"Causin' me all sorts of sins"

The bus is my new normal. or sort of.

It feels more like normal than the wealthy homes I babysit in or the restaurants I eat at or the types of cars I get to borrow. I'm tired of it but at the same time I'm comfortable and grateful for the social and cultural experience. I don't want to sound like these people are just an experience or "an education" but it's just not a situation I'd readily put myself into. But I'm in it and I'm no longer tense and constantly unsure but comfortable and confident, exhausted and blessed by the life stories (all packed into 5 or 10 minutes each) I'm told throughout my days.

Some days I wish I were invisible though. The other day a lady got on at 45th and got off at East 3rd and talked a steady streak for the entirety of her 30 minute route. She talked of her abusive father, the drugs she tried, and the men that have hurt her to whomever would listen,

"You know my daddy attempted murder on me when I was 16, 17, and 18 and he's burnin' in the fires of hell right now for it." She switched topics rapidly.

"I got $5000 cause a man hit me walkin' down Lee Highway the other day."

"I set an X-rated movie on fire...heck! that's what I do for God and his Almighty."

"I can't quit smoking but I've put my cigarettes in my dead husband's casket." (what?)

She went on and on and I went back and forth into muffled laughter or looks utter devastation and horror.

Yesterday a sane woman talked to me for 20 minutes before the bus and during, giving God all the glory and praise that she was back in school at 56 and had 17 grandchildren and 6 great grandchildren. "Those men call me sometimes - men from my past - and they beg me to come back and I say 'NO! I got Jesus now and I don't need you." She looks at me and says without a blink, "Once you know the good there ain't no reason to go back to the evil."

"Amen." I say.

Cavin was upset for the second morning in a row when I got onto my 7:15am bus today. He was happy to see me, reassuring me that he loved me always and has been looking for me (he's not quite all there in the head) and then went on ranting about how the bus fares have increased and bus stops have changed. "I won't be thrown around!", He mutters. He repeats things constantly, says it over and over, each time looking at a different bus rider. I had the phone to my ear when I stepped on the bus, finishing my routine morning conversation with mom and listening to her prayer for my day. I waved a silent good morning to Cavin and he waited until I hung up to start his rant.

"Why they changin' things on us?! They best know I won't be thrown around. I went to the meetin' but still they're changin' the stops. I won't be thrown around! They're causin' me all sorts of sins. I'm so angry, I ain't movin for them.
They're causin' me all sorts of sins... all sorts of sins!"
He got louder with every repetition.

I nodd... wanting to tell him to quit being a brat and the world in actuality doesn't revolve around him and his needs even if he did go to the meeting, but the bus driver was already doing that. She was a female and I've decided I like female bus drivers best. They don't talk too much and when they do, they're hilarious and not afraid to tell people to 'shut up'. They're sassy but motherly and I feel endeared to them for it.

This bus and I have a love/hate relationship. It's my new normal and doesn't frighten me like it did some weeks ago. It has caused me numerous times of embarrasment and too many occasions of stress. It has made me less socially awkward and more city smart. and it has instilled in me the freshest appreciation for the day when I will have my very own means of transportation.



me with the car a family I babysit for let me borrow last weekend.
(I was in heaven.)

i was born 21 years ago.

I'm content and spread out at a little circular table in Panera waiting for my big brother to come pick me up. My bus from New City was 30 minutes late and I missed my connecting one to St. Elmo but brother is dear and said it would be no problem to pick me up at after his work. It's actually a pretty quaint place to be stuck and after a 12 hour day packed with buses, people, an exam, training lectures at New City, and working in an inner city neighborhood I'm ready for a little circular table time with me and my book waiting for brother. My head hurts and my hair is knotty but my fingers are itching to write and I'm not even sure what to nail down. Classical music is playing and my head starts to feel a bit relaxed. A girl has just passed me giggling with her boyfriend. She had on this pretty urban outfitters sort of salsa dress with dark hair and loose curls and she's so pleasant to look at. But as she walks outside she's staring at her reflection in the windows, overly conscience of her beauty and it sort of ruins her. I could observe all evening long.

