Day of Thanks + the Weekend the Stillars showed Portland our groove thang.

This Thanksgiving we geared up for Luke & Erica's wedding in beautiful Portland. E had the brilliantly brave idea to get the families together for the holiday, prior to the big weekend. We road-tripped in two cars, I got stuck with the boys. This is where I realized I'm quite the backseat driver. It started with telling Dad to change lanes or risk missing his exit, to which he said OH REALLY? MADE THIS MISTAKE BEFORE, HAVE YOU? (Well, maybe. Good times.) Dad doesn't take direction very well, especially if it's blow-by-blow, so navigating to our hotel was an experience to behold.

Turkey dinner at Erica's house, prepared by our awesome new brother-in-law(-in-law?) Matt...we ate, drank, and played games for hours. I'll admit to being a bit apprehensive that our size and sheer volume would be cause for overwhelm but nobody seemed fazed. Or maybe I just wasn't paying attention.

Friday dawned sunny and bright... Mom and I jumped drove across the river for a morning with the girls... once again, I'd been appointed navigator so I began reciting the directions word-for-word and Mom finally said I JUST NEED TO KNOW THE BIG THINGS, LIKE "TURN HERE" AND STUFF so I waited a few seconds then said OK TURN HERE! except it was really like, a mile too early... she swerved.

As I was saying. We met up with the bride and her party for mani/pedis and some mimosas. (You will see this theme repeated many times throughout our week. Read on.) Later that afternoon we showed up to the University Chapel for rehearsal, to find the heat turned off... minor setback. Coocum found herself walked down the aisle by a very tall, cute boy and from that point on called him her boyfriend. (He thought that was funny until he realized she's an awfully slow mover and then it was our turn to laugh.) Dinner was served at 6:00p, to a crowd comprised of bridal party, family and out-of-towners... when I offered dessert, the aforementioned tall & cute boy said IS THERE TIRAMISU? and I asked if he'd brought any, to which he said no, and I was all THEN NO. Apparently after that he thought I was mean. (Doesn't bother me. I only turn on the feminine wiles when I really want something. Boys who ask for tiramisu would not fall into that category.)

Dad stood up for the obligatory thank-you, and totally threw Luke under the bus. It's a rare moment to find Luke genuinely embarrassed, but the rehearsal dinner is the best venue, is it not? They'd prepared a video showing how the proposal took place, etc. and I'm pretty sure at one point the family was called "a pack of cannibals". (Oh well. At least by then everyone had met us and knew somewhat different. We hope.)

The siblings convened after, for a late-night showing of New Moon. I've never read the books, heck I hadn't even seen the first movie until two days prior, and that was only because I didn't want to be that girl who keeps asking questions because she's just sooo lost. So we're sitting in the theater watching this movie, and at one point the girl hits her head and starts bleeding, so what does the guy do? Whips off his shirt. I decided the next time I get a paper cut I'm going to turn to the nearest guy and say WHY IS YOUR SHIRT STILL ON?

Wedding day dawned bright and relatively clear. Kyle wrestled with his bow tie while I sat down to write his best man speech. (He says he didn't know what to say. So I gave him cue cards and he ended up ad libbing his way through - I was very proud.) Molly, Isaac, Auntie Pretty and I met up for a pre-funk at Stanfords, and after two rounds of drinks we'd loosened up enough to get the real party started. Something you have to understand, is the stress involved with living out of a hotel for three days + having to move rooms twice + shuttling 11 people all over Portland at different times, with only three cars + BIG BROTHER IS GETTING MARRIED! WHAT! = we were all just a tad snippy.

The wedding was beautiful -- Luke had arranged three Beatles' songs for the cello, piano and viola -- just his style. Nobody warned the ringbearer that the rings weren't the real ones so he was plenty embarrassed to step up and hand them over only to have the pastor (who happens to be his dad) lean down and say THOSE ARE FOR LOOKS, SON. Yeah. He cried in the corner for like, 10 minutes after the ceremony. Molly and I sang a song for communion, and I was doing great until I looked at Erica then it all went to pot. To a degree, Erica several years back, went through something quite similar to what I've experienced these last few months. It encouraged me greatly to see her happy and quite obviously fulfilled, for having waited out the pain and healing alike.

