Happy Anniversary Mumsy & Dad!

Happy Anniversary to my mom and dad, who've taught us what it means to love one another for better or worse, through thick and thin. You've shown us a real (stubborn) love.  And, you're a whole lot of fun!

Thank you. xoxo.

Oatmeal is a power food.  It is to everyone. But to me, oatmeal is also my 'game day food.'  It is steal cut comfort and confidence.  It reminds me that I win sometimes, and I work hard all the time.  It reminds me that I'm strong.  It reminds me that I'm a morning person.  That I'm a team player.  That I'm a striker.  That size matters less than strength and speed. That I have good coaches in my life - and that I'm good at listening to them.  And above all, it reminds me that I have a few very loving and strong people behind me - like my dad, who I'd hear out in the kitchen banging pots, closing cabinets, running the tap, cooking me oatmeal on game days.  And now my Beau, who set his alarm early to make sure I had a cup of coffee waiting for me in his kitchen when I came in at 6:30am.

That's why this morning, I had oatmeal.

What a lovely weekend. I've kind of shied away from writing these sorts of posts as of late. Seems silly to detail out my weekends, especially when they repeat some of the same key ingredients each week (which believe me, I am not complaining). But, this weekend had some beautiful moments I happened to try to capture a shot or two of and I decided to share. Saturday morning I woke up early to beat the traffic I knew would be heading to Fremont just like me. I parked my car, picked up coffee at my favorite coffee shop and walked a few blocks to Johns. We spent the morning relaxing, avoiding the naked bikers in the Fremont Solstice Parade, and making breakfast.

When I say that "we" relaxed and made breakfast, I guess I mean I relaxed and John made breakfast.  I helped with the shopping, but that was about it.  I just feel I should give credit where credit is due.  And I'm not due much of it for the deliciousness in the photo below. I cut up one tomato.  Which turned out to be an extra tomato.

When we figured it was safe (I really didn't care for a 60 year-old, painted blue man to be the first naked man I'd ever seen in person), we walked outside and watched a bit of the parade. There were a couple cool things, and parades are always fun, but I'll admit I was pretty hung up about all the cute little kids who'd watched some pretty interesting things that morning.

I love Fremont, but I don't love all that that parade champions. It sparked a lot of thoughts in me about what kids should and should not see - when do we stop protecting our children?
Where is the line between letting them make mistakes, and keeping them safe and pure. I know ignorance does not equal innocence, and dangerously we can equate them in the Christian world. But, I'm not sure. There is something about protecting a child's eyes and minds. I know my 4 year-old will not be watching that parade. Beyond that, I have a lot of unknowns and questions. I don't want to over-protect my children, but I definitely don't want to not protect them either. If there is the fear of the Lord in me for one thing, it is for our responsibility to protect the innocent, and especially to protect children. How much more the ones in our own care. (Matthew 18:6, Mark 9:42)

Breakfast was incredible, and after a project or two (okay, just one though there was ambitiously a few planned) it was time to go celebrate with Elsa! We are under 2 weeks and the festivities are in full swing. :) I love all the women this wedding has provided extra time with. And I love getting to watch two of my dearest friends prepare for the beginning of their marriage.

I didn't get photos of the rest of the weekend, but they were equally fantastic. Sunday we saw a performance of Rackmaninoff's Piano Concerto No. 3 by the Seattle Symphony.  I would know nothing of the piece (except for Rackmaninoff's weird condition, marfan syndrome, thanks to Toni), but John rented Shine for us to watch on Friday in anticipation.  If you didn't know, it is a BEAUTIFUL piece, and also considered one of the hardest pieces to learn on piano, due to Rackmaninoff's unbelievable 12 key span. Absolutely one of my favorites so far.    Then, the rest of Sunday was spent at home with the fam and a few friends, celebrating of course my amazing Dad. :)  While everyone was posting pictures of their dads all day on Sunday, I showed mine I love him by not posting pictures of him.  See that, Dad?  True love.  The kind that lays down their camera for another.

I owe you a few blog posts. And now that I have some time, I plan to catch up on some of those highlights from the past few weeks. Last Tuesday dad I am went to see Julia Fischer at Benaroya Hall. If I were completely honest, I'd have to admit I was a little afraid I'd end up being bored... much as I wanted to love the experience. My fears were unwarranted - I was spellbound! Truly. She played with such passion and skill. I loved every moment of it. :)

Hey Dad

*wink*wink*

Dad,  I chose my outfit today to match my ring. :)

Birthday present from Dad & Mom.