But I should focus on something for you. These last two days have been a whirlwind of culture and experience. I'm either at Chatt State or New City or on a bus trying to get to one of them. I can't figure out whether to tell you about the friendly man named Walter, that greets me every morning at 7:15 when I board my bus on the corner of Beulah and 54th. "'Morning Aubren, how you doin darlin'?" he says. Or do I tell you about my sassy and southern math professor who, although she teaches one of the most diverse classrooms in race and social class that I've seen, she doesn't see in color. Jessica is the same as Moneka. Moneka is the same as Roger and Roger the same as Bow. We're equal in her eyes. But then I want to tell you how successful I've been at mastering the bus system and how it's given me such a dose of confidence and joy and made me feel so much older and capable. Or maybe how this internship that I'm doing with inner city children is a job that is both beautiful but incredibly scary, rewarding but exhausting. I know it will be one of the best things I do but I hardly feel capable. I can't wait to begin and be on the front lines of children's lives. I could open up any of those...

but really I just want to tell you about my birthday morning, my 21st birthday morning in Sumter, South Carolina...

It all started on Thursday afternoon when Chelsey and Joanna decided they were going to take me to Sumter for my 21st to see my Michael. After my math class I raced home with the kind of energy that words like "road trip", "birthday", and "Michael" evoke. We drove 6 hours...6 hours of changing radio stations, off and on rain storms, too many cigarettes, sips of sweet tea, and the warmth of friends in the front seat taking you away for the weekend.

The weekend was gold and it began with Michael on his bike waiting for us on the highway outside his neighborhood the night we showed up, and peddling back home full speed, trying to race our car.

But my morning was my favorite.

Michael woke me up at 10am on the 17th and as I walked out of my room there was a sign right above the doorway that said, "Welcome to the Birthday Zone" with green streamers hanging down through the doorway. My tired morning smile burst through. I walked through the streamers and the floor was sprinkled with a rainbow of colors. Balloons were everywhere and it made me stop, excited out of my mind, and look around. Hanging from the mantle was a huge picture of me that read "Happy 21st Sienna". He and his parents had decorated the house for me and I couldn't believe it. Michael was in the kitchen and told me to come on... I walked in, more colors sprinkled all over the floor, and an elaborate breakfast set for me at the table complete with a heart cut out of my toast with a fried egg inside. Three glasses sat at the top of my plate, a glass of grape juice (my favorite), a glass of milk and of course, a cup of coffee. Before he sat down he pushed play and as one of our favorite songs started playing, warm tears began falling down my morning cheeks. I cupped my face in my hands and tried to contemplate this amazing moment that I had just been given from a boy so eager to show me his love. I was so overwhelmed with happiness and priviledge. and I've decided the morning is one of the best times to be surprised. And I can't believe I have such an amazing man. Really, I can't.

In Sumter, South Carolina, this past weekend I got to turn 21 and my boyfriend is truly amazing and even though I have a million other stories to tell you, they pale in comparison to that morning in Sumter.

post rainy air

I'm sitting at the bus stop with my knees pulled up to my chest. I close my book. My bus is 4 minutes late so I lean back and try to make myself comfortable. I pull out my wallet and stick my student ID in the front page of my book, What is the What, so I can pull it out quickly and get on my bus free of charge.

I stop reading and look around. Three buses have passed but none are mine. There's a boy sitting next to me with an over sized graffiti jacket on - a jacket I've only dreamed of pulling off. He's not holding anything and he's staring at the construction across the street. I stop reading to look like he's looking. and I'm tempted to ask if he's waiting for the 28 too. I want to talk to him because he looks nothing like me and our worlds are so foreign to each other. I start thinking about it, how many different kinds of people there are. I'm fascinated. suddenly sitting out on a bench at the bus stop I don't feel scared, maybe a little bit out of place, but not scared. but he's not interested and he won't look at me.