And this is where it gets really good. The reception was held at the Jupiter Hotel in SE. I wish there were a way to describe the complete awesomeness which ensued, but there are no words. From the toasts to the amazing dance mix, it was quite possibly the best time we've had in a long while.

(l) Kyle giving his awesome toast. He made her raise her right hand and swear to the family name, and all that it implies. (r) Pretty sure this is where the maid of honor mentioned an ex-boyfriend.

I've long rolled my eyes at the tradition of throwing the bouquet. I understand the sentimentality, but give me a break. Let's line up all the single women and throw something at them. I usually play the wallflower or hide behind my camera, but somebody took it then shoved me out onto the floor and before I knew it, I'd reached up to get the damn thing. I don't know what compelled me. However - I like to think I upped the incentive for all the cute, single men -- which, by the way, HOW does my brother have so many unattached friends? Is it a Portland thing or are they deceptively charming? We'll go with that.

Also prior to now, I was the self-proclaimed wedding reception dance hater. They're always suuuuper lame. But really, you just need those who will go with you and pretty soon you have a party. We were on the dance floor for hours, gettin' down with our bad selves. My expert theory is that the masses of single people + those just plain crazy, combined with an open wine bar and all wrapped into one very anticipated event, turned our evening into a positively awesome one.

It was then that several people confessed that they thought Luke had asked his sisters to sing as the token get-the-family-involved action, and they were pleasantly surprised to find out we could actually sing. That said, I lost count of the number of guys who, at some point during the night, pulled me aside on the dance floor (more like pulled me close and yelled into my ear) and told me they thought I had the 'voice of an angel'.

At the end of a very long night, we'd said our goodbyes and realized we were famished, so the siblings hit Denny's. Because what's a successful weekend without a midnight trip to the 24-hr restaurant, can I get an amen...

A week in the life. (Maybe you had to be there.)

Let's work backwards.

Sunday/Saturday = a full day of rehearsal in CDA, our second inside the theater. I left early to make it back to Spokane for a worship rehearsal, one that began with frustration and the evening positively went to pot. I took five minute breather/sanity check and the boys played musical chairs, my lead guitarist stepped up to the mic and sang me a love song, prefaced with THIS ONE’S FOR YOU, BABY GIRL. Remarkable. I was so not in the mood.

Friday = I showed up to a huge Fall bouquet of flowers on my desk at work, and spent the entire morning trying to figure out who they were from. So I decided I must have a secret admirer, then found out they were from a Prof who was super appreciative of my help in coordinating a last-minute event. (Nice to get flowers for doing one’s job.) I then received a call from HR extending me the permanent position of Program Assistant in the English Department, post the interview I had earlier in the week. Cue the mad celebration. Then - an evening of freedom! I cleaned for the first time since moving in. Still can’t find two pair of shoes and multiple sets of earrings, but whatever. I’m over it. Then my old bosses from KH (I call them my Not-So-Wicked Step-parents) called with a seat to Gonzaga vs. Indiana Purdue Fort Wayne starting in 20 minutes. Observation: they look so much smaller on TV.

Thursday = showcase for Advanced Dance. I suffered a hard landing and bruised my foot, which promptly turned purple. Awesome. But then I found out that two days into registration for next quarter’s classes, my Musical Theater: Chicago class had filled up and they want me to teach an overflow. That put me in a better mood.

Tuesday = I took Coocum to the touring production of The Lion King. Picked her up from assisted living, only to have her accuse the male nurse of having a crush on me when he came in to administer her night meds. (He said “No ma’am” and I was all WHAT? I DON’T LIKE YOU EITHER.) She was all dolled up and ready for a night out, complete with a patriotic scarf. That’s right, my grandmother went dressed as the American flag. I dropped her off in front of the theater then parked the car, by the time I’d made it inside she was halfway through a glass of wine. Not that The Lion King is hard to sit through, but a glass of wine is appropriate just about any time, let’s be honest.

Monday = showcase for Musical Theater: Les Miserables. We perform One Day More and Master of the House, complete with clanking bar mugs which I took care to explain was MILK, WE’RE DRINKING MILK. THEY’RE NOT DRUNK, THEY’RE JUST HIGH ON LIFE.

No wonder they want me back.

