My new home.

Inspirations from East town, Grand Rapids:

Residential: Imagine a place that has twisting, hilly streets laid with cobbles and lined with aging trees. These trees watch while children play hopscotch on the sidewalk below and, if the knobby oaks are lucky, an adventurous child (away from parental view) may make their way up the old yet sturdy pulp. The wonder of the shade comes close only to the wonder of an orange popsicle on these hot summer days, but the possibilities of this tree reach much further than the sticky mess of a frozen treat. The joy of a popsicle lasts only until ingestion, but the trees will stand there, day after day, ready to make a pirate ship out of a large limb or a wood world known only to those who have the right password and the right currency.

Restaurant(al): A few blocks from this place, a couple eats breakfast that looks like sunshine. Simple ingredients are fine for most restaurants, but this one uses something out of the ordinary to feed its guests. This place creates dishes (not bakes or broils or fries, but creates) not for the love of money but for the love of food and community. Over their last sips of hazelnut coffee, tastes of a magical breakfast dance in the bellies of the young lovers as ease dances in their hearts.

Fundamental: Just a skip away from the laundromat (which is equipped with giant rotating fans that could provide an airplane with lift-off and an oversized black labrador with the nicest disposition in all of Grand Rapids) is the local Farmer's Market. Inhabitants of the area flock here, finding gems as small as blueberries and as bright as sunflowers and, knowing they've helped their neighbors, leave with smiles and satisfaction and baskets full of goods.

Essential: In this moment, I find myself enjoying my umpteenth cup of magnificent coffee with the sounds of motown wafting through the bean-filled air. This tea/coffeehouse is hipster heaven, with racks of off-the-beaten-path periodicals and enough lit-up Macbook apples to light a small home. Two men sit to my left wearing wingtip shoes and bowler hats but they only have enough money to drink the free cups of water. I feel oddly at home here, with the poor yet fashionable outcasts, willing to invest more in art and music than in food (which is why so many of us are vegetarians). And, when we do find some spare change, we spend it on coffee, the perfect appetite suppressant and bitter yet smooth, just the oxymoron we were looking for.

Conclusion(al): The truth is, I've felt at home in all of the places I've described above, a rarity for a Traverse City native (one who has felt out of place since she left for college three years ago). I suppose it is a rarity for anyone to start to feel at home any place that isn't where they grew up. But, I am growing accustomed to these uneven roads, the cobbles concaving and convexing alongside my feelings of displacement yet comfort...

...just the oxymoron I was looking for.

life and coffee houses

Here's a post from my new blog! Enjoy :)

I am stuck in a rut, unable to conjure the words, unwilling to submit my mind solely to writing for one class, or studying for one exam, or preparing for one presentation. The walls that inclose me in my small place usually allows me to organize my thoughts better, to compartmentalize them to fit neatly into the space I have. But I have barely enough room to flip a pancake without bumping my elbow into the sink faucet, let alone organize my each and every worry, let alone lay out the load of school work I have for the week, let alone fold and make compact all of my belongings. Sometimes, no amount of planning or organizing can get me in the mood for homework, or make me feel free of the storm of responsibilities raining on my life.

Pay bills, stop bills, move out, move in, pack, unpack, backpack full, backpack emptied on the desk the floor the bed, sleep three hours maybe four, backpack back partially packed with my mind packed of information to gather-remember-regurgitate-write-rewrite for class, class then work, work then homework, homework then sleep, packing and unpacking and packing and unpacking and packing again. And then, when I have dealt with the happenings of today, I unpack my thoughts about the future, give them a moment, give them some respect and tears and admit my fear of the years ahead, and then I pack them back up. Start again. 

And where is my release from this rain? Where is the umbrella that keeps me dry, lets me hear the pitter-patter of life, but shields me from the pangs of the tear, I mean rain, drops? 

I've found a release, my friends, I've found a release in coffee houses. It is here that I can produce as a student, a thinker, a human. 

It's not just the caffeine, though the bitterly dark and smoothly hot drink does lull me so. Rather, it's the hum of the espresso grinder, the softness of the eclectic music, the smell of the coffee bean and the hue of the lighting. The atmosphere, the looks of contemplation, the hugs from old friends. Here I can focus my energy on one project and then the next, here I am free to think.

