understanding (n.)

More than that, now.

And although it has only been one year, I am, quite literally, astounded by the goodness and the integrity and the sheer joy that is my husband.  This man is :  loving, patient, kind, witty beyond belief, an incredible debater re: all things politics, a humanitarian to his core, level headed.

He is also:  mine.  I have no idea how that happened.

And let's be honest.  The first year of marriage can teach you a lot about a lot.  I knew that Shoes and I would have some adjusting to do to real life.  The majority of our relationship had been long distance.  You know what happens on the weekends you see each other when you're doing long distance?  Fancy dinners, lovely cocktails, trips to the zoo ... when you see each other only on the weekends, it's a perpetual party.  Real life is not always a party.

I mean, sometimes it is.  Sometimes life is a party.  Sometimes, though, it's more like "I took the dog out at 5:30 this morning so I think it's your turn to take her to the dog park."  Sometimes it's more like, "I know we had sushi last week but we're having it again this week because I'm exhausted and I just can't bear to make one more decision."  Sometimes it's more like, "Babe.  Why is the light fixture still in the closet and not installed in the dining room?"

And, then, sometimes life is like, "Lisa, watch this.  I can totally make Dogs bark now."  And sometimes it's like, "Your nephew just said he has a lucky muscle."  And sometimes it's like, "My best friend's kid is running around town wearing a batman cape."

Our marriage is in the living and my living now happens side by side by a short, brown haired gem of a human being.

We've done life this year.  O, Lord.  Have we done life.  We got a dog.  I got a job.  We got married.  We bought a house.  I quit my job.  I got a different job.  Shoes adjusted to his job (contracts and public records and risk management aren't quite the same as being a deputy prosecuting attorney).  Shoes and I, we've had some moments.  Some misunderstandings.  I think Rosie and I have taken him to depths of his patience he didn't know existed.  But more than that ... more than the dialogues and the life that had to be lived and the dog that's eaten just about everything under the sun ... more than that, there is a deep well of commitment, respect, and complete and consuming love for each other.

See, here's the thing.  When Shoes and I said our vows last year, we didn't commit to just a marriage.  We committed to a lifelong endeavor of supporting the other person and growing with the other person.  We didn't commit to "husband and wife."  Moreso, we committed to "human being and human being."

We committed to the entire sum of the other person:  the love, the strength, the humor, the fears, the insecurities.  We committed also to the commitment.

To celebrate one year of marriage, we headed north to a mountain lake and rented jet skis.  We chased each other around and raced each other and got deliciously sun burned.   We drank wine in the mountain town and ate delicious Italian food.  We took naps.  We laughed.  We hugged.  We talked about our wedding.  We talked about our upcoming year.

On the Sunday of our anniversary weekend, we took a walk in a large, nearby city park, where, on our actual anniversary, we watched from a distance another couple saying their vows.  And we saw how happy their loved ones were.  And we watched them celebrate.  And I cried.  Because that's what I do: Professional Crier.  And Shoes said, "Wife, stop."  Because that's what he does.  And I hoped for this couple what I hope for Shoes and I:  that even when life is hard and circumstances are terrible, you can still celebrate the union and the relationship and the other person.

Man.  A year goes by so quickly...

And that's certainly not because I'm not thankful for anything.
Also.
I've really loved reading the everyday (and not so everyday) blessings that you've enjoyed (and I have enjoyed through you).

This Thanksgiving, there's a few things I find myself being deeply grateful for ... right now ... this year brings a host of blessings, but let's save those for the end of the year post ...

So, right now ...

...the opportunity to humbly partner with my clients as they develop new narratives
...the absolute courage of said clients
...grace
...forgiveness
...humility
...kindness
...love
...listening
...sacrifice
...stillness

Also ...

...raucous laughter
...winter air
...Rosie galloping in the snow
...orange mochas from Thomas Hammer
...text pictures of my sassy Goddaughter, Rebekah
...the smell of Rosemary (don't know, just love it)

Above all else ...