Someone sits across from me and when I catch their gaze I'm not sure if it's a man or a woman. They stare back at me and now I'm a little scared and wonder why my bus is 6 minutes late. It's never that late and now I'll be that student who walks into class ten minutes after the professor's started lecturing.

It's ok though. I'll keep looking for now.

Two older men walk briskly beside the bus stop and I wish they were catching the 28 too. But they keep going, oh so briskly, with their goofy grins as they talk to each other with their humorously short jogging shorts on. They are so jolly.

and I know why.
it's early.
and they're awake.
they're not missing anything.

They're surrounded by their community and walking along busy streets with post rainy air hitting their morning cheeks and producing that goofy grin. I smile at them without realizing it.

I love this rainy air and this scary bus stop.
I'm so happy where I am.

the brand new's of life.

these are my friends. two are left in Chattanooga with me this summer but the rest have gone away, spreading out over many states and returning in the fall for our mountain. Dan is off to French School, Kyrie to Maryland and then to Philly, Drew to someplace I can never keep track of, Michael to Sumter and then to Prague, and Jonathan to Ashville, I think. Chelsey is here and Bethany too but we each have jobs and plans that though we will see each other, it will be very different from our intimate mountain life. A good different though. A liberating and invigorating different. The summer is so new and I'm just now beginning, after two weeks of lovlieness and maybe a bit of laziness, to find a much needed routine and purpose for the next four months. It's exciting this morning as I've begun to map it all out.

It all started this morning when I missed the bus.

My 8am math class this summer is an hour away by bus so I catch the 6:35am and take it downtown, switch to the 28 and take that 30 more minutes to Chattanooga State. I arrive 30 minutes before class but that's ok. I'm not a girl prone to boredom. Writing and reading never tire. This was my first morning that I started my bus route and I woke up around 6:15 scared to death. I can always do it, really I can. I've made it to some far away places and each time I made it on time and I made it by myself. I caught that plane and I made it to the right bus. I hailed the taxi and when I got lost, well I've figured it out. I've asked or called, found the right answer and turned myself around. In the end I've always made it back home usually with a headache from the stress but I made it. there and back. This morning wasn't one of those mornings. I didn't quite make it there but what I did make was a resolve. A resolve to get up bright and early tomorrow in time to make my coffee and put on something more presentable then a hanes v-neck and jeans, take a shower and catch that 6:35am bus. I've called the company and I know exactly where I need to go, specially since I was there this morning for half an hour, and now I know the right time as well.

I can do this. This morning I was scared, frustrated and almost paralyzed by intimidation. (I’m just going to be honest here. I’m not quite sure how to be anything else.) I know it’s just a bus ride, I know it’s just a math class, I know it’s just a route and a walk a couple blocks away to the bus stop but to me it’s scary. To me it’s something brand new. And even though I’ve done many brand new's in my life, each one comes with nerves and fears that have the potential of making me want to curl up and die. Maybe that’s a bit dramatic but please hear the reality in this. Despair and self pity are an easy route to take, easier than the St. Elmo and Amnicola Highway ones but they are not the right routes. Not at all. I can get on them and they will consume me and I won't get off at the right place. They will hinder me from entering into the riches and provision of my Heavenly Father.

Michael gave me something to read last night and in one part I found this and it was perfect.

“No sin is worse than the sin of self-pity, because it removes God from the throne of our lives, replacing him with out own self interest.”

In every change he faithful will remain. In every change he’s perfecting us and using us as a tool for his kingdom. As Psalm 87:7 says, “All my springs are in you.” Our bodies are his temple and he will use my life this summer for his glory. I just need to cooperate. My summer is so new and so much has already changed that I thought would stay the same. Michael suddenly had to leave a month and a half before he was supposed to, I put all my belongings in the wrong storage at school and it was donated and now most everything I own is gone, and then this morning I missed my bus. I have things to complain about but then I would be failing to keep my Jesus on the throne in my life, trusting that he has a perfect plan. Lean on me, trust me...I’m taking everything away until you do, I hear him say.

