Prayers and Personalities @ On a New Black Couch

It’s a Monday night and I am sitting in our newly finished rec room on our new Ikea couch. Outside of cleaning up the kitchen and a few loads of laundry (PS: I am an official Dropps subscriber…) I did nothing today before or after my Ikea run. My mind was kind of going through thing after thing – not really in an incessant or obsessive way. It was more of like I was just watching my life like a movie and taking notes on what I should do. In that way, it felt productive even though I was curled up in my bed with the cover over me pseudo napping for the duration of the cold, gray midwest afternoon.

I prayed for the first time last night in what feels like ages. A couple of years ago, I shifted from dedicated prayer journaling, dedicated prayer outpouring, dedicated prayer groups to this idea of constantly praying. I started to say “I have been praying for you” to friends who I had been thinking about; even though there was no “Dear God” about it. When something angsty would spike up, I would just “commit it”.

I learned this technique when my mom was in a coma. I remember thinking that I had to keep praying, keep praying, keep praying. One day, in the elevator to her floor of the rehab facility after she had resurrected from the dead, I caught myself daydreaming about something other than her recovery and felt ashamed.

I STOPPED PRAYING.

That’s when I got one of those divine mind spells served to me: an image of angels going up and down stairs that were built out of prayers. Repeated prayers were these thick sturdy staircases, carrying hundreds of angels up and down, but even prayers that were prayed just once had at least an angel or two traveling up and down from heaven to earth and back again.

Back to last night. I found myself with space slash patience and I thought to myself, “Huh, maybe I’ll pray”.

I don’t remember what I prayed for or for how long I prayed until I fell asleep. But I remember feeling the words in my brain and this sense of breadth and was reminded of a time I prayed so hard I suddenly started to see a different version of myself in my mind’s eye: standing on a cliff in the middle of a galaxy with green vines growing up the side of the cliff with each breath I continued to pray.

Even though my spirituality has changed in its form, whatever way of praying that delivered that night sky cliffside clearing broke some sort of veil to where I was just able to lay on a Sunday night, close my eyes, and go straight back to that same feeling of openness.


I am aware of mine and David’s marital milestones. Just like the dating type milestones where “I can’t believe you’re real” morphs into “I can’t believe you’re real even though – my God – you are super real”; marital milestones show up and say “Yeah – hey, so this is two people in a thing together, it’s not magic even though the love is other worldly”.

We were finishing our weekend as two foxes in a den when I said, “You know, it’s not like you get married to figure somebody out.” He nodded.

That is definitely not why you get married.

And it’s not like you get married for somebody to figure you out. Not at all.

I continued, “…and for those little things about you that are just like your things, it’s not like we are going to like get to the bottom of it and you’re going to stop being a certain way. That like is not the point. Same goes for me.”

David laughed, and we enjoyed what felt like a mutual acknowledged relief.

I think it is easy to get to the work of the union (the effort in the ease, some yogis may say…) and feel like you have to work to change, to fix, etc.

However, in dealing with my personal psyche (which has spent the majority of its decades attempting to 1) identify 2) analyze 3) plan 4) change), I have learned that the work is actually in allowing no work. The work is actually a deep breath in and full self acceptance. It doesn’t let you off the hook for shitty behavior or destructive tendencies but it does fall in line with the whole Thor theme of being who you are vs. who you are “supposed to be”.

Likewise, that same technique of offering space and seeing the other without the need to get all mechanical works well in love relationships. It takes the need to define and understand and replaces it with an opportunity to allow and support. My current findings is this creates a lot of laughter. It also starts to curb neurosis.

These milestones we get to that feel like a thick sheet of waxy bubble wrap that we need to push our heads through and breathe in a new leg of the journey; the breakthroughs that come feel a lot like that meditation space I got the key to that I can return to whenever I want.

The progress of openness instead of iteration dotted somewhere along the horizon of self acceptance. It’s absolutely fantastic in its realness.

These invisible things: beliefs and the ideas we carry – adhering to them or attempting to adhere to them – can make us suffer so much. And since this is true, the opposite must also be true: that freedom from things needing to be a certain way and liberation from definitions of the right way to handle something can bring us joy. For me? Allowing prayers and personalities to simply be whatever they are is a total game changer.

It allows space and it allows laying in bed for two hours after a hot shower to be productive.

It All Catches Up With You @ Sitting on a Part of the Couch on the Front Deck, Bellingham

It all catches up with you: moments, memories, meaning.

We decided to delay our departure a day to give a nice 24 hour buffer, prevent stress and maximize efficiencies and time along favorite coordinates.