...a God who loves humanity more deeply than I will ever figure out
...a partner who is more deeply fantastic and wholly good than I could have ever asked for
...this life.

(ellipses don't work here.)  This Thanksgiving, I am also reminded that I am placed in a position of privilege -- privilege awarded to me due to absolute no merit or hard work of my own.  What I'm thankful for is fundamentally shaped by this privilege because my experience as a human being is shaped by this privilege.  This privilege is a slippery slope, and I am thankful for the daily opportunity to deeply examine it and, in any way I can, to use it as an ally.  I am grateful for those in my life who are not at all afraid to call out this privilege.  I am grateful for that discomfort.  I am grateful for the opportunity to realize how much I do not know.  I am humbly grateful for the learning.

Tongue in cheek ...

I am grateful that the Cougar Football Season is over and that my wonderful Shoes will be returned to a place of non dispair.  Please join with me in praying for Coug Fans the nation over.  May they know a season of less heartbreak next year.

Be blessed.  Enjoy your families this holiday (those blood and those you have chosen).  May we move forward in the rest of the year truly remembering how grateful we are today and not lose sight of that in the upcoming weeks.

Can anyone else explain the mysterious workings of the twin mind? 

Last Sunday whirled Elizabeth and I to the bridal show at the Convention Center in N Portland.  I had incredible company, the free cake was delicious, but the vendors?  Predatory like a T Rex.  And the vendor that scared me the most?  The ladies who asked me if I had considered a little color before my big day.

Hard to take the question seriously from somebody resembling an Oompa Loompa.



I declined politely.

And oh, the week that followed. 20 hours at the Lab.  19 hours at my internship and getting assigned my first two families.  6 hours of classes.  Reading.  Writing.  Research.

Trying to find time to set up a meeting with potential wedding photographers.

Getting my business in order so I can fully spend time with the moms next weekend to look for a wedding dress.  Their first meeting, and I could not be more excited for them to get to know each other this far in advance of the wedding.  It's one of my biggest hopes that the two (or in our blended case, four) families truly feel like family the day of.

I don't know where I'm finding time to pin things to Pinterest, but would you like to take a miniature sneak peek at what I'm thinking for our big day?  (Or is that, a very expensive little party?) ...

of school tomorrow ... at least for this go round.  i haven't necessarily ruled out a Ph.D., but that, dear hearts, is a journey in and of itself.  i haven't started this school year yet, and i know, because i often rule my personal life with clarity, that i love it already.

and i will love being done.

next june will be the culmination of three years of some of my best social work work so far.  i can say with confidence i've put my whole heart and entire being into this masters degree.  but  it is just the best social work so far.  i can't even imagine the amazing things to come once i step back into the field.  i can't wait to add to my ten years of bachelor's level experience.

my school bag is ready.
my alarm clock is set.
i have my first training at my internship tomorrow (while last year was a journey into geriatric psychotherapy, this year marks a journey back into the world and hearts of children and their families).
my first class (social work with children, adolescents and families) tomorrow evening.
i may not sleep tonight.  (i get that worked up.)

it was a good, long last weekend of summer.  shoes and i successfully booked our first choice of a wedding venue -- one that we are entirely thrilled about (even shoes, even though he tries not to be).  we have a date.  the moms and i will be looking for a dress at the end of october.  the attendant list has almost been fully confirmed ... just a few more people to talk to.  my dear friend molly offered the use of her own wedding arch, and molly and i are both so, so stoked that we will both have been married under it.  much to do in the upcoming year.

it does my soul well to know shoes and i are getting married in his hometown.  maybe because i do not have a hometown.   we'll make that the topic of the next post.  hometown.  roots.  where we come from and where we're going.  for now, here's (yet another blurry one due to my amazingly slow shutter release) a picture of me in shoes' hometown.  the gorgeous wheat?  very much a part of the scenery of the venue.

makes me excited all over again.

