So, My Mom Wrote a Thing

So, my mom is a total boss, and she is an amazing writer. She wrote this beautiful lyric, silly, and wonderful piece. It is, honestly, one of my favorite things she is written. She showed it to me first in paragraphs, and reading it in my head, I knew that this piece of prose was a poem who just needed shape! So, she and I talked, and I asked her real Aladdin style, "Do you trust me?" She said yes and I put in a line break here and an indent there. These are all her words, and images, and moments; I just gave it some shape. With no more pomp and even less circumstance, here is "The River" by Mary Botsford.

The River

Eternal, yet fleeting,

unchanged and ever-changing. 

The waters bounce and bumble over rocks

and stumble and tumble over waterfalls. 

But mostly it serenely flows by over the depths. 

But the thing is,

from one instant to the next,

the river is continually evolving. 

The H₂O particles going by this instant

are not the ones I will see in the

next nano-second,

or the next

or the next. 

The river will never be the same.

This riverbed was created eons ago

(epochs ago? I’m a bit fuzzy on my geological time). 

Created by glaciers or floods or God’s great design.

At least the riverbed,

or the path if you will,

is unchanging. 

Look at any map from a hundred years ago. 

It’s right there! 

My river is right there on the map

and right here at my feet. 

Right where it has always been. 

Ah, but naysayers will say,

Look at the oxbow of some rivers.

That’s where some river either

got pissy at having to drive the same commute every day,

or perhaps the water wanted to frolic and play in the field like Ferdinand the Bull.  But, I digress. 

I’m kind of fuzzy, too,

on why the river didn’t just

pull itself together and get back on track. 

But apparently sometimes it just can’t,

and thus we have oxbows. 

Personally, I think the fish are kinda

jazzed about them, the oxbows, I mean.

They don’t have to just swim

up or down the river…

they can swim a racetrack if they want to. 

What kid did not love crawling around in

crazy circles if they were lucky enough

to grow up in a house with connecting rooms? 

We had such a house when my girls were babies. 

We called it the Circus Maximus, and it was stupid fun. 

Even our dog, Callie, would romp along the C.M.

as we crawled and chased each other. 

Sometimes he, being a Great Dane and all,

would knock over the littlest one, but still. . . 

crazy fun. 

Back to the fish, see why I think they are kinda jazzed about it? 

And just think, Dory

(you know, from Finding Nemo)

 would get back home with every completed swim

around the Circus Maximus. 

Just outside my door, the river is serene,

then tumbling,

then bouncing

and bumbling

all within a very short distance. 

The water flows by constantly,

but it is not a constant. 

Each drop of water is very fleeting,

never to pass this way again. 

Ok, I know the loop thing of

evaporation and clouds and then rain-- 

Nature’s Circus Maximus. 

So maybe that raindrop has been here, after all.

It is both ancient and new. 

A dear friend has a saying, “both-and.” 

It took me years to get it. 

“Both-and” instead of

win-lose,

either-or,

us-them. 

A way of looking at life with all of its contradictions.

Straight ahead or swim the racetrack awhile.

My kids tease me sometimes,

Ok, land the plane. 

Like, get to the point. 

I don’t know the point except

that these words needed to

bumble

and

stumble

their way out. 

Walking along the river, I feel a great need

to express my joy from having

this beautiful river for a

neighbor. 

I feel a tug to ponder it as both

fleeting and timeless. 

To ponder my love for the water as a

constant, but ever-changing. 

Same as the object of my affection.                                                  

Both-and. 

Eternal and fleeting. 

Contradictions and constants. 

The River.                 Life.                Me.

So, this is more or less a first world problem

Once upon a time Been there. Done that.

In a galaxy far away Inaccurate. It happened right here.

So, You already have a start like that at the top of the page, dummy.