This morning had the potential of being hopeless. But I walked back home from the bus stop feeling defeated and stupid and went straight for my bible. I feel a peace. I feel a resolve. I feel a purpose in it all. I am thankful for all my brand new’s and tomorrow I will be up early and I will catch my 6:35 bus.

somewhere between.

It's the summer time again. just like that. In the midst of my sophomore year I thought it would never end but toward the end I knew it was all catching up and time had begun slipping through my fingerstips. Somewhere between the falling autumn leaves and new summer air it slipped. and I couldn't stop it and I couldn't pause it. All I could do was resign. It wasn't a despair but almost a curious resigning. Where had all the time gone? Where had all the studying and stress gone? Where had the sunsets and early mornings gone? Where had Kyrie gone?

enjoy you moment. enjoy those people around you. those ones you love.

Kyrie left yesterday. She left for Maryland and then off to Philly for art school and no, she has not died but no longer will she live on my hall, in my room, and on my bed. She'll no longer be a simple shout away and I won't be able to spot her over by the windows at 1pm in the great hall with eric. I won't be calling her anymore asking when she'll be back or if she wants to go to pancakes in the morning at the kaufmans or just sleep in. No more calls of "where are you? i'm coming" or "do you want to go to starbucks for a caramel machiotto?" It's the day to day I'll miss. It's the knowing she's in arm's length and the comfort that offered. It's the feeling that I can never overdo my welcome with her, that I'll never tire her listening ears. It's that simple yet profound knowledge that someone knows you completely and yet they love you in spite of it. they get you. and they don't need you to speak all the time either. you can relax.

kyrie's dear to me.

and yet I very much see the good at the same time. There's this huge hole that she left yesterday, almost like part of me was chopped off when I hugged her and let her walk away. There's no pretty way to say it. and yet this hole even now has begun to fill, knowing that it had to happen sometime and knowing that Kyrie is so beautiful and where she is going is only going to strengthen that beauty and as silly as it sounds, I have to share her. I want to share her. I want her to be sprinkled over the lives of others, the cities and schools of someplace else because I want others to experience the calm and consistent, the patient and persevering love that she gave me. I will miss her blond tossled hair, her warmly lit room, and her constantly creative eye. But I can let her go at the same time so unbelievably grateful that I was given my time with Kyrieanna and that I know her better then I ever before. And really... it makes me grateful for those still around me and eager to spend time with them. to love.

to listen to kiko as she talks about the girl who cuts herself and needs a home in her foster agency. to go with chelsey when she picks out her puppy tomorrow. to treasure every dear conversation with michael on the porch in the evenings.

they're here. and i love them. so dearly.

and the truth is that God does give and then at times, he takes away, sometimes even people. but I'm realizing that if we just try and look around, not even that intensely. but if we just look he's taking care. he knows us so well, hemmed us in behind and before. what a freeing truth this is and sitting on my bed tonight in this new and charming house I get to call my own, tucked pleasantly inside st. elmo, I know that truth has given me peace. he's got me. he knows me. and he's taking care.

lookout kids returns(!)
ashdays is closed now. or at least till may 3rd.
kyrie and i are back on our mountain... and lookout kids returns.

click here.

bouquet of bananas
I woke this morning, reminded by the dinging text of kyrie that I overslept and needed to leave in 20 minutes. Destination ----> Easton. Hair appointment and gift card time. We had to spend a bunch of money that was given us before tomorrow, when we leave for our mountain. I dropped Kyrie, Annie, and Emma off at Oliver Michael's, a new place we keep hearing about but havn't tried yet. They're all young in there with short and spunky hairstyles. Bright red highlights and sparkly studded details in their ears and noses. I turned to go, to shop around, confident I'd left my sister and 2 friends in good hands. The vibe was good.

