Fleece pretense
thrown over my shoulders
much too heavy, much too

warm.

A flashlight,
blindfold,
a shell I found in Korea, nowhere
near the sea.

A hatred

of all things solid,
sturdy like wood.

A Mason jar of river water
stolen from her belly
April 15th, 1996.

—————-

Inspired by Tim O’Brien’s The Things They Carried.

What about you? What do you carry? Feel free to be poetic or literal. I like both.

Writing, editing, and organizing grant proposals, and preparing gargantuan-sized grant budgets feverishly, to meet deadlines both old and new.

Snuggling with my pug and enjoying any downtime I have been able to muster.

Writing! I’m so excited about three different stories I have in the works, and thanks to a recent prompt by Danny, I’ve been sitting down daily to translate my excitement into actual words on a page. (Not unlike snakes on a plane. Only better. And with less Samuel L. Jackson.)

Ruminating on some writing feedback I received from a poetry competition (Spoiler alert: I didn’t win), and from friends regarding the first chapter of one of the three aforementioned stories.

Sucking at email. I’m sorry! I promise next week will be better. (I think!)

Editing photos from last weekend’s sisterly homecoming in Spokane. These are a few of my favorites:

Cleaning my apartment to an anal-retentive degree in preparation for Kristin! staying with me this weekend.

Absolutely riveted by the first installment of The Hunger Games. After a gentle prompt from Kali (It went something like, “Have you read these?”), I skipped over to Powell’s and bought the first book, not thinking I was going to be into the story, having read the back cover before and convinced myself I wasn’t interested. By page five Collins had completely hooked me, and I gave the Jiffy Lube attendant the stink eye when he interrupted my reading to ask me to pay him for my oil change. (And yes, I verily realize I’m late to the proverbial party, being that the first book was originally published in 2008, but I like to pretend I fall in love with series when they are basically over so I don’t have to wait years/months/days in between installments. See also: Patience is for suckers!)

Using the note I found on my car after leaving an apologetic note for the person I parked way-too-close-to (There is construction in our parking garage! It is a nightmare!) earlier this week as a bookmark.

Not getting much sleep.

This weekend I am going to:

Have way too much fun with Kristin.

Eat at Andina for the first time.

Introduce Kristin to Hans, and watch hilarity ensue.

No doubt cry as I watch Rhi walk down the aisle toward Bill, and then back again holding his hand, happily married.

Dance my face (or maybe just my feet) off with Kali, and Amanda, and Kristin, and a slew of other people who are in town to watch Rhi and Bill begin their happily ever after.

Take Way Too Many pictures, especially more ridiculous hand-held group shots.

——————-

What are YOU going to do this weekend?

(Whatever it is, I hope you enjoy it.)

*Title is a literary hat tip to Joyce Carol Oates’ Where Are You Going, Where Have You Been?

—————

Some of the most memorable places I have stood, in no particular order:

On The Great Wall of China.
Next to my sister as she took her wedding vows.
In front of the Kremlin in Moscow.
Next to my favorite Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle.
Priest Lake. Specifically, my family’s Priest Lake dock spot.
On Mt. Seorak, South Korea.
Poolside for countless summers with friends, and cousins, and awesome(ly ridiculous) bikinis.
At the base of Mother Russia in Volgograd (formerly Stalingrad).
On a surfboard in Oahu, Hawaii (for a few exhilarating seconds, anyway).
In Sunriver, Oregon as one of my oldest friends married her best friend, after reading vows I wrote for them.
On Cannon Beach, myriad times.
Almost directly across the Pacific from Cannon Beach, in Naksan, South Korea.
In front of a small house I helped build in Rosarito, Mexico.
In front of the Capitol Building in Washington D.C.
In an upstairs room of a house outside of L.A. with a writer/family member I had just met (Hi! Karen), swapping stories.
On Navy Pier in Chicago.
In front of professors and peers while I read essays prepared for a literature symposium, twice.
In a freezing cold Pacific Ocean at midnight on the very first day of this year.
In front of the stretch of river that took my father’s life.
In the Lower 9th Ward in New Orleans, post Hurricane Katrina.
A few rows in front of Ray LaMontagne as he sang himself out of breath performing one of my all-time favorite songs.
On curvaceous Lombard Street in San Francisco.
On a snowy mountainside with Hans at 3am one morning, realizing we were going to trek two miles uphill to a cabin.
In front of my grandfather in his hospital room, just a few hours before he succumbed to cancer.
On a bridge with an adventurous friend, before we jumped off it. (Into water; we are only mildly crazy.)
Underneath the biggest LED light display in the world (in Beijing).
Next to my dad as he carried my sister on his shoulders while we explored what is now Colbert, Washington.
With Kali at the finish line of the Shamrock 5k this past March.
In Vancouver, B.C. after a hilarious weekend with some of my best friends.
Outside after my first Dance Dance Party Party, feeling completely uninhibited for the first time in a long time.
Close enough to see Tom Petty perspire.
On a rolling walkway surrounded on all sides by tanks filled with sharks at Sea World: Orlando.
On Naito Parkway as my sister ran by amidst a churning sea of other dedicated bodies on her way to 26.2 miles.
In front of my parents as I took the first picture I ever loved.
On a wakeboard in Malibu, Canada.
In front of Big Eddy this weekend, a string of class 3/class 4 rapids on the Deschutes river, before doing this:

