beginning or an end. Such is life, as I have learned.

I have been blessed to be able to come home to my family for several days this Christmas. As I prepare to go back to Seattle, one of my mother's favorite phrases is written on the interior of my forehead, "Waste not thy hour." It is with great intention that I go back to my life away from home with the motivation to make each moment count for something, and to enjoy life to its fullest. Maybe the New Year syndrome has something to do with my zeal. Yet I also acknowledge that, thanks be to God, joy is at my fingertips, and I can find it in every situation depending on how I choose to approach each moment.

Cheers!

Where To Begin?

Freedommm! Cue Liesl von Trapp lifting her hands and crying "Wheeeee!" after dancing with and kissing Rolf in the gazebo. 

Class, work, workout, dinner, study, sleep. Repeat each day for three months. Side effects may include becoming a recluse, letting your social life fall by the wayside, and exhaustion.

It was worth it.

I'm a college graduate. And I did it in under four years. It's surreal. My diploma from the University of Washington is in the mail and on its way to my house. It will officially declare me a Bachelor of Arts, with a double major in Art History and Communication. I'm graduating with baccalaureate honors. 

Am I bragging? No. I am merely telling the truth that I worked hard.

Want to know more of the truth? I love learning. Now my education lies in my own hands, and not those of professors and authors of scholarly material. It's going to require more effort on my part. What will I study? Whatever my heart desires! How absolutely freeing, and yet completely daunting! My tendency for indecision is going to be half the battle. I intend to triumph!

For now, I am abusing my friend's Netflix account, and developing a list of things I want to start doing and people I need to catch up with. Basking in my achievements and dreaming of new ones is my current reality. 

It has been less than a week since I finished my last final. How am I doing so far? My friend and housemate summed it up best when she recently said, "I love that you're not in school anymore. You seem happy." And indeed, I am. 

Did I Mention I Recently Went To California?

The "Father of the Bride" house. I adore Pasadena and its gorgeous neighborhoods.

Riverside Farmer's Market

So many famous British and American artists to take photos of at the Huntington!

John Constable's "Salisbury Cathedral From The Bishop's Grounds". Swoon.

Beautiful, and so reminiscent of something you'd see in a Jane Austen film.

The Huntington Library, Art Collections, & Botanical Gardens. My Mecca.

I suppose Ariel is my Disney Princess soulmate since my spirit animal is a mermaid.

It was definitely a jolly California holiday with Mary.

Unreal. Mainly because as a 22 year old this was my first Disneyland experience.

Laguna Beach

Lovely turquoise birds

The sun setting on a fun weekend getaway, made complete by Virgin America setting the mood for us, and a PLU win over Redlands (after all...it was the purpose of our trip).

Bubbling Over

It's October. Can you believe it? Frightening (certainly in 28 days it will be). I had my last first day of school last week. PTL this is my last quarter, otherwise I think I'd simply die (or at least acquire some serious Seattle seasonal depression) having to drag myself back to school after the winter holidays. 

As for autumn, I am fully immersed in the necessary rituals. How so you ask?

I'm up at sunrise, only to sit in dark lecture rooms. Colorfully quirky professors project slides of portraits, landscapes, and history paintings onto the walls, bubbling over with information in enthusiastic fashion.

Textbooks are being read. Dare I say that I am enjoying them? Say it isn't so!

 College football Saturdays are getting the blood and competitive juices pumping through my veins (and maybe conjuring up some nerves as well). The roars of the crowd, the blowing whistles of the referees, and the slightly out of tune wail of the pep band collaborate to surge excitement through us all.

Walking down the street I hear the constant thud of prickly green orbs cracking open and popping out horse chestnuts. Sometimes I give a little start. Other times I get bopped in the head.

My daily wardrobe is starting to take on darker colors, thicker knits, and more layers. Hoorah!

I couldn't take it any longer. On October 1st I put up autumnal decorations in the house. God bless my job at Pottery Barn...and the dollar section at Target.