Summer 2009, aka "The Year Molly Caught a Delicious Bass"

Before last week, vacation was the one thing my family ever did half-assed. Such is life when the numbers are large. Somebody has basketball or camp or a wedding to attend or has to work, and so on. Popular people have no flexibility. The last time we were all together, was Christmas 2008, when Luke's slave-driver of an employer said WHY SURE, FLY HOME TO YOUR FAMILY, SEE YOU IN 48 HOURS. Two de-iced runways, a few hours of snow-shoveling and Indiana Jones meets Mr. Stillar's Wild Ride later, there he was and there we were and it was all great fun. Before that? September 2006: Molly's wedding. (Which doesn't count, 'cause it was obligatory.)

We are one big, lame unit when it comes to being in the same place at the same time.

Of the 11 of us, 6 attended last years fly-fishing trip. That was the last time we went anywhere near the idea of a vacation, unless you count 1995's camping trip to Glacier Nat'l Park when we left Alex at a gas station and Mom got food poisoning from the lunch meat. Or the 1997 road trip to Salinas, CA when Kelsey backed the car out of the garage (she was 8 years old at the time) and hit Leslie in the head with a standing umbrella, all in one day.

Our other problem, and I'm sure you can relate, is that doing anything for leisure is not an easy thing for us. And by us, I mean me. Taking an entire week to not be responsible (which in my vocabulary has always been equivalent with IRRESPONSIBLE) and have some "me" time means stopping what I'm doing, which ultimately means two things: 1) I develop a complex because I'm not being productive, and 2) somebody else has to do my work, which means the days leading up to said vacation are a mad frenzy, high-stress, and I usually pull out a few fingernails all so I can leave things in good enough shape for someone who isn't going to do it right anyway. But at least I will have tried, even if my entire vacation is spent dreading the damage control I have waiting for me when I get back.

Then I quit my job. I always thought I was relaxation-impaired, but I've discovered a new me. And she's very tan.

Around this time last year, somebody brainstormed the novel idea of a Stillar Family Vacation. We planned, we said A YEAR IS ENOUGH TIME TO ARRANGE OUR PRECIOUS SCHEDULES and we settled on a trip to the Washington coast. Then I argued that in order to do it right, we had to all pile into a 15-passenger van just like the old days, and drive together. It was around then that our grand ideas went to pot. The rest of my family, and I exert a lot of effort to clarify that I was NOT of like mind in this matter, decided that 5 hours was too far. Stay closer, they said. That way we can come home if need be, they said. All the while, I'm sitting there with my chin on the table thinking THIS IS VACATION HERESY, I QUIT THIS FAMILY.

Had I given it an ounce of thought, I might've predicted that the greatest concern on the day of our departure was whether or not we'd have cell service.

We booked a cabin on the Pend Oreille River for a week. Everybody pitched in for rent, food and gas. Given the year-in-advance notice, we arranged as best we could. Even after committing to working the summer elsewhere, one of my two off-weeks landed on the scheduled vacay dates. God was smiling, beaming a big toothy grin on this vacation, I just knew it. And perhaps it's because He knew we'd make a lot of memories, those only the Stillars are capable of touching because hey, it takes a special kind of family to laugh when child #5 lets the car roll down the driveway on the way out, cuz she left her wallet inside and jumped out before hitting the e-brake.

Mom, Dad and I went shopping the week before to stock up on groceries, a single trip that became the reason Mom reinstated the Swear Jar, with a few notable additions such as "Complaining", "Attitude Problems" and "Sarcastic Jabs".

Way to ruin all the fun, Mom.

Though I don't understand how she thought I was complaining. I was simply pointing out that each child should not have been allowed special food requests. Especially because I didn't get that memo. I liked Dad's idea of beans and weenies and PB&J, what else do we need?

She was only trying to be a good mommy and let her kids have whatever they wanted. I suppose I could've gone easier on her, but really...3 boxes of Otter Pops for seven days? (It's with a mouth full of crow that I admit by Day 3 we were in need of more.) However, jam is jam and Kyle should not be allowed to request "Smuckers Strawberry Jam NOT Preserves, because Preserves are not the same"... No no, it should not matter.

