Christmas at Arlington

The holidays are a time of joy, peace, and reflection. Christmas is the world's reminder of the gift of baby Jesus and ultimately His grace and sacrifice on the cross. This time of year can be a time of painful memories or renewed hope. It stirs a mixture of emotion in me, none that I can completely place. This year especially so. For me, writing is a way to express these feelings, work through them, and often come to realizations upon finishing. These posts are typically inspired by experiences or photographs that I cannot otherwise explain. Last weekend I had an opportunity that I want to write about, but feel that it will be a thought with no conclusion. A wisp of a feeling with no clear beginning or end, arousing emotions deep inside, but not sure what they were or where they lead.

On Saturday, I had the privilege of laying wreaths at Arlington National Cemetery with Wreaths Across America. I had heard of it once or twice the past few years, but haven't made it before and assumed that it would be a small crowd, similar to that at the Honor Flight a couple months ago. It required an early rising on a Saturday morning and I picked up my friend and we headed to the Cemetery. I was taken by surprise when we hit traffic on the parkway, appearing to be exiting at the Cemetery. Baffled, I decided to park up in Rosslyn and walk through the Iwo Jima Memorial to get there. As we walked, we began passing people with wreaths.

The goal of the day was to lay wreaths on the graves of the fallen and their loved ones buried at Arlington. I later heard on the radio that only about half of the 14,000+ graves are covered, but we saw them as far as our eyes could see. Waiting until an official ceremony had taken place at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier we stood in line behind one of the many semis parked all over the cemetery. Eventually the truck opened, and service members began passing out 2 wreaths a piece to the long line that had formed.

We spent time at each grave. With a mixture of feelings I read their names, their ages, their wars, and awards. I silently thanked them, prayed for the families they left behind, and straightened the red bows on the neatly laid wreaths. I wondered what had happened to them and who was remembering them now. Not entirely knowing what to do, I just spent time thinking about them, honoring their memory and the work they'd done. I came across Clifford Lytle. He was a purple heart receiving Marine who died on the Marine Corps birthday during Vietnam. He was 25. I was drawn to his grave several times, prompting me to search him on Google this week. All I could find was that he was from L.A. I couldn't find a story to tell me who he was, where he went to school, or if he was an Angels fan.

I got teared up as I watched a girl walk up to another grave and say, "yep, this is it, this is him." Who knows who he was to her, but at least she was taking the time to remember.

Honestly, the mood around us was far from somber. I don't think it needed to be. But it moved me. I am grateful beyond measure for what these people and their families give up for this country. To the veterans, those currently serving, and the people supporting them - thank you and have a very Merry Christmas.

Smuggler's Cove

Mixing it up a bit and bringing back my college poetry fun...this adventure just called for a poem ;)

The journey began on the second day of July,
The weather was dreary, but our spirits were high.
We set out early, early in the morn.
Warned of the fog by a distant low horn.

We boarded the boat at the Captain's demand,
leaving behind a silent wharf as we drifted from land.
We sailed for miles, in the mysterious haze,
the only site of note being seals in a pile of laze.

Finally in the distance, rising out of the sea,
were the cliffs of Santa Cruz, a daunting sight to me.
Imposing upon us, with only a small bay to anchor,
we let down the sails and embarked upon the rocky shore. 

Here we left our fellow travelers, for what we sought was not near,
our time on the island was short, so we began our climb in fear.
With tales of wild foxes and ravens on our minds, 
we left no trace of our existence and watched closely our behinds.

We stopped not for water, we stopped not for strength,
we climbed a good while, we hiked a great length.
Forgotten was the bright sun, nature's own hot stove,
for our destination was upon us, the old Smuggler's Cove.

We peaked the mountain in record speed,
the views around us spectacular indeed.
We began our descent with treasures in mind,
for we knew not what at Smuggler's Cove we would find.

White sand and stone covered beaches, the water as clear as can be,
islands in the distance, that only we could see.
The waves crashed upon the shore as we dined in delight,
for we had succeeded in all our great might.

Our return trip is but a distant memory, 
dolphins surrounding the ship and jumping with glee, 
Gold and rubies we may not have found, 
but at Smuggler's Cove it is the natural treasures that will forever abound. 

Let's go Surfing now...

Surfing. Stop for a second and focus in on that picture in your mind. Riding giant waves, beach bronzed 6-pack, hair waving in the wind, and the hazy sunset over the endless ferris wheel on the distant pier.

Now substitute these key phrases:
Riding = Getting knocked over by
Beach bronzed 6-pack = sun burnt
Waving in the wind = whipping in your face
And leave the rest.

A glimpse of my struggles...