Speaking of discounts...autumn also means working while I'm in school. I am saving my money, no doubt about it, but I have also found myself picking up a couple extra shifts. Anthropologie is just across the way. Don't judge me. That dress was $188 off. You just can't say "no" to that!

A hankering (no pun intended) to watch "You've Got Mail" has set in...and the other day I sniffed my Scotch tape and freshly sharpened No. 2s.

Veggie soup. Oatmeal. Banana bread. Hot tea.

I go to The Confectionary once a week after work just to look at the Halloween decor and the old fashioned jars filled with sweets. Enchanting.

I'm hosting a harvest party with my housemates in three weeks. Friends, carving pumpkins, and a whole lot of fun!

Another autumnal right of passage? The inevitable cold. But "Swankie Hankies" with cute little jack-o-lanterns makes it a bit more bearable.

Autumn, bring it. I love you. More than you will ever know.

Foggy Mornings

Foggy mornings are meant for taking walks; 

for thankfulness and prayers;

for being literally and figuratively mystified; 

for enduring the cold to see things that sleeping souls are unaware of; 

for letting the visual warmth of turning leaves warm you instead; 

for taking the time to spot the abundance of dew-covered webs of intricate lace that Charlotte and her kin were hard at work spinning the night before; 

for inhaling constantly changing scents that you most likely have never encountered before; 

for coming home feeling refreshed, and your cheeks a bit more flushed than when you walked out the door.

The Early Bird

The early bird? Yeah, it totally gets the worm! Work at 11 and no personal time within sight? No problem! The alarm went off at 7:30 AM and I was up and at em'. An hour and a half later I had walked over six miles. Following my heart, I weaved my way up and down tree-lined streets, past early and mid century homes, and beautifully yet organically landscaped front yards. It was everything I needed. The sun was glittering on Lake Washington as yachts bobbed at the dock and single sculls cut through placid water. An early autumn crisp was undoubtedly in the air. There were houses covered in vines, and an abundance of apple and pear trees signaling the approach of fall. Sunday morning French press wafted through open windows. I took delight in greeting walkers and garden dwellers with a "good morning". One little curly-haired, bouncing bundle of joy proceeded to repeatedly greet me at high decibels with "Hi neighbor!" as I continued to walk down her block. She even went so far as to drag her seemingly amused father out from inside the house and onto the porch to greet "neighbor" too. The entire walk was set to the tune of "The Trolley Song" from Meet Me In St. Louis as I repeatedly sang along with Judy Garland in my head. My heartstrings are zinging and thumping in anticipation for the coming season.

Berry Picking

I have now gone blackberry picking three times within the last month, on my university campus. They are everywhere. Yesterday I went by myself, and I got to thinking about how many life metaphors are present, and the lessons that can be learned from something so simple as the act of picking berries. Let's see if you get what I mean.

Not too many people stop to pick blackberries. They don't realize how much fruit is growing on the bushes.

The best berries are the ones that are most often out of reach.

Just when you're feeling a little upset that all of the good berries are out of reach, you find a cluster of them within reach just down the way.

Many good berries are not obviously visible. You have to carefully look for them, and it takes a discerning eye to discover them beneath the brush. Sometimes you accidentally happen upon them.

Oftentimes when you get too greedy you end up dropping some of the berries from the hand you're reaching with.

You should only take the berries that come off easily, otherwise they're not ripe enough. They'll probably be ready in a few days.

When you're doing something unusual (picking berries on a university campus), people will be curious and ask what it is you're doing. Then you get to tell them you're picking berries, and perhaps why.

Getting scratched by thorns is unavoidable. You may even bleed. The upside is that now your bowl is full of berries. It was worth it.

22 {random} Thoughts For 22 Years

I just turned 22. I have random thoughts. Sometimes they come in the middle of a conversation. I apologize to those of you who have experienced that. Here are a few I came up with today.

You can never have too many polka dots. They are pure joy.

"It's just a walk, Erica, not a marriage proposal." Jack Nicholson as Harry in Something's Gotta Give speaks truth. You should probably always say this to yourself before a date with a new guy. You need to calm down. I need to calm down.