" ... a ribbon at a time"
       -- Emily Dickinson

O, summer.  This time you're slipping away much, much too quickly.  You laugh too boisterously.  You charge ahead too quickly.  You shock me with your zeal. I can barely keep up.

But I do.

This is the last true summer vacation for the rest of my life.

In the midst of the "yays" and "congratulations" and the "have you set the dates" and my mysterious foray into becoming left handed, things still surge forward.

I've started a second job at the Very Large Hospital as a clinical interviewer with a Very Large, multivariate, longitudinal ADHD study.  It's amazing.  I'm challenged.  And I get to conduct psychosocial assessments with parents as well as assess for DSM symptomology.  It couldn't be any more up my little social worker alley and I adore working with the parents and their children.  In the afternoons I work at Research Administration (as I have been for almost 2 years) and then in the evenings I head over to Psychiatry.  And because I'm new and slow and still figuring out how to score assessments and keep parents on track and focused, I haven't been getting OUT of the hospital until 10:30 at night.  And then taking a bus downtown.  And then waiting for another bus downtown to get home.  Right.  Still thinking about the best, safest way to do that.

Long hours.  I'm pretty exhausted.  But fascinated.  This is a good move.  In the fall, I'll juggle classes, internship, research / reading / writing, and this new job (and will not work in Research Administration).  And I will plan me and Shoes' epic coupledom ceremony.

Or, actually, maybe his mom will do that.  I've a GPA to uphold and a Shoes to love on.  

But, in the midst of this craziness and full speed ahead-ness, we've done some Summer stuff.  And I'm pretty proud of myself for taking some time to have fun.  See?  The proof is in the pudding ....


Like taking summer drives through the Gorge, wishing we had the time to learn how to this ...


And spending time in Old Town with the friendly neighbors ...


We went on a houseboat party!  Notice everything Shoes wears has a Washington State University logo on it.


Shoes loved the house boat party so much he back flipped off the roof.


And we watched the Mariners lose while freezing our tookuses (tookusi?) off in Seattle.  (There sure are a lot of people smiling for the camera in this photo ... people we don't know at all.)  But we were also there with people we love dearly, so it all balances out.

And we have more!  Weddings and parties and shindigs, oh my.

I can already feel fall in the air ... and while I'm excited to see it (and my last year of school!) come, I'm going to miss this little bit of summer joy that's happened.

Who am I kidding?  This is an avalanche of summer joy.

From the horse himself ...



It's true!

I said yes! I get to marry this amazingly kind, witty, scarily smart, gentle, loving man and I could not be more humbled, grateful or thrilled.

On Saturday, Shoes and I went to Bread and Ink Cafe on Hawthorne for Breakfast.  I normally LOVE Bread and Ink, but on that morning, it was truly terrible in the most awful of ways.  (Terrible, guys, terrible.  I expect free Mimosas next time.)  I think after that we both just wanted to sleep for the rest of the day and start over again on Sunday.  Or, I did.  Shoes, however, was formulating a plan of his own.

It was the first gorgeously sunny day in Portland for weeks (sorry, rest of the country.  We have been freezing our buns off over here), so like every other Portlander (hello, 580,000 neighbors!), we headed out to Washington Park / the Japanese Gardens / The Portland Rose Gardens.    You can't waste days like that around here.

So, in a setting like this:



In a rare moment of solitude (all 580,000 Portlanders were taking guided tours of the Garden that day, I'm pretty sure), on a bench outside of the Teahouse:


My dear, sweet Shoes pulled the ring out of his pocket and told me there was nothing else on earth he'd rather do than marry me.

And I, who had had so, so many sweet and loving things to tell Shoes on the day he proposed, (heart felt, tender, important things) said, "WOW Y'ALL - LOOK AT THAT TEAHOUSE! THINK THEY GOT A GEE-SHA IN HERE SOMEWHERE?"

