holey jeans, our attachment to things, and small joys

last week i patched a pair of jeans that had a couple of two-euro-coin-sized holes in a not entirely appropriate spot... and as i sat there wrestling with the denim and trying to not stab myself with the needle, i got to thinking.
there were many reasons why i was patching those pants. for one, aside from the massive holes they had acquired of late, they were still in pretty good shape and holes did not seem like a good enough reason to retire them. they are easily the most comfortable pair of jeans i've owned in years, and probably the only ones that have actually fit me well. i like the softness of the worn denim that fits my shape; the worn in feeling where they settle onto just the right spot on my hips. but those small reasons aren't enough to warrant all that wrestling and stabbing... why was i so attached to these particular jeans?

the short answer is: lately i have seen no point in acquiring lots more of things like clothes, which are so easily forgotten in the bottom of a drawer or back of a closet. these jeans have a lot more wear in them, and and would rather risk tender fingertips than buy something new produced in a system that i don't support. it's getting harder and harder for me to justify the accumulation of things these days, and i am finding myself wanting simplicity more than anything else. a few pairs of good pants is more than enough for me, and i will patch them if i need to.
the long answer is: these pants are more than just pants to me. i wore those jeans almost every day for five months. i trekked all over the UK and europe in them. those holes were worn from the friction of many days of walking, exploring, getting lost, and getting found again. they have witnessed some of the roughest times for me, and some of the happiest too. they have stories associated with them. they have seen things and places i have wanted to see for so long. i have hugged many now-distant friends while wearing them. i have spilt untold random things on them, and washed them again and again and again. it was worth the patching, in my mind, to continue to wear those stories, that history, on my body every day.

the attachment to things is an interesting phenomenon in my mind. we humans get attached to all manner of "things," and they have various degrees of hold on us. for example, i am attached to things that i appreciate for their utility (like my laptop), to things that i cherish (my writing book and journal and photographs are a few), to things that i use every day (like my fridge), and to things that i would rather live without, but seem to live with anyway (like my cell phone). i am much more deeply attached to people (family, close friends, and erik), and places (the house where i grew up, my little kitchen here in the greens, scotland, tirol, the ocean and the mountains)... but things still follow me around. they become appendages that are often too cumbersome and geometric to meld with my being or otherwise be easily carried, and so instead they drag behind me. that dragging is a weight i often wish i could live without.

buddhism teaches that attachment is the source of suffering. attachment is a fundamental misunderstanding of the nature of things. things, for all of their weight (physical, mental or emotional) and impacts (toxic chemicals or unbreakdownable plastics or memories), are illusory. they are impermanent in spite of all of their appearances of permanence. after all, i do touch them every day, they do persist in my perception from day to day. but i know deep down, in a sort of unexplainable and visceral way, that such permanence isn't what i think it is. things pass just like the days do, just like the clouds pass over my head, sand passes through my fingers, and people pass in and out of my life. impermanance is "good" in that it teaches us to cherish what we have in the moment. it is "bad" in that when we become too attached to things, we lose track of the truth: that this too shall come to pass, and that causes us pain, holds us back.

things also have other impacts, beyond how they imprint our individual lives. my classes lately have been making me ever-more conscious of my consumption habits, and more passionate about creating real change in the way people view "things." these things we buy in unfathomable quantities in america only lead us further astray. we are killing our planet, killing our future, killing our children, killing ourselves in our greed for more. all of this is a false and costly effort though, because it is misguided: we fill our lives with things instead of meaning. the things can never be the meaning that we seek. they can pretend to be, but then they will break, and once again we are left with nothing. they can't stand up to the heaviness of our desire for happiness and fulfillment. they never will be able to. we need to accept that, and throw all of that money and effort into things that can satisfy our hunger for meaning and belonging and joy: things like community and wilderness. these are things worth being attached to, worth fighting for, which are currently lost in the din of our automobiles and shopping cart wheels.

i try to practice "measured" attachment in my life. some things in life--my values, certain books, lots of people--are worth holding on to. some are necessary to hold on to--like food and what preserves it (though this can be done more carefully and mindfully, to minimize its impact). others--negative emotions, regret, and stuff (that superfluous junk that weighs us down)--is not worth the attachment.
except for those jeans apparently. 

well, i did only say that i try to avoid attachment. that doesn't mean that i always succeed. :)

and on a slightly different (and perhaps ironic?) note...