My "second ring" for my 25th, with one of the prettiest garnets I've ever seen.

If I became the world's most prestigious author.  Sold millions.  Made millions.

I'd buy my dad this house.  He'd be happy as any man can be. 
Water, water, water. Solitude, peace and water.  Right dad?

I love this.  It reminds me of something my dad would write.  Only, his would be more eloquent, and his lines would be perfectly straight, and his cursive is far more crisp.  I was telling Megs the other night how I think I'm ruined because I can't not believe in the most romantic of men... because I grew up with one.  How can I believe that men forget special dates, don't think of staring at the stars, don't love long drives, walks in the fall, sharing thoughts over coffee, and just stand and watch as you wash your face... I know too well that some in fact do.  They remember your exact words that you wrote, and tell you that they're beautiful.  They can get furious with you, and then a few minutes later apologize and hug it all away.  They write dozens and dozens of letters and send them home to their young love.  And they remember all the important dates.  They return to the spot they first met their wife, on the day, with their three daughters as well.  They forgive.  They fight.  They work hard for 40+ years at the same job, providing for their family.  They go to all your games.  And they genuinely believe you are the best one out there.  They scream at you from the sidelines.  They make you your favorite breakfast.  They sneak out to movies at the last second, in the middle of the night.  They believe in love and good men, even when their little girls start to doubt or fear.  They count shooting stars.  They drive down the coast with you, music and conversation floating out the open windows.  They think of what you'd like.  They put you first.  They write you cards, leave surprises for you, tell you that they miss you.  Tell you that a man is going to be blessed by you and unbelievably in love with you.  They make sure you lock the doors.  Know where you're going, have your cell phone.  They care - and they don't care if you know it.  I have to believe in these men.  I've watched my dad love my mom for the past 25 years.  I've heard them recount their love, crazy and messy as it's been at times.  And I've felt my dad's tangible love for me and my sisters, and many others who have needed a dad to hold them, and encourage them, and remind them that life is beautiful, and they are among the most beautiful in it.  I know, I know, and you just thought he was a grumpy old fellow, didn't you?  Well, that's what he wants you to think.  It's a lot of work loving so well.

So a certain couple of my (male) friends keep commenting on how girls seem to all love fall.  I'd just like to say, that in my house, it's my dad who loves fall and my mom is already grieving the dying days of summer.  I began loving fall as a little girl, out taking walks with my dad.  We had to get Starbucks just to keep our hands warm as we strode along (dad doesn't hold hands, he needs 'to keep his stride/ flow going').  I'd be bundled up in a coat, and hopping from leaf to leaf.  Still today, I can't seem to keep myself from hopping on every leaf I think might give a little crunch.  Our conversation was trailing behind us as little white puffs.  If on the Burke Gilman and headed toward Seattle, we'd always stop and sit and the log (still do).  If headed the opposite way, we'd walk over to the long arching bridge over the slew and just stand there, taking in the view of the changing trees reflected in the slow rolling water.

I love the summer.  I love the endless days of swimsuit wearing (or what once was), playing in the water, reading in the grass, bonfires and late nights out on the patio.  I love that the sun is up before me, and stays out to play 'til late.  I love the Perseids.  I love sun dresses and sandals and painted toes.  Long car rides along the coast, or runs out along the trail.  I LOVE summer.  But when fall peaks in its sweet, warm and ever so familiar head, I run to give it a HUGE hug, and a cup of hot coffee or cocoa. 

Fall is promise and hopes and memories.

I saw this on the counter this morning while getting ready. I wondered, did someone leave this here for me on purpose (knowing I'd like these pictures)?   Then I noticed the dainty framing of one picture in particular.   Thanks, Dad, I'm guessing?  :)   Love you, mean it.

My sister Kristin has decided that I love everything my dad loves.  What I find funniest about this is the years and years that my dad has responded to all of my "I wants" with "You've always wanted to do everything, Katrina."  I discovered a new thing the other day.  It makes sense, and I should have known, since my dad is the guy who has always loved flying.  He took Kim on a helicopter ride, and a few years ago paid a friend from work (who's a pilot) to take himself, Kristin and I up in a little 4 person plane for an hour. (It was amazing!!)  Yet somehow, I hadn't connected this one.  My dad wants to go up in a hot air balloon, bad.  Me too. :)  Someday, I think we should.

