16. Rain

Over the past week or so, the weather has been beautiful, in a way that is not exactly typical for Washington; there has been lots of sunny skies and beautiful sunsets. But it was all too good to last, and the sky has reverted to the dark, dreary grey so typical of our state. It started last night with a blustering wind, accompanied by a light drizzle. But by the time the morning broke the drizzle had morphed in to a steady stream, coursing rivulets of water down my windshield and pooling in miniature oceans on the uneven parts of the sidewalk.
Just like any situation in life, you can look at the rain in a couple of ways. You can see it as a nuisance, with the chilling sky-tears ruining the sunshine, hiding any hope of summer for at least another week. Or, you can see the beauty in it all -- the  infinite, moody purples and greys and blues of the stormy sky, and the intricate patterns of water droplets as they splash onto the ground. You can notice the streetlamp-light being refracted and distorted by millions of atoms of water. You can admire the rays of sunlight breaking through the oppressive clouds, lightening the sky around them. Even if you don't enjoy the bone-chilling torrent itself (and I mean really, who can blame you?), you can still appreciate the rejuvenation and rebirth that the rain will bring; April showers bring May flowers, as the old adage goes.
In life, there has been, and always will be, challenges. And you can chose to complain and lament, recounting stories of the "good old days" when the sun shone brightly and the world was happy. Or, you can take a step back and find joy within sadness, beauty within pain. Even if, at the moment, it seems that all is lost, and that there is no benefit to all the endless struggles, you will come out on the other side a stronger, more compassionate person because of it.
So find the beauty in the dismal days; treasure the sunshine, but learn to enjoy the rain, too.

15. Music

There is not  much unique about my love of music -- it seems to be pretty much universal. But there's something about the notes that can connect with me in a way that almost nothing else can. It's not that I love a certain type, or will only listen to one genre; my musical tastes are broad and indiscriminate. I will listen to anything, from one-hit-wonder pop music to musicals to rap to punk rock. I love eighties songs (see my previous post on Kyrie Eleison), and I've got a soft spot for nineties music, because that's what I grew up listening to. But I will listen to pretty much everything.

Even country.

There are times when I'm most excited to go to the rink because it gives me an opportunity to listen to my music. And better yet, it gives me an opportunity to indoctrinate all of the little minions with my brilliant, highly refined playlists. I mean, really, who wouldn't pass up the chance to expose the wonders of Nickelback to the impressionable young minds of nine year olds?

I'm kidding...

Mostly.

But in all honesty, there is something magical about music. It allows you to be transported to any place, any time. I associate songs with events or times in my life; when I was in 7th grade, for example, I was obsessed with "Leave Out All the Rest". I still love that song, but now whenever I hear it, it brings back memories of new schools and puberty-induced awkwardness.

This post obviously doesn't even begin to describe music; I could rant for hours about it, although I'm sure y'all have better things to do with your Monday nights. I have so much more I want to write! But I don't want to bore you to death, so this is all for now.

Do you have any memories or events that you associate with a certain song?

14. Summer

We've just had the first week of good weather of the year. Well, good weather is all relative; it was still a pretty frigid week, averaging around 60 Fahrenheit. But it's enough to incite a little restlessness in even the most dedicated students. And this weekend, the temperatures have risen to almost 70 degrees. So I figured that, in homage to the coming summer, I would post something a little different.

Below is an essay that I wrote for English class. It is based (albeit loosely) on Virginia Woolf's Talland House, wherein she recounts memories of summers spent at a vacation house on the English coast.

The objective of the prompt was to employ the descriptive language and lengthy sentences used so often by Woolf. I apologize if the essay seems a little bit stilted or choppy -- I never got around to editing it -- but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless.

There’s a little town a few hours east of here that lies just on the Canadian side of the border. It’s not much in the way of a town, really; just a random smattering of imposing lakeside hotels jumbled with ramshackle houses and convenience stores. Right next to the main hotel was the Starlight Marina (much less romantic than it sounds) with the typical Ski-Doo’s and speed boats and kayaks. Osoyoos is pretty much like every other small lakeside town.  But especially when I was younger, it seemed an almost mystical place. The thing that struck me most when I returned to a few years ago was that, even when it seemed that everything and everyone had changed, this island of normalcy remained unchanged. Five years after I visited it initially, there was the same hotel that we always went to, same delicious restaurant, even the same ice cream stand. It always seemed almost anticlimactic once we got there, but the drives to Osoyoos were practically unbearable. My sister, older cousin, and I would always go there after having spent two weeks visiting with our grandparents’ farm in the interior of British Columbia. Our parents would come for the last few days on the farm, which was a rather tense experience. Even back then, there was always a barely perceptible feeling of animosity, a buzz of cold electricity that injected itself into every sentence and movement. It wasn’t that there was one event that triggered this anxiety, so much as a series of small events that made those few days a little choppy. We would pile into the car under the stifling Okanogan sun, finally free from all the family drama. The car ride seemed endless (six hours can feel like an eternity, especially when you’re nine years old). But we amused ourselves for the arduous journey, knowing that once we made it through, Osoyoos would be waiting for us, patiently as always.

