Breakfast

In less than a week I will be twenty years old. Typically, as with the end of a school year, I take a minute to evaluate what’s going on in my head – lessons, realizations, brainstorms, what-have-you. As I sit this morning in a quiet house, I have a chance to think about things. And I realized that the life in which I find myself can be described as “day in, day out.” And I’ve had more comforting thoughts to ponder over breakfast.

This morning I let my dogs out of their crates, got them breakfast, made coffee, ate a protein bar, got on the computer. I’m about to pour another cup of coffee, go get a shower, go to work for eight hours, come home, eat dinner, work on biology homework, clean, watch TV, read, then crash into bed, just to do the same thing tomorrow. I know I’m only nineteen (twenty in six days) and that this life I’m living will pass. But what if it’s the first of many stages? What if the rest of my life will be punching a time clock and having that “just getting by” feeling hovering over my head?

What do you do when you realize your life is becoming “day in, day out”?

How do you change that? If you even can?

It’s a great comfort to me that this “now” is temporary. I won’t always be here. I won’t always work at a job I hate or don’t understand. Biology won’t last forever. I won’t always be confused. Actually I probably will be, but maybe someday I’ll be able to articulate it, maybe even fix it. Eventually I will be able to look backwards and be grateful instead of yearning for “forward”. A day is coming when I won’t put so much stock in my appearance or what people think. I’ll feel the freedom to live out my dreams and say “Screw the logic, screw the reality dose.” I won’t be afraid to put myself out into the world, I’ll remember that failure is a disguised stepping stone. I will play the violin whether I’m good or not, no matter who hears me. I might follow a whim or two, without regard for what others deem it, “cool” or “lame” with a raised eyebrow and wrinkled lip. Maybe someday I won’t rely so heavily on their opinions – I’ll listen to the head on my shoulders and the heart within me and realize that they are actually much stronger than I gave them credit for.

I have a lot of “somedays” left to live.

Who says I can’t start living them today?

We'll re-evaluate in the next twenty years.

New England #2 - Numb

In her book Eat Pray Love (of which I only read the "eat" part), Elizabeth Gilbert talks about slowing down, so much so that you gain ridiculous, wonderful pleasure in small things. "The amount of pleasure this eating and speaking brought to me," she writes (in the Italy section), "was inestimable, and yet so simple." She forgets about her body image for a while, allowing her body to say, "Eat for today, we'll re-evaluate later."

Last week, I put aside my calorie-counting and slowed down at tables across New England.

Most of our food was of the sea variety, being so near the Atlantic. In Rhode Island I tried a clam sandwich for the first time, as well as jambalaya (which I love anyway) with oysters (which made it a fabillion times better). My first experience ever with fresh lobster was at a little lobster shack just over the border in Kittery, Maine. Simple things along the way: pizza at Mystic Seaport, hotdogs at Long Wharf in Boston, several Philly cheesesteak sandwiches (a personal vice), a reuben at an Irish pub in New Hampshire (another vice, sans the saurkraut), one night all we wanted was a milkshake, another night we stuck to peanut butter and jelly sandwiches in our hotel.

And of course, one can't venture to New England without getting several bowls of legit, creamy, un-canned clam chowder.

My favorite place, though: definitely the North End. Otherwise known as "Little Italy."

Just a jaunt over from the Old North Church is Hanover Street, the first place that I've ever smelled the transition from Chinese to garlic. Naturally there are tons of Italian restaurants throughout the North End, but we chose a place called Strega on Hanover. I had chicken covered in cheese, prosciutto, and a sauce that made my brain shut down. And if you ever travel to Boston, don't you dare leave without going to Mike's Pastry and getting a canoli. If you don't know what a canoli is (you should watch "Cake Boss" more often), it's basically a hard dough shell filled with cream or ricotta cheese (sounds nasty, it's not), and depending on what kind you order, a type of flavoring. We went there twice, and I got a florentine (the shell is made with honey) and a hazelnut (the cream is flavored with hazelnut and the ends are covered in grated coconut).

I read a quote in a book once: "The chocolate mousse made me happy to be alive." In Boston, the canoli made me happy to be alive.

Since I'm home I'm paying for my indulgence now, but it was vacation. It was New England. And it was awesome.

New England #1 - Map

After a week of walking, eating, and sightseeing (but mostly eating), we are home from New England. For years my family has been working on a goal of visiting all 50 states, and we hit six - Massachusetts, Rhode Island, Connecticut, New Hampshire, Vermont, and Maine - in a week.