Day 1 = we arrive. Mom, Molly and I unpack the food. (I felt a little better when Molly said OH LOOK, STRAWBERRY PRESERVES and Kyle's head spun an entire 360 degrees.) Kelsey sprays the various hornet nests and promptly gets chased around the yard. We christen the Volleyball court by playing Boys vs. Girls. I get eaten alive by mosquitos. Boys take the win and Kyle doesn't shut up about it for hours. Kelsey, Kyle and Alex stake out the dock and Kyle spots a juicy bass making it's way through the seaweed, so he whips off his shirt and says GIVE ME TEN BUCKS IF I JUMP IN AND CATCH IT? Said Three Amigos then put the canoe in the water and five minutes in, Kyle has hooked Alex, while Kelsey has caught a small fish and is yelling at the top of her lungs I-GAH-WUUNNN!! Final count is KK = 7, Boys = 0.

Evening rolls around. The poker chips come out, and the action goes well past midnight.

Now. Let me set the stage for you. The upstairs bedrooms are connected. Must go through one to get to the others. Kyle heads to bed, I was half-asleep, and mere seconds later I hear him tear through my room, whispering a colorful variation of I SWEAR TO GOD, I'M NOT SLEEPING IN THERE, THAT'S THE FREAKIEST THING I'VE EVER SEEN. DON'T TRY TO CHANGE MY MIND.

Turns out somebody had used glow-in-the-dark paint and stenciled on the wall a very detailed likeness of a skeleton/ghost/mothman. Kyle leaned in close and said IT HAS EYES, ANNIE. EYES. Needless to say, he slept in the living room with all the lights on and when we tried to convince him to shut them off, he said GO BACK TO BED, I'M SLEEPING WITH MY EYES OPEN. It was dubbed The Demon Room, though it didn't stop Alex from taking the bed since Kyle left it empty.

Day 2 = rain. We sat inside chatting about reading material. I said My Utmost For His Highest, Oswald Chambers. Leslie said Great Expectations, Charles Dickens. Kyle said How to Kick Ass at Volleyball, Rick Stillar.

Weather cleared up and we hit the water. The sisters played tube wars, and several runs later I was back on the dock nursing canvas burns on my shins and blowing water out my nose. ('Cause who doesn't like that feeling? Pick me.) Day 3, I am swabbing hydrocortizone on my plethora of welt-like mosquito bites. Seriously, everyone asked what happened to me, the marks were that unusual and disturbing. I made it through a month in Europe with not so much as a mark, but count on two days at the lake to re-enact the chicken pox outbreak of 1989.

Late in the day, our friends David, Jenese & Emily drove up for the night, went fishing with Molly & Isaac at 6am on Day 4 and here, my friends, is where things got wild. Molly returned with a huge fish, the biggest catch so far, and it was all I could do to swat her with my spatula and tell her I didn't want my pancakes tasting like fresh fish. No offense.

So there she is holding this thing, and rather than waste any time reveling in her catch, she marches upstairs and proceeds to dangle it right over Kyle's sleeping face.

Let me tell you. He was pissed.

This after the smoke alarms went off three times the night before, which meant none of us got much sleep. I had to laugh, however, because nobody got up to check on things. After the third buzz, Isaac hopped up and ripped out the batteries but hello, those babies are wired together and they still go off. Can't imagine what we would've done had there actually been a fire. This is what you'd call desensitization.

I had to leave halfway through the excursion to catch a flight back to Vancouver, though not before squeezing in an action-packed day of volleyball and card games. And oh, Alex and I soaked our legs in ammonia. Stings like a bitch, but cures the mosquito bites. Or so they say.

Mom called the next day with an update:

• Isaac left the hose running in the hot tub, and it overflowed. Great.
• Kelsey was changing her clothes in the bathroom, lost her balance and crashed through the shower door. Shattered it to pieces. Funniest part of this story, is when she was telling me the story I was relaying the details to Auntie Pam who kept asking IS SHE OKAY? while I kept asking Mom AND THEN WHAT HAPPENED? It wasn't til a few minutes later that we found out yes, she was okay and guess what, Dad went home for the night to cool off. Apparently his kids' stupidity (even in the form of honest accidents) is never easier to handle no matter how many times it comes back with a vengeance.

And I just have to say, this year's Christmas Letter is gonna be awesome. Lots of fodder, from a mere 4 days with this crew.

You are so jealous you missed it.

(Oh yeah. Click here for pictures.)