some things that bring me a lot of joy lately:
-erik
-cuddles
-frisbee
-the stacks of books surrounding that i don't think i'll ever have the time to read
-coffee and fresh baked things for breakfast
-storm clouds
-raindrops rings on puddles
-poetry/love group
-riding bikes side by side
-thinking about the future
-muddy hands
-pictures
-clean kitchens
-walking down the middle of the road because i forget cars use them

b

wearing hats

this is a remnant of my time in england, which of late has been flitting around the back of my mind. please comment on it... i'd love to hear what you have to say.
(thanks, ans, for encouraging me to post this)


wearing hats

some days i want that brim above my eyes. some days the horizon is too far away, the sky too large, for me to be okay with the scale of my own small body.

between the brim and the ground beneath my feet is a world that i know well, even if i don't always like it.
in this human realm, i usually know how to navigate. usually.
some days it is beautiful down here. sometimes people are exquisite. they reach out to each other, comfort each other; bring laughter and joy and sweetness to lives that can so easily become hum-drum.
i mark these moments in my mind, on my pages, to remind me when those times pass. because they do pass.

on those other days, i tear that hat off of my head, and breathe a long sigh of relief.
as safe as it may seem, it gets crowded under that brim. it gets noisy. it gets tense and heated and competitive. on those days i want the world to be bigger--to remind me that there is still something more. something larger than human fallibility and pettiness.

on those days i want to reach and reach and reach for that horizon.
the height of the mountains, the tangle of trees, the wide-opens of the world call out to me. i am lost looking up into that expanse of sky: my hat lies forgotten on the ground.

b

of late

listening to:

yellow taxi, matt costa
by my side, ben harper
extrasupervery, frightened rabbits
tit smoking in the temple of artesean mimicry, devendra banhart
save your day, jose gonzalez
boy with a coin, iron and wine
slipping through the sensors, fruitbats
man-revolutionary!, rogue wave
napoleon on the ballerophon, beirut
have to explode, the mountain goats
shout out loud, amos lee
peace train, cat stevens
lost!, coldplay
old college try, the mountain goats
woods, bon iver

b

kitchens

one of the greatest joys of living in an apartment is having my own kitchen. it's so nice to have food and utensils and recipes and friends together in one place. kitchens are safe places: places for us to gather together, to celebrate the simple joys of good food and good company. just say the word "brownies" and you'll have a crowd surrounding you, and no left overs (thank goodness).

these past couple of weeks have been an interesting adventure. i have found myself frequently overwhelmed by things, being back at linfield: questions about my experiences in england leave me stumbling for words, large groups of people leave me nowhere to focus, multiple conversations happening at once leave me mute. it is wonderful to be back, no doubt about it, but it is a different place then when i left. i'm a different person than when i left. and the result of those truths is that i find myself simultaneously at home and a stranger.

kitchens are somewhere that i feel at home and "at" myself, always, no matter what. i know what to do there. i move easily between spices and oils and vegetables. i can look at a bunch on ingredients and imagine possibilites: i can create things without inordinate effort. it's a free place, a quiet place, and a productive refuge that permits me to create an environment in which the things i most desire--conversations with close friends, shared laughter, "mmmmms" and "yummies"--can be achieved. kitchens are places of inherited and lived love: they are my mom's place and my grandma's place, and my place too. i share it with those i love most, and to me there is just something so special about beating butter and sugar for cookies while you joke with a friend.
i turn to the kitchen for solace. there i beat away my stress with a whisk amidst eggs, and sift through my thoughts as i sift flour through my fingertips. i find joy in the smells of fresh baked goods or sauted veggies. it is my release lately, and though it may not be good for my waistline (or those of my roommates), it's been keeping me sane. and sanity is good i think.

so, if you can't find me these days, don't bother to call. stop by my kitchen and ask what's in the oven. you might even get some.

b

________________________________________________________

kitchen dance
(for erik)

there are knives here
and spoons
the smells of onion
cooking in butter
and the spices that are
lined up
along the counter

you are here too.
you dice the peppers
and i watch the pan
we move amidst each other
with an ease well known;
the fruit of daily, well practiced.

we play our roles well here,
and together lay the table with
all kinds
of dishes
and eat.
and afterward at the sink,
our lips meet over the bubbles--
clean aftermath of another kitchen dance.