And she's pretty right about us.  My dad and I marvelled at how much we both enjoyed the two road trips we've taken together.  It's easy.  We both like country and jazz.  We both love Nat King Cole, Elvis, Michael Buble and plenty of others.  He even let me play Coldplay for a few hours.  We both like the windows down.  We both like to drive for hours without talking, or talking. We both love the scenery and can spend way too much time poetically describing a tree or old house we passed.  The only difference we have, is he likes to make a LOT more stops than me. :/   And he doesn't mind if we end up sharing a hotel room with his brother and his wife at a sold out hotel.  :(
(I'll never let go of that one Dad.)

Something I more than like, I love.

My family teases. A lot.  So much that at times, I hate it.  But I don't.  I love that they've taught me how to take teasing, how to be confident and laugh at yourself.  Laugh at how ridiculous I looked when I tried to smile without showing my braces. Laugh at how obsessive compulsive I am about my bathroom being clean and my bedroom in order (which is a complete disaster right now). Laugh at my extreme devotion and commitment to traditions being kept on family holidays.  And while I do love this about my family, and my dad especially, who has a horrible tendency of teasing me behind my back (literally), that is not the something I am thinking of right now. 

My dad is also the reason why I write, why I want to be a writer, and why I have the ridiculous confidence to actually call myself a writer.  His little comment I just got today made me start crying at the front desk.  I feel like most everything I most want in life is either on hold or on "no."  So to hear my dad tell me that my writing is improving and that something is 'well written,' well, that is surprisingly all I need to hear.  My dad has made a fuss about my writing since I was in 5th or 6th grade, telling me "you're a writer."  It was like something inside of me just woke up.  He's held onto dozens and dozens of cards and notes and letters, left tucked under his den door at night.  He's prized my words since before they carried any weight or were measured out with any skill.  I love that my Dad saw something in me as a little girl and has continued to call it out across the years.  Writing has become one of the most consistent things in my life, a promise never in doubt.  It's a starting point I could always return to.  [I know I just ended that sentence with a preposition, but I like how it sounds. So, I'm leaving it alone. Process. Recover. Forgive.]

On the other side, my Dad loves that we can hear his voice and recognize when he leaves a comment as "Anonymous."  Consequently, he never signs "Dad" in his comments on any of our blogs.  Also, you should know, Kristin's is actually his favorite.  She posts the perfect amount; I post too often and Kim too infrequent.  Plus, Kim's blog makes him crave her cooking, and mine requires hours of "catching up."  Kristin puts it clear, quick and has no photos of yummy food.  ;)

Dear Dad,

I've been trying to think of a polite way to ask Uncle John to return your turn tables. I'll replace the needle. ;) Any suggestions? I'm thinking it's time we bust out those old records in the bottom cabinet. And I'm hoping you find Safka's album someplace.

Happy Father's Day to you, Daddy!

It's the uncountable moments like this that your girls will never forget. Thank you for being such an incredible dad. We love you immeasurably.

Kati Lady.
xox.

PS, and thanks for finally finishing The Hobbit. ;) (love you, mean in!)

I know what I've got to do.

I came here to do it, but when I went to pull up my blog, I typed in "www.u2" into the url window. That's right. :) I'm going to add photos this evening from my laptop, but I'll give you some text right now. U2 was amazing. My expectations were so high. I've been waiting for 18 months for this. As the sound system began to boom "Ground control to major tom" and the screens flared up with the four men strolling confidently and cooly down the back hallways of the stadium, I actually teared up. I was worried - "Oh no, I can't be that girl!" I looked at Kristin and told her "If I cry, you're not allowed to tell anyone." To which she responded, "If you cry, I'm telling everyone." You should know- I'm not a cryer. I mean, I'm a "tearer" but not a cryer.

