March Madness

The drifting begins.

Ironic.

Weathering the storm.

Just playing with the camera.

Blasted by wind.

Scott and Sheila, my heroes.

The Polaris Ranger can plow through almost anything.

Twinkie the dog enjoying the ride as we all enjoy digging out.

I'll bet this is how Moses felt parting the waters...

The Leach clan gets me to the interstate safely.

Sorry sports fans. The title of this post is misleading. It has nothing to do with sweet sixteen, final four, college hoops battles. But...may the best team win. (Since my UW Cowboys aren't even in the running, Go Sooners!)

This post has to do with spring in Wyoming. In some parts of the country, March brings...tulips, sunshine, maybe some light rain showers. In Wyoming it brings...snow, mud, ice, wind, 10-foot drifts, blizzards, unintentional off-roading, power outages. March brings madness. One day we're all out enjoying evening bike rides with friends, and the next we're stranded in a white out and very, very late for work. Ever heard of cabin fever?

Earlier this week, I had to drive to a town about an hour away to lead a training session for the Census Bureau. When I left at seven in the a.m., it was raining. Eleven miles later, it was snowing. Hard. Fast. The interstate was coated with about four inches of icy slush. The icy slush coated my radiator. My car froze up. I went off roading for the first time that day.

I got back on the road. The snow turned to a blizzard with 50-plus mile an hour winds. My windshield wiper shredded. I off roaded a bit more. A kind fellow helped me duct tape the wiper.

I got back on the road. I couldn't see past my hood. I decided to turn around and call off training. I couldn't see the exit. I off roaded onto the next exit and flipped a U-turn.

I got back on the road. Nine a.m. Thirty miles down. Still couldn't see past my hood. Went off roading. Got stuck. Got passed by a lot of cars. Started to cry. Two men came over and pushed me out. Two miles back to Glendo.

I got back on the road. Zigged. Zagged. Went off road again. Cried some more. Pulled myself together. Snow plow drove by. I stalked it.

I got inside a gas station and got some coffee. Ten thirty a.m. Thirty-eight miles in over three hours of driving. Whew.

Roads closed in entire Eastern half of the state. Everybody was snowed in.

But, being snowed in has its advantages. I was rescued by Scott and Sheila, two people who attend my church but whom I didn't know. We became fast friends.

Scott and his son drove in from their ranch 14 miles away. It took them 45 minutes. We had to dig out the truck three times to get back to their home. Sheila fed me and gave me a warm bed. I played games with their son and daughter. I felt safe.

Though training was cancelled for four days to allow the storm to pass, I don't regret the time lost. Because it wasn't lost. It was a gain to get to know my heroes. Everyday ranch folk became extraordinary in their hospitality. I am grateful.

* See above for photos of the storm and photos of Scott and Sheila's valiant efforts to get me home through nearly impossible conditions.

Beautiful in the faces of my friends

John Stuart, photo

Sometimes it's nice to get away. Several friends and I were able to do just that last month. We carpooled to Centennial, Wyoming, an artsy community nestled below the Snowy Range Mountains, and holed up in a cabin that was on loan from a generous couple in our church.

Wow. Even now, a month later, I barely have words to describe the peace and joy I experienced that weekend. We sat by the fire and dug into each other's lives, something Christians don't do often or honestly enough anymore. We laughed. We played games. We cooked together, finding nearness in small spaces, in creation, in pure guttural enjoyment. We skied and snowboarded, meeting God and each other in the raw wilderness. We read, and we talked about what we were reading. We slept.

What simplicity. In a culture of connection via screens, buttons, and 160-character text messages, it was refreshing to connect via touch, vision, real conversation, and even silence. I felt as close to my friends giggling over a game as I did curled up on the floor sleeping at their feet. My comrades are teaching me that God often reveals Himself and His character through humanity. He is beautiful in the faces of my friends.

John Stuart, photo
The gang hangs at a cabin in the woods, courtesy of a very generous couple in our church.

John Stuart, photo

We couldn't find a muffin pan, so we made a muffin man.

John Stuart, photo

I'm ready to ride.

John Stuart, photo

After skiing and snowboarding all day, we ate pizza at the Beartree Tavern in Centennial, Wyoming. Sweet company. Awesome pie.