this other life

this morning i moved my boxes of stuff out of our storage room here at home, in preparation for my move back to linfield. i found myself hefting boxes and wondering to myself "what on earth is in this thing??" the weight of those boxes surprised me... it is the weight of a life that i haven't been living for a very long time now. it's so strange to feel like a stranger looking at my own things again, and yet i'm finding the weight of that realization to be a good thing.

coming home was like slipping back into a pair of well-worn shoes for me. it was comfortable; molded to my shape. coming home was what it was supposed to be--namely, a homecoming. for the first time in months i feel completely at ease in my own skin. i have fallen back into my normal routines of early bedtimes and wakings, i eat yogurt for breakfast and dress in scratchy wool sweaters inherited from friends. i drink tea and read books and listen to my quiet music, and turn off the t.v. every time i get the chance. i talk to my mom about the garden and animals and both our growing passion for sustainable agriculture. i read pages of wendell berry, and finding my thoughts written in his words, i am filled with joy. i know without a doubt that i came home at the right time. things were falling apart in the place where i was; i had been gone for long enough, and it was time to come home again.

there is a weight that followed me here though, and it is the weight of the realizations i have had since being gone. the past five months have been months full of soul-searching and struggle for me, and it is only now, in the quiet of my wood-heated living room that i am finally confronting them in all of their heaviness. the weight is good. it is the result of an understanding i have come to with this place that i come from, and to which i have longed to return. it is the heaviness of the new knowledge that is in me, after all of my recent experiences. it is the realization that i am growing up, and all that that entails (i hear of people i knew in elementary school who are getting married, or who are pregnant, and i think to myself "aren't we too young for this?"). it is the weight of hopes and fears for the future, and my combined timidness and excitement in facing them. it is the anticipation of returning to this life, and the load of musings that accompany such a reunion.

so once again i find myself a stranger to myself... i am so changed from the person who left this country in september. and yet, miraculously, i know myself better for it. the estrangement is a realization of who i am becoming, and that is something special. i feel more confident in myself, more settled in my convictions, more comfortable with the uncertainty of my life. it's like i'm growing into myself. and maybe growing up a little bit too.

and so, this morning i will pack up my things for the hundredth time in what feels like only so many days, and walk forward into my future. on my shoulders is the weight of this new understanding. in my mind and heart there is a clarity. it's time to return to this other life, and make it my own again.

b

the via dell'amore (or, travels in italy)

traveling in italy is something of dreams really. so many individuals study guidebooks and watch travel shows for years, dreaming of their perfect italian vacation: anticipating tuscan vistas, good wine, to-die-for food, cheerful italian hosts, and tiny cars. italy is one of those places that is built up all of your life: everyone talks about how amazing it is, how you'll never want to leave, etc, etc.
as is so often the case with things like that, italy wasn't what i expected. i saw glimmers of that mythic italy that so many people are in raptures about, and i won't deny that it was surreal to be surrounded by landscapes that i've heard about all of my life... but italy was humble. it was just another country in reality. of course it had it's unique elements, and yes italian is a charming language to listen to, but i found myself feeling like it was a little overhyped. i won't deny that i felt a little teensy bit let down, but i will assure you that those sentiments did not ruin my time there. italy was beautiful, and i had wonderful experiences there. it was impossible to not have an amazing time there, really, given that i was traveling with erik--finally together again after months apart. i knew that no matter where we went or what we did, that this trip would be something we would always remember. and it was.

we started in venice, arriving in the foggy, freezing cold city at 6 am after taking a night train from innsbruck. we walked out of the front of the train station and were met by deserted streets and the sound of lapping water; the fog was thick enough that we could only make out the vaque outline of an enormous and enormously beautiful bridge over a canal: it was totally surreal. are we really in venice?? we dropped our bags at the hostel, and then spent the morning wandering. we found narrow alleys that clipped your elbows and alleys you had to duck down in to walk though, bridges, and churches, and lots of dead ends. the great thing about venice is that you probably will get lost, but eventually some alleyway will dump you out somewhere big... like the piazza san marcoso, which we found entirely by accident. being out before the crowds was amazing, because we got to watch this beautiful city wake up, gradually filling with the chatter of the local fish merchants and veggie stand owners, before the entire city braced itself against the tourist onslaught. it was wonderful to get a glimpse of the real venice.
other highlights of our time in venice included being accosted by a rose-seller in san marcoso after dark, our first taste of gelato from a backstreet gelateria, taking long walks on the waterfront, and repeatedly getting lost in the mazes of streets. venice was my favorite place in italy. i loved it's packed little alleys, tiny coffee bars, hidden piazzas, and of course the canals and gondolas. it is haunting in it's slightly decrepit beauty; particularly in the hours before visitors to the city lift their heads from the pillow, and the narrow lanes are full of the chatter of old friends and neighbors and not camera lenses.