As soon as we made it to the hotel, we would leap out of the car, impatient to get to the beach as soon as possible. Taking our bags out of the car and into the lobby seemed a Sisyphean task with the wonderful sandy beach barely a hundred meters away. We waited impatiently, shuffling from one foot to the other, unable to stand still when our goal was within reachable distance.

And finally, freedom. The second our parents gave the most miniscule nod, we took it as the go-ahead and raced onto the beach- Through the dimly-lit lobby, down the slippery tiled stairs, along the hallway wafting with chlorine from the pool, and onto the gray paved balcony. We could finally see the beach in its full glory- everything from the chipped bright orange paint on the metal hand rails to the dusty sand that went on forever on either side of us. We leaped down the short set of stairs and onto the warm sand. You could feel the sun-soaked grains covering your feet, each individual granule seeming to soak the stress away. We would tentatively dip our feet in the water, slowly wading up to our ankles, then our calves. Maybe our knees if we were feeling brave. None of us really liked getting into the water, and we would dare the bravest to dunk their head under the bracing water first. Being the youngest by two years, I was almost never first. I would stand alone at the shallowest bit of water, the ground coated with that same fine sand that now glopped in between your toes like cafeteria pudding. I would get up the nerve to go a little deeper in tortuously slow increments, wincing as the cold water lapped at my ankles. My sister always believed that the best way to get in was to dive all at once, and she tried to convert me by splashing me with pails full of sandy water and slimy strings of kelp. But once everyone was finally in the water, we would stay as long as possible.  We would splash around until our bodies were numb with cold, our skin pocked with goose-bumps. We stayed out until the sun got hazy on the horizon, stretching out time until our parents finally called us in for dinner.

 

 

13. Flowers

Where did they come from?!

I just noticed the flowers as I glanced out my window. I don't know how I missed them before: now that I'm looking out for them, there's probably at least fifty, in their own little clusters of color. A few deep magenta tulips, and buttercups in muted cream or vibrant yellow hues. Without my noticing, they must have poked their little heads out of the soil, and grown into majestic flowers, towering over the musty dirt.

This is one of the reasons I love spring: you don't notice the flowers until you stop one day, and realize they were there all along.

12. Stars

I have always been intrigued by science. I love piecing together observations and facts to figure out how the world works. That isn't to say that I'm particularly good at science -- it's one of my weaker subjects -- but that doesn't stop me from loving it.

After that brief respite of sunshine, the sky is back to its typical, angry grey. Looking at the ominous clouds looming above makes me yearn even more for the clear nights of summer, when the sky is wiped clean of cloudy blemishes, and only a blue-black canvas, pricked with starlight, remains.

Over the summer, my family took a trip to Arizona, and I got the opportunity to go on a rafting trip down the Grand Canyon. We spent seven days at the mercy of the water, being tossed through rapids turned turbulent and rust-colored by the recent storms. On the calmer sections of river, a gauzy film of fog hung like a phantom above the river. We traveled slowly through the canyon, stopping to eat or take a side-hike along the way. The only sign of civilization was the occasional motor raft passing by. We would stop our journey by around 4:00, and then explore and make dinner before the fading light of summer's end made any activity all but impossible.

But when the darkness fell was when you finally took notice of the sky. Without any light pollution from surrounding cities, night after night, the canyon is enveloped in velvety darkness. Stars normally invisible stood clearly against the sky. On clear nights, we would line up a row of sleeping bags and fall asleep gazing at the stars. It's there that I learned about a whole host of new constellations, with each star playing a part in the story of the night sky.

There is nothing more humbling than realizing that, in the context of the universe, our world is little more than a speck of dust, making up less than a dot of light in the sky. Because beyond those stars, there are more stars, and beyond are more stars, and beyond and beyond, into forever.

On the one hand, it is terrifying to be so small and insignificant in the scheme of the universe. But on the other hand, it is incredibly gratifying to be a small part in it all, even if nothing more than a blip on the radar of time and space.

Looking at the stars, one cannot help but feel incredibly lucky.

11. Dance

Noticing a theme here? Figure skating, choreography, and now dance.
In case you haven't noticed yet, I love creative movement. It started (rather embarrassingly) with watching an episode of Dance Moms on YouTube. I was instantly drawn to how effortlessly the dancers were able to convey a story through the simplest of movements. I started watching more and more dance videos, in many of the different styles. Lyrical and ballet pieces are my favorite, being (in my opinion) the most expressive.  And I can at least hope to be able to mimic the dancers some day....

Not counting ballet classes when I was six, and a few lyrical classes for skating, I have never taken dance in my life. I've never learned the turns or jumps that most dancers would consider basic. But I have discovered something: the turning movement from figure skating spins translates incredibly well to turning off the ice. I can't spot to save my life, because it's something you would never do in a skating spin. But the basic mechanics of it is the same, and you get that same exhilarating rush of the wind in your face.