*Kat(i)e gets up, goes to the coffee machine, realizes she’s already had three cups today, decides on tea, sits back down, checks social media, thinks about Rufio, smiles, then looks back at the more or less empty word document open in front of her.*

Welcome to the inside of my brain. Home Bestie, WL is sending me a shirt that describes my exact sentiment of writing procrastination. Hope it is winging its way over here, Buster. I need it. My muse, Geof, is taking a hiatus. I need some good substitutes. I have several offers; I just need to pick one. Probably gonna be Anton Ego, circa Ratatouille. BUT STILL SEND THE SHIRT. (Those are not angry capslock, or even bossy capslock, but I CAN’T WAIT FOR A NEW V-NECK T-SHIRT AND OTHER SUPPLIES TO COME capslock.)

Right, anyway. In July, I had a very serendipitous meeting with a woman. We’ll call her J. You can read about how I traded trousers with her on the night that I ripped mine to high heaven in a dance-off of epic proportions here. Anyway, throughout the past several months, she and I have had snippets of conversation and well wishes; I have threatened to steal her dog on more than one occasion. Whatever, you would, too. He is delightful, and inappropriately adorable.

Anyway, the other day, while I was walking out of the subway, trying to maintain several conversations (one of which was with J) on several different mediums (skype message, facebook messanger, and kakao), she very rightly typed, “It seems as though you’re distracted. I am going to let you be present in your moment.”

I read that, and several emotions washed over me.

1. Catholic Guilt—Oh, crap, how did she find me out? I was not able to uphold a conversation with her because I was too busy with other things. Ahhhhhhhh, I need to go to confession. Don’t worry, J, I really needed to be reminded of that.

2. Confusion—When did I become the person who is always on her cell phone? Uh oh, have I made the switch to being Korean so subtly that it snuck up on even me?!

3. Recognition—I have become that person, and I really need to stop.

So, with that in mind, I made a Lenten promise. I know, I know. I am not Roman Catholic anymore, but if I don’t do something for Lent, I feel like a bad person (Re: Catholic Guilt—see number 1). I promised myself that I would do my best to be more present in my life.

I mean, here I am talking about how technology distracts us…while sitting at a computer, phone in front of me, iPod blaring, nook flashing “low battery,” binders hastily scootched over to the side of my desk, messy and forgotten, but very, very real.

In this moment, I would like to dissect my reality. I live in a country a bajillion miles away from the farmer’s markets, The Steaming Cup, and Sprizzo’s of home. I live amidst temples, Twosome Places, and Angels-in-Us’s. I have way more technology than necessary. Before I came to Korea, I had just upgraded my dumb phone—opposite of smart phone—to one with a keyboard for the texting. Now, I have the interwebs, multiple social mediums, and seriously THOUSANDS of games on several devices. What am I doing with my life?

I reflected on the very intentional words of my friend, J. Be present. Be in the moment of your reality. Turn off your electronics and just exist.

It is terrifying at first. You will feel naked (unless you actually are naked, in which case, kudos). You will feel anxiety. You will have FOMO (fear of missing out) of what’s happening on facebook. But, what you will experience is the melody of the rain on your roof, the purr of your kitten, the gentle breath of your loved ones. You will experience the smiles of your co-workers, the grandmotherly touch of the ajjumma on the subway who holds your hand, the simple bows and head nods of strangers on the street.

When you get home tonight, seriously try this, turn everything off—lights, computers, televisions, phones, and iDevices. Lay in your bed or on your couch. And, listen to the world around you. What does it sound like?  What does it smell like? What does it taste like?

Frankly, what I choose to do in this world is more or less irrelevant to the universe. But, if I choose to be present in all that I do, I know for certain that my world will be a better place.

 

 

 

 

So, I should probably write a letter

In elementary school, we always wrote letters to our 25 or 30 year old selves, but we never seemed to write the other way.