This Ain't Your Mama's Summer Camp

This summer I have the best job in the world. I, the fearless Games Leader, get to run kids in circles, throw water balloons at them, dunk their faces in whipping cream, feed them icky food, the list goes on. Aaaand occasionally I must lay down the law because somebody decided it would be funny to throw pudding instead of water balloons. Then, you just don't mess with this.

Lesson learned. Who knew, food games and water games don't mix. Some games require more explanation than others, because wouldn't you know, little kids always find the loophole.

There are challenges, after all we're talking about kids with a buttload of energy. I moved them outside for the Ice Cream Relay, where they make a sundae in their hands...the 6 & 7 year old's were so torqued on sugar they started doing laps around the field, which in theory is not a bad idea... however, when they're covered in ice cream and chocolate sauce, the words RAISING HAVOC come to mind. One little boy didn't make it very far before collapsing to the ground, forehead in his hands. Then he started yelling IT HUUUUURTS!!!!

Well now, that's what happens when you eat something very cold, very fast, then run around as if you just don't care.

Though I suppose that's better than those who act like they're ten years older than they really are, by whispering sweet nothings into one another's ear but when I walk by, they discreetly shut up and he mumbles CAN WE TALK ABOUT THIS LATER?

First week, I attempted a game of good old fashioned soccer. I thought it was a safe bet, and an easy way to run off the ice cream high. That was until I stood on the sidelines watching them run away, showing no signs of turning around. The goalie stepped onto the field and, despite the fact that they were too far away to hear, yelled HAVE ANY OF YOU EVEN PLAYED SOCCER BEFORE??

Dude. They're theater kids. And then, then we realized the err of our ways.

Perhaps the greatest part of the last 3 weeks, has been the carpooling. We've driven from Vancouver to Aloha, OR, Boring, OR and Camas, WA. Hours in the car with these people has yielded an interesting, and hilarious dynamic. Apparently I've been credited with sassifying one of the guys, as his friend commented that he seemed quicker with the comebacks. So they asked if he'd met me because hello, I'm a piece o' work.

I'm going to take that as a compliment.

One of the great joys of being a summer camp staff member, are Theme Days. There is Team Color Day, Crazy Hair Day (note to self: sending pictures of your crazy hair to your former boss, will end you up on the company blog with a big fat tagline that reads LOOKS LIKE WE MADE THE RIGHT CHOICE), and Sea Creature Day. After two weeks of zippo staff participation because nobody could figure out how to dress up like a Sea Creature, we staged an uprising and showed up as Pirates instead.

Argh.

I'm gonna take the easy way out on this one...

Sooo... for the month I was away, I emailed home several times. I'm going to direct you to the wonderful world of Facebook to read said notes and otherwise catch up on the details and stream-of-consciousness updates from my European excursion. Chances are you already have.

I know, I'm lame. I just can't bring myself to summarize it all. Mostly because I can't remember, and that's the honest to God truth. However, I would like to point out that never before have I looked so healthy. And by healthy I mean tan. Thank you, Greek Islands.

I think I undershot the emotional breakdown waiting for me after returning from a month abroad. Let's be honest, I'm not exactly the hold-it-together type of girl. You or someone like you could probably come back liberated, relaxed, toned, and ready to tackle world peace. I wish I had your open mind. Don't get me wrong, I never turn down the opportunity to joke about my or anyone else's discomfort, which basically means I could write a book. It was one giant new and uncomfortable experience, and I mean that to say it was absolutely amazing. Seeing the sights and ruins is pretty incomparable, even if all the tourists in Rome do show up at the exact same moment.

London was magical. Definitely was not a huge fan of Rome & Florence. Probably had to do with the heat and the crowds and the fact that it was our first stop so I was still getting used to my earplugs and the awful-as-sin nighttime temperatures and wouldn't you know, melatonin never kicks in as quick as you'd like it to. Loved Cinque Terre. Italian Lakes were beautiful. Athens was dirty, though it might've had something to do with it being 2:30a and having just gotten lost looking for our hostel. Greek Islands were just like you see in the movies, donkeys and all. The buildings are one of three colors: white, off-white, and beige. Austria is cool and classic, everyone there knows they're cool but nobody flaunts it. We road-tripped through Ireland, which was amazing and I would go back in a heartbeat. It even sounds awesome. IRELAND. No wonder everyone worships Bono.