Well, technically, a guy in the tour group that had just come around the corner said that.  In the absence of privacy, I cried lots of happy tears instead and whispered all of those wonderfully sweet things while we finished walking around the Garden.  I'm glossing over a bunch.  I have a lot to say about my own personal redemption of marriage as an institution, which I will surely do in a later, separate posting.

Suffice it to say, this is more than I could have asked for.

Shoes is more than I could have asked for. I can't believe I'm lucky enough to have a marriage and a life with this man.   (We'll also talk about the gravity of what it's like to be entering into a second marriage in a later post!).

But for now, just know this.

I surely do love him.

And this next picture, and the little message, is especially for Stacey A.

Sparkle Code to Jesus!



We're getting hitched!!!

Shoes and I.

Lots of stories.  Mostly ridiculous tales of things that should have never in a million years worked out.

But did.

Like the story of our first date.   In the Vineyard Town, I had been working at the Juvenile Justice Center supervising a Guardian Ad Litem program, which is all dependency / foster care / civil law.  Shoes took over the criminal juvenile caseload a few months after I started my GAL responsibilities.

And from the moment he stepped on to the JJC field, two very strong willed co-workers / friends were convinced Shoes and I should go on a date.  Never mind we had never uttered a word to each other.   So I drug my feet like only I can drag my feet.  And resisted.  And went out with somebody else.  Because good looking, ambitious, young men in the Vineyard Town just aren't single (with a few exceptions, of course).  The Vineyard Town is a family town.

By December of 2008, I wore down and agreed to go on a double date with Shoes and one of my co-workers, who had begun to date one of Shoes' co workers.  I have no idea why I thought this was a good idea, but we went on this double date ... to our Juvenile Justice Center's Office Christmas Party at the home of the Detention Manager.

Really?  Seriously?  Who in their right mind thinks this is a good idea?  I would never do that again: put your first date on display for all of your professional colleagues to gawk at.  And the date?

Terrible.   Absolutely terrible.

Awful.

Shoes spent most of the night outside talking to his co worker and I spent most of the night inside talking to my old Detention friends.  The rest of the night included:  extremely icy streets and  a car accident because of it; a very heated argument between Shoes and HIS co worker about Catholicism; and the icing on the cake?

It took Shoes a year to tell me he initially thought he was agreeing to go on a date with someone else.

Really.  Truly.

Of course, the flip side of that story is that once I walked in the door, according to  Shoes, the entire game changed and he was paralyzed with intimidation.

If he didn't say that, I might have to step on his foot.

I walked myself home that evening thinking, "Well.  He's a good looking guy.  And one who ignored me for the entire night. So that's that."

And then a few days later we went out on a different double date, which went a little better.  He actually took my phone number at that date.

And then a few days later we went out on a different double date.  And then again.  (We went out on a ridiculous number of double dates.)  And then, miracle of miracles, we met at a cellar downtown for a glass of wine.  By ourselves.  We took things casually and slowly for a couple of months, and then at the end of January / beginning of February, we went to the Judge's retirement dinner together.

And that retirement dinner was the official beginning of Shoes and Lisa, the Couple.  Not the casually dating couple, but the official couple.

And the things I love about Shoes are amazing and wonderful and quirky and largely private in the way that they would only make sense to us.  But I'll give you the Readers Digest Version.  Sure.  Shoes is:  gentle, kind, supremely loving, only 30 times more intelligent than I am, witty, hilarious, humble, giving to a fault, the same type of political ideology that I am (and for us, who have made our entire lives about people, this is a very big thing which is inherently tied up in my religious beliefs).  That's probably the biggest thing.  I know that Shoes and I partner together, as a couple, to fight social injustice.  (And don't get all caught up in the fact that he's a deputy prosecuting attorney.  This guy gets kids and family interactions better than I do sometimes. I enjoy telling that part of the story.)

I love the fact that I have these stories to tell.  And I love hearing other people's stories about how they met their significant others.  If you'd like to share, I'd love to hear it ...