If I were to write to my 15 year old self, I wouldn't tell her of what is yet to come. I wouldn't tell her that in ten years, she will be living in a foreign country. I wouldn't tell her that on January 18th she would watch the sun peek his nose above the fronds of a palm tree in the middle of a Thai jungle. I wouldn't tell her that she will feel the tide rise and fall over her knees as she watches men scribble fiery epitaphs into the midnight sky. Their dance—her only reality in that moment. I wouldn't let her in on the secret that roosters do not crow to wake us up; they're too proud to let the other one have the last say. It's a communication of dominance--a strut of who is louder, therefore stronger. I wouldn't tell her the one on the left 100 meters down wins. I wouldn't tell her that the rays shifting through the leaves are God's shadow puppets, and we are meant to watch. I wouldn't tell her that she is a geological know-it-all due to her father's careful instruction--she has put those lessons safely away in the corners of her brain.



But, what I would tell her is to love. Love deeply and quickly. And, it is going to hurt. Life will hit her hard in the stomach. It will tear her apart. But, from that she will learn. I would tell her to be careful with her heart, but don't let her brain overtake it. I would tell her to calm the hell down and look at the world around her. The smallest blade of grass, as insignificant as it is to us, is shelter and home to the ant who lives under it. I would tell her to slow down and listen to the music which plays through the trees. I would tell her that Wisconsin trees sound of polka and fish fries. They smell of grandparents and memories. But, every tree sounds different. Some clap like castanets. Some bend and twist to unearthly music (not unlike Enya). I would tell her that the tree I am looking at as the sun rises in her paradise sounds of sweet honey and tastes like laughter.

But the last thing I would tell her is this: remember who you came from, remember what they taught you, and remember, dear Katie, remember to dream. Because in them, you will find peace.

So, the sky is a playground

My seat, a chariot aboard a plane. As the engine gurgles, then hums, then buzzes to life, I know that I transcend time and space--even if it is just for a moment.

The wheels and pavement kiss goodbye, knowing that someday they will be together again. As the nose of the plane sniffs the rushing wind, reaching higher and further than just a minute ago, I look down at the receding city. Maybe there is a child, like a past me, who waves at every passing plane, wondering if someone is waving back. Never fear, child, I see you, and I love you. Never let your adventure fade. Never stop chasing what you love.

Bemused, I watch as the plane monkeys through the branches of the atmosphere. In a burst of twilight, we break through the clouds. Fields of purple cotton candy stretch beyond measure. Neither miles, nor meter, nor clicks, nor leagues can quantify it. This is forever, and never. It is all that is, all that has been, and all that will be.

Apollo and his flames give way to Artemis and her bow. The first glimpse of stars mirror the urban twinkle below. Zephyrs toss us about. We are playing tag, and and we are It. The airplane flaps open and close determined to chase them.

The blinking red eye of the plane makes us easy to find. No hide and seek for us. We'd prefer kick the can or capture the flag. Surely, the gods play Night Games. Dionysus shares his fermented wealth. Hephaestus tinkers and hammers keeping us afloat. And, before me, Demeter spreads a feast of fruit and grain. Athena on the right and Ares on the left keep watch to make sure we are safe. Hermes titters ahead, announcing our arrival. And, Aphrodite's beauty shines through the sunset, enclosing us in a tangerine orb.

Together, we play- chasing towards the sun, running from the night. If tired, we rest upon the puffed up clouds. Uncle Zeus and Aunt Hera smile down, grinning while we frolic about in a place where time does not exist; there is no measurement of space. Papa Poseidon greets us with waves, and finally, I am once again whole.

So, today is Buddha's birthday

Which means no school today, huzzah!

Sunday was the final dress rehearsal of the play, and so afterward we all went to the beach to have a pre-show cast party.

We showed up, a gaggle of way-gooks, and put our things down and crack a bottle of wine and the ever so sneaky So ju.  Now, so ju is sort of like a cross between Everclear and rubbing alcohol.  But, if you mix it with Fanta (Sojanta) it tastes like juice and will promptly get you screwed up twelve ways til Tuesday.