I just got my first pair of ballet shoes, and I think I might be in love. On a good day, I can do a triple pirouette, and my record for fouettés is eight. I'm sure that my technique is horrible, but, I honestly don't care. When I do a turn, it's not to make it perfect; it's to enjoy it. Just moving with the music changes everything; it feels like your body is creating the music, creating this unified force of the senses.

Nothing makes me feel more alive than dancing.

10. Choreography

So typically, when I'm in a lesson with my coach, we work on jumps, or spins, or (my least favorite), my program. But in the past few weeks, we've been doing something a little different: choreography. In this case, it's not even necessarily for a program that we'll add to later, or even set to music, but rather a series of cool-looking movements that happen to flow well together. Most of the time it's just improvisational, moving to whatever comes to mind. It's not as polished-looking as a program that you practice daily, but there's something so raw and true about expressing what you feel through your body. There's no hiding behind the veil of robotic, practiced steps; whatever movement you make has to come directly from you. On the one hand, it makes you incredibly vulnerable, like having your heart cut open and the secrets pouring out for all the world to see. But on the other hand, it's also incredibly liberating, because who are we to be judged for the steps that we take? There is no right way, and there is no wrong way. There is only movement.

9. Chocolate

Need I say more?

8. Sunny Days

Sometimes, sunny days are hard to come by here in Washington state. And sunny becomes a very relative term when the thermometer is barely creeping past 60° and the sky is still half clouds. But there is something so comforting about sunny weather. After months of dreary, storm-darkened skies, a solitary day of sunshine reminds you that there is more good weather to follow.

Comment down below what your favorite activity is to do in the sunshine!

7. Bumper Stickers

Well, this is sad.... I don't even have ten blog posts yet, and I'm already low on ideas. I guess that's where the real point of this blog is, though; to notice the little things that make life worth living. If you didn't notice, I took quite the hiatus (*cough* three years *cough*). Pardon me. But, after that regretful lapse in judgment, I am back at it again: hopefully for good this time. If you haven't noticed, I have been posting something every day, but they have been little more than brief paragraphs. Honestly, if I stumbled upon this blog, I probably wouldn't take the time to read it. I figure that it's better to just write a little every single day, instead of writing essay-length blog posts every five months. And once I get into the habit of it, these posts will be longer and maybe (if you're lucky), edited! =P

But I digress.

So, over the years, I have garnered quite the affection for random and/or witty bumper stickers. There have been a few to catch my eye over the years; notably, this includes an old VW bus with the phrase, "you might pass me, but you won't outlast me", and another car proclaiming, "I believe in life before death". Being the mercurial teenager that I am and being still unsure of my beliefs, the latter was very thought provoking for me.

So I was joyful when, today, I came across a bumper sticker with the inscription, "The world needs more Canada". Now, ignoring the obvious issues involved with the world becoming enveloped in multitudinous Canada's, I thought this bumper sticker was an interesting one. Is the owner of aforementioned bumper sticker making reference to the political systems of Canada? Perhaps their famous fur products? Or maybe it's the frigid climate? But, come on, guys, I'm all for the snow and all (and moose are pretty fantastic), but I think that having more Canada would just be really freakin' cold....

Have you seen any intriguing bumper stickers lately?

6. (Re)reading

There's something about books that allow you to be transported. Not just to the other world contained within its covers, but also to the time and mentality you were at when first reading the book.
I am currently re-reading The Secret Life of Bees by Sue Monk Kid. It is set in a small town in North Carolina during the 1960's. The text explores many themes about growing up that, when I first read it, I could relate to perfectly; not fitting in, and wanting so desperately to be like everyone else. But now that I'm older I see it from a new perspective as well. I am more apt to notice the little inklings of fear woven throughout the novel: talk of atomic bomb drills and Khrushchev, as well as the race tensions that were so characteristic of the Civil Rights Era.
I love reading books over the years, using these tomes as landmarks to see how I have evolved and changed as a person over the years.

Do you have any favorite books that you read when you were younger? How has your perception of them changed over the years?

5. Flowers

Well, flower petals to be exact.
When I was younger, I lived in a more rural area, on the side of a secluded cul-de-sac, with a rambling, steep driveway leading up to the house. The driveway was framed on either side with  two or three cherry trees, and in  spring the blossoms would arrive with their pale, creamy complexion. We barely noticed them until the day that they would all float down all at once, covering the ground with  rose-tinted flurries. To me it was like walking through a mystical snowy land, and I would always have to pause to admire the beauty of it all. I would stand hypnotized, watching the petals float back and forth, forth and back, before gliding softly to the ground.
It's the sort of thing that I forget about each year until the day in spring when the petals are released from the tree's delicate clasp and swirled off into the wind.

Do you have any favorite spring-time memories?