Woke up to this sunrise on snowboarding Saturday. Wow.

Sarah and Dave coming in from the snow.

Becky and I thinking lofty thoughts.

Aspen grove outside the cabin.

A rousing game of Pictionary on Sunday morning.

Go to bed

My mind is three tonight. Like a stubborn toddler, it refuses to stay in bed. I've laid it down, tucked it in and kissed its forehead, but it keeps leaping from beneath the covers and running into the living room. Stark naked.

And so, I write. Or, it writes. If I let it play a little while longer, maybe it will tucker itself out and crash on the floor. Then I'll pick it up, tuck it in again, and rise in the morning to make it pancakes. Chocolate chip ones if I'm feeling kind.

It's been an odd week.

My Uncle John died Monday in Frankfurt, Germany. We received notice he had about two days to live on Saturday afternoon. My Dad secured plane tickets for he and his sister (with the help of a very generous friend) that night and left at 4:30 Sunday morning to catch his flight.

From Wyoming, though, Germany is a long way away. Too long. My Dad and my aunt arrived two hours too late. Two hours.

I was not close to my Uncle John. But no one should die without family by his side. Now all that remains of him are lingering memories and lingering regrets.

I remember his eyes. They were deep set, hooded by his lids, and dark. I remember his cologne. He wore too much. I remember trinket gifts he gave me as a child. I remember he liked cars. And old televisions. And that's about it. I regret not knowing him more.

Still, a death always leaves some kind of hole. Some holes are carved by pangs of sadness so sharp one can barely breathe. Many members of my community have experienced such holes this week with a double homicide/suicide and another suicide within a span of days. Other holes are carved more by the wish one felt...sadder.

That is a strange wish. But I feel it. My sadness at this death comes more for my Dad, for the fact my uncle died alone, for the distance in the relationship. I do not feel the loss of a man as much as I feel the realization I did not know the man.

This bothers me. And I become keenly aware of how important people are in life. I feel guilty for glossing over relationships or taking time with another for granted. Perhaps that is what I must learn from this death. Each person in my life deserves my care, commitment and candor. I need to be honest to keep the relationship real. I need to honor my word and desire to spend time with them. If a "better" offer comes along, too bad. I am with this person. And I need to care about them. Really care. Every time I see them and in between.

Oh, there is more. My mind has more thoughts about life, dreams, fears, men. But, as I hoped, it's getting tuckered out. I'm going to usher it back to bed. Maybe after a rousing breakfast of chocolate chip pancakes, it will feel like playing again.

Goodnight Neverland.

Batter my Heart, John Donne

The first time I read John Donne felt like love at first sight. I was smitten by his Olde English language, by his passion, by his metaphor, by his daring to explore spiritual purity and rape in a single poetical line. Reading his poetry took my 19-year-old mind in directions it had never before gone. I don't remember much else about that Introduction to English Literature class, but I am grateful for every minute we spent in the metaphysical realms of this poetical great's work.

John Donne was born in London in 1572, the third of six children. His father died when he was four years old, and he lost three other siblings before he was ten. His mother was a great-niece of the Catholic martyr Thomas More. In fact, many of Donne's closer relatives were executed for religious reasons. His brother Henry was arrested for harbouring a Catholic priest and died in prison as a result of bubonic plague. This event, it is said, lead Donne to begin questioning his Catholic faith. In his early forties, Donne converted to Anglicanism and became an ordained chaplain in the Church of England. Much of his later poetry reflects his deeply held religious beliefs.

Donne is considered one of the most profound metaphysical poets to put quill to parchment. His mastery of the metaphysical conceit, or an extended metaphor that combines two vastly different ideas into a single idea by use of vivid imagery, is displayed in many of his works ranging from erotic love poems to emotional explorations of faith. But, like many great artists and writers, his skill was not noticed until after his death in March 1631. Most of his poems and sermons were published posthumously. Still, his work impacted future literature greats, including Ernest Hemingway and Thomas Merton. Both men derived titles for their works from passages in Donne's "Meditation XVII." Perhaps you know them:

* Each man's death diminishes me, for I am involved in mankind. Therefore, send not to know for whom the bell tolls, it tolls for thee.

* No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main.