I will tell you that Shoes and I have somehow managed to jump from cheery, unmarried, breezy coupledom to me saying, "Darling, if we are planning to legalize our coupledom and collect a tax break, we should probably decide by August or September how that's going to look as many venues require reservations a year in advance."

Shoes says, "Definitely by August we'll decide.  September is the start of college football."

That's true.  It cannot be interfered with.  I knew this before Shoes and I started dating.  Cougar Football will probably make its way into the wedding vows.

Gretchen (Shoes' mom) says, "He took me ring shopping!  But then he wanted to make the final decision by himself."  She's so super, endearingly excited about these nuptials and says, "This family needs a happy event."  Indeed, the family has been faced with untold challenges since March. But there are good things happening, too ... the birth of a baby in July, the loveliness of three grandsons, the celebration of an acceptance into Pharmacy school, the collective rush of healing thoughts for a  family member experiencing a complicated health issue ...

I said, "Maybe we should just go to Vegas."

Gretchen said, "That's absolutely fine!"

My mom said ... well, my mom wasn't there.  But I know she'd support anything I decided.  She's crazy unconditional that way. I'm sure she'd be the first person to arrive in Vegas with her motor home and mother of the bride dress.

Shoes said, "Nah. Let's not go to Vegas.  Let's do this:"

"... I rambled."
       - Galway Kinnell, 1980



It's the time of the term when the sequestering is total, the rambling rampant.  This picture is largely ceremonial, because, well, really.  Whose workspace looks like this?  You should see the pile of peer reviewed articles I've got going in the next room.  I'm nose-deep in contextual family therapy, community forums, agency assessment ... But what can I say?

I love what I do.
I love where I'm at.

(Even though it makes me wistful of other people's places in life, as I so eloquently and maturely described in the previous post.)

This is the time of the term when there is no extra time and Shoes and I will next see each other on Memorial Day.    You didn't hear it from me, but a little bird (Ie:  his mom) called me to drop hints they may be ring shopping.  (They may kill each other in the process, but I can't help but find it incredibly endearing that my love is taking his mom to look at rings.)

Now, onward.  Forward. Upward.

I am told that when Shoes walked through the door of his brother's house last Friday night, the boys (6 and 3) came running up, took one look at Shoes, look past Shoes and said, "Where's Lisa?"

Lisa was stuck in a little bit of traffic North of Tacoma due to a MegaAccident, but got there an hour after Shoes.  And it was worth it.  Long hugs from the boys, discussions about Willy Wonka and Spiderman, and an offer from the oldest to unplant his mom's mother's day present so he could show me the roots.  He assured me they were super amazing. I told him I'd take his word for it.

And that's what we did.  We visited. We ate.  We passed around the babies at the Birthday Party.  Shoes and I lounged lots on Sunday and had conversations like:

Shoes, "Lady Gaga's a dude."
Me,"Huh?"
Shoes, "Lady Gaga.  It's a dude."
Me, "I don't think she's a man."
Shoes, "He is.  He's a man."

And conversations like:

Shoes, "I HATE the University of Washington!"
Me, "But you're an alumn."
Shoes, "I'm an alumn of Washington State!"
Me, "And UW."
Shoes, "Not UW."
Me, "You went to law school there."
Shoes, "I.  Am.  A.  Washington.  State.  Alumn."
Me, "And a Husky.  And it was a top 25 law school when you went there."
Shoes, "I HATE the University of Washington!"

And conversations like,

Shoes, "Bear and I are going to Boulder this fall for a Pac 12 game."
Me, "Huh?  What?  You're going to Boulder for a Packer's game?  I don't think that's right."
Shoes, "No.  We're going to a Pac 12 game.  You're not invited."
Me, "No surprise.  It's like the Adam Karl Poker Game.  I get it.  It's the next big thing."
Shoes, "There's one other Next Big Thing that's going to happen this summer before that."
Me, "Promises, promises."
Shoes, "Let's go camping this summer, too.  Camping would be fun."  Pause.  "I'm pretty sure Lady Gaga's a dude."