—————–

Your turn! Tell me some of the most memorable places you’ve stood.

At this point to say I cannot contain my already typically excessive exclaiming is to understate. HOW am I going to refrain from blurting out, “Hawaii! I’m going there!” from now until I leave at the beginning of September? Better yet, Maui! + getting to see my sister in TWO WEEKS = how am I going to sleep tonight? And the next night? And the night after that? HOW?

But I suppose this post is coming completely out of nowhere if you don’t follow me on Twitter, or don’t even use Twitter, and/or didn’t get a text or an email or a DM from me (IN ALL CAPS) saying something like “MAUI!” or “I’M GOING TO HAWAII!” or “THIS IS PERFECT BECAUSE I JUST WATCHED INTO THE BLUE LAST WEEKEND AND…what? No, no I did not watch Into the Blue. I mean, I did, but you can’t prove it and anyway, BACK TO SEA TURTLES!”

The oh so random “Kerri is going to Hawaii over Labor Day weekend” story goes a little something like this:

1. Kerri checks her email nonchalantly Tuesday morning, half-asleep.
2. Kerri notices Alaska Airlines trying to trick her into going to Hawaii by offering her a Crazy Ridiculous Low One-Way Fare. Kerri was in Hawaii ten (!) years ago and paid more like $600 for her ticket. So Kerri automatically think it’s a) a scam b) bound by a bunch of lame guidelines that will ultimately render her (at this point very imaginary) trip to Hawaii typical amounts of expensive, and therefore typical amounts of not happening.
3. After a bit of research Kerri realizes it’s a) not a scam and b) she can fly over Labor Day weekend for less than $300 round-trip. She also realizes Hawaiian Airlines beats Alaska with an Even Crazier Low One-Way Fare.
4. Kerri tweets about wanting to go to Hawaii, and says someone should come with her, because, hi, Hawaii, you look pretty today.
5. Kerri’s pretty sure everyone will think she’s nuts, and/or no one will be able to come, because who plans a last-minute trip to Hawaii after an already crazy August?
6. Kerri briefly considers going to Hawaii by herself, because why not? That is, until Terrell says she’s IN.
7. Kerri thinks about how much fun! it would be to go to Hawaii with Terrell, who is awesome and hilarious and likes sea turtles.
8. Kerri asks Terrell if she’s joking, because Kerri isn’t really joking, and Terrell, says nope, she’s totally IN.
9. Kerri finds a hotel on the beach for $72/night, which split between two people is Not Very Much At All/night.
10. Terrell and Kerri buy tickets (the air kind!) before they each leave work on Tuesday.
11. Kerri knows why she can’t stop smiling, but not why she is telling this story in a third-person numbered list.

I think I am seriously just in shock right now. I mean, I love! to travel, but this has to be the most spontaneous trip I have ever booked and (not) planned, and it’s just…exhilarating! Those prices were just way too good to ignore, and it will be nice to have a super relaxing (long) weekend getaway. I honestly can’t remember the last time a vacation was even remotely relaxing. Or tropical! It might have been the last time I was in Hawaii, ten years ago.

Ten years and I can still remember how perfectly floral the entire island of Oahu smelled when we walked off the plane.

I have a feeling Maui is going to smell even better.

*Post title from Forgetting Sarah Marshall which is a movie (that makes me laugh quite a lot and) set in…wait for it…HAWAII.

