Thursdays' bathroom stall inhabitant

It was a normal Thursday morning in the office. Sleepy, but busy…and delightfully eccentric as always. Christi was in the middle of veraciously scribbling recruiting notes with her trusty purple pen…when all of a sudden, mid-ramble-sentence, her pen decided to vomit a large portion of its purple innards into her hand.

“Ah…shoot! I’ll be right back Tino, my pen just exploded into my palm…gotta wash this…”

She excused herself, got up from her chair, and meandered towards the women’s restroom down the hall. When she reached the bathroom, she pushed the door open with her non-inked hand. And as the door cracked open, groaning loudly in protest, she was greeted by dim lighting that suddenly flickered to life upon her entrance. She assumed, due to the motion sensor lights…that she was alone.

The warm water felt lovely as she began to vigorously scrub the bright purple residue from the cracks in her palm. She giggled to herself and realized she was awfully happy that there was nobody else in the restroom to witness this cleanup. For, in her mind, as she watched the murky purple water spinning slowly down the drain…it looked as if she was cleaning up from an alien massacre. A cold thought perhaps, but a silly one too, considering she was not sure why she always thought aliens to have purple blood...

Her eyes shifted from the scrubbing mess in the sink, to her face in the mirror. “Lord. Have. Mercy.” She mumbled to herself as she examined the dark circles under her eyes. “It’s most definitely a Thursday.”

As she blinked disappointedly into the mirror, she suddenly realized one of the restroom stalls behind her was secured shut. Curious, she spun 180 degrees (splashing miniature droplets of diluted purple ink-water everywhere) and shifted her focus to the lowermost portion of the bathroom stall door.

“Is there someone in that STALL!?” She thought rather excited. No. There couldn’t be. Nobody had come in or out of the restroom since she had first arrived. Plus, the lights, (as she recalled) were dim from no-movement prior to her entrance. She stood bewildered.

…her curious brain was triggered; and thus, began to nom-nom excitedly with possible explanations for the door being shut. Perhaps there wasn’t even someone in the stall…perhaps the door was just stuck due to someone’s misplaced bubble gum or grease or...or…something…

Trying to not be obvious with her curiosity, she gently turned up the sink water pressure to cover any noise that she might make. And although she tried to peer under the stall to test her theory of no one being inside, she realized that she was at the wrong angle to be able to examine the situation properly. Turning up the water a bit more, and glancing round’ (just to double check her surroundings)…she then shifted her weight and slowly started to lower herself into the squatting position. She was bound and determined to get a better view of feet (if there were any) under the stall. However, this sudden shift in body position was much more complex than originally anticipated. For, her spine was contorted, her legs were squat-burning and her wet purple hands still sat dangled and dripping into the sink. Lower. Lower. Lower. Legs burning. Hands dripping. No sign of feet. No sign of feet. Lower. Lower…*blink* *blink* FEEEEEEEEEEEET!

Surprised by the sight of toes wriggling under the stall, she sprung back up to a normal standing position. Those were most definitely feet. And they were alive feet…she undeniably saw toe-twiddling happening before her eyes.

Her brain began to pound. This person did not meander into the restroom while she was washing her hands. Although preoccupied with scrubbing, she surely would have heard the large wooden bathroom door creaking loudly as it opened, or slamming shut with a *KERBANG!*…as it was known to do.

The only other perceivable option at this point, was the realization that this human being had been sitting in the stall since her arrival. This option struck her as very odd, considering they, (the stall occupant) hadn’t made a peep since she first started washing her hands…and at one point, must have been sitting so still that the motion-sensor lights decided to go on their lunch break.

Perhaps they were waiting to poop. She supposed this was a viable option. They didn’t want to be disturbed, or heard, and so they sat waiting for her to leave. Suddenly, Christi felt rather self-conscious due to the length of time she had stood washing her hand. This poor stall-dweller was probably highly constipated at this point. They most likely just wanted to be left alone, feasibly in the dark, to poop in peace.

With that awkward last thought, Christi turned off the water with her still-slightly stained hand, grabbed a few paper towels and began to walk out. And as she was just about to exit, a small voice, almost whisper-like, caught her mid-door push: “..Have a nice day.”