foggy canal view on our first morning in venice

a nearly deserted piazza san marcoso

picturesque gondola ranks along the waterfront

piazza san marcoso with a pigeon

how bizarre and beautiful: a city built on water

florence was our next stop in italy: more of a stop-in really, as we were on our way to cinque terra for the remainder of our time in italy. but, we spent an enjoyable afternoon and evening there.
florence is in the heart of tuscany, and it was there that i saw brief glimpses of the fabled italy of the guidebooks and travel shows. the city is surrounded by rolling hills, topped with olive groves, open fields, and those tall narrow trees you see growing in windrows along roads in photos of the tuscan countryside. the city itself was overwhelming after the intimacy and car-less-ness of venice. the buildings were huge, the cars and mopeds fast and loud, the people imposing in their fashionableness. but, we enjoyed wonderful hospitality in our hostel, splurged on a traditional italian meal with all four courses, and played i-spy with a gorgeous tuscan sunset when we took a long evening walk. and then there was the cheerful man in the gelateria we paused at on said walk who dug extra long to find me a pink plastic spoon for my cone, giggling all the while. :)

cherry red moped!

this street was really steep, but lead to a pretty hilltop lane

picture of the sunset through a hole in a gate: i was too short to see it over the walls that unfortunately lined our hilltop walk

our final destination in italy was the cinque terra coast, where we had booked a hostel that was in fact a full apartment--something that erik and i were really looking forward to. we would have a chance to go to the market, and bring home our bounty to create our own meals. we would have a space to call our own for a few days, one that we could use as a platform for adventuring, and as a warm haven to spend lazy evenings whiling the time away. our time together there was full of relaxation, stormy mornings, steep stairs, wandering walks, and seaside air. it was the perfect ending to a long trip, a long period of displacement that had simultaneously torn the ties i had in england and begun strengthening the ones i felt to home.
the principle impression of cinque terra that stuck in my memory is how old it was. the town of riomaggiore, where we stayed, was full of old plastered buildings clinging to the sides of even older cliffs, over an even older sea. the steep hillsides above the town were domesticated as terraced farm fields (reminiscent of peru, or maybe china), full of oranges and grape vines. the streets were steep and their stones were rough; the boats near the little harbor were wind, salt and sea-worn but still carefully painted in bright blues. the demographic of the town was almost entirely over the age of 40. this was a place that had been there for a long time, and you had the impression that the way that life is lived there has changed little over the years. this town lived in isolation until the years just after WWII, when a footpath was built to the neighboring town of manarola. people here grew up together, married each other, and were buried in clifftop cemeteries by their children who married each other. the flavor of this little town was rich and hearty, and i felt lucky to sample it.
because of the reality of traveling in the off season, many of the wonders of the cinque terra weren't available to erik and i: we had planned to do a lot of hiking between the towns, but almost all of the trails were closed. luckily, on our second to last day the "via dell'amore" was open, and we paid our five euro to walk along this richly historied path, marveling at both the sea view and the human traces (in the form of grafitti and padlocks) that lay in layers along the way.
we left the cinque terra feeling like it is somewhere we should come back to: sometime when the air is warm and the gelaterias are open, and windows are flung open to crystal blue skies, not shut to chilly grey winds. when we can spend an entire day (not 25 minutes) climbing stairs and pausing for views along the trails linking the towns.
someday, we'll be back.

looking up at riomaggiore from the tiny harbor

looking north along the cinque terra coastline

hanging out on the tiny rocky beach just south of riomaggiore

a glimpse of the grafitti along the "via dell'amore"

it's a tradition to lock a padlock with you and your love's initials on it at some point along the via dell'amore: the result is long chains of locks all linked together. kind of beautiful really.