Starring: A slew of great Spanish actors you’ve probably never heard of, most notably Ivana Baquero and Maribel Verdú.
Protagonist’s name and non-spoilery story: Ofelia is the first and arguably main protagonist, and is a precocious young girl who loves fairy tales and suddenly finds herself in one. This fairy tale, however, is definitely more like a nightmare from beginning to end.
Sci-Fi additions: A labyrinth that we never really see but know is there; magical chalk; gluttonous frogs; woodland fairies masquerading as praying mantises.
Nightmare inducing scenes: Too many to list, but most notably the one featuring this gruesome fellow. (DO NOT CLICK THAT LINK IF YOU DO NOT WANT TO SEE A STUPIDLY SCARY MONSTER WITH MAN BOOBS AND EYES IN HIS HANDS. Believe me, I do not blame you if you don’t. I certainly could have lived my entire life without seeing that guy.)
Apropos of mandrake roots: The screaming baby mandrake root del Toro uses in the movie reminded me heavily of the way J.K. Rowling used it in the first Harry Potter (published in 1999) and subsequent stories, though thanks to Wikipedia I now know the mandrake scream is fairly common folklore.

Extended review for anyone who cares: I’m definitely not saying I hated it, but I pushed “play” expecting it to be a movie in the same cinematic vein as The Neverending Story and/or Labyrinth,  and it was so different I was left staring agape at my screen, not sure if I should keep watching or abandon cinematic ship.

While I thought certain parts of the story were harrowingly beautiful, Pan’s Labyrinth is incredibly dark from start to finish, and possesses absolutely no comedic relief. I didn’t laugh once. I barely smiled once. In the Neverending Story you have (Falkor! and) the story-within-a-story to interrupt your melancholy when plot lines get too heavy (and scary wolves too stuffed-animal-looking). And in Labyrinth you have a) David Bowie and b) those crazy Jim Henson muppet-esque creatures who sing and joke and are generally hilarious.

Furthermore, the title in and of itself is misleading. The main story has NOTHING to do with a labyrinth. Or Pan, really. I mean, OK, fine, maybe the story has minuscule amounts to do with a labyrinth, but BARELY. Ofelia only goes into the labyrinth three times, and she’s not even in there for more than five minutes at a time. We don’t see any of the whimsy or the crazy characters (beyond Pan himself) no doubt existing in the labyrinth the way we do in the Bowie-clad version, and while there are certainly other interesting stories within the film, I didn’t feel the overall story (centering on a fascist Spanish regime led by a Bastard Captain who revels in his own bastardness) was all that imaginative. I’ve definitely seen it done better in various other movies, and (to me) the only thing that made this story any different than its fascist peers was that it was gorier. I’m no cinematic wimp, but honestly, I had to look away at multiple points because I don’t really want to see a face realistically smashed in, or a leg realistically cut off, or a woman for which I had no pity in the first place bleed to death.

Which brings me to a heavily distracting plot point. I found Ofelia’s mother to be completely deplorable in that she puts her only daughter in harm’s way when she marries an obviously evil man, and for what? Because she’s lonely. REALLY? Feeling thankful someone dies during a particularly horrifying childbirth because you don’t have to look at her weak face anymore is probably not the reaction del Toro was hoping to evoke.

Questions left unanswered:
1. A baby-eating monster with EYES IN HIS HANDS. Why did you have to do that to me del Toro, WHY?
2. How, exactly, is a young girl to know how much time she has left to complete a magical task when she leaves her magic hourglass in her bedroom while she walks through a magical door?
3. Was I supposed to be able to tell from this movie poster that Pan’s Labyrinth is not fanciful or cheerful in any way? Because if so, I verily failed that test.

Memorable Quotes: Does me yelling at Ofelia’s mother as if she (is a real person, and) can hear me calling her completely selfish count as a memorable quote? No?

OK, fine: “You could have obeyed me!” “But Captain, to obey, just like that, for obedience’s sake…without questioning…That’s something only people like you can do.”

The Verdict: Memorably creepy, but definitely not even close to my favorite fantasy movie, and nothing I will be watching again. Also, DO NOT watch this movie with your kids. Unless your kids are thirty. And even then, be prepared for them needing a glass of warm milk and a Will Ferrell movie to watch directly following this one.

————–

I’m excited to have more serious (and very non-serious) movies reviews coming soon to a site near you. Until then, have you heard of a movie starring Charlie Sheen as a reincarnated flying-motorcycle-riding avenger? No? You might be missing the best worst movie ever.

