Last Thursday

Last Thursday was my day off.

I spent it visiting Becca's sister Jessica down in Twin Rocks for the day, because she was in town for our old church Family Camp.

I drove the entire 45 minute trip along the coast with my windows rolled down and a playlist full of nostalgia to keep me company.

There are few things I love more in this world than driving up or down the Oregon coastline.  Every viewpoint is a must-see stop.  It's just breathtaking.

Between here and Rockaway, one drives through Manzanita, Wheeler, Nehalem and Arch Cape. Each is different and each is beautiful in their own way and I can't even begin to describe the smells or sounds, which is why it's vitally important to make the trip with the windows rolled down.

Jess and I spent time together eating ice cream, watching the ocean, talking about her adventures in Hawaii, spending time with her amazing family and laughing in the sand on the beach.

I left that afternoon feeling strangely settled in my life.  That was the first time I'd been to Family Camp in 4 years and definitely the first time I'd ever been solely on my own, and with the freedom to come and go as I please, driving myself to and from.

It was strange, but good.

Later that afternoon I was doing some writing back home on my beloved Cannon Beach when a stranger walked up to me and asked me if I was using the pile of driftwood I was sitting next to.

The conversation went as follows:

Him: "Are you using this firewood?"
Me: "No, go ahead and take it."
Him:  "Thanks.  What are you working on, there?"
Me: "Uhm, just reading over some stuff I've written."
Him: "Way cool! Are you a writer?"
Me: "Yes. Well. Sort of."
Him: "Me too. I love poetry and short stories."
Me: "Yeah, I kind of suck at poetry. I try to stay away from it."
Him: "Well at least with poetry you don't have to stick to the rules, you can do freeform and then it's not so hard."
Me: "Yeah, I guess so."
Him: "Hey, keep writing.  There's not enough writers out there in the world- not many with balls at least. Don't let your passion die- it's better to do what you love than nothing at all."
Me: "Thanks, I definitely will."
Him: "No problem.  There's  gonna be a fire over here later, if you're interested. You should come."
Me: "Uhh, okay thanks."

(Don't worry mom, I did not attend the bonfire with the friendly strange man)

That conversation honestly made my day, though.  I mean, what are the odds?

I felt like God was verifying everything I dream about in life.  It just felt good.

I love this town to no end.

I love my life.

My friends.

My boys.

My Brook, my Zach, my Wes, my Allen- all sweet, dear ones.

I love my girls.

My Lynn, my Angie, my Rachel, my LaChelle- all lovely, funny ones.

I love my jobs- my singing barnacles and my tufted puffins,  and my age-old linens, my perfume-scented tea towels and my beautiful bosses.

I love my house-ghetto and falling apart as it is.

I love my car- my sexy race-car driven Volvo wagon.  She's such a beast.

I love my secret spots.  My Ozzy B.  My cove.  My Guanos Tan spot.  My favorite lookout.

I love my community.  My local discount.  My quirky, fellow citizens.  My weekly burger nights at the local legion hall.

I love my experiences: latenight longboarding,  rainy days at the park, early morning beach exploration, bonfires, salsa dancing, crazy adventure hikes.

This is how my life should always be.

I love my Ocean.

I love my life.

Summer 2012

This might be my most favorite thing I've ever found in my notebook.  A recap of summer 2012 so far- and there's so much more to be added to this by September. :)

• Freckles
• Sunsets
• Burger nights
• No Maintenance Mondays
• Hiking...
• Trailer hitching
• Wet swingsets and slippery monkeybars
• Longboarding the promenade
• So many movie nights
• Vintage art posters
• Bible studies
• Black Oystercatcher nest watching
• Scented candles
• Bellydancing and yoga always!!!
• Flirting?
• Dinner parties
• Laughing with managers
• Tight, tight hugs
• Competitions
• Blue eyes, brown eyes, hazel eyes, green eyes
• Playing chalk
• Super burritos
• Dead sea mammal carcasses
• Writing at The Cove
• Costco buddies
• Disney movies
• Adventure levels

So many reasons to love my life.  

And the most recent is this:  Becca is officially moving to Cannon Beach today. 

That's right lovers, the best friend and I get to spend all summer together and this list will start growing ad infinitum as soon as she gets here!

Which should, hopefully, be in another hour and forty-five minutes or so.

Not like I'm counting or anything.

Summer wishes to you and yours.

Roll On Summer 2012!

May 28th Was A Bad Day

May 28th was a bad day so I wrote this to make it less bad.