…It was the stall tenant. She spoke.

Blinking rather rapidly and mind racing uncomfortably, Christi responded quietly: “Uh…uh…you too...”  But...what she really wanted to say was:

“You too, patient stall-dwelling constipated pooper!  YOU TOO!.” (insert cheesy grin and animated thumbs up here)

With that brain-ramble, Christi pushed the door wide open to the office hallway and giggled slightly to herself. It was going to be a good day. Thank you, dear awkward stall citizen. Thank you.

...And, may you have nice Thursdays' as well my friends!

Giggle often,

The red, sky dancing balloon - A Short Story

Once upon a time, in a land far, far away...there lived a spunky little girl who could often be found running through the golden cornfield hills and dancing about with the purple butterflies. One bright and dewy morning, she decided to trek to the blueberry briers, for, she wanted to make a delicious blueberry breakfast cobbler.

As she was carefully plucking her blueberry treasures and placing them into her small woven basket, she caught a glimpse of a rather unusual sight...a red balloon swirling through the air, and ever so slowly descending towards her. Suspicious, she watched it swirl, swoosh, twirl – it was dancing beautifully for her, and she squealed and clapped with glee at the sight. Soon it floated so low, that the ribbon tied to the balloon gently brushed against her pink cheek...and though she anxiously tried to catch hold, it passed by peacefully and landed softly in the brush near her feet.

Still surprised at the unusual sight, she bent carefully to examine the balloon (spilling nearly half of her blueberries out of the basket). And as her eyes traced the balloon and the attached ribbon, she soon realized this balloon had taken a very, very long sky-journey. It laid at her feet tired, and drearily bobbiling about in the tall grass...far too drowsy to take flight ever again. In fact, its bright red color didn't seem too terribly bright as she looked closer either...it was faded from the sun and thickly worn with wander-scars. And still...as she inspected the sad state of the balloon, she admired it deeply. For, she pondered; the balloon had seen things she had never seen. It had passed by unknown places, places filled with beauty, wonder and curiosity. Had this balloon seen love? Had it seen sorrow? Whose stories had it witnessed? She desperately wanted to know.

She stooped a bit lower and stretched out her pale, blueberry-stained hand in attempts to welcome the balloon. However, just as her fingers were about to stroke the red, rubbery skin, something out of the corner of her eye caused her hand to retract with a surprised “snap” of the wrist. Could it be? No. It couldn't! But, wait...what if it was? She redirected her hand and reached slowly towards the object of question...the small tattered and yellowed-paper journal carefully tied to the end of the string. How did she not notice it before!? Would this journal whisper the journey secrets that the balloon held locked inside? Excited, she grabbed the tiny booklet and flipped it back and forth between her small palms. It was leather brown with an off-white flower embroidery that traced the outside cover edges. Simply beautiful. 

Her fingers began to tremble slightly as she tried to untangle the thick ribbon-knot which held the book imprisoned. After what seemed an eternity, the book sprang free from the knotted ribbon and fell softly into her lap. She ran her hand gently over the tattered book cover, took a deep breath, closed her eyes and slowly flipped the cover page open. A few seconds past and her blue eyes fluttered open cautiously. Slowly...the words that were sprawled across the page came into focus: 

TO BE CONTINUED :) 

The Spark Beneath The Ash

Admittedly, when I first met you, I was afraid of you.
For, your heart was shadowed, and your hands had seen the blood of men.
Your eyes showed glazed with worry, and your face, greatly creased by a weathered story. Your spirit-flame was seemingly squelched – and long buried deep by mourning ash.

Yet, even so, beneath the ash and distant facade, I mustered courage to probe within your darkness. And, as I sought, I noticed the unnoticeable spark; the hope-spark which flickered and whimpered dimly in the night: “Breathe into me? Breathe into me, my love?” “Breathe into me? Breathe into me, my love?” 

Troubled, I knelt to answer its’ whispered cry:

I love you... 
I love you... 
I love you... 
I love you, I do.

As I silently spoke, the spark warmed orange, then to a red...and soon, it grew larger with heat.

And as it grew, I feared you no more...
For, where light reflects, shadows can no longer war.