Theresa Marie (aka babycarrot sister) in Korea:

A moody Cannon Beach:

The beach (almost) directly across the Pacific from Cannon Beach, otherwise known as Naksan, South Korea:

Iggy is not a fan of having his picture taken. This is one of those rare shots I was able to get without him looking down, or around, or otherwise just walking away while I’m in the middle of snapping a shot:

Summertime me:

Erin! and her umbrella (ella ella):

Lunch break reading with Kate’s Dread Crew:

Angella! in Vancouver:

Hans! in Vancouver:

Jen! in Vancouver:

Indeed:

Found art near PSU in Portland:

Reading The Monster At The End Of This Book with Meggan and her wee Wesley:

Iggy loves Angella, Exhibit A:

A particularly snowy day in Yangyang, South Korea:

Blurry me:

An overnight at Cannon Beach never fails to rejuvenate my heart, to make me forget every bundle of “to-do” I was carrying on my shoulders, every stress and every fear. But really, five minutes at Cannon Beach does that for me. For me, the coast and its rocky shores are a sacred place, more spiritual than any church, more steadfast than any promise, untouchable by loss or grief. I can think clearer sitting in front of crashing waves than I can anywhere else. I can smile broader, and walk longer, and remember stories I want to tell.

I typically don’t come to Cannon Beach in July, or even August, unless for some magical reason I don’t have to work on weekday. During the height of summer, the traffic through the typically quaint downtown is bumper-to-bumper, and parking is mostly nonexistent, and while I don’t think the beach could ever feel too small no matter how many people were simultaneously occupying it, I know I prefer the mellow simplicity of the off-season. I don’t need the beach to be hot, or even warm, to enjoy it. I just need to be standing on it.

Having spent so much quality time at Cannon Beach over the years, especially when my sister and her husband were living there, it’s admittedly hard to share the coast with the throngs of tourists who come through every year to wander the beautifully unique northern coastline, and take pictures of Haystack Rock, and buy postcards and prints that never do any of the sights any justice.

But it’s never hard to share the coast with friends.

In fact, Cannon Beach is one of the first places I will offer to take anyone who comes to visit Portland, never mind that it’s an hour and a half drive away from the city. What’s waiting for you just off Highway 26 is worth every windy mile stuck behind a motor home that can’t seem to drive faster than 45mph.

Camp Dykstra stayed in a(n adorable) beach rental on Cannon Beach most of last week, and they so graciously invited me out to spend a night with them and revel in the beachy glee.

Following is a smattering of my favorite pictures and moments from my coastal inspired weekend.

Angella and Amanda at Deschutes on Friday night:

Photographic proof I have not yet mastered the art of the self-take group shot. But everyone IS actually in this picture, and as a bonus, we can start a new photo game called “Guess that chest!” Or…something.

From far left (sliver of hair) to far right (sliver of cheek): Sarah, Vahid, Amanda, Rhi, Angella, Me.

Pre beach run:

Post beach run:

During our first beach excursion on Saturday Nathan asked me what was across the ocean, because he wanted to go there. “Korea,” I said, and his face lit up as he decided, plastic shovel firmly in hand, he was going to dig all the way to Korea. That plan soon changed, as Nathan, Graham, and Emily each decided they would dig to separate locations, and then see who they could entice to accompany them. Nathan: “Do you want to come with me to the African volcano to die?” Emily: “Or to Paris with me to speak French?” Graham: “Or to Mexico with me to swim?” Decisions, decisions.

Nathan and Graham, digging to Africa and Mexico, respectively:

Pretty girls (This might be my favorite shot from the entire weekend):

Nathan, after a half an hour on a very windy, very chilly beach: “My brain hurts.”

The boys:

Awh, yeah.

I don’t know that there are words for how much I love this picture. It’s just so them:

Emily is pretty much Iggy’s biggest fan. She’s also not afraid to tell him, “No paws on the table!” Atta girl.

When I said goodbye to the beach-combing crew Saturday afternoon, Miss Emily started crying. It was so unexpected, and so incredibly sweet, that I had to quickly saunter to the car after giving her big hugs and telling her I would see her sooner than later, before I started crying myself, thereby not helping anyone.

It’s amazing to have friends that really can and do feel like family.

It’s also amazing to have so many friends come to visit (me! and) Portland, thereby providing me ample opportunity to get out of my apartment and traipse about my favorite city with some of my favorite people.