Things To Be Thankful For:

• A  kitchen to bake banana bread in
• Blue Whale tea towels
• Sunshine on humiliation days
• Second mothers
• Movie recommendations
• Hazelnut flavored blended coffees
• Cute old men named Keith
• Empathy-minded girlfriends
• Laughing hysterically behind the counter with your crazy amazing boss
• Mermaid fingernail polish
• French music
• Tokyo Milk perfume scent "French Kiss" with mandarin, tuberose, gardenia and vetiver
• Candles lit at work called "Score from the End Credits" and "Summer of 1982"
• 40% discounts
• Wearing dresses and wedges to one job and wellies and windbreakers to the other
• Red rooibos tea
• Love

One Way Road

I saw your heart sitting on a one-way road
Tragic veins flowed through tragic arteries
I stopped to sit beside that trembling life-
I wanted to grab your hand
Don't forget to smile, love
We'll find some way to fix this, I know we can
Icy ventricles frozen to lethargic dust
Weakened atriums breathe rattled love
the blood has all but dried
I will wipe the tears from your cheeks
Let me kiss the rest back into your eyes
Clear the cobwebs from your empty lungs
A hand to resonate warmth back
Into your dry, agitated skin
One foot in front of the other, dear
Learn with me how to love again.

Rabbit Trails

The hair has been pulled back into a bun.  The legs are crossed Indian style and the headphones are in.

A few tell-tale signs to those that know me well enough.

I should wear a sign for those that don't:  Caution: Writing. Prone To Fits Of Rage If Interrupted. Especially Fond Of Throwing Objects To Accentuate Fury.

Where to begin?

It's been almost a month since my last real update.  I'm currently sitting in a new coffee shop in town called Insomnia.  A Portland-based company with cheap, good coffee, a staff and atmosphere absolutely dripping with Downtown P-Town attitude, and music that makes you cry it's so good all of the time.

In short, being here makes me feel like I'm back in Portland.  And on rainy days when it's coming down soft and slow, I love to tuck up in here with a good book, my Bible or my laptop. I can look out any one of the huge windows at the rain falling on the street outside and imagine I'm looking out at a busy one-way street filled to the brim with clunky subarus and volvo wagons, blaring their Keep Portland Weird! bumper stickers.

I don't often think about where I used to live, because let's be honest, it's hard to want to be somewhere else when you live on the coast, but every now and then when I start to miss somewhere, I miss my fair home city most of all.

I don't miss my small, hometown community of Canby at all.  Nor do I miss the suburb my parents live in.  Don't get me wrong, home is wonderful and I miss my family of course, but I'm having a seriously hard time associating 1355 SE 16th Ave with home anymore. It feels like a house I lived in once.

I have a bedroom there, with more of my things, but the last time I visited home for the weekend I didn't even feel at home in my own room.  I felt like a guest.  My bookshelves felt pretty homey, but that's just because I have an unhealthy, weird relationship with my personal library.

I mean, I've been here in Cannon Beach for almost 7 months already.  I've gone to school here, I've worked two jobs in this community now for almost 2 months, I've attended a City Council meeting,  I've met the City Manager, I get a local discount at restaurants and coffee shops, I go to weekly Burger Night on Mondays at the VFW Legion Hall, I know my fellow community members by name, I go to the local farmers' market on my lunchbreaks. I live here, I go to church here, I breathe here, I sleep here, I shop here, I write here, I skate here, I tan here, I work here, I hang out with friends here, I eat here, I love here.  I don't want to leave here.

It's my home now.

I don't like to think about leaving Cannon Beach, because I can tell you right now when that time comes it'll be one of the hardest things I've ever had to do.

2012 has indeed been a year of freedom.  And with that freedom has come such a strong sense of ownership and pride in the place that I now live.  It's beautiful to feel like I belong to a place, and like a place belongs to me.  I think innocence and youth, amongst other such contributing factors, barred me from ever feeling like this about anywhere else I've lived in the past.

I have always loved where I've lived, I have always taken great joy in the places my family has found residence in, I have so many priceless memories from each location and house, I'm thankful for them all and how they've shaped me and I treasure them all deeply, but I've never been so involved in a municipal community before, and such involvement and active participation makes me feel truly alive to this town.  Like it's helping me to become who I am and giving me an opportunity to experience the essence of locality.

I can't think of any other way to describe what it means to me other than to say I love it.  I love it.

Not just in the way you love one paint swatch more than another, or the way you love one candy bar above all others, but I love it in a way that lives and breathes and moves and grows with each passing day.

I can't thank God enough for bringing me home this year and allowing me to blossom so fully under His grace and love in a place more precious than the finest gold in all of the world.

So on days like today, when I do start to miss my parents or that golden smell of Downtown Portland on a rainy afternoon, I think about where I've been blessed to live this year, and I smile.  I wish for everyone back home in Canby, and Oregon City, and Portland to know that I'm happy here- truly, madly, deeply happy, and to not be hurt that I have discovered a new home for myself or to wish too hastily upon my return.  I wouldn't be as happy there, and that would be ugly and unfair to everyone.

This is where God wants me right now, and I'm more than happy to serve Him here by the ocean.  Even if he requires me here the rest of my days.

I love you all deeply, and I want to thank you all for your prayers and avid support of my endeavors the past seven months.

Especially thank you to my mom and my dad.  I know for a fact sometimes it's hard on them to know how much I long to be here instead of there, even though they would never admit it. :) They are strong and beautiful and full of love to let me follow my desires and dreams and I can't thank them enough for this opportunity either, or for the trust they give to me so readily.