 - Christi Helen, 2012

Who is Tom, from "Tom's Place?"

Today I was hungry. Hungry for bacon. I'm not a big sandwich person...slimy lunch meat, squares of cheese...it's totally not appealing to me. However, I do love me a BLT. I feel somewhat better about this lunch choice, than, say, a burger...why? Because two of the main ingredients are VEGETABLES! (All you people who are going to leave comments saying "Nuh-uh Christi, A tomato is a fruit!" just need to be quiet and let me pretend I'm healthy.)

...*eheem* So, I was hungry for bacon. A BLT sandwich to be more precise. I drove my giant silver boat, Fat Maryanne, through a Tom's Place drive-through. Tom's Place has the best BLT sandwiches in the world. If you don't believe me, you go order one and try to fit your mouth around the whole sandwich. It's impossible. Impossible I tell you! The sandwich walls are too thick to scale with one chomp. One must slowly attack and nibble it from all angles...savoring the bacon goodness with every bite.

When I arrived home, I unwrapped my BLT sandwich from it's white wrapping paper. That's another thing I love about Tom, he wraps his food in white wrapping paper and let's everybody pretend it's Christmas or their birthday on any given lunch hour. *Tear* rip* *scrape* *rip* "Wha'd you get, man?!" I got, a...a...*tear*...a...*rip*...a breakfast burrito!...Wha'd yooouu get11?" "A BLT!" "WOAH, NO WAY!" "Tom's THE MAN!" 

Tom IS the man. But, as I was sitting here nibbling on my sandwich and drinking my small Mr. Pibbs, I had a thought occur to me..."Wait a second, who is this Tom?" I quickly grabbed my laptop and Googled "Who is Tom?" Tom Anderson a US internet entrepreneur, popped up before my eyes. Although he co-founded Myspace, he was not the Tom I was looking for. My Tom makes the best BLT sandwiches in the world, what did Mr. Tom Anderson make? A failing social networking website and waaaaaaaaay too many friends on Myspace. Boo, Tom, Boo.

I tried again...

This time I Googled "Who is the Tom that makes the best BLT Sandwiches in the world? Sadly, I was greeted by this wet man:

I think his name is Tom Daley (Yes, I cheated and read the front of the magazine). And, I think he is an Olympic swimmer (totally cheated again). Or, if not, he's just a weirdo who enjoys wearing wet clothes. OBVIOUSLY, this is not the Tom I was looking for either. If this Tom tried to make the best BLT sandwich, he would totally fail, because it would be soggy. Gross, Tom. Go wring yourself out.

My quest continued...I turned to my handy dandy Google search bar again: "Who is the Tom from Tom's Place?"

Curses! A very tiny picture of Sparkly TOM shoes was the first thing that came up. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy a good pair of sparkly TOM shoes. However, shoes do not lead me to the Tom who is Tom from Tom's Place!!!

I was feeling rather defeated but gave it one last try. Perhaps Tom had an "About Me" page on his restaurant website: I Googled "Tom's Place Restaurant." 

...Nothing.
...Nada.
...Ziltch.


By all interweb standards, Tom's Place does not exist outside of a few reviews on Yelp. I could find nothing on the Tom who makes the best BLT sandwiches in the world. And, that makes me rather sad. Part of me wants to know what he looks(ed) like, the face behind my favorite sandwich. But, alas, perhaps Tom is just destined to be my mystery sandwich man.

Thanks for my awesome BLT, Tom.
...Whoever you are.

Career Podcast - Tips and Tricks I've learned!

Hey guys! This is a podcast explaining how I got some of my crazy interviews at HULU, Disney, CAA, (the list could go on.) I didn't have any plans to record any of this because I feel ill-equipped myself, however, if it gets you headed in the right direction on resume stuff/networking stuff/interviewing then I'm glad! Please understand that these are directly my thoughts and some of the things that I have learned living in Los Angeles for a little and a half. What I say in this podcast is by NO MEANS a sure-fire way to get you a job, but I do guarantee that it will help. The first part of this podcast talks about my journey out here in California, although it might be a bit boring, try and listen all the way through because it will make more sense when I start talking about the career/networking tips and tricks. Enjoy! (Also, I'm sorry, but I did not take the time to edit out all of my "ums" haha!) 