You know.  The kind of conversations that go nowhere and say nothing but you have them repeatedly anyway.

It was a good weekend.
Shoes knows lots of lovely people.
It was truly my pleasure to be with them.
Anybody want to solve the Lady Gaga debate?

A spunky co worker decided to throw a murder mystery cocktail party set at a women's college in 1960.  That part you already know from the previous post.

We had all received a few lines on who our characters would be.  I was "Mary" - quiet, bookish, nerdy.  Shoes was "Lawrence", dating me, conservative, son of a preacher.  A group of about 15 of us or so showed up at the party and were given extra information.  Reveal this, deflect this, try not to admit to this.

And then from there, the process is far too complicated to try to explain here.  Not even the character who did it knew she did it until the very end.

Good to know!

None of us figured it out, but as the night wore on and we got more and more into it, voices started to raise and laughter started to take over.  A good time, no doubt.

One of my most favorite parts was when gentlemanly Lawrence stood up suddenly, pointed at the "football captain" of Lone Pine College and shouted, "You, sir, are a pig!"  Which was met with a chorus of "Indeed!"

I have to start with the accessories for my costume first; the other pictures don't show them well.

 / when we lay together and talked in low, silent voices"
      - Galway Kinnell, 2002

I've so wanted to get these pictures up ... but, you know ... after enjoying a full week of delicious laziness, things started to ramp up again at this amazing speed.  I'm on the chocolate river in a boat with Willy Wonka watching my life whiz by so quickly it's nauseating.  School, work, internship.  Another death of someone close by and another memorial service.  I was talking to one of my instructors about this and she started laughing and said, "My word, Lisa.  AND you're in an internship where life is like walking on a banana peel!"  It's true.  Any one of my clients could pass at any point - my youngest is 86 years old.  We're not indestructible human beings and our time does come.  But that's the subject of another post.  And that post will be entitled,"What these guys want you to know about growing old".    And I have about 3 sentences written so it might be awhile.

My, but I'm distracted today.

Before I awesomely started randomly talking about death, I mentioned that I wanted to get these lovelies up:














Shoes and I see each other about twice a month, but we talk to each other an average of 6 hours a week.  (I have to say, we really know how to talk to each other and we really know how to talk things out).  And when we get away, we get to experience that part of a relationship that normal couples have:  spending time in each other's presence - sometimes talking, sometimes not.   We spent 3 full days down there, vising all of our favorite places (we'd both been there before without each other):  the beach, 17 Mile Drive, Fisherman's Wharf, Carmel Mission, the Aquarium, The Mucky Duck and a new favorite for me:  Crown & Anchor.

We drank Chardonnay on the 18th hole at Pebble Beach.

We watched this incredible aqua water roll in and out and in and out at the beach.

We laughed so hard I (quite literally) almost experienced a moment of enuresis (or:  I almost peed my pants).

We took naps every day at 3:00.

And, at the end, we had to chain up - Shoes got a little greasy doing so.  Good thing we chained up ... the pavement was completely bare and dry. :S  A nice 3 hour addition to our already 12 hour drive home.

On our last day at the beach, Shoes admitted that it was a little crazy that he did not take the moment to ask a very serious question, and what could I do but agree?  ;)  I drew him a picture of the ring last July, my goodness.  We agreed that, in the end, it's ok, because we have a pretty darn good idea what the future holds for us.

So, onward fellow soldier.  The term awaits.

Spring break comes soon ....

Shoes and I had initially talked about going out to Boston to see his "step"-sister and family ... and then up to DC to see his dear friend from kidhood ... or maybe down to Southern Cal to see his Aunt (who raises the Weimaraners ... swimming in her pool sounded like the ticket).  We talked a lot about this trip.  Dreamed a lot.  Wished a lot.  (Seriously.  We always talk a lot ...usually on the phone for 45 minutes in the evening.  I just realized this.  Good Lord, what do we *talk* about for that  long?  I don't even know.  It's a little too cute-sey for us.)