a view of manarola from the via dell'amore

all of the defining features of the cinque terra in one photo: blue and white boats, sherbet colored cliffside homes, and terraced fields above

the kind of views you get when you wander off the beaten/legal pathway (this is manarola)

we left the cinque terra on a sunny morning that promised far better weather than any of the past few days. too bad for us, but we were able to take advantage of the rays in pisa. we arrived at pisa's train station just before noon, and didn't need to be at the airport for a couple of hours. and what else do you do in pisa in a few hours, but visit the leaning tower? so, erik, myself, and all of our bags trekked to the other side of town for a sunny picnic under the leaning tower. we passed time laughing at tourists, eating the last of our italian salami and bread, and soaking up the warm sunny rays. a perfect end to italy: even better, given that we spent our last euros on enormous gelatos on the way back to the train station. yum. :)

we contented ourselves with taking a picture of the tourists taking the classic leaning tower picture... and i think we were the only people in a 200 meter vicinity who weren't taking this picture, minus the guy who was asleep on the steps nearby

it's a tower and it leans. wow. it's one of those anti-climactic things...

but the sunshine was wonderful :)

as was the view on the flight back to england. farewell europe!

b

christmas was different this year

our broomstick tree and small bounty of gifts

this year was the first year in my life that i haven't been home for christmas. this time around, i wouldn't spend mornings christmas shopping, days baking christmas cookies, afternoons collecting greenery and constructing wreaths, or evenings watching claymation rudolph's and frosty's. i didn't accompany my family on a snowy hunt for the christmas tree, or eat slumgulion stew on christmas night, nor did i enjoy the first white christmas at my house since i was a baby. instead, i spent christmas half a world away, and had proven to me that the richness of the season can be found anywhere.

what do you do at christmas time when there isn't family around? this is a question i found myself asking this year, because family really is the defining feature of christmas, at least in my previous experiences of it. you spend that special time of year with your parents and your siblings; it's often the only time of year you see many members of your extended family, and hear briefly about what they are making of their lives these days. the noise, laughter, stress, and joy of the holidays are all intimately tied to the presence of family. when family isn't around, christmas doesn't feel like all that big of a deal really. just a special day, arbitrarily placed in the middle of winter to fight off the duldrums, and give you a valid excuse to eat too much and make merry. and that's okay. christmas wasn't any less special this year, it was just different than it normally is.

i was blessed that my first christmas away from home wasn't a lonely one, and i think daniel and i found some small but wonderful ways to celebrate our little christmas together:
on christmas eve, we went for a walk in the woods, hiking up to the snow line, and digging through drifts together to rescue some boughs to bring a little green into the apartment. on the way home, we paused at a church in the woods for a moment of peace and reflection, lighting christmas-colored candles, and watching our own breath rise in front of our faces as we considered our lives in the context of the day. i can't speak for daniel, but i sat there and marveled at the fact that i was sitting in a tiny church surrounded by majestic mountains. i reveled in the warm tiredness in my thighs from our walk, and the chilly damp of my ankles after slogging in the snow for our boughs. there i was: young, healthy, and living a pretty amazing life... so much to be thankful for.
that night we ate simply, built a broomstick christmas tree, went out for a beer, and then attended midnight mass at the cathedral. the service was in german, and daniel told me later that it was pretty cheesy, but taking part in that ritual was a great experience. as was the moment when daniel turned to me, extending his hand for mine in a warm gesture of peace... and i then turned to the strangers beside me to wish them the same. in the services i have attended in my time in europe and the UK, this is my favorite moment, because of the generosity of spirit that i have felt in those grips: strangers with honest goodwill in their heart, so easily shared with this person they have never met.

christmas morning feast!

christmas day, we had decided, was going to be a feast day. we slept in, but when we woke up, got right to work on a delicious brunch of an enormous scramble full of vegetables and cheese and a batch of buttery homemade buscuits. we lingered over the food and our coffee, enjoying some music and each other's company. after breakfast, we opened our small collection of gifts. because each of us had primarily been shopping for only a very few people, we were each very proud of our choices. consequently, though small, our gift exchange was full of joy as we each saw our careful choices bring the hoped for joy to the other person's face. i don't know that i have ever so enjoyed gift-giving. it was small, and over in just a few moments, but was beautiful in great part because of that. that evening, we continued feasting, with a delicious dinner of roasted chicken and vegetables and a bottle of wine. the simple activity of working together on meals, the joy of shared music, food, conversation, and candlelight, came together to make a wonderful christmas. a non-traditional one, as is appropriate for it being celebrated halfway around the world from home.

b