Ps. One big thing that I forgot to mention was the fact that...it's very hard to get an entry level position in California if you are not living here.Sadly, I do not have any advice for you or recommendations on how to re-locate or move. All I know is that your chances for getting a job out here, increase greatly if you are living within state. Best of luck to you on your journey!!! Lost of love,  

The "Grate" Cheese Shootout

Cheese. I love cheese. So I shalt write about my love for cheese and the occasional embarrassment that comes along with loving cheese as much as I do.

I'm going to share with you something I haven't shared with anyone. Why? Because quite frankly it's embarrassing. I've wanted to tell someone about this before...but I also want to have friends. However, I woke up feeling rather brave today, and rather alone in this topic. So I figured "Ah, what the heck, let's see if anybody else has this same...issue...problem...embarrassment." 


I love Italian food. Probably because I love cheese. And noodles. OMGSH CHEESY NOODLES! It's a good thing I have a high metabolism, because as much as I love noodles and cheese, I should probably be wearing flour sacks as socks to fit my fat cankles.

Anyways, a couple of weeks ago Grandpa, Nana and I went to the Macaroni Grill -- what a heavenly place made by tiny Italian cherubs and unicorns formed out of cheesy noodles. It's dimly lit, so you can walk in all inconspicuous to avoid being seen by friends. They also have paper on the tables so you can doodle - I doodled owls, my favorite thing to doodle. And then, the waiter will come up, introduce himself, grab a crayon and sign his name on your table in big beautiful sprawling crayon letters. (I didn't realize this would be an issue until later.)

Fast forward to "later" - my food had arrived, a gargantuan, steaming bowl of Pasta Milano. The precious noodles were covered in a creamy cheesy sauce, there were sun-dried tomatoes, grilled chicken and other various scrumptious ingredients. I was admiring this heavenly bowl of awesomeness when Shawn, our waiter with muscles everywhere (including his earlobes) came up and interrupted my thoughts. "Miss, would you like some freshly grated Parmesan cheese?" I looked up at his mischievous sparkling eyes and nodded slowly while drooling a bit down my chin.

Make no mistake, I was drooling over the noodles.

Shawn held up the little cheese grater contraption over my pyramid of noodles and began to crank the tiny handle. His muscles flexed in the dim light and as the grater picked up speed, little sparks of cheese started spilling everywhere. God, it was beautiful.

Let's pause here.

I would like to remind you, I knew the waiters name. He signed it on our table. It was Shawn. Because I knew his name, it was easy to assume that Shawn had feelings, a brain, he was capable of putting two thoughts together. This was no longer JUST my waiter, this was a man, Shawn was his name, and he was shredding my fresh Parmesan cheese.

Suddenly embarrassed, I also realized Shawn was capable of judging. Judging me for my love of Parmesan cheese.

I allowed my eyes to follow the curve of his cheese cranking arm, past the little cheese grater, up his massive bicep and then glanced quickly into his eyes. "What is he thinking?" "Does he think I'm a skinny fat girl as the pile of cheese grows?" "Should I stop him?" "Gosh, I don't want to stop him." "If I was at home, or had one of those little individual cheese shakers, I'd make that pile of Parmesan 8x as big." "This is stupid, WHY do I care what he thinks?" "BUT I LOVE PARMESAN CHHHHHEEEESSEEE." "KEEP CRANKING SHAWN! JUST KEEP CRANKING!" 


His gaze met mine. He looked at me and raised one of his beautifully groomed eyebrows as if to say "Geez lady, got enough cheese yet?" I struggled to keep his stare. It was as if we were in a shootout. Who was going to give in first? The cheese-loving skinny fat lady, or the muscular cheese grating man? My eyes started watering from the lack of blinkage, cheese was flying everywhere and my face was bright red from my embarrassment over wanting more. I had to give in, I didn't want to give in, but I had to. His eyes were burning cheese judging lasers into my already red face...