Something I've noticed about myself, is that I'm not nearly as intolerant to discomfort as I was before. Road trips, trains, ferries, energetic donkeys... you name it, we had to endure it at one point and the headaches gradually got less while the tolerance for waiting increased. With the exception of flights: my trip home was 2 hrs to the airport, 3 hrs to check-in and board, 9-hr-flight + 4 hour layover + 5-hr-flight. I'm also a lot less prone to anxiety attacks when it comes to finding my own way around foreign cities. You tend to learn quickly when you have no other option. I firmly believe this applies to almost everything. Like swimming. I'll even push you in. You don't believe me.

So I get home, I recover from jet-lag, I come to grips with the fact that I have successfully missed a month of time as far as anything familiar/familial is concerned, and I jump right into the next thing.

And I may have kissed my car the first few times I drove it. I just really missed it.

What does come next, you ask?

Well.

First of all. HoopFest weekend. If you know the Stillars, you know this is our sacred holiday. We party it up. We swim. We play ball. We attract a lot of attention. We start a lot of fights. But not street fights, cuz that would be bad. We never get bored. We stay in a hotel and host all of our friends and eat pizza and mexican food. We are the awesomest, most badass thing to ever hit Spokane HoopFest. Ever since the tradition began, every Stillar child to hit the HoopFest court has come away with a championship title at one point or another. Every Stillar child except for Kyle. He has racked up 2 or 3 or maybe 8 second place titles, and this year we all knew if he didn't win the big one, he was gonna go postal.

Thankfully, he won.

It was also Kelsey's 21st birthday. She drank a Mike's Hard Lemonade. Because that, my friends, is how we like our alcohol. I offered to mix a White Russian, until J said SHE'S NOT FIFTY YEARS OLD!

I happen to like White Russians. So you shut up.

That very same day, I made the drive to Vancouver, WA to begin what would become six weeks of summer camps for CYT VanPort, which I'll describe in greater detail at a later date. Suffice it to say, my inner child is finally free.

Sad news: J's brother P moved to Fresno this week. This has been a huge point of struggle and long-suffering these last few months, as it approached and we (okay, only J) maintained a very steady stream of denial. P is one of those people who has a lot of love to offer underneath his sassy exterior. I've never had a problem getting under his skin, and deep down he loves me for it. He doesn't know it though, and thanks to our incessant bickering, neither will anyone else. Case in point: we're playing Nerts, and with a single glance (I don't even have to say anything), he goes from zero to pissed-off, convinced I'm thinking something and he wants to know what it is and if I don't tell him he's gonna punch me. So I coolly say I'M JUST THINKIN' I'M NEVER GONNA VISIT, CUZ I HATE CALIFORNIA and then he tells me to lose the 'tude.

P is far more comfortable sinking his fangs into you because you think you know more about something than he does. Problem is, he's usually right. (Word of advice: don't even go near the subject of Mac computers. You will lose.) When I pointed out that J is really bummed about the move, P says WELL, I GUESS HE JUST NEEDS TO MOVE TO FRESNO.

Which, by the way, is totally the wrong thing to say.

And then I ate him for dinner.

His wife Krista has twice the sass, and I like her for a variety of reasons but mostly because she's my wingman. When J shot me in the face with Nerf darts, she was right there to say YOU LEAVE HER ALONE! We share more than just relationships with a set of psychotic brothers. We share war wounds. And now she's gone. Guess I'll just have to visit.

But I'm leaving J here, cuz he hates road trips. And I never want to see another airplane again.

About to jump across the pond, sanity not quite intact.

Am I aware that I haven't posted in almost a month? Yes. I could try to explain the reasons why, but they would sound like just that...excuses... not to mention nobody flat-out cares, and I'm not offended by that. Facts of life, I mean c'mon.

May 1st was my last day at work. Talk about a tearjerker. I actually think I cried out most of my anxiety on Monday/Tuesday... I'm the girl who holes herself up in the bathroom and cries, fixes her face then emerges like everything is fine. After 5 or 6 said trips, I was a little run down but I made it. By Friday I was ready to go.