On Sunday I met Terrell and her fella (and her awesome cousin Shelby) for brunch, and didn’t need to be but was instantly reminded how lucky I am to have such amazing friends in so many cities, with a heaping dose of amazing being conveniently located in Seattle, where Terrell (also Jen, Sizzle, and Andrea!) happens to live. (Just to clarify, Terrell was in Portland this weekend. I did not drive three hours just for brunch, though really, it’s not out of the realm of possibility for me. What can I say? I love my friends almost as much as I love a great Eggs Benedict.)

All in all, this weekend was one of my favorites of the summer, just like last weekend and the weekend before that, and I’m already looking forward to much more friend and family-centered excitement on the horizon.

Coming soon: a trip to Seattle, bachelorette river rafting, GETTING TO SEE MY SISTER*, Rhi’s wedding which also means a long weekend with Kristin!, and Step Up 3D.

Before you start laughing at me, I dare you to watch the afore-linked movie trailer and not think the dancing looks UH-mazing. I actually think this might be the first movie worth watching in 3D. Also: Yes! That’s totally Twitch from So You Think You Can Dance and! Harry Shum from Glee. I can’t help myself; I’m beyond psyched to see this movie.

*Also clarifying: My sister is coming home from Korea in August, lest anyone think I (won the lottery, and) was flying back to Korea.

————–

OK, I’ve officially rambled long enough. Tell me about your weekend!

What? Like that’s not totally normal?

You should come on over and read Mr. Cage’s heartfelt letter to Angella, and then weigh in on how great (or not to so great) you think he (or his hair) is.

Do it, do it.

Updated to add: I’m not going to lie; this might have just made my day.

*Post title from one of the best Nicolas Cage movies of all time. I’ll give you three guesses.

A full day of grant budgets, travel booking, river walking, and office maintaining raced by, and once again I found myself standing at the front door to my apartment building, soon thereafter making my customary stop in our mail room that doubles as a secondary foyer and front hall to two downstairs apartments.

I check my mailbox daily. Even when I’m not waiting for pertinent news, a life-changing piece of paper hidden amidst a clutter of bills and candidate fliers and coupon waste for stores I never intend on walking into.

On this particular Thursday I stood in front of my mailbox for an unusual amount of time, my heart racing after seeing what was waiting for me inside: a standard letter-sized something resting nonchalantly next to two pieces of mail I barely noticed.

The envelope was plain, simple. The only reason I didn’t assume it was another piece of inconsequential mailbox litter was because of the “Multnomah County Circuit Court” stamped in the far left corner.

I held my breath as I opened it right there, unable to carry it upstairs with me first, as if the weight of the news waiting inside the envelope had become too heavy to carry another step.

My name. His name. Domestic Relations Dissolution: NOTICE OF ENTRY OF JUDGMENT.

Such a fancy string of words for “divorce.”

A General Judgment was entered in the register of the court in the above-noted case on July 9, 2010.

I stood for a few moments staring at the end of a marriage so neatly expressed in a single sentence. Who types these? I wondered to myself, preparing for the elevator of emotion I was about to ride, preparing to revisit ups and downs in myself with which I’ve become quite familiar.

On June 24th it was a year. One year since the morning everything fell apart. Since emails were found, words exchanged, denials entertained.

My ex-husband isn’t a villain. I haven’t and won’t vilify him here. I made big mistakes. Huge ones. I didn’t trust myself. I didn’t trust him. To say we were doomed from the beginning is not to be melodramatic. It also isn’t an excuse. He made huge mistakes. Unforgivable ones for a marriage. Unforgivable ones for a wife. But the girl who considered him her best friend long before “I do” was ever said has forgiven him.

I am not angry. I don’t spend precious time despairing. I just can’t. I see hope in all of this. I see purpose. I see promise. I see a woman rising from the ashes of her own life. I don’t even recognize this woman, it’s been so long since I’ve seen her. But she is me. She is strong, and confident, and capable. She is excited about all that is to come.

Breathing normally once again, I smiled, realizing that as I was reading the first and final notice of my officially finalized divorce, I was also listening to “Here Comes The Sun” by The Beatles, the song itself wafting to my ears from underneath a doorway of one of the two aforementioned ground floor apartments.

Little darling, the smiles returning to the faces
Little darling, it seems like years since it’s been here
Here comes the sun
Here comes the sun and I say
It’s all right

Here Comes The Sun by lolagomez

He’s brilliant in Brick, and in The Lookout, and I can’t wait to see Inception.

But this? This is quite possibly the most random and very best thing he’s ever done.

I absolutely love it.

Yes, that is also totally Channing Tatum. I’m telling you: serious amounts of awesome.