Usually when I don't find something at Nordstrom, or I can't afford it at the present time, I buy myself $10 earrings. It helps. You should try it.

When it's windy, by all means stand outside with your arms open to the steady stream blowing your face and hair. It isn't Titanic in the least, I swear.

Yeah...mom, she's always right.

Smelling the coffee beans in the glass votives instead of perfume is totally normal.

Smiling at people is fun. So is small talk with your barista, cashier, or waiter. I always feel better when I do this.

Lipstick and blush. Lipstick and blush. Keep repeating that to yourself.

Family is forever, and therefore they always come first.

Don't let people give you advice on what to do with your hair. They are wrong, and you probably look better with long hair.

Who invented women's deodorant? Toss that sad excuse of an antiperspirant for the ever-so-handsome scented Old Spice (preferably Swagger). Trust me on this one.

97.5% of the time frosting is better than cake. Don't waste calories on cruddy cake when you can have more frosting!

You can be 5 foot 9.5 inches tall and wear 4 inch colorblocked platform heels. Why should short people have all the fun?

Kathleen Kelly is my hero. Every time I need comfort I just pop You've Got Mail into the DVD player.

Don't show up to things early. Since when has that ever been cool? Yep, never.

It has been tested that making your bed in the morning makes you happier as you go about the rest of your day. Do it!

Will the average death age for both genders significantly decrease for my generation because of YOLO?

Find "your place". Go there and just sit. Not all the time, just when you need it most. You don't have to tell anyone where it is either. That's the fun in it.

When I die, will I actually care enough to ask God about some of life's greatest mysteries? What happened to Amelia Earhart? Are dogs really colorblind? Do dolls talk and move when you shut the bedroom door?

Baking is therapeutic. All those exact measurements and then choosing to throw in an extra 1/4 cup of chocolate chips is healing to the type-A soul in more ways than one. It's also a good idea to pawn off your goods to your family (for reasons of personal health).

Harry Potter Weekends on ABC Family are the greatest thing to happen to TV.

Wake up at a decent time (you should probably go to bed at a decent time to achieve this). Waste not thy hour. Carpe diem. And all that jazz.

...and that is a snippet of how my brain works.

Red, White & Blue: Better Together

I'm starting something new; a series called Better Together. (**I'm random. We'll see if I actually post on a specific day or not, so tune in!) I got the idea from the British business associate of my friend's father. Unfortunately his campaign for "better together" did not take off like he had hoped. Nonetheless, I fell in love with the idea. It's simple, and rather charming. Behind this idea is the basic truth that things take on more unique characteristics when juxtaposed with, or complementing one other. You know, like peanut butter and jelly, or Bert and Ernie. Good when solo; fantastic when paired. 

Red, white and blue. So many things come to mind. For me it's the stars and stripes of Old Glory and the Union Jack. Quite fitting, I'd say. With patriotism having stricken the hearts of fellow citizens as we cheered on our Olympians competing in London, a nod to the tri-colors and wonderful things that have come to represent Great Britain seems necessary to me. Cheers!

She's Cookin' & Good Lookin'

Question. What is it about weddings that makes the most unlikely male candidates think they have a shot with ladies of prime real estate? Mind you, the wedding was dry, so alcohol was not the culprit in bringing forth these lofty notions. And although slacks, a button up shirt, and tie admittedly from the female perspective make any man more handsome, the majority of us (hopefully) are not about to have the wool pulled over our eyes and swoon over anyone who shows interest in us (no matter how flattered we feel deep down). 