Beautiful, no? I leave you with the poem that first grabbed me, in both English and Italian (thanks to a friend who bought me a book of John Donne poetry in Italy). Poetry is so grand in such a romantic language.



Holy Sonnet XIV

Batter my heart, three-person'd God; for, you
As yet but knocke, breathe, shine, and seeke to mend;
That I may rise, and stand, o'erthrow mee, 'and bend
Your force, to breake, blowe, burn and make mee new.
I, like an usurpt towne, to'another due,
Labour to'admit you, but Oh, to no end,
Reason your viceroy in mee, mee should defend,
But is captiv'd, and proves weake or untrue.
Yet dearely'I love you, 'and would be loved faine,
But am betroth'd unto your enemie:
Divorce mee, 'untie, or breake that knot againe,
Take mee to you, imprison mee, for I
Except you'enthrall mee, never shall be free,
Nor ever chast, except you ravish mee.



Sonetti Sacri XIV

Sfascia il mio cuore. Dio in tre persone! Per ora
tu solo bussi, aliti, risplendi
e tenti di emendare. Ma perche io sorga e regga,
tu rovesciami e piega la tua forza
a spezzarmi, ad esplodermi, bruciarmi e farmi nuovo.
Userpata cietta, dovuta ad altri, io mi provo
a farti entrare, ma ahi! senza fortuna.
La ragione, in me tuo vicere,
mi dovrebbe difendere ma e
prigioniera e si mostra molle o infida.
Pure teneramente io t'amo e vorrei essere
riamato. Ma fui promesso al tuo nemico.
Divorziami, disciolgli, spezza il nodo,
rapiscimi, imprigionami: se tu
non m'incateni non saro mai libero,
casto mai se tu non mi violenti.

Sleeping sonnet

I was going through some boxes last night, looking for a book, and I ran across a folder of my old poetry. What a kick! It was like looking through a photo album of past emotions and thoughts: high school infatuation, first love, first break up, bewilderment at the process of growing up. Not every poem was teenage angst, though. This sonnet was written for a college poetry class. If I remember right, I based its form and metaphysical nature on the works of John Donne, my all-time favorite poet. I will have to share some of his works some time on this blog. I have a long way to go to match his literary skill, and will likely never match it, but here is a taste of my beginning inkings.

Sonnet

The nighttime sky loops my dust-formed body
like the bursts of light left when writing
my name with sparklers. God, can you even see
my clay vessel, my tiny soul fighting
to wave at You tonight through blazing stars?
You must see. You rustle my hair with wind
and cradle me to soothe my ugly scars,
my wounds from slipping, sinning, falling again.
If I could I'd leap and grab a comet's tail,
then swirl the stars around and write our names
to say thanks for holding this dusty, frail
body together when it should crumble in the games
of earthly life. You made the starlight bursts
that remind me You quench my dust-soul thirsts.

Bliss

I don't feel a need to explain this much. Let's just say I got some much needed coffee shop time this weekend. The beautiful "Hot Snow" drink was enjoyed by my good friend Becky. The breakfast was shared between us. Life is so good. I leave you with this quote by F.J. Huegel:

When God gives, it is always in a multiplied fashion, something akin to the unnumbered millions of shining worlds in the boundless firmament of heaven.

Kicking Ninja: Defender of Fun

Thanks to my good friend Sarah, I have wiled away my time this afternoon making myself into a superhero at The Hero Factory. Alas, everyone needs a good distraction every now and then. Call me Kicking Ninja: Defender of Fun.

I'd like to pass along the corruption. Go here to make yourself into a superhero. Goodness knows this world could use some saving.

Kissing the car goodbye

Drum roll please...

I have made my decision. As of midnight Ash Wednesday, I'm hoofing (or wheeling) it. After much consideration, I've decided the item I'm giving up for Lent is my car. I'm doing this for a few reasons:

* One, the money I save by not putting so much gas into the beast can be given to charity, which, I discovered in my Lenten research, is part of the idea behind fasting.

* Two, I love to pray while I walk. If I have to walk (or pedal) more places and longer distances, I will be in a position to spend more time communing with my Father, which, I discovered in my Lenten research, is another big idea behind fasting.

For the first time in my life, I have committed to an item to give up for Lent. And truth be told, I'm quite excited. I can't wait to see what God and I talk about. I can't wait to see how He will work when I devote myself to faithful prayer.