 We saw most of the family a few weeks ago for Jim's wake and decided maybe we would like to go somewhere a little closer and a little more private ... somewhere we could drive and not deal with airlines ...

Monterey / Carmel / Big Sur, you are the ticket and we will be so please to re-meet your acquaintance.   A little break from grieving.  A little break from geriatric psychotherapy (which I love ... it's just so ... existential ... all the time).  A little break from practice theories.  A little break from law classes I can't stand. For Shoes, a little break from the most bizarre run of gruesome juvenile cases and a little break from Eastern Washington Winter (we'll trade in the snow for fog / rain).

A little soul nurturing never hurt anybody ...

Shoes is in between Pullman and the Vineyard Town, which will continue for awhile.  The helping and the shoring up and the getting things figured out will stretch out.  All of the boys and the sister will be involved, I'm sure.  Shoes just happens to live the closest.

Can I share something?  After this week, I am even prouder of Shoes and his character.  He digs in, does the hard work and does the right thing ... patiently and kindly.  It's no small thing to know that he can absolutely be counted on.  And in true Shoes' fashion, in the midst of chaos, he's still able to quell my meltdowns in his teasing, witty way.

O, those wildly witty ways.

{It snowed here Wednesday  night.  A lot in my hilly, SW Portland neighborhood.  And for the first time, the weather won.  I spent years in Eastern Oregon and Washington, and I always won.  It was no small assault on my pride that I could not make it out of my neighborhood and had to call in to my internship.  But insult to injury, I couldn't get the car back in the driveway and left it parked next to the curb, facing headfirst down a long, long hill.  And in true Lisa fashion, I started worrying massively that it was just going to start sliding down the hill, even though it was parked, e brake set.  So, of course, the logical thing for me to do was to call Shoes, who is 5 hours away, crying, while he's dealing with his own grief, and even if the car DID start sliding down the hill, what was he going to do about it?  And on the phone, Shoes started laughing.  Because there's nothing else to do and we're ready for the Spring in every way imaginable.  Meltdown quelled.}

So now.  Back in Portland.  Trying to keep this tiny apartment warm.  Studying for my finals in two weeks {the first term I've ever had real tests for finals and not papers.  Did you hear that?  That was me trying to swallow the lump of epic proportions that's formed in my throat.} Gearing up for my internship evaluations.  Looking over me and Shoes' Spring Break trip plans for this year {we'd been planning to get out of here, but now everything's up in the air as to whowhatwherewhen (but not why)}.

How many more weeks until the Shoes & Lisa Spring Break Adventure of 2011?  Let me check.

Three.

Blessed Be.

... ah safer and smoother and smaller was my heart."
     - Mark Halladay

Shoes and I, for "Valentines Day", had a charming dinner out at one of our favorite, laid back, Southeast Portland secret places.  And after that, he said, "We should go dancing.  We should go dancing downtown and live it up a little."

Only, I don't know where to go dancing.  Safely.  And truthfully, I was being a little bit of a girl and sulking because I had dressed for, "Let's have dinner classic SE Portland style where we can drink a beer and maybe take a dog."  Not so much, "Let's put on a little black dress and live it up downtown."  But Shoes gets the urge to dance maybe twice a year.   What can I do?  Then he said, "Watch this.  I've got this."

And he called a cab.  And got in.  And said to the Cab Driver, "Hey man.  We're travel writers from Pittsburgh writing a piece on downtown night life from Cabbie recommendations.  What can you recommend?"  And our Somalian cab driver excitedly told us he had just the place, but that we should definitely write the name of our hotel down before we had  a cocktail in case we didn't remember it later.

Because that, according to Cab Driver, is awful.

So he dropped us off and we danced.  And danced.  And danced.  And if you have never seen my darling Shoes dance, well.    It's pretty much the most adorable, most painfully awkward, best thing I've ever seen.  Women, and I'm not kidding here, eat it up.

And then he went home much earlier than usual the next day because he had court first thing Monday.