I got to my store at 9 and walking up I knew before I pulled on the stubborn door it wouldn't budge. Saturday morning. 9am. It wasn't going to be open. 10am. I had an hour. I walked back to the red van and reclining the seat back a bit, I sat and rolled the windows down. the wind was strong and the sun warm. It was pleasent.. so very pleasent. being warned last night that Harry's epilogue was disappointing I left it in the green van at home to wait patiently for tomorrow's journey. I looked around in my friend's car. between the two seats upfront lay a book. the spine was pointed down so i pulled it out and read "The Speckled People - a Memoir of a Half-Irish Childhood." I opened it. the first line read "When you're small you know nothing."

I like short sentences. and I like simple ones too.

It had me... all the way to the fourth chapter. It's written from the viewpoint of a young boy whose mother is German and father Irish. A speckled child, they call him. He knows 3 languages but is forbidden to speak English. He talks about his mother, the details of his grandfather, the firmness of his father, and the critical watching eye of the public. There's this part i read this morning though that i so enjoyed. I decided to read it outloud to myself, twice. This is how it goes.

"I knew that my grandmother Berta was an opera singer and that my grandfather Franz once went to listen to her sing at the state opera house in Krefeld, and because everyone else was sending her flowers, he decided to send her a bouquet of bananas instead, and that's how they fell in love and got married."

A bouquet of bananas. Why does that sound so much lovelier to me than flowers?

It just does.

i love dorks!

pause for a second. well 4 minutes really... and watch this. notice his broken arm and the boy in the back. (it's so great!!!)

5 talbot, search "asian backstreet boys" on youtube and click the first one.

far, far above thy thought
his counsel shall appear,
when fully he the work hath wrought
that caused thy needless fear.
leave to his sovereign will
to choose and to command:
with wonder filled, thou then shalt own
how wise, how strong his hand.

give to the winds thy fears, Paul Gerhardt, 1653


there was a brown paper package waiting for me when I got home this week.

actually, it was a box.

I had been waiting for it for weeks now but it's taken so long I forgot I even placed the order. so it came as a pleasently late surprise. some weeks ago the John Piper website had a 2 day sale - all their books were 5 dollars each. every single one. big or small. 5 dollars. that was the deal. so i ordered one called "taste and see". it's filled with 140 meditations on "savoring the supremay of God in all of life." I've wanted this book for awhile now so I ordered 3 copies. now i gotta figure out who to share the love with...

maybe you'll get lucky.

this hymn snipet was in the 3rd meditation, the one i read today. i read it over and over again... loving the string of words and savoring the meanings of each.

summer in the city





the city is different from my small cambridge. maybe it could be my home one day. for now I love cambridge's smallness and warmth and my moutain's coziness and clouds. i do know that you can get used to anything though. you can adapt even when you think it's impossible and really "not you"... the unfamiliar can become familiar rather quickly. you just have to submerge yourself and not complain. something about that place, philly&newyork, makes me want to dive in though...later on... dive into constant walking and dirty-hurting feet, dive into the starless nights, sidebyside living... the hustle. the bustle. dive into the world of many worlds... dive into the creativity and independence. it's scary, really scary but it's always those situations that are the most exciting and make the best stories later on.

(kyrie and I went to philly and new york for this last week to meet up with brae and our dear friends, mikey and dan from school. it was reallyreally wonderful. good friends are life giving.)

little lev






















i had to share this. i found it on my big sister's flickr. you should click that to check out her stuff! this little boy is russian and his name is lev. i really like those three letter names. p-a-x, l-e-v... they're sweet and sharp. I got to meet little lev last week when I visited brae and his lips are even more precious in person! brae slid lev into the red stripped sling and we walked around philly for a bit... around the block and past the playrground... then into a coffee shop to sit and talk. lev stares at everything. content to watch. one of the walls was covered in local art and his eyes were glued to it. when he would cry a little brae would pick him up and take him up to the wall and tell him about the different pieces. i loved watching them together.

emma watson's spunk
I'm reading it right now. sitting inside an air conditoned sugar magnolia, inbetween wandering downtown customers and bites of my shrimp eggroll from last night's takeout. I break after every chapter, savoring it's excitment and mystery... sad that it will all soon be over. Kyrie finished last night and I feel sorry for her. In desperate hopes to encourage her I told her she still has reading it to her kids to look forward to one day but she snapped "well that won't be FOR 10 YEARS!%#$&*@%$!!!!" So I read slowely. chapter by chapter. bit by bit. taking in the scenes and anticipating the secrets. Chalice has got the idea. she reads it slowly too.