Before I had a drink, I was all about playing volleyball.  So, we started bumping around this fluorescent orange flowered volleyball.  We hear a little voice behind us that said, "You play soccer?"  So, we invited the Little Tyke to play soccer with us.  And, holy crap, there is nothing more adorable than an 8 year old Korean boy schooling 5 adults.  He never stopped moving!  He cudgeled his brother into playing, and then the teams became fair.

I had a moment while I was playing that I thought this cannot possibly be my life.  I was playing soccer under a blanket of fireworks and galaxies with a little boy named Tae Ho.  The ocean to my right pulsed with the same vivacity as the blood through my veins.

The evening shifted to night, and Tae Ho had to go.  I went swimming, and came back washed in salt and dreams. We settled in for a sing a long and more volleyball.  I drank in Sojanta and memories.  Last night made for the true Busan experience: the moment that strangers become friends and friends become family.

So, the world will be my new pants

I had a thought tonight. Those jerks just come whenever they feel like it regardless of if I need to sleep or do anything else.

I was reading poemcrazy by Susan Goldsmith Woolridge. She talked about her son's use of metaphor when repotting a plant. He said, "the world will be its new pants," which is a phrase with such childlike accuracy.

Sometimes I think adults mess up language too much. We follow rules and organization, but when it comes to things that matter, like expressing the world around us, I find that a child's innocent bewilderment of the world's vastness is the best approach.

Anyway, I digress.

So, for the next 330 some odd days, I am like the plant. I left my cozy home in my home pot surrounded by friends and family who love me, and I transplanted myself into this new, big, scary place. The world is now my pants.  I need to be comfortable in them whether I am running around creating general havoc, climbing mountains, or curling up to take a Skype nap with my beloved.

I need to seek adventure in my new pants. They need to get dirty. The knees should begin to fray. They should be so threadbare that the vibrant memories patching them together keep my pants whole.

Every mountain I climb, every wave that I surf, every accidental octopus I eat becomes a part of my pants.  I sew each patch neatly into the folds.

I scrawl my friends' names upon my pants with sharpies that smell of shared experience and joy.

On that note, I took my pants hiking on Saturday. I loved being able to see city, mountain and ocean in one view. It is a constant reminder that there will always be something bigger than me. And, as much as I may be a know-it-all, I know so little. I pale in comparison of the trickling stream, barren mountain scape, and abyssal oceans. There are some fantastic things here, and I cannot wait for me and my pants to visit them.

So, today was the first snow

So, as it was snowing today and one of my best friends called me out on being a bad blogger, I realized that it has been about two months since I have written, and that I am, in fact, a terrible blogger. I will do much better when I go to Korea, folks. I promise. Also, I am typing this on an iPad, so I take absolutely no responsibility to how things are spelled or autocorrected. Bear with me, like a hungry bear or maybe even a hibernating one. Makes no matter to me.

Anyway, so as I was at lunch then coffee with a friend, she told me how her husband flat out said that he did not understand her. And, in my mind,I thought, "well, no shit. Womens is crazy." After further explanation, it was in a sense of wonderment how this woman lives every day with adventure. Every day she finds beauty and grace in the littlest things. In my mind I haven't been doing a whole lot, which is why I struggle blogging. I find my everyday dirge or movements exhausting. However, I forget that in-between the grind of work, there is beauty in play. I caught tons of grasshoppers with an amazing little boy while we were hiking. I fed horses and pigs and sheep. I even took a picture of a llama and sent it to my amazing mama. With this realization, I have had countless adventures. Last weekend, I went apple picking at which we found a playground. For twenty minutes, we played Peter Pan and Captain hook. I was, of course, smee...mostly because that is what we were for one of our Halloween trick or treating adventures. With this in mind, I need to make it a goal to everyday write down something that amazes me. I will share them all with you on a given day, probably Sunday.

Today, my amazing this was this. I was driving a scary winding road, and I looked up and I saw a tree's leaves on fire with color. The reds and oranges hung on for their dear life admits the torrent of wind, sleet and snow. It was one of the most beautiful things that i have ever seen. I hope that you come with me into this journey of simple things that make the world beautiful.

Love,
Katie