I didn't think two weeks of no job could be so exhausting. I thought I'd prepared myself for what lies ahead...I thought I knew myself well enough to know when I'd start panicking, and while I'm pretty much amazing and RIGHT ON when it comes to when it would hit me...I was nowhere near ready for it. How is that even possible. I mean, what is WRONG with me.

Let's back up. Two weeks = 14 days off. 14 days to prepare to leave the country for a month. 14 days to make 6 bouquets + 22 paper flowers.... 14 days to shoot & edit one wedding + four portrait sessions...14 days to think up a packing list and obtain obscure items like outlet adapters and card readers and melatonin. 14 days to clean and move out of one house and into my parents, where my crap will reside for 3-1/2 months, the first of which my baby sisters get dibs on my clothes & shoes and seriously, they think I should go to Europe more often. 14 days to come to grips with the fact that as of Sunday, my life changes drastically. That I won't be back in Spokane for an able-to-breathe amount of time again until September. For those of you who don't know me, that's like the stuff freakouts are made of. If you're Robin, you know EXACTLY what I'm talking about.

I am still rehearsing 3 days a week for Joseph..Dreamcoat, which opens Friday the 22nd. Rehearsals aside, the meetings and phone calls to pull of a show of this caliber and difficulty, are like...crazy. I am so appreciative that the artistic team is attentive and on top of it. I've never worked with a group like this before - they are nothing short of brilliant. They are the reason I, no joke, considered postponing Europe for the sole reason of seeing them perform. I'm the white trash of metaphors, so excuse the lameness but I compare it to carrying a child for 9 months then being knocked out cold for the big moment when BAM they make their big debut. 

My heart is so wrapped up in this show. Completely and fully. And it breaks to know I won't be here.

If I'm being honest, I don't want to leave. I know I have a month of excitement ahead of me, and that once I get there I will decide I like it.... but right now, I want to stay. 

Back to my departure. Because it is happening, really it is.

Airport pickup on Saturday: check. Airport dropoff on Sunday: check. Arrangements for my return flights and the 3 days in Portland before coming back to Spokane: check. Call to the back to say HEEEEEY, I'M LEAVING THE COUNTRY SO PLEASE DON'T SHUT DOWN MY ACCOUNT FOR SUSPICIOUS ACTIVITY: double check. Cutesy dresses: check. Semi-preparation for a summer of games and living in another city: check.

Pay no mind to the lack of mental clarity. I'm trusting it will come later. Maybe when I'm staring at a bunch of old statues and buildings, wondering why the heck the United States can't get our act together and be nostalgic and historical like the Europeans. 

Never in my life have I been so absentminded. I am not the oblivious absentminded person...I'm the one who is BEYOND IRRITATED that I can't be more on the ball, better about returning phone calls, better about making time for the people and things important to me... my brain is in this mode where I cannot, simply cannot handle much. What i hate the most, is that I have been void of enthusiasm and  energy for days... not because I am sad (though we've established that I am, indeed, quite a mess), but because with all I have on my mind, I am forgetful and inconsiderate and needy and altogether kind of a flake. I hate feeling like I've let people down. That I've called in favors and not been outwardly appreciative enough. That I've let people help me and not shown them enough gratitude. I am used to being independent, not out of principal but just because it's how I live my life. I'm not used to needing other people, not very much, and I've relied very heavily on people these last few weeks. For help with stubborn paper flowers, for moral support as I weigh the pros & cons of maintaining a relationship long-distance, for taxi duty when I ran over a screw and flattened my tire, for prayer when I was literally on the couch in tears for hours on end, unable to stop myself. Have you ever been there?

Through it all, I am painfully aware of two things: 1) I am a chronic over-commitment whore. 2) I own way too many clothes.

So. I am learning to say no out of necessity. Two days before I leave. Nice timing. I am such a loser.

The last month has provided some eye-opening experiences. Like losing a routine has caused me to lose weight. Like shooting a wedding is a good way to discover ones capacity for extreme pressure.

 

 
 

The biggest lesson there is that when I myself get married, I am giving my friends the permission to shoot me with a pellet gun if i don't have a wedding coordinator. And for crying out loud, somebody get the photographer a drink.

I will say, the memory of the bride hanging over the sink and ready to hurl her cookies, thus postponing the first look by oh, half an hour... yes, that was priceless.