I got a chance to properly pack the rental van, pack lunches, pack coolers, make a cat hut / cat fort and as the house emptied, I would have these moments where my eyes swallowed the bare floors or the sunset and see them in both the first way and the now way.

I remember my first visit up here and being confused; not only by the obvious task of looking for things in a new kitchen but also in wondering why he had so many things of baking powder.

Now, the kitchen is organized by my handiwork and, although David still tends to have multiples of things, that no longer confuses me. I know how he operates and how, for him – it’s easier just to buy it and have it than to make a list and take inventory before leaving the house.

(Multiply that by the fact Kara (11 year old step daughter) bakes and he grocery shops as a sport; you get a lot of cinnamon, vanilla extract and baking powder.)

Anyway….

There is a picture of him that I took putting our to go coffees together before my early morning flight out after that first visit up here. It’s my favorite – I remember thinking “he is so handsome” and “I like his style” and “I’m proud of him”.

It’s hard for me at times to see him leaving Washington. He loves it up here, he just moved up here two years ago, and I know if we could root here we would grow something we both are so intrigued by.

That being said, I really truly know that we are still actively rooting – regardless of city. And I really truly know what we grow is very intriguing. Lastly, I believe leaving here does not negate the very cool, very whole hearted thing he did moving up here two years ago.

David continually shows his kids, me and now my daughters a generosity and a willingness that births adventure. I think he shows a boat load of patience, creativity and ethic that fruit a home.

He “gives” more than he “sacrifices” and I found myself moving through the house I know now like the back of my hand feeling this “wow he really loves me” feeling.

I think, when you’re going through major change, and you’re really present and feeling it – you don’t always realize the summation of what is occurring.

Baselines tend not to be minute by minute play by plays. But they *do* happen and all the sudden you’re in your boyfriend’s kitchen as his wife, you’re packing his family as your own and you know the trust between you is green and ambient and maybe even a little psychotic in its love.

Some college kids bought a tv off of us and David took $ off to have them move the couch out for the neighbor to grab. And so we picnic’d on it :)
I’ll remember this forever – back when we had no idea “how it was going to work”, just that it “was working” :) ✌🏼

Lemon Curry Corn Chowder Part 2 @ On the Deck Now – Bellingham

David just got back from a quick run up to Twin Sisters Brewery.

Twin Sisters is not in the top 5 of things I will miss, but top 10 for sure. It has first date spot from my first trip up here plus where I fell in love with malty-beer vibes..

There is this famous drive a little bit south of our house up here called Chuckanut Drive. We stayed at a lookout there once and did the whole art of nothing thing, sat on the perch up in the trees, listened to the water, read, guitar, made up songs and ate from a selection of things I picked up from the bulk foods aisle at Whole Foods. Today reminds me of that day :)

I decided to roast the potatoes (2 fat yukons and a handful of small red ones) in butter, chardonnay, thyme and cinnamon before putting them in with the chowder. The base with the corn is smelling so good. I took it off heat and am letting it chill out for a minute, figure out its identity, before I put the potatoes in – the rest of the wine – bring it to a boil and round it home.

David has apparently taken some master class series on how to not listen to the answers of questions you ask your wife. I am being comical, of course. A different part of my cycle on a not so beautiful day may have me annoyed, but it’s out in the open and we are officially playing a game called “guess thing thing you just agreed to” where I check in that he was thinking with head, heart and stomach on how willing – for example – he is to wait for chowder.

(I mean, given that we are in a blog series about it, I need to make sure tomorrow at sunrise is an acceptable time to eat… just in case I believe this chowder needs to be set out for some kind of midnight ritual after I sage the kitchen…)

Which reminds me, I am neither drunk nor stoned while writing this. Or while cooking this Christ child of a chowder. One of the great feats of my life will be the day when all who love and surround me accept that I was simply born kind of stoned, with a lot of ideas and – coincidentally – kind of droopy eye lids.

He is snacking on this thing I made yesterday (grilled jalapenos, yellow peppers, shrimp and onions with angel hair pasta, lemon and capers) and just asked me to hang on to that recipe. Recipe. Smile. Sigh.

I keep these little notebooks in my kitchens (about to be one kitchen, which does have me thinking about which notebook will be kept in the kitchen once we move) that I just write when I am figuring something out. One time I ended up putting popcorn in a stew I had going in the crockpot. That was terrible and that page was ripped out.

We went to Vancouver the next day and redeemed our entire foodie journey by eating our way through Chinatown. (Which I highly recommend…)

Okay – this post has zero point except that writing without edits for this amount of time is how long the potatoes should roast before you mix them in the chowder and round it home.