I just couldn't take it anymore. Defeated, I looked away from Shawn."That's good." I mumbled. He let out a sigh of relief (probably because I was going to use all of his cheese), put away his cheese judging lasers, wiped his brow and turned our table to leave. I watched him walk away, his shoulders were broad and his calf muscles were the size of my head - jiggling firmly with every step. In his iron grasp resided my beloved cheese grater and as it moved farther away from me, I silently mourned its' growing absence. My pyramid of noodle goodness was covered in a slight cheese snowing, but it wasn't enough to satisfy the inner cheese mongrel that whined inside me.

I hated Shawn, I hated him for not giving me more cheese. I hated myself for wanting more cheese and I hated myself for being embarrassed over my love for cheese. It was a confusing moment in time.

Why can't all cheese grating waters have a standby mode and then an actual shutoff mode? So, while they're in the middle of grating, you can turn to them and "wink" as if to say "You and I both know I want more cheese, but I don't want to actually say it...so this wink means a 5 minute warning." That would be handy, don't you think?

As I try and wrap up this blog, it occurs to me that this ordeal happens nearly every time I go to a restaurant that offers me freshly grated Parmesan cheese. And that's sad for so many different reasons. But, now my secret is out. I love cheese and I'm embarrassed sometimes over my love for cheese. I hope I'm not alone.

Shawn, if you're reading this, I'll be back. Next time, you won't be as lucky.

I'm In the business of building a house.

It's time to write. I know this because I have no desire to. When I have no desire to do something, it's often time that I do. Like, organize my closet, or vacuum out my car, or floss my teeth. You catch my drift, yes?

I feel as though my blog has served throughout the past year of living in California as sort of a venting space. A place for me to sort through the crazy soul turmoil and the anxiety I've experienced. Reading back through some of my old posts, I grimace at some of the things I've written and...occasionally I smile. But, mostly grimace. When I was little, I had a diary with Veggie Tale characters on the front. Bob and Larry would guard my thoughts and topics for a year or so and then I would read back through what I wrote, grimace, tear out the pages one by one and start over. Why did I do this? I'm not sure. But I think I did it because I couldn't stand the fact that I was learning. I wanted to be learned...not learning. I wanted to read back through and smile, not grimace at my elementary topics. Yes, I was an unusual 11 year old.

It's a common thread that runs through my life and I think humanity as a whole. The inability to recognize and accept that we are constantly growing, learning, messing up...but hopefully maturing along the way. We want to be "there" - that place, the place where we have everything together, the place that we're stable...where we are finally "ok." We want to tell our friends "I'm doing great" and actually mean it. We don't want to be somewhere in the middle writing about the muddle we've found ourselves in. Why? Because the middle is hard and confusing.

I think the one thing I've learned over this year (or am trying to learn, it's a constant battle) is that the "middle" doesn't exist. The "middle" is a made up place used to describe our discontent with the situations we currently find ourselves in. At least, for me it is. I constantly focus on "what's next", "It'll be better tomorrow" and my favorite "When this happens, I'll finally be bla bla bla bla..." Sound familiar? Am I the only one who thinks this way? I can't be!

Something I can promise you is...the "middle" will become the rest of your life unless a shift in perspective ensues. That hit my like a BRICK during my quiet time this morning. "Christi, daughter, your heart is so young and foolish. You constantly search for stability in your surroundings, you look everywhere for security but in me. Have I not provided for you always? Have I not shown you how much I love you? Your faith is so small. Your heart is like a fall leaf, blown all over at the slightest show of turmoil winds. You blame your surroundings for your lack of faith...and in reality the situations you find yourself in, simply reveal your true heart colors." 


Ouch.

My heart aches to truly grasp this. Does yours? It should. The apostle Paul's words come to mind when I think about this topic:

Philippians 4:12-13
"I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. I can do all this through him who gives me strength."

Paul's "secret" isn't so "secret" if we look closely. "I can do ALL this through him who gives me strength." Where is your strength coming from? What is your foundation? Where does your security come from today?  Does it rest in your hopes for the future? Does it rest in financial gain? That security will not last. It will fail and come crashing down over and over again. Find your security in the Lord, He alone will withstand the storms of this world. A big reminder for me, and hopefully one for you too.