And even though I started this entry with no intention whatsoever to get emotional, I find myself here in the middle of this Portlandia coffee house, crying.

What a silly little mess I can be sometimes.

And a silly little mess is how I shall leave you, wishing you all the love and contentment and rainy-cafe-au-lait afternoons in the world.

Love,

Hannah

Pen and Ink.

Lovers,

I have not stopped writing in my month's absence from this blog, I promise. My notebooks are all beginning to swell happily with musings, like small, fat pregnant women, glowing with the presence of new life growing within them.

I have, however, returned from my blogger neglect and am determined to continue forward into summer with a stronger resolution not to fall out of touch with this platform of expression.

I have with me at this internet cafe a few notebook ramblings I meant to post as blogs but never followed through until now.  I have more back at the house, alas I forgot to bring them with me.

Here are a few to make up for lost time.

MAY 2012

Edith Piaf is possibly the most overwhelming, all-encompassing, emotionally baring experience one can put themselves through, audibly.

I am tempted to burst into tears. I'm not sad.  I don't even know what she's saying, but I don't have to.

Sometimes beauty is the only thing to be trusted.

When the world is topsy-turvy and you don't know where to turn, you can always trust in the beauty of a French lovesong. It will always envelop you, and soothe you, and amaze you with it's awe-inspiring beauty.

This music transports me somewhere otherworldly- a place bound in security.  A place full of wonder and twinklelights, late summer air, and the peace that comes with the knowledge that I'll never have to be alone again.

Someday that distant planet will be my own home of starry-eyed whimsy.

Until then I wander this town after dark, playing roulette with the night sky and my daring game of evading waves in the pitch black.

Until then I sit in the courtyard under the dogwood trees, sparkling with lights, and cry my loneliness out to God.

So is the plight of all women.

Until then, we waste our time falling in love with so many of the wrong boys-  we let them change us and shape us and woo us and every heartbreaking time we let them leave us, and we say nothing.

This is the business that we're in- it is solitary and heart and soul and misery and discontent and extreme curiosity all at once.

Which is why Edith is wonderful- because she captures the essence of women in a way that transcends the barrier of language.  She sings with the language of the heart, with a depth of emotion that inflects the very words all our female hearts carry.

One sister to another.  Beauty.

5.22.12


There's a moth throwing himself repeatedly against my window, trying desperately to reach the lights in my kitchen.

The storm will probably kill him.

So would the lights.

Go figure.

Well write about it!  She said.

No need I said.  Just an observation on life.

I am aware of my solitude.  An orange skittle in a bowl of green MnMs.

I always get into the most dangerous moods when I write.

I want to light the world on fire.


6.6.12.


Piping hot cup of orange spice tea and I feel happier than a clam singing at the bottom of the sea inside it's shell.

Skinny love on shuffle and a batch of oatcakes in the oven.

Stormclouds crying and wheezing rain and wind periodically outside my window.  I am more comfortable than ever in my harem pants and mismatched wool socks.

Bible opened to Psalm 45 and I think about the words in front of me.

"Deep calls to deep
at the roar of your waterfalls;
all your breakers and your waves have gone over me."

Strong, pertinent words when the Pacific Ocean is your backyard playground.

I have fallen in love with this psalm and the clarity of the hope and assurance of trust in the words.

I love how in times of misery, David remembers his moments of worship in praise to lift his thoughts upwards again.

I miss  my Ocean.   I work down by the shore so many hours during the week, but I never spend enough downtime out there anymore.

I think this calls for a nice, long walk to North Beach.  To sit.  To marvel.  To pray.  To restore.

*also on 6.6.12*


There is an unrivalled beauty along the coastline on a stormy late spring day.

One half of the beach, to the south, is shrouded in a black cloud threatening rain and mist, and it mirrors its angry depth on the surface of a slate grey ocean.

And yet, tot he north, the sun beams through broken cumulous clouds of hope and color.

Far out at sea, its rays gleam shining and bright over the water, turning everything in view into a cream-colored white light of purity.

Mildly grey and green waves pound against shoreline and shrouded monoliths rise up like jagged dinosaurs out of the swells.

The rainclouds sit heavy and low.  The wind dies down and I feel a humid warmth creep over me.

I am very close to being caught in an impending heavy rainstorm, but I cannot pull myself away.

The colors, the sound, the sight, the smell, I want to stay here forever.

I feel so much peace and restoration.

I'm closest to the love I love the most when I come to the water's edge.

I can feel that heartbeat surging at the same rate as mine, in step with the swinging rhythm of the waves.

Nobody else shares my symmetry with it.

At times I feel so connected that I could just jump in and grow fins and gills and swim down, down, deep, far away from surface and sky and sound.

It is from the ocean I am sure that I have come, and it is the ocean where I desire to return.

Home.

My heart is here.

In the soft sand building up between rocks.

In the ebb and flow of the moon-guided tides.

In the song of the barnacles.

In the depth of the green-grey ocean.

Home.