I will keep you posted. Also, I invite you to post a comment on this blog entry with prayer requests. I would be honored to remember you on my treks around town these next 40 days. Have a blessed season of Lent, everyone.

Post Script: I must note, in case any in town are watching my every footstep, that I will have to use my car for work purposes. I'm working for the Census Bureau, and official policy states I need a car to complete my duties. Apart from official work use, however, there will be no windshield time for me.

Lending thought to Lent

I've been thinking about Lent.
Several friends and I got into a discussion recently about what vice we would give up this year. One said all sugar, even juice. One said desserts. One said he gave up blogging once. I said, "I've never done Lent. I spend weeks trying to figure out what I'd like to give up and can't commit to any one thing, so I always end up just not doing it."
Coffee? Don't want the headache.
Dessert? But it's soooo good.
Facebook? That's how I stay connected.
How lame. There is an excuse for everything. Either that, or everything seems too small to claim as a sacrifice for the sake of knowing God in a richer way. Also, when it comes right down to it, I just don't get Lent. I didn't grow up Catholic or Lutheran, so the practice has always seemed...mysterious.
Yet, it draws me every year.
And so, I turn to someone much, much wiser than I for answers. Andrew Murray was a South African preacher, writer and man of prayer. I found his book, "With Christ in the School of Prayer," on my folks' book shelf. In the book, I think I've found a reason for Lent.
In a chapter about prayer and fasting, which is what I think Lent essentially is, Murray writes:

"It is in the dying to self which much prayer implies, in closer union to Jesus, that the spirit of faith will come in power. Faith needs prayer for its full growth. And prayer needs fasting for its full growth. ... Prayer is the one hand with which we grasp the invisible; fasting, the other, with which we let loose and cast away the visible. ... We are creatures of the senses: our mind is helped by what comes to us embodied in concrete form; fasting helps to express, to deepen, and to confirm the resolution that we are ready to sacrifice anything, to sacrifice ourselves, to attain what we seek for the kingdom of God."

I want that. If I look at Lent as a time to "cast away the visible" that I may "grasp the invisible," I think I can do it. I want to express and deepen my resolution to sacrifice anything -- even myself -- to seek God's glory.
Still the question remains: what do I give up in order to give God my all?
I'll have to get back to you on that.

Country roads, take me home

I went for a walk on some country roads north of town last weekend. Nothing like clean air and sunshine to purify mind and soul. I took a few snapshots along the way.

Into the deep

I asked my Lord a while back to give me His love for humanity.

Soon after...

My pastor preached a sermon I did not like. It made me angry. I told everyone who would listen why it bothered me -- except him.

I had to play bass guitar on the worship team with a man who insulted my dad in the past. I realized I'd never forgiven him -- and still didn't want to.

Several friends wanted to chat on the internet one night. I was tired and busy and became annoyed -- but did it grudgingly.

Everyone I knew, it seemed, started posting "25 random things" about themselves on Facebook. I did it too -- to get everyone to stop bugging me to write a list.

I slid into one of my funks. I felt alone. I felt stuck. I felt the emotions -- the sense of rejection, the confusion, the sadness -- were silly. But they were real.

I asked my Lord to give me His love.

Soon after...

My pastor told me how much he appreciated me, my faithful attendance at church, my sweet spirit. Later I saw him having lunch with a young man, who was pierced and dressed in black, who didn't look like he should be eating lunch with a pastor. I saw a man who loves God and who loves people.

At the movie theater, I ran into the man who once insulted my dad. I saw him loving his wife, loving his children, loving life. I saw a man who did not deserve my grudge.

Several friends texted and Facebooked and called to say, "Hello," "I miss you," "Let's hang out," "I love you." I was tired and busy -- but grateful for their care. I tried to tell them I love them too.

Everyone I knew, it seemed, had posted "25 random things" about themselves on Facebook. I read them all again -- surprised by the honest expressions of disappointment, fear, regret, hope and passion in each list.

Inside my emotional funk, their emotions spoke to me. Stuck in the depths of myself, I was able to see the depth of humanity.

It was beautiful.

I realized I was watching God form the complexity of each person -- the weave of each one's experiences and emotions, failures and victories -- into a work of art, a creation fearfully and wonderfully made, created to do good works, created to love and be loved.