I just found this shot of these little harry and hermione wanna-be's... found it on some site where they were dissing her outfit. but I say it's got spunk and spirit and that it's just dang cute. why wear heels when there's converse?

my little sister
kyrie. kyrie anna ruth howard, actually. she has two middle names because my mom and papa couldn't agree on which one to choose. Anne is his mom. Ruth is her's. So Kyrie shares the names of our grandmothers, the only damien howard child who has a "family" name. It's a pretty sweet combination though. I know Lowen adores it and I've been jealous once or twice... but my daddy didn't do too poor a job on mine ;)

This past school year I got to live with Kyrie Anna Ruth. the same room. same clothes, same sink, same laptop, hairdryer and sometimes bed when the winter wind blew unlovingly through the window above her. it was all shared. all of it. I had missed her the year before when I was gone and even the summer I got back I still missed her... You can't just jump back into someone's life. It takes time. It takes conversations. It takes understanding. arguments. listening. patience. It takes living with them in their everydays and finding a routine again.

she's really amazing though. for big reasons and little ones too. I love how level headed she is counteracting my stress. I love how she writes and doodled on our bathroom wall at school things like "life is just one damn thing after another" with a big smiley behind the toilet or the thanksgiving break countdown on the wall beside it... brightening up our stressful weeks with wit and color. I love the cards she makes and the photos she develops and then clothespins to the twinkle lights hanging above the bed. I love that she's started to cook and we go to the grocery store, stocking up on basil, mint leaves, limes, and healthy goodness! The girl is creative and it spills into everyother area of her life. She doesn't leave it out when she talks and she doesn't leave it out when she writes a simple thank you note. It's inspiring and refreshing to live with someone like this. someone who cares.

A couple weeks ago she made these shirts and painted this pot for a summer camp she was in charge of. I really like them and how she just busted out with the spray paint, big hefty gloves, and stencils printed from the computer and came out with bangin' shirts!

she's cool and I'm real grateful she's my playmate this summer.

(i'll be lovin you)

until the dolphin flies & parrots live at sea -stevie wonder























kyr and I were in our first wedding yesterday... our linnea is married off. linnea shelton is now linnea taylor. pretty little name, I think. the day was perfect, the sunset, insane. the breeze, heaven sent. the hairspray, faithful. the heels, managable. the twinkle light lanterns, precious. the cupcakes, de-lish. and the bride, beautifully calm.

oh, and i caught the bouquet!

a dang fun scene

I love this scene.
I love this song.

I'm not gonna lie. :)

backsides of mountains & human nature

I'm reading a good book right now. It pulls me in and holds me tight, like my brown and white quilt during an air conditioned night. I didn't mean to rhyme there.

I'm not much of a reader. I've always tried and I've always wanted it. I've wanted to sit for hours at my kitchen table or leaning against my bed, or just plop down on our way too comfy couch and read. for one hour. maybe two. even the whole afternoon. I hear of people who can do that and I like how they talk and how they write and I like where they choose to place periods and commas and I like how their minds think. I always find myself in this impossible predicament... never being able to get past the 3rd or 4th chapter. There's been the few rare ones that have captured my fleeting atention and kept me content and quiet long enough to read their tale. Jane Eyre, life of pi, lisa beamer's "let's roll" (don't laugh.), sophie's world, little woman, the hobbit, and good ol' harry... but I wish i've read more. I will continue to try though. to sit. to be still. to take in. to stretch my mind even when it tells me it's tired and even when it tries to refuse. This summer I've started half a dozen books and returned them to their dirty shelf barely before hittig their third chapter. I'm not proud of it. I found this one though last week...It was lying on the stair well. the color and font made me pick it up. I remembered Kyrie, buried in it the day before on the way to church. I asked her if it was any good and she gave me one of those deep nods and opened her eyes real big. That meant it was good. It's called "for one more day." It's an easy one... not very long. small little red book. but it pulled me in and it's words made me jelous and I wish I could write as well as Mitch Albom.