Okay, so I'm being dramatic. But my excitement to try surfing for the first time last week in Santa Monica started draining a tad as I struggled to carry my long board across the beach. Thankfully the wet suit went on easier than anticipated, but that first night it only went down hill from there. I got tossed around pretty good, as did my board, which is fine, but it was tough not being comfortable with what I was supposed to do in the different situations...Dive under the giant wave breaking in front of you? Hold on to the board? Stay on top of the board? Attempt to jump over the wave while holding on to the board? You catch my drift. I was thrilled to catch one wave (laying down of course), but after seriously nose diving into the sand on the next one, I was over it for the day. With some bruising and only one whack to the head (fortunately not my head....but that made it worse), we left the beach soon after sunset.

Day 2 I maybe wasn't as gung ho as my friends, but I was determined to give it another shot. Thankfully the waves were a lot more manageable and the experience was all together more delightful. I figured out how to handle the board and what to do in the different situations and realized it was a lot easier if I didn't think about it so much. I got up on my knees and thoroughly enjoyed laying on the board as the sun set over the pier again. I was quite content!

This picture is more about my 4th of July
nails than surfing... 

Day 3 started out a bit early, so I settled in as photographer from my cozy beach spot. Watching the many surfers facing the sea, waiting expectantly for the waves to unfold was somehow calming, though the crashing object of their desire seemed far from peaceful. I soon realized it was our last day to surf so I forced myself to get off the towel and tiptoe into the chilly waters. With some sort of competitive jab for inspiration, I stood up on my first wave of the day! I was riding it on my knees and when I didn't fall, I figured I might as well try standing. The feeling was some sort of combination between weightlessly riding a tree swing and the breathless anticipation of a first kiss. A wonderfully freeing moment rising up in my chest. I can understand why people love it so much. I never rode a wave for too long and certainly have a ways to go, but I was thrilled for the opportunity and hope to have the chance again!

There weren't many chances to get a picture of me surfing...but Mike looked great!

A Year Later

Fort DeSoto State Park, St. Pete's, FL

Flying into Chicago today I found myself contemplating my move a year ago this week to Tampa. Having received an unexpected job offer in October 2011, I knew the moment that I left the meeting that I would accept the position and move to Tampa in the spring. As I look back on it, I am kind of shocked at my lack of hesitation and then excitement as I left D.C. in March. I like living in the capital region, I love Virginia, but I felt care free as I hit 95 and headed South. I had a furnished apartment, baseball, pools, and beaches awaiting me, not to mention an awesome professional opportunity. The ensuing 6 months were filled with sun and hard work. Tampa wasn't my favorite city in the world, but I embraced the area as much as I could and explored the state a bit in my free time.

St. Augustine was by far my favorite weekend trip. Complete with historic forts and winding narrow cobblestone lanes, I felt like I was in another country in another time. I took the beaches for granted by the end of the summer and missed "real trees" quite a bit, but ultimately I was thrilled to add another location to my "places lived" list, this one far different than any other.



Next came Boston. Again, I was incredibly excited with no hesitations about taking the job with the Romney campaign. After a whirlwind post-convention week of flying up to accept the job, packing up my Tampa apartment, taking a train back to D.C., and spending 2 days to switch over my clothes in D.C., I was headed to New England. Surprisingly, it wasn't until my final hours in D.C. that I started to grow anxious about my lack of bed and residence in Boston. I'm a planner (even by profession!), yet here I was moving to a brand new city where I didn't know anyone and I had no idea whatsoever where I was going to be sleeping that night or for the next 2 months. I had 2 suitcases, a bag, and 2 unaddressed boxes in Alexandria with instructions for my roommates to send them once I had an address...Every morning that first week in Boston I checked out of my hotel, checked my bags at the lobby desk, and spent each free moment at work looking for housing while also learning something completely new on a team that had been together for a while.

Chatham, MA

Looking back, I'm not quite sure how I maintained any grace! Thankfully it was less than a week before some girls offered to let me move in with them. 6 girls. 2 BR. 4 blocks from HQ. I jumped on the opportunity, packed up my bags, took a taxi to Sears to buy an air mattress, taxied to my new building that I had never seen before, and sat in the lobby until one of my new (stranger) roommates brought me key. Ha. Seize the day!

Sunrise view from my living room air mattress

Thank God my roommates were great, as were my coworkers as a whole. I have never worked with such a competent team working together towards a shared goal. Towards something we believed in, supporting two men that we grew to respect and admire, for a country that we love.  It isn't possible to explain the bonds built with people you eat, work, sleep, and breathe with for 2 months; people that I didn't know before September, but are now friends that will last a long time. We laughed, we cried. We had birthday cake for a dog. We envied those living life on the road, but celebrated every time we refreshed Eventbrite and watched thousands flock to Red Rocks, Fishersville, and West Chester. We ran the bases at Fenway after belting out "Sweet Caroline," took in the infamous "Plymouth Rock," in all of it's esteemed glory, the beautiful Cape, fall colors, the witches at Salem, Lexington & Concord, and followed in Paul Revere's footsteps down those cobblestone streets. We ate pizza nachos, made friends at the "gas station," did pub crawls, and had campaign prom. We left it all on the field. Boston represents all of that. It will always hold a special place in my heart, as will that old building in the North End. 