I thanked God for answering my prayers -- to know His love and to love His creation -- and prayed He would answer again tomorrow and the next day and every day hence until we are all made complete in His presence.

Best V-Day Ever!

TITLE: Gertrude Ederle, CALL NUMBER: LC-B2- 6435-16[P and P], REPRODUCTION NUMBER: LC-DIG-ggbain-38654 (digital file from original negative), No known restrictions on publication., MEDIUM: 1 negative : glass ; 5 x 7 in. or smaller. CREATED/PUBLISHED: [no date recorded on caption card,]. Found on http://publicdomainclip-art.blogspot.com.

Somewhere in the midst of watching Journey's Steve Perry lament going "Separate Ways" on VH1 and taking a big bite of chocolate cake, it hit me: This was the best Valentine's Day ever.

I was watching a VH1 Classic Top 20 Breakup Songs of All Time special.

I was eating cake from a mug. That's right. One single serving of gooey goodness -- cooked for me by me in the microwave.

I was cuddling with Buddy, an Australian shepherd/blue heeler mix with a reputation for being a 60-pound lap dog. Cody the miniature huskie and Freckles the 14-year-old mutt were curled up nearby.

The scene was laughably pitiful. So, I laughed. Long and hard with a few snorts thrown in. I put my cake down and danced the wild, I-got-no-one-watching-me dance of a single woman who's kicking it with man's best friend.

Eventually I collapsed on the living room floor of the house I was house-sitting, and the three dogs I was dog-sitting bounded over to beg for a good scratch behind the ears. That's when I realized I meant what I'd said: this was the best Valentine's Day ever.

I wasn't dreaming sappy pink dreams or wishing for a hand to hold. I was having fun. And I knew that someday I'd get to totally dig having a Valentine, but that this day I was okay with cuddling Buddy.

Now, how about another mug of chocolate cake?

Shhh...

Noise is one of my best friends.

When a CD is spinning or the radio is rocking air waves around me, I feel safe. When the washer is whooshing and the drier is drumming -- kerchunk, kerchunk, kerchunk -- I find solace. When chatter flows freely, dodging those awkward pauses, I feel success in the sharing of words.

It is silence that scares me.

Even when I'm outdoors, hiking, biking or kayaking, I revel in the crunch of leaves, the rush of wind and the thwap of paddle in water.

Anything to distract me from myself. Anything to quell the thoughts and fears and questions that arise in silence.

Why?

Because those questions don't have answers. And those fears are real, yet unexplainable. And those thoughts rarely stay in my mind; they travel down and peck at my heart, begging for change -- or worse, begging for acceptance.

Lately, however, silence has come to me. And I've decided to give it a chance. I am trying to leave the radio off every now and then. I am learning to let the awkward conversational pauses hang. I am slowly facing those unanswered questions, those unexplained fears and those unrelenting thoughts.

Mainly I have learned that silence is patient. It appreciates the ability to ask, even without knowing. It allows friendship based on pure enjoyment of another's presence. It deals with a thought when it comes but knows when to let it go.

I think I'm okay with that. I think I'm okay with silence.

High time for Dead Noon

My brother makes movies. He is one of the few souls I know who has the guts to pursue his craft with reckless abandon...and do it well. He deserves a medal, as does his wife Marianne for supporting him.

On February 3rd his movie "Dead Noon," released by Lionsgate, hit shelves and online rental sites. Though Hollywood changed much of his original work -- including cutting a stellar score and some stellar scenes -- I am still one proud sister. Not because Andy's name is "out there" now, deservedly ready to be "discovered," but simply because he did it. He took a story idea from its conception in his mind through the writing process, the filming process, the editing process and the distribution process. With $4,000 and two years of long days on the phone and in front of the computer, he created a living story and sent it out the door to walk on its own.

As I work on my novel -- daily fighting self-doubt and the fear I'm wasting my time -- I realize more fully what an accomplishment that is. What makes it even better is the fact he's learned from all the trials of the crazy process and become an even better man through it all. He is learning, as am I, that creating without the guidance of the Supreme Creator is futile. If an artist or writer can live by that idea, he or she will, I think, always find meaning in what they've given their life to do.