I liked this part.

"It's funny. I met a man once who did a lot of mountain climbing. I asked him which was harder, ascending or descending? He said without a doubt descending, because ascending you were so focused on reaching the top, you avoided mistakes. The backside of a mountain is a fight against human nature. You have to care as much about yourself on the way down as you did on the way up."

I really like looking at something fresh. Mitch Albom did it here. Life is like mountain climbing. no matter if you're going up or down. you've got to care.

this is the sisterhood




We came together last Sunday. There was a crab feast at my grandipop’s and grandimary’s. Lobie, vince, and keeks – we missed you. You have no excuse for missing it. The reunion was unique because aunt Pamela brought all her jams and dj’d this party. Pumpin’ up Akon, pussycat dolls, and the insanely wonderful Timberlake from her hot green element in grandipop’s driveway, we danced our way through the humid afternoon. The cars driving by in the normally wholesome and quiet neighborhood starred. We waved energetically. Aunt Pamela danced hard and Brae was right behind her. Little Jasper stood on the side nodding his head back and forth. We kept trying to get him to pull the moves he does at home but his shyness had the better of him.

Three favorite dancing songs:

1. Akon’s “don’t matter”
2. Pussycat doll’s “Stickwitu”
3. Cascada’s “everytime we touch”









grandipop was gettin all worked up cause i was taking so many pictures. then i showed him this one and he laughed.

Madeline














in an old house in paris
that was covered with vines
lived twelve little girls
in two straight lines...

these are the beginning lines of children's book, Madeline. Mom used to read it to us. If Kyrie were here, I'd ask her what came next and she'd be able to recite the entire book. It goes on to say how they took a walk, brushed their teeth, and went to bed in "two straight lines" and the littlest one was madeline.

I watched a little madeline today and she reminded me of the one in the book. She was so small and her voice, so delicate. The last time I looked after madeline was
farther back than I remembered. I didn't realize this morning when I biked the couple blocks to her house that she was now walking and putting words into sentences. We had conversations. She was an infant last time I saw her. Now she's four and can ask her mom to make her french toast. She even knows how to play candy land and beat me in war. She knows how to draw a triangle and tells me she likes sugar.

Madeline amazes me. maybe it's her knowledge in spite of her size or her ability to adapt to a total stranger, opening up to me and reaching for my hand, trusting me. she fills me with wonder. she's so capable. yet so small. she teaches me so much.

about the world and about myself.

flickr has more.

Sugar Magnolia
My little sister called me a couple weeks ago. I was sitting on the little beach a couple blocks from my home, watching a young Russian girl named Olga. I’ve been picking up odd babysitting jobs, hoping I’d find a steady one… not a different child every week but the same one or the same two that I could get to know and “nanny”. I’ve done this though for a long time and I wondered if maybe I could find something a bit different for this summer. Chalice knows a lot of people in our little town and she said she’d look into for me. When she called me some weeks ago her words made me want to get up and dance. She had talked to one of our friends downtown who owns a consignment boutique – Sugar Magnolia – one of my very favorite stores in little Cambridge. She needed help and wondered if I was up for it. I accepted immediately.