I have not the ability to think too far beyond the next few days. I won't be able to post much while I'm away, but know this: I'll be having the time of my life, and taking notes so I can report back with the most sarcastic voice of experience one has ever heard. 

I will try to keep the late-night skinny dips to a minimum. 

Peace out, I'll see everyone in another month.

-a

T-minus 31 days and counting...

In just over a month, I leave to find myself. Lately I've given a bit more thought to the circumstances, and aside from feeling a tad apprehensive about not speaking the language(s) and the possibility of agreeing to any number of marriage proposals while I'm there, I am SO ready. 

In telling a friend about my upcoming travels, he said NOT TO FREAK YOU OUT OR ANYTHING, BUT HAVE YOU SEEN THE MOVIE 'TAKEN'? So I punched him in the nose. Honestly? He said I'm sweet and nice and unassuming and for the love of God, or at least for my parents' sanity, be smart. I said I'd try, but if worse comes to worst, Molly gets my camera and I promised Robin she could have my teal handbag. The rest is up for grabs.

I've had (and will have) a lot on my mind before then, which is in itself a blessing and a curse. It keeps me from thinking too hard, and if you know me you know this is a good thing. But it also means I run the risk of being ill-prepared. (Yeah right. But still.) I have a running list of things I need to have done before then, including but not limited to finding a backpack conducive for traveling light, and cleaning out my car which I've lived in oh, since February. Apparently my newly-licensed and probably-reckless baby sister is jumping at the chance of having another vehicle in which to tool around the neighborhood. I know I would.

In 2-1/2 weeks my job wraps up. Monday I start training the new gal. On the miscellaneous side of things, I have one wedding + two events to shoot, a show to rehearse (3 days a week), a summers worth of camp games to plan, a 401k to rollover, and a brides + bridesmaids bouquets to handmake for a May 16th wedding. That of which I have to miss, though the morning of (and mere hours before my flight out), I will be shooting location shots of the bride & groom. Because isn't it just like me to agree to something like that. I must really love them.

My response when people have asked me why I'm going, is generally 'because I can'. And I think it's a fine answer. The overall response has been excitement, even the occasional I'm-proud-of-you, and sometimes from people I hardly know. Most assess the situation... that I'm a 23-year-old single who has done the full time school/work combo for six years. In other words, I deserve this. I was never one to do things the conventional way anyway, so I don't think I had the urges to travel or otherwise have the experiences they say one always wishes they had once they've reached their senior years and look back. That said, I recognize the validity of said sentiments now, and am all the more appreciative for it.

I didn't book this trip to sow my wild oats, or even so that I could look back years from now and say AW MAN, I WISH I'D DONE THAT. To be honest, I booked it because I wanted to see Europe and the opportunity happened to present itself. Perhaps that seems impulsive and immature, and in all fairness, my motives have changed substantially. The original plan didn't include quitting my job, and it has caused this trip in particular to mean much more than just a vacation. It's a turning point, a segway, a moving on. Because when I return, it really is on to the next very different thing. Something I've never done.

The common thread among what others have had to say, is that I'll never regret taking the time to do it now. When I'm young and vivacious and don't have kids (or a husband) to worry about. Those who know me a little bit better, also add the part about props for being willing to take the step in faith -- beyond security and some might even say common sense, given the state of the economy. I have never been a risk-taker. Always a saver. And never one to err on the side of chance. Yet this whole thing has not for once been anything short of an affirmation that my Lord and my God has a solid, calm grip on my life and my circumstances. Each door has soundly opened, and as I've walked through it's been one of two things... blessing to move forward, or a sharp close. And either way, I have known beyond the shadow of a doubt that I am exactly where I'm supposed to be. Profoundly so.

To answer the question I know is coming, I don't know what comes next after I return from Portland in September. It could be any number of things. I am basking in the liberation that comes with not planning that far ahead, knowing full well that I will be taken care of and most likely challenged along the way.

And if I don't make it, life insurance will kick in and mom & dad can build that Bed & Breakfast a few years ahead of schedule.  My only stipulation is that it be named... 

THE ANNIE STILLAR MEMORIAL GARDENS: SHE LEFT TO FIND HERSELF AND AS IT TURNS OUT, SHE'S A LITTLE HARDER TO FIND THAN WE THOUGHT.