Andy and me in Glacier National Park last summer.

The marquee at my hometown video store a few days before the release of Andy's movie.

Look at that. Dead Noon got top billing.

River walk

I went for a walk along the river today. It was below zero, but the sun was shining and the air still. Windless days in Wyoming are rare, so I got out and enjoyed it as much as I could. This is what I saw. And, since words sometimes cloud the picture, I'll simply say: Thank you, Lord.

go west, young man

Tree branches don't sway here;

they bend

and wheeze

like an old man reaching for his toes,

creak, creak, creak.

Snap?

Tumbleweeds don't tumble here;

they fly...

until they bump into some friends hanging on the fence,

and then they hang too.

Their wives know they won't be coming home tonight,

or the next.

Mountains don't look majestic here;

they look old

and wise

as they smoke their pipes,

and blow 'O' ring clouds

high into the sky

and far, far over the horizon.

People don't exist here;

they live.

They help,

they hurt,

they love

Wyoming.

Dog borrowing

This is Lily. I'm borrowing her this week. I mean, her owners think I'm dog-sitting and house-sitting, which is true, but those terms make it seem like Lily is work. She isn't. This yellow lab/husky mix is pure fun. She makes me laugh. She makes me play. She makes me feel energetic and childlike. And until we met just days ago, I hadn't realized how much I needed all those things.

Now, as I sit here with a borrowed dog at my feet in a house I don't normally call my own, I realize that sometimes humans need a change of pace. And, it seems, some humans need that change more often than others. I think I fall in the needy category. I so easily get stuck in ruts -- in my mind, in my daily habits, in my conversations, in my pursuit of God.

Mind rut: I dwell on the same joys or sorrows of my past and fret about the same unknowns of my future. One might think, upon traveling through the ruts of my mind, that I've only lived a few years of wild ups and downs. In truth, I've lived 27 years of everyday food and drink and human interaction. Yes, those years have been laced with moments of pain and elation, but mostly they've been simply living. And that is good! Living is good, and I would be better off to do more of my living and thinking in the right now.

Habit rut: I get up, put on long pajama pants and a sweatshirt, eat breakfast, check my email, shower, do some work, eat lunch, work some more, take a walk, eat dinner, watch a movie or read a book, go to bed. Maybe tomorrow I'll watch the sun rise. And maybe the next day I won't check my email. The day after that I'll call a friend at midnight and ask her to eat breakfast with me right then. And some time I'll skip the walk and roll down a hill instead. I am realizing that changes don't have to be dramatic. Just a small shake-up will do. (If I have dreads the next time you see me, you'll know I decided to "shake it up" and not shower for a while =>).

Conversation rut: I feel a need to tell everyone I converse with that I am looking for a journalism job because that will convey that I am put together and in control. Nevermind it isn't quite true. Nevermind the fact I spent hours in prayer and felt God leading me to stay put while I edit my novel and work to get it published. Why am I so afraid to say that in conversation? Do I fear it doesn't sound grown-up enough? And, more importantly, why am I so concerned with appearing the way I think people want me to appear? Why is anyone? Have we forgotten the beauty of vulnerability and the adventure of being real? Aren't those the things that make for truly enjoyable conversation?

God rut: The God rut is a treacherous one. It forms quickly, goes deep, and feels so right I hardly realize I'm stuck in it. I read my devotional, pray my prayer, go to church, sing a song. Those are good things; I realize that. I also realize they are safe things when done inside my rut. It is easy to read the devotional or the Bible without thinking about it. It becomes harder when I admit I don't understand or *gasp* like what I'm reading. It is hard when my prayers are messy...especially when God answers in a "messy" way, which, if I'm honest, is any way contrary to what I thought should be the answer. When I'm not in my God rut, I sometimes don't want to go to church. It's too scary. There's a lot of pressure there to be, well, happily rutted. It becomes awkward when I'm kind of messed up, and I'm praying messy prayers, and pondering messy, unsafe thoughts about God. Still, I'd rather pursue God while running across the dusty, wide open plains -- fully realizing I may stumble on scraggly sagebrush -- than love Him inside a rut. What's fun about that? Following God should be an adventure. And I, for one, am ready to go...as long as Lily the Borrowed Dog goes with me and makes me laugh along the way.