What better way to celebrate love than by district court DUI hearings?

Happy Valentines Day!

That would be Washington State University Defense above.  (I can't say the name of the other team because it's something of an expletive around here {BCS polls be darned}).  And to think, I knew nothing about football two years ago.  Come to think of it, I still don't.  But college football is coming to a close for this year, and I have seen Shoes pace and cuss and high five his father and have watched his phone blow up so that his core group of friends {spread across a nation} can still experience the game together.  {Who am I kidding?  I love being a part of it.}

Actually, this post isn't anything about Cougar Football.  But Apple Cup (the iconic yearly Washington battle between the Huskies and the Cougars) is quickly approaching and so it's on my mind.  We're still not entirely sure where we'll be for Thanksgiving, but my plane ticket to Spokane has already been purchased so that the holiday that is Apple Cup is properly observed.  (Apple Cup is the weekend after Thanksgiving.  It is the 3rd Holiday of the Holidays.)  Don't ask me how I'm going to fit a trip in to Pullman with the close of this insanely busy term.  I'm not quite sure.

The "Defense" I'm talking about is my own defense.  This term has been filled with learning about attending, tuning in, the clinician response, empathic responses.  I have never, not even when in "divorce recovery", had to think so much about my own feelings and processes.  It's ex.haust.ing.  And I have to tell you, I think I'm a little neurotic.

And defensive.  (A ha!)  I've learned I do not like to be questioned.

In the past 3 months, I have started to realize that I feel like I have to offer an explanation for every decision I make.  Sometimes, like when I'm in field supervision and my supervisor needs to talk about my sessions with clients, that's entirely appropriate.  Sometimes, like with my friends, nobody cares.  This came to a head with my doctor last week, who had asked me to remind him why I had chosen one medical decision over another.  In true Lisa fashion, I took it too far and yammered on and on about WHY I made the decision that I did, and when his eyes started to glaze over and he started to tilt his head, I realized I was trying to JUSTIFY my decision.  I stopped, grinned and said, "You don't really care though, do you?" And my Portland doctor who's really from Eastern Oregon said, "Nope."

How liberating.  And almost embarrassing, all at the same time.  So.  If you've ever had to sit on the other side of my blah blah blah while I tried to explain something all the while trying to hide insecurity and hoped you would see me as a competent individual, apologies.

Let me know.  I'll buy you a glass of wine and we'll chat about something much more pleasant.

Or, we'll get a beer and a plate of french fries and we can talk about the Pac10 prospects for next year.   I think I'm almost ready to competently have that conversation. 

Maybe. ;)

We lived in Europe until I was 9.  Magical, yes.  Also, my normal.  Also, perpetually cold and rainy.

Every Volksmarch, every field trip to a castle, every Oktoberfest - rainy, rainy, rainy. 

I drug Adam to the Oktoberfest down in Mt. Angel.  The only pictures I have are of Shoes and I, drowning in water, in front of the Harvest Monument.   And.  I almost got my eye poked out by other people's umbrellas.  And.  Some strange man made a big deal out of my wonderful, Target bargain, rusting umbrella.

Apparently, it is a magical umbrella that compliments me well.

Apparently, Shoes has magical hearing, as he immediately headed over to me to rescue me from the Umbrella Man.

I do have this picture, though:



Elizabeth tried a couple of times to tell her indeed, it is not.

I assure you, there is absolutely NO resemblance.  Sorry, Abekah. 

Fake out, this is also a posting about school, which starts next week.  Two thumbs up.  But, I also have to do new student orientation, again, because I am just starting my internship this year.  Two thumbs down.  But after new student orientation, I am driving to the Vineyard town to help Shoes move the last of his things into his house.  One thumb up, one thumb down.

I am also going to be going to my first Cougar game.  Two thumbs up.

And then driving back on Monday to go to class on Monday night.  Two thumbs up again.

Fall and I?  Best friends.
Rick James and Shoes?  Not best friends.