Today even though I grimace at some things I've written in the past, even though I desire to "rip out" quite a few of my old blog posts...I won't. Because that is my human nature trying to control my past and my future. Each day is a precious gift, a chance to learn and a chance to trust the Lord in ALL things. I'm grateful for everything He's brought me through in my past and everything He's been teaching me. I desire to learn and grow, and continue building my security in Him...but I also don't want to forget ever again where I have come from. That's why I leave my past open, vulnerable for all to see. For me to see.

"Therefore everyone who hears these words of mine and puts them into practice is like a wise man who built his house on the rock. The rain came down, the streams rose, and the winds blew and beat against the house; yet it did not fall, because it had its foundation on the ROCK. But, everyone who hears these words of mine and does not put them into practice is like a foolish man who built his house on the sand. The rain came down, the streams rose, and the winds blew and beat against the house...and it fell with a great crash." 

-Matthew 7:24-27

Grandma is finally home.

I want to be like that girl in the movies, you know, the one who can't cry anymore. She's cried every single last tear out, and try as she might, they just don't come anymore. Yeah, I want to be her. Maybe just sometimes, but tonight is definitely one of those sometimes.

Grandma Helen is gone from this earth. Last week she suffered a stroke that left her completely paralyzed on her left side, unable to speak and unable to swallow. Hospice announced the the prospect didn't look good - and although it left us all numb with grief, it also signified better days were yet to come for Grandma. She often had said she wanted to go home to see Frank. Frank is her husband, the grandpa I never met, who passed away nearly 40 years ago.

Well, today, Grandma finally got her wish...she's in Heaven dancing with Frank. Or so I like to imagine.

It's funny the way the mind and soul rationalizes grief, loss and sadness. You walk yourself through what you think the pain of loss is going to feel like, you give yourself numerous pep talks - and when the long "prepared" moment does in fact come, at first it doesn't feel so bad. You agree with the person who's telling you "She's in a better place", "Her body is healed", "She lived a good life..." For in fact, all of these things are indeed true and in the moment you don't feel the "chip." The "chip" is the small stone of grief, that gets kicked up into your heart when you lose a dear one, a friend, or a family member. It lodges itself deep inside the moment they're gone. At first you may not recognize it, but...when you're left alone with only yourself and your thoughts for a minute, the "chip"....the pain...almost instantly begins to spread and show itself; much like an unstoppable crack in a windshield.

Soon after I got the news from my mom, I decided to take a walk downtown Santa Monica. I needed to get out of the stuffy studio with all the crazy people scrambling around, worried about insignificant problems, yelling at each other for reasons they probably won't remember tomorrow...I just needed to walk.

Walking downtown Santa Moncia when you're trying to clear your mind, does as much good as eating 26 cupcakes when you're on a strict diet. The streets are dirty and littered with homeless people asking for money, the plants are few and far between and the sky is grey with smog. I found myself trying to walk with my eyes closed, trying to imagine I was in solitude. I miss that, I miss the quiet solitude of Michigan. It wasn't hard to be alone with your thoughts there.

I was startled out of my thoughts and my eyes flickered open to the sound of feet shuffling and metal clanking. I looked up to see a little old lady walking directly in front of me with her wheeled walker making unattractive noises as she slowly pushed it in front of shuffling feet. At first I thought maybe God was playing some sort of cruel joke on me. Why in the world would he put a little old lady who almost exactly resembled my recently deceased grandma directly in front of me? Of course the waterfall tears started to come and as I watched her determinedly pushing her walker to her desired location, I wondered what her story was. How in the world did she, such a nice looking old lady, end up smack dab in the middle of Santa Monica pushing her walker past the bums sleeping scattered on the sidewalks? Where was her husband? Did he die a long time ago like Frank? Did she not have any friends to walk with her through the scary parts of town? Where was she going? I inconspicuously followed her for a bit, wondering these thoughts to myself, mixing in my own teary thoughts of my grandma...until I just couldn't take the emotions spreading through my heart anymore and I hurried past her blurry eyed.