Mom & me at my cousin's wedding

Now.....onto another quality besides blatant physical attraction that reels in the opposite sex. They've been saying it since probably the beginning of time: the way to a man's heart is though his stomach. Not gonna lie, I firmly believe there is a surefire way to impress a boy. Baking. Have you ever heard of a boy turning down a chocolate chip cookie? No. A brownie (even if it came from a box!)? Doubt it! And those are only the base level goodies. I mean, good grief, I had a boy ask me to make him an entire pie recently, and stated his preferences! That was a just bit presumptuous on his part, and needless to say, he did not last long. (Sidenote: more on how to impress a boy with baking can be found in the wit and genius of Joy the Baker.) Some guys are getting a little too picky if you ask me. My brother turned down my double chocolate zucchini bread, which is more moist and chocolately divine than should be legal. Imagine Brucey in Matilda turning down that tri-layer chocolate cake. I know, right? It just doesn't happen!

"You can do it Brucey!" C'mon, I know you're chanting his name in your head right now. It's only natural.

Even though the focus of my words thus far have been regarding boys, I have to admit something to you. I have no boy I am attempting to satiate the appetite of. I'm not even trying to lure one in. All I care about is satisfying my own palette, and recently on my days off from work I've been doing it on my parents' dime. Don't worry. This isn't unethical, and I'm not cheating anyone out of any hard-earned wages or anything. My family has been getting nutritious, home-cooked meals, and to the satisfaction of my mother, she doesn't have to lift a finger. Meanwhile, I get (strange) pleasure out of boiling water, chopping up garlic, herbs, and vegetables, and hearing the sizzle on a hot pan. It's therapeutic. Whatever works! Aside from what lies below, I swear my life doesn't revolve purely around grains and pastas. This was merely a (delicious) coincidence!

Sometimes there is cheating, like these MorningStar chipotle black bean burgers topped with roasted red bell peppers, and a side of corn on the cob.

Other times the single most important rule of college cooking is put into place: take everything you've got, throw it together in a bowl, add some spices, and voila! you have dinner (and lunch for two days). Here, I combined couscous, pan-cooked chicken breast, zucchini, spinach, black olives, sundried tomatoes, peas, and oregano, and lightly dressed it with a red wine vinaigrette.

A lot of times I like to eat vegetables. They make me feel good. I also like to feed them to my family by making healthy alternatives to old heavy classics, like the stuffed bell pepper. These couscous, veggie and feta stuffed bell peppers are fantastic.

At any time, I can count on pleasing my family, particularly my mom, with this Mediterranean salad. Every time my mom or I think or speak of olives, which is more frequent than you might imagine, we quote Sense and Sensibility's Mrs. Jennings, who trying to console the heartbroken and sobbing Marianne asks Elinor, "Does she care for olives?" So besides this having kalamata olives in it, which in itself should make any person want to dive right in, this is the perfect light, summer salad. It's fresh and flavorful, and stirs up mental images of the glittering turquoise waters of Greece. 

And for something I could eat all the time, (but choose not to for reasons of fearing putting a hole in my wallet) pad Thai. Except this pad Thai isn't overly salty, doesn't have any trace of suspicious orange oil lurking at the bottom of the styrofoam takeout box, doesn't gift me with a giant mass sitting in my stomach after consuming, tastes very fresh, and is incredibly inexpensive to make. I hope you got all that! This is life-changing stuff! Try it, and I promise you'll feel accomplished in your culinary endeavors. Finding oyster sauce in your hair hours after cooking means you worked hard. I can personally attest to that.

Keep calm, mince garlic with your bare and now garlicky-scented hands, eat slowly the fruits of your labor, let Dad do the cleanup, take an evening walk for both digestion and the view, and then plop yourself down on the couch for the rest of the night for some terribly-narrated Olympic competition viewing. Maybe pop a handful of blueberries picked from the yard to soften the blow of teenage dreams being crushed by the high beam and uneven bars (...and on an international viewing level too...ouch).

Indulge

There is something so incredibly luxurious about latte foam. It is not an essential. In fact, it is unnecessary. It serves no purpose in adding to my caffeine buzz. It is an indulgence. Taking time to yield to the senses. Frothy milk with a delicate hint of espresso. Swirls of pale caramel color laced in creamy white. Slowly sipping increases the enjoyment twofold, and maybe even more so. Sometimes I close my eyes. It's that good; if you take the time to make it that way.

Bastille Day

Dreams of Paris.