We flew into Boston on Friday and drove up to Rhode Island, where we spent two nights. We didn't do much sightseeing there - hung around in our hotel on the first day, went to some local food joints, saw the mansions in Newport (if you get a chance to go there, make sure to go off the beaten path and see the Breakers - the largest house in that area, built by the Vanderbuilts). On Sunday we drove to Connecticut and saw Mystic Seaport (not "mystical," it's an actual town called Mystic) and the Hartford houses of Mark Twain and Harriet Beecher Stowe. We continued to Vermont, where we stopped long enough to get gas and walk around the gas station (if we touch the ground there, we say we've been there) before heading to New Hampshire. Monday morning found us in Maine at a lobster house (the first time Austin and I ate lobster), and we were back in Boston by dinner.

Our sightseeing began on Tuesday in Lexington. We tried to go to the Isabelle Gardiner House (an incredible house in which the walls are covered with collected artwork) and Henry Wadsworth Longfellow's house, which doubled as George Washington's headquarters during the Revolutionary War...but both were closed on Tuesdays. Frustrated, we drove back downtown to the Old North Church, where Robert Newman hung two lanterns to let Paul Revere know the British were coming by sea (remember the poem?). Behind the Old North Church is Hanover Street in the North End (Little Italy), where Mike's Pastry is located and sells canolis - a must when you hit Boston. After eating our canolis under a statue of Paul Revere, we walked across Boston Common to the Granary Burying Ground, the final resting place of Paul Revere, Sam Adams, John Hancock, and many other Sons of Liberty.

Foul weather on Boston Day #2, so we spent most of the day inside. Austin led us to the aquarium, and, being near the water already, we visited "Old Ironsides" (the USS Constitution, used in Revoluationary War battles against the British), saw the Boston Massacre sight at the Old State House, grabbed lunch at Quincy Market, took a "duck tour" of the city (a "duck" is a vehicle that can be driven on land and taken directly into the water as a boat), and saw Paul Revere's house in Little Italy. As we left the hotel the next morning, we found the weather to be much better and took a trolley tour of the city, as well as a two-hour cruise in Boston Harbor on a tallship. (Legit ship - ropes, sails, helm, whole nine yards. We were even able to "hoist the sails" with the crew members. Chan, Aus, and I decided that we had to watch "Pirates of the Caribbean" when we got home.) Incredible dinner in Little Italy that night to round out a great week (don't worry, I'm dedicating another whole post to the food).

I'm not one for big cities - NYC unnerves me, Chicago is nice but I don't think I could live there, San Francisco is more my speed if it didn't cost a small child to live there. But I think I could do Boston if I had to. A car is out of the question there: parking payments are outrageous, you probably wouldn't survive if you aren't a defensive driver, and an entire day can easily be wasted, even outside rush hour. The bus is a good option, the "T" (subway system) is even better. We all used an extra measure of flexibility and tolerance (and not to be claustrophobic, especially in public transportation). Overall, it was a great trip - learned a lot, saw a lot, gained a little more appreciation for the freedom that began in that very city (more to come on that as well).

Lysosome

My days are all wonky. I started a five-day working stint on Friday and rolled out bed this morning thinking, "Wow! Thursday already!"

Nope.

When not slaving through an online biology class and Victor Hugo (I quit reading Les Miserables with only one hundred pages to go, so I'm reading the whole thing over again before I see the new movie, which, by this movie snob's standards, actually looks pretty good, I'm reading The Power of an Ordinary Life by Harvey Hook. It's been sitting on my shelf for three years, and I've never read it all the way through. (I have a problem with starting books and forgetting about them.) As I was reading last night, it dawned on me that I have a skewed perspective of God. Hook wrote a poem, supposedly what God was saying to him, and one part said, "Be still. I love you." I've grown up in church (not Sunday school, though - never have I ever been to Sunday school), so I've heard my entire life, "For God so loved the world," "the love of God," "the love that God has for us." But I've never thought of it as actual love. I've never considered it the flippant "love you" I shout to my family on my way out the door. (That's wrong, the love isn't flippant, just the way I say it.) But I've always pictured God as the benevolent ruler to be respected and honored, not the Father who runs down the driveway to throw His arms around me and say, "Oh, my child, I love you so much!"

When I think of Him that way, I don't feel the rush of joy and pride, that "yeah, I'm loved by God, that's pretty awesome" feeling. Instead I fall to my knees and hide my face with my hands. "My Lord, my Lord," I can't help sobbing, almost in pain under the weight of His affection, "I'm the last person, alive or dead, who deserves Your love. I'm completely unworthy, there's someone else that has earned it and lives in such a way that merits Your favor."

So often I forget that He doesn't leave me on the ground. He pulls me up, puts His hands on my shoulders, and whispers, "I know. But I'm giving it to you anyway."

Just an example of the things I think about when I'm exhausted and should really be studying biology instead of writing.

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Premonition - that feeling you get when you put on a pair of underwear and say, "These are going to give me problems all day" and still walk out of the house wearing them.