Boston morning run

Despite the disappointing outcome and the ensuing months of job searching, I don't regret for a second taking that leap last year. It was an adventure I will never forget and may never have the opportunity to do again. The relationships built through all of it and the memories created will not easily be forgotten. 

Final view of Boston

St. Patrick's Day, Chicago River

So now, here I am. Starting anew once again. While I'm not moving to Chicago for the job, starting here for the first couple of days seems dejavu to my last 3 jobs, each starting in new cities. Not sure what this one will have in store, but que sera sera.  

In Sunlight and In Shadow

I came across these moving words while reading last night and wanted to share. Though a fictional work, I feel that this paratrooper's observations while preparing to embark on a mission carry deep emotion and accuracy that I will never entirely understand.

"In a vast, prayerful order of silence, thousands of men went about their separate tasks. Even before battle they had entered into a deep connection with those, past and future, who had found or would find themselves part of a great host, moving as if without will, coordinated and sanctified by death. This pointless and tragical fugue had rolled through history since the beginning. The pace may have varied, but the harvest was steady over time, its momentum increasing and undiminished. It moved evenly, treated all passions equally, and was as cold and splendid as the waves in winter.  

What force, he wondered, could paint such a canvas and command such dedication while never failing, again and again, to take sons from mothers, husbands from wives, and fathers from children? Unable to hesitate or protest, he looked toward the weapons and equipment he had made ready many times over, and felt love that would forever abide for all those he had followed, and all who would follow after, in thrall of his tide." 

From In Sunlight and In  Shadow, by Mark Helprin

Memoirs of the Funemployed

This building is magnificent no matter what the weather.

Newest word in my vocabulary: Funemployed

Funemployed: The state of being without a job, yet having lots of time to enjoy fun activities during otherwise normal working hours (Urban Dictionary).

Hmm, I guess I can work with that. Today, specifically, was applying for multiple jobs, tracking down multiple college transcripts (you'd think I'm trying to build a fake identity with the hoops they made me jump through), leaving the house exactly one time to go to the post office to send that transcript request, and reading through old college essays in search of the best writing sample. Not so fun, but when every day is Saturday, I suppose you have to make some time for the real stuff.

I have gone on more hikes in the last month than in the last 2 years combined. I have been to the gym every day since I joined. I've started reading the newspaper every day. I've gone without make-up. I eat normal, healthy meals. I went to Vermont. I've volunteered. I have watched far too many Netflix series. I've practiced trivia. I've left my hair piled on top of my head all day. I've had lots of meetings. I've gone to Minnesota twice. I've started blogging again. I have done my best to appreciate this unique time in my life and really, I have enjoyed it.

But... I like working. I like having a purpose. I like earning my own money. I like getting up, getting ready, and leaving the house for the day. I like being challenged. I like being gainfully employed. It's been good. It's been real. I will miss parts of it. But it can end any day now and I will be just fine.

Week 2 Picture: The U.S. Capitol, Washington, D.C.

The last few days have been incredibly foggy in D.C. It was so dense one evening, I nearly missed my exit coming home because I couldn't tell that the 14th street bridge had ended with the abyss that was on either side of me. That same night, I stared for a good minute at this gaping hole that is the Capitol before realizing that's where I was!

Ring out the old, Ring in the new!

Happy New Year! I'm officially 3 years into this blog and attempting to bring it back in 2013. Unlike my first year in D.C., when I knew no one, had 4 hours of commuting each day, and spent every evening with the exact same routine, I cannot commit to a picture a day, but I AM aiming for one a week. I'm still debating whether or not Instagram pictures should be allowed on here. I'm feeling a sleight moral dilemma about it. Other resolutions this year....buying something new at Trader Joe's every time I go (this week was Kale...I don't even know if that's cheating and basically lettuce, but it's new to me...), running a half marathon, and finishing learning the guitar or the bagpipes...Oh, and finding a job, that's a good one.

I keep saying I'm going to blog about my experiences and reflect upon 2012, but it is seeming less and less likely. Stay tuned.

Week 1 Picture: Chatham, Fredericksburg, Virginia

I'm feeling like this is a bit of a cheat since this is one of the first locations I ever posted on here, but now it reminds me of Virginia's own Downton Abbey (or at least one of their summer cottages) so I'm counting it. For the history of it...click back to 2010. My thoughts when I visited this year were more about the landscape and the excellent wedding photos that could be taken at this estate! The backyard (originally the front of the house), overlooks the river and has steps leading down into a large open courtyard that I can only imagine would be lovely in the warmer months. A wrought iron fence serves as the center of the stairwell before taking stairs down on either side. The fence has music notes designed into it with a number of measures. I wrote down the notes and just now played them on the piano. It wasn't a tune I recognized, but the notes were definitely intentional and made sense! The gardens had charming brick columns that seemed to hold no purpose, but I'd like to believe that they are wrapped in ivy and canopied by the trees in the summer, creating a tunnel perfect for Sound of Music type strolls.