The saying "Live life with no regrets" is a rather odd saying to me. It's hard for me to imagine that people can actually go through life with no regrets. Maybe they choose to sweep the regrets under the rug, or hide them in their closets along with the skeletons...but I doubt I could actually find a person who would claim to be truthfully and honestly "regret free." Whether it be not buying that stellar summer dress that makes you look 10 lbs lighter, loosing the much needed job, crashing your car or missing out on the last opportunity to see your grandma. Regrets are apart of life. Regrets really, really...suck.

Tonight I may or may not be beating myself up over not going to see grandma at Thanksgiving this year...one last time before she passed away. Moving out to California was a financial risk all by itself, but when I lost my job at JCTV in October I experience financial hardship like I never want to experience again. It was scary. Traveling for the holidays just seemed completely out of the question. I distinctly remember my little sister saying to me "Christi, if you can't make it home for our birthdays in May, you should try and come  to see Grandma...you know, she might not be here for very much longer." I think I responded with something like "Shelli, I want to...but I just can't...I just don't have the money." 

Damn money. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it.

...I took this picture from the Skype conversation James and I had with my family on Thanksgiving Day. It's a bittersweet picture. Beautiful and sad all at the same time...I desperately wish I was in it. Look how big grandma was smiling - she was so happy to have her family all together.

Well, I don't have a pretty way to tie up this blog post. No ribbons or "moral of the story" here tonight. Just a sad little girl with more hard decisions ahead. I wish life was easy, I wish money grew on trees and I wish I knew the all the answers. But, I don't...and so...that's why I cling evermore to my Jesus, for he holds me even at these weak and vulnerable moments.

I love you so much Grandma Helen. Thank you for teaching me how to make the secret Lady Lock cookies, for the many laughter-filled games of Rummikub and for the strong and loving woman you were up until the very end. I cherish the yearly Thanksgiving trips to Pennsylvania to see you and hold the sweet memories close to my heart. Say "hi" to Grandpa Frank for me.

Love, Chrissy

"Adventure Is Out There!"

It's sort of funny the way writing works. You'd think the less you write, the more you'd have to ramble on about when you do finally get started. However, it isn't so. The less you write, it seems the harder it is to get started and the less you feel you have anything worth sharing. 

Forgive me as I trudge along through these rough beginning words...it seems it's been awhile since my fingers have graced the keyboard and written any sort of daily ramble in a very long while.

"Why has it been so long?" You ask. Well, honestly...I think it's because I haven't felt worthy of sharing anything. I feel like lately, Jesus has been taking me through a lot of things. He's been teaching me a bunch, and I guess I felt to write about it would seem like a 10 year old trying to give advice on how to be a good parent.

I think mostly, I've been growing up and I haven't quite known how to verbalize everything I've been going through.

Currently I work at a post production studio in Santa Monica CA named Method Studios. They're a popular Post Production Special Effects studio for both commercials and feature films. One of my favorite commercials they've done is this one: (an oldie but a goodie!)

I work as a night Receptionist/Administrative Assistant to the Recruiting department, Operations department, Client Services department...you name it. Basically whenever anybody needs some data entry done or excel spread sheets made pretty - I do it. I like my job, I'm good at it and I enjoy being surrounded by such awesome artists. 

Generally I work from 4pm or so to around 11:30pm. I get home close to 1am (it's a little over an hour drive) and without fail as I'm driving down Orangethorpe Ave headed for Lakeview Ave, I nearly always drive along side a train. I cannot even begin to tell you what emotions this has stirred inside of me. Maybe it's because it's 1:00am and I'm delusional, maybe it's because I'm just homesick...but without fail, I have flashbacks or memories of being little Christi living on Elmdale Rd. in Clarksville, MI.

Our multi-acre garden on Elmdale Rd. 

Here I was around 7 yrs. old - enjoying the summer sunshine...

I think we moved from this house a year or so later. 

The train driving along side me seems so out of place in Yorba Linda, CA. I can't help but be transported back to those innocent days on Elmdale Rd.- placing pennies on the railroad tracks and hiding in the bushes for hours with the neighbors until the train would pass and we could collect our flattened treasures. Walking down the train tracks with my mom and Nicci until we reached the little town of Clarksville...