In it

Here's to life!

There is a scene in the movie "Garden State" that I've always loved. It's between Natalie Portman and Zach Braff. They are sitting by a fireplace and Braff is staring straight ahead, seeming to focus on nothing in the room but rather something in the recesses of his memory. Portman looks at him and says: "You're in it right now, aren't you? My Mom always says that when she can see I'm, like, working something out in my head. She's like, 'You're in it right now.' And I'm looking at you, and you're telling me that story, and you're definitely in it right now."

Though Braff is "in" his head trying to figure out his mom's death, his relationship with his dad and other problems, I think that concept of being "in it" applies to life in general too. So often I feel like I'm skimming over the surface of my life. Only sometimes do I dive deeper and truly connect with the people and scenes around me and the emotions inside of me. But when I do, those are the moments I remember as I reflect on a day, a week, a month or a year.

This January, as I've spent some days looking back on 2008, I have enjoyed going through those moments when I felt completely connected and alive. I only wish there were more. I can only hope I slow down in 2009 and strive to go deeper than the surface, deeper than merely making a living in order to live a life only God can make.

In retrospect, here are a few of those moments I was "in it" in 2008:

* Solo snowboarding excursion in February. At one point in the day it was me, the falling snow, and a toe edge turn that had sent me sprawling down the hill many a time in my snowboarding past. But not this day. I squinted, let out a determined breath and made it. I felt like I was flying.

* Sipping hot cocoa while sitting at my kitchen table, my bare feet chilled by the cold flooring but my hands warmed by the mug.

* Motorcycle ride up Casper Mountain this summer with a friend. We hiked at the top. With all the rain, Wyoming's hills were greener than normal. It was beautiful. And on the way down, we weaved through a neighborhood where many folks were watering their lawns. The mist cooled us down, and I can still recall the smell of moist earth.

* Working on articles on deadline with a cup of good coffee by my side. Deadlines bring such clarity of thought sometimes.

* Handstands and cartwheels on the beach of Guernsey Reservoir at sunset with my friend Sarah. Follow that with barbecued pizza, home-brewed beer and a night under the stars, and life really is sweet.

* Cherry picking in the Flathead Valley on a warm summer day with my family. Surreal.

* Watching Willie Nelson fans hoist their beers to the legendary singer/songwriter at a concert in August with my friend John. If you didn't love Willie in that moment, you weren't alive.

* Listening to the whistle of my Amtrak train before sunrise one morning in Nebraska. It sounded like adventure wooing me deep into the unknown. Taking risks, it seems, forces us to enter into our life with gratitude for where we've been, hope for where we're going, and trust for whatever is happening the moment you "step over the edge."

* Oddly enough, sitting with a woman I had just met after she broke up with her boyfriend. She cried and ate ice cream while two of her friends and I offered comfort. The emotions, good and bad, were so real I felt privileged to share them with someone who was, more or less, a complete stranger.

* Typing "The End" on my very first novel, written in a creative 30-day flurry. Long-time dream: accomplished.

* Pushing my best friend's little girl on the swings.

* Playing chess late at night with my Dad.

* Walking the dog with my Mom. Especially when we stopped for coffee.

* Hearing my brother tell me he loves me on the phone. When he says it, he means it. Do you ever feel more "in it" than when you know you are loved?

2009 started out ugly

To bid farewell to 2008 and throw our arms open to 2009, my friends and I had an Ugly Sweater Party, or USP for short. At this USP, we ate good snackies, played great games like "Guesstures" and "Apples to Apples," and did some leg wrestling. Our hosts, S and D, were grand. A soon-to-be married couple, they recently bought a house and have done a swell job so far of opening its doors to friends and neighbors. Thanks S and D!

On the eve of the new year, the new house welcomed an uglier sort than it had hosted before. They came carrying brownies, root beer float cake, chips, frozen pizzas and a few beers. They came bearing Wiis and cameras. And they came dressed to kill...or at least severely maim any soul unfortunate enough to behold their attire.

At this USP, the sweaters were indeed ugly. One slinky, red, droopy, super-long affair is burnt in my memory. Another blue zig-zagged and pink striped remnant from the '80s also lingers. And the fellow wearing woman's trousers along with a mustard-colored shirt and overzealous sweater vest definitely made an impression. Add to these get-ups mustaches cut from poster board and affixed with double sided tape, and you may rightly say 2009 started out ugly.