Sugar Magnolia is the kind of store that Cambridge has been starved for. It opened a couple years ago and whenever I visit home I’m relieved to find it still alive, so very alive. Our downtown is sweet and small, quaint and humble… maybe a little too humble. It’s about 10 blocks from our home and in the past couple years I’ve finally been given reason to walk those blocks and visit the small stores that have started to grow. The days I work here I get to walk or bike, depending on how long it takes me to me to make my lunch in the morning. A lady always sits on the bench next to the front door, smoking her cigarette and reading her newest mystery novel. I unlock the door and grab the magnolia flag inside. Standing up on the bench, beside the lady, I push it down into its holder. I walk back inside, switching on the three sets of lights and pulling the chords to the ceiling fans as I make my way to the back and open the closet, letting out my little companion, Friday – the store’s friendly green eyed cat. I don’t normally like cats but I adore this one. She doesn’t use her claws on my skin and she comes when I call. She's nice to the customers. She keeps me company and sleeps on the couch beside the counter, giving the shop such charm. The front door stays open and she doesn’t run away. I never have to worry about her… I only tell the curious customers her amusing name and that it’s alright to pet her.

Opening a shop all by myself three days a week makes me happy. I breathe easy. I am peaceful and content. I picture Kathleen Kelly opening “The Shop Around the Corner” flipping on the lights and getting ready for a day of people and finding out small things about them as she invites them into this place of her own…. a place that represents her. Although Sugar Magnolia isn’t my shop, it is Stephanie’s and it says a lot about her. The kinds of clothes she sells, the way a cat walks around, the beautiful clutter around the front desk, the magazines on the table, the quote on the wall and painted girls on the wall behind me…. They each say something about her and that’s what I find most charming about this small downtown shop. It’s Stephanie’s. and when I open it each morning, I sort of walk into her world and I have the responsibility to maintain what she's created. Maybe I romanticize it a bit too much but sometimes that’s what words are for… opening and digging out the undiscovered beauty in something that we never stopped to really see. I have great respect for the owners of small shops who open up their lives for others to unpack… and I’m grateful for Stephanie Malkus whose given me the privilege to be a small part of Sugar Magnolia for the rest of my summer.

sisters come to visit.

he taught me how
Today, after church, my little brother taught me how to shoot like Jack Bauer. This morning when we piled in the van to make the hour excursion to church, Pax came out the front door hauling his big blue duffle bag. Last night he got home from camp. He had a good week but he missed his blue duffle bag. He sat down in the back seat next to Kyrie, and my dad started telling him he really didn't need to bring that. He should bring a book instead. It took up a whole seat. Pax held it closely though and papa gave in. He unzipped it and one by one stated pulling out his most recent companions. He and a couple buddies had saved up for these babies... after seven days of separation, they were ready to be united again. First came the hand gun, then the machine-looking one, then two others that I really don't know how to describe... they're just bigger then the hand gun but definitely not as cool looking as the machine gun. The small green plastic bullets are my favorite. He carries all the ammo with him, a huge container of lime green bullets and a bottle of solid white ones that "are off limits, sienna." I think cause they glow in the dark. He has these balloon grenades too inside the blue duffle bag; small balloons that he stuffs airsoft bullets in, ties, and throws at his sisters at unexpected moments. Airsoft bullets explode. Sisters scream. Pax laughs.

I had asked him to show me, once we got home, how to shoot a gun. I wondered why I hadn't asked before. Most every sunday the fam sits in the front yard eating the newest ripened vegetables from mom's garden and talking with each other. Pax usually comes out with his plastic bag of cans and his blue duffle bag. He'll stand the cans up a couple feet from our conversation and start shooting. When I had just gotten back from Norway I couldn't believe mom let him shoot that close to us and right in the front yard. They all seemed used to it. I jumped at every shot. But at this point it's become normal and this afternoon as Pax held his baby on his lap during the ride home from church I suddenly got the idea that shooting cans might be a lot of fun.

So I asked him. I asked him if he'd teach me. He said yes too.

Pax told me I have good aim and I almost beat him in our last shoot off. We actually tied. We set up 8 cans and the one to knock the most down won. I shot 4 and he had 3. We paused. He reloaded. On the count of 3 we started shooting again. I forgot to cock my gun though and that was all the time he needed to whip me. Now he's trying to get me to play airsoft with his friends tonight but that game just seems like the game of anxiety attacks. Not into that. I feel a little more like Jack Bauer though and that's a real good feeling.