We'd go inside the hardware store to look through the VHS movies the'd have for rent and to get a 10 cent gumball from the old candy dispenser. Fun fact, I literally remember the day the gumball machine started charging 25 cents instead of 10 cents. It was a sad day. Then maybe we'd walk across the street to the library and I'd get to pick out another Box-Car children book, or perhaps we'd have hair cut appointments at the run down salon which smelled of perm solution on old ladies. Or maybe, maybe we'd even go walk to the grain elevator and as my mom would talk to the owners, Nicci and I would eat peanuts out of the giant wooden barrel that sat next to the counter.

The little Clarksville Library

Clarksville Bible Church - The church my family attended for years

Looking back, it feels like I grew up in a small town frozen in "the good ol' days" - a sunny place, a sort of 1940's place...a good place to grow up I guess. I'm sure my mom would have a different take on things. Perhaps my little Christi memory is quite off, I'm not sure. Maybe I make it out to sound too precious. But, whatever the case...these are my memories and these are the thoughts that come flooding to me at 1:00am in cement laden, palm tree ridden, Southern California. 

I haven't quite known how to process these memories or thoughts, so usually I just end up bawling my eyes out the rest of the way home. It's not that I want to go back to these times, It's not that I'm regretting moving to California...it's just...I haven't known how to incorporate these memories or thoughts into...for lack of better wordage..."the new Christi." 

How does a small town girl with a modest upbringing suddenly find herself working alongside some of the most talented filmmakers and artists in the industry? It all seems like a blur. I'm not quite sure myself. How do I still hold onto these memories but move forward in an obviously completely different direction? How do I incorporate the old with the new? It's been an interesting transition. You add into that the sudden realization that I won't be able to raise my kids anywhere near my family or close to the upbringing that I had...and...well...as you can imagine, it's been an emotional roller-coaster these past weeks. Hence why I haven't known "how" or even "what" to write.

I think this emotional time has been very important in my transition however. Moving out to California isn't just a "dream" anymore - it's reality now. It's a solidified choice. It's life. It's not just all fluff and bubbles and smiles anymore...the grass isn't completely greener on the other side. In fact, come to think of it, the grass has to be watered over here to be green. The word "illusion" comes to my mind. 

With this choice though, has come beautiful things.

Over and over James and I have referred to ourselves as "transplants." I'd like to write out something that he recently wrote in a letter to me:

"...we're two peas in a pod, two similar stocks from different lands seeking to transplant our lives and start a beautiful adventure."  

I think if I hadn't moved to California I wouldn't have found the rest of me. I would have always been a little tree in Michigan...wondering what other kinds of trees there were beyond the maples and oaks that surrounded me. I think there would have always been that longing for something "more" I so often felt before I left. Honestly, that longing is complete now.

I now view myself as a little oak tree settled in-between the palm trees that surround me. I'm different, I'm a transplant, I'm not like the others. Will I ever morph into a palm tree? No. Will I ever fully blend in? No. 

But, I think I like it that way though. 

I'm learning how to live like a little oak tree in the middle of all these palms and I'm extremely grateful and blessed beyond words to have found a "similar stock", a fellow oak tree...to put down some roots with and to grow next to. He's helped me more in this transition than I could even begin to put down into words. I'm so grateful that Jesus saw fit to bring us together and I'm so grateful that James has had such an amazing amount of grace and patience with me as I've been learning and growing through this emotional time. 

So, what's next for me? What's next for us? Well, I'm going to continue to work at Method and in a couple months James is actually headed up to San Francisco (about 7 or so hours from me) to work and take a 4 month animation class. HE'S GOING TO BECOME AN ANIMATOR! What he's always wanted to do. (I'd say that's an amazing coincidence because I LOVE ANIMATION.) I'm incredibly excited for him and can't wait to see what this chapter in life brings :) He's an amazingly talented artist and I'm proud to be the girl that gets to hold his hand. 

  

Here's to these next months and the adventure that we're now sharing together! Pray for us as we step into another transition time with him being far away for a couple of months. I think it will be a precious time that will draw us closer together despite the distance. 

I'm going to end this blog post the most appropriate way I know how...with Pixar and scenes from my favorite animated film they've done yet - UP. 

"Adventure Is Out There!" What's your adventure, friends? Have you found it yet? This is my life adventure and I'm glad I can share it with all of you.