I held it together and kept my cool. If you can consider singing along to every song and swaying like a crazy girl, cool. (which I totALLY do.) And I saw more evidence that U2 is a Christian band. No, I'm not referring to some amazing things that were said, sung or requested. I'm not referring to when he admonished the stadium to rejoice over the recent release of a woman who'd been a political prisoner in her own country for 25 years. Or when he started singing "I dance before you Lord." No, I'm only referring to the observance I made that people dance to U2 the exact same way they do in worship. (Okay, maybe that actually sounds heretical... but it's not.)

One of my highlights was when Bono sang "Will you still love me tomorrow." A, I love the song, I love the era of music, and B, I love that it was one of those songs and moments you will never get on an album. It was just that moment.

Seeing them in concert was remarkably exciting. What a show!!! I think they played for nearly two and a half hours! Every time they returned to the stage it was bigger and better! The end affect of it though: I want to go to Ireland... all the more. I want to see them perform in Dublin. :)

Thank you Dad for one of the greatest gifts- as always. :) We had such a wonderful time!!

disclaimer: I don't really think U2 is a "Christian band" -- I do think Bono is a remarkable man who loves Jesus Christ and sets an example of a man who loves his neighbor. And I do think U2 writes incredible music that makes people come alive and hold on to hope. And I do think The Edge has superpowers.

See what I'm saying...?

Found this on my bed last night.

I'd seen it in my Dad's den a few weeks back and was looking through it. He wasn't going to let me have it. But, looks like he did, or bought me my own? I don't really know, all I know is I was sad last night when I walked into my room... and then I saw this sitting on my bed. :)

LOVE YOU MORE Daddy. xox. Your surprises, big and small, make my heart happy.

Speaking of Blue Hawaii. This song has now been stuck in my head aaaall day. And after watching it, I'm reminded again of what part exactly my dad played in helping shape my 'taste' in men. I've never gotten over Elvis Presley. To be honest, all three of us girls realized while we sat through Cirque de Soleil's Elvis in Vegas last Summer, that he was all of our's first crush. We've been looking for our Elvis's ever since.


*once again, my blog window cuts half of it off... click on it if you feel you are missing out by not seeing the whole thing (which you are).

I need to write a limerick. A customer at my starbucks just gave me the assignment. Then he proceeded to tell me how he was a published poet.... wow, did Kristin come to work with me? ;)

In an interview last week, my sister was asked, "Tell me something interesting about you." To which she responded, "Well, I've been published. I don't really care, but it kills my sister who wants to be a writer, so I like to rub it in." She got a laugh. If you ask me, that was a brilliant response in so many ways. I just got a laugh too, when I told it to my customer as the explanation of my slightly bitter face to him.

This morning has been great. It's been busy, and tiring and a little long, but it's been one piece of a great week. Last night, at the last moment, Theresa and I ended up finally watching The Young Elizabeth (loved it!) and then I just slept over since we opened together this morning- yep, bright and early for us. It's always wonderful when I get time to spend with T (while not at work). Rare, but wonderful.

Now, I'm studying at CP Sbux until my long-awaited lunch date with Kim (Rankin)!! Then it's a fun afternoon with Els, and then homegroup! I'm telling you- this is a great week! I continue to be blessed by time with amazing people- the greatest in fact. I love the friendships I have- and how they continue to grow.

The Lord is still speaking to me about not trying to figure things out- and I keep failing as I catch myself trying to uncover information. I don't need to know, not right now. I just need to enjoy where I am, as Kristin reminded me yesterday.

Also, I need to repent over and over and over and beg for my dad's forgiveness for forgetting HIS BIRTHDAY yesterday!!!! :( Love you. Mean it.

I have the greatest dad- truly. Those of you who know him, know his wonderful sense of humor, his forgiving ways, his caring heart, his endearing grumpiness, and the way he ultimately melts. He's not one to be walked on, but he's been so good with us girls to listen and learn and at times, apologize. My dad has taught me two incredible lessons: 1. be strong, don't back down. 2. apologize, forgive, and value love more than being right. From the earliest of days, I've tried to match him stubborn will for stubborn will... and from almost as early, I've followed in his other tendency- forgive and apologize quick. Supposedly, there is a picture of little 4 year old me face-off with my daddy- both our wrinkled foreheads in full display. I love those two features of our relationship. They are certainly two of the top qualities I'll be looking for in the 'other' man of my life. I love you daddy. Thanks for teaching me to be strong- and all the ways that means.

(XXOO Kati Lady).