But ugly was fun. Self consciousness be darned. The uglier the better. The more ridiculous the richer. We laughed in the new year. And I don't think there was any better way to begin whatever adventures lie ahead of us all in 2009.

Yours truly in her ugly sweater and mustache. Seriously, I don't know how such a garment ever made it into this world...let alone got purchased. Alas, we all make mistakes.

S and D, our lovely ugly-sweatered hosts. Inside out is always classic, and S's stitches came straight from the '80s -- a never-fail choice for ridiculous and pitiful. Long live the '80s!

B and her brother J working the poster board 'stache, goatee and sideburns. Nice sneer, J!

Okay everyone, look ugly. Wait, you already do. Look silly then. That's it. Good job. Happy 2009! (Someone please take that fork away from N. He's scaring me.)

It wouldn't be an Ugly Sweater Party without pulling out the John Travolta vinyl. Who even knew Travolta had an album?! They say you learn something new every day. With such knowledge, I feel 2009 is going to be electrifyin'!

Life: Post Novel

What, some are wondering, does a novelist do after the novel is written? That's a good question. Some, I suppose, experience extreme elation. Others likely drop into a deep depression once they are forced out of the not-so-real world of their characters' lives. Every author is different. Hopefully this short list will give you an idea of Life: Post Novel.

1.) Celebrate! Personally, I ordered a giant load of sweet potato fries. Then, I called a friend and we indulged in some carrot cake and cheesecake and coffee. After that? I went to bed!
2.) Print the manuscript! Pretend it's a book. Hold it like a book. Love it like a book. The night my words came out of that printer all crisp and fresh was a beautiful night indeed.
3.) Buy a T-Shirt! Since the writing of my novel was inspired by National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo), I bought a NaNoWriMo T-Shirt. It says I'm an author right there on the shirt...one of hundreds of thousands of people who have embarked on 30-day writing adventures over the last ten years. See below for photos of me, my manuscript and my shirt.

4.) Enjoy the holidays! My brother and sister-in-law came down from Montana to celebrate Christmas. We made fudge, played with the dogs, talked books and movies and politics and religion, shot each other with marshmallows and played chess.

(Here Andy is shown with his newly gifted marshmallow popper gun. This was before all marshmallow chaos broke loose in the Wiest household.)

(Here, at left, is shown Andy's fully loaded marshmallow popper gun. It's aimed right at my head. I have nowhere to run. Thanks, Dad, for giving my older brother something to shoot me with.)

5.) Get on with life! After the celebration, the glorious printing process, the gloating to anyone who dares ask what one's been up to lately, and the going to bed at decent hours of the night, an author needs to reintroduce herself to the real world. For me this involved watching movies again, walking to the library, writing emails and letters, regular showering, lunch with friends, and speaking in full sentences.

6.) Thank God! Seriously. I realize how blessed I am to have had this opportunity to pour myself into writing a novel for a month while living rent-free. I am grateful. I am glad my Lord gave me a love for language and a passion for stories. I am glad He is the author of my life story. How sweet is that?!

7.) Thank family and friends! Authors can be difficult people to live with and tolerate. We get awfully full of pride about our work and are always talking about our characters and the writing process. (Boring.) I am so, so, so, so, so grateful for my Mom and Dad and Andy and Marianne. They have been incredibly supportive of my crazy endeavor. Their encouragement and patience has been invaluable. Special kudos to my Mom. She was the best sounding board for all my ideas and frustrations! She was always interested and never critical. And thanks to all my friends for asking for progress reports and for giving pledges of book purchases once it hits shelves. Also, thanks to all those who have offered to read the rough draft. I know your input will be valuable in the next step of Life: Post Novel -- editing.

(The fam out on a walk with the dogs on Christmas day.)

8.) Edit! After some time away from my manuscript, I am just about ready to launch into the terrible, wonderful process of tearing my story apart and making it better. Advance thanks to my Dad for the brutal but constructive criticism I know he'll give (always with a hug).

9.) Get a real job! I've got a book about how to write an award-winning resume sitting right here beside me.

10.) Start novel number two!