This is my happy place; somehow it makes me feel like I can handle, at least partially, what it is that I need to do. Call me crazy, but when I make it through life's current messes and move onto the next set of messes, I will thank (at least in part) my various coffee places. Then I will pack up, and with coffee in hand, start again. 

death and rebirth

Spring is rebirth. After a winter of gray and cold and barren trees, the sounds of the snowplow are replaced with ruffling leaves and chirping birds in the dewey mornings. Lilacs bloom alongside the recovering grass and rain falls - sometimes heavily and thunderously, and sometimes lightly and beautifully - but no matter how it falls, it enlivens everything and every being. Humans become happier, plants become colorful, and animals come out from the covers they took all winter. Spring is beautiful. I never appreciate nature more than when it is spring.

_______________________________

_______________________________

     This spring has been special for a multitude of reasons, its specialty both beautiful and tragic. Early in May a bird began building a nest right outside my door. Every day I watched as the nest grew deeper, wider, and taller. Twigs too tough to tangle into a home fell to my porch below, and I welcomed the remnants of nature's construction site with cheer. 

     Though I had been witness to the growing structure, I did not see the bird until after the project's finish. A robin, red breasted and strong from weeks of hard labor, nestled sweetly into her home. I wondered if she'd built it as a cozy place for her eggs? She couldn't have chosen a better spot, I thought: under the cover of a porch yet feet from a field full of fresh worms and growth. 

     Days after sighting Robin, I peeked into her nest (after being prompted by Elliot's picture message) to find one brightly turquoised egg. My soul filled with happiness. Life was developing right at my doorstep, and I would be witness to the miracle of birdy birth. 

     Then, tragedy. As I was fumbling for my keys to unlock the apartment door, Robin (unprepared for my disturbance) took off from her nestled position and kicked her egg, flying away too quickly to see it fall to the cold pavement below. There it was, a dense yellow yolk littered with shattered turquoise shell, a baby bird, dead on my doorstep. I stood, jaw ajar, eyes unmoving, heart aching, mind frozen. 

     After being guided inside by Elliot and Mark, I - guilt stricken - watched outside the kitchen window for Robin's return. Would she realize her loss? Would she build a new home out of tainted memory of this one? She flew back in almost immediately, burrowing her large body back where it belonged. Elliot tried convincing me that she didn't realize what happened, but I could see the loss in her eyes. She wasn't holding her head as high as before, she wasn't as alert as normal. To me, she was a mother grieving the miscarriage of her child. How heartbreaking, I thought.

     Days went by and Robin remained in her nest. She became more and more comfortable with persons entering and leaving the apartment, staying put with each slamming of the door. It was my fear that she lost her only offspring, but I found relief when Elliot sent me another picture message, this time with three eggs snug against the twigs. 

_______________________________

     The beauty and tragedy of this spring has made me reflect on death and rebirth. Where do humans lie in the circle of life? What do we contribute to the world around us? When we take our own falls to the pavement, we stick ourselves in wooden boxes or makes ashes from our flesh and do nothing to give back to the earth that has nurtured us, sustained us while hungry and enlightened us in its beauty. 

     And, in turn, do we do enough to celebrate birth? Do we ensure that, in life as well as in death, we are nurturing nature as nature nurtures us? 

     What if, with each birth, we planted a fruit tree with the placentas of our children? What if, with each death, we planted oaks using the seeds in bio urns? Sure, we would lose the sentiment of tombstones (we'd also lose the waste of tombstones). But how lovely would it be to visit a forest, map in hand, and find the birth and death tree of your late grandparents? How beautiful the idea of your child eating from a pear tree that was nourished by the very substance that nourished them in the womb? And how accurate, perhaps, if you could bury your parents next to their trees of life, if you could celebrate at the funeral their growth and their contribution to the world with something so tangible - something that will continue to grow even after they are gone. And then you would plant their tree of death, the tree existing as their memory, their memory giving on, living on.

     How beautiful would that be, that forrest of life and death? How lovely.

With sincerity,

SSB

_______________________________

Listen: Regina Spektor - Wallet

Watch: This film looks lovely, the soundtrack seems magical

Read: My good friend's account of human compassion

finding inspiration to keep going.

I have barely enough time to update this blog! So I will make this short and sweet (maybe... no promises).

My life has been insanity lately. Three classes, working, moving, summer-ing. And now, blogging. The past two days show precisely what I mean.

Sunday morning I worked at the beautifully early hour of 7:30am, after working the night before until 11pm and not falling asleep until after 2am. Work was busy as usual, and as much as I did not want to be working, I did not want to get out of work perhaps even more. After work merely meant more work, as I had the task of taking all of my notes and outlines of a needs statement for my Grant Writing class and turning them into a cohesive needs statement. On my 4.5 hours of sleep, I forged ahead with the writing. But first, of course, I wanted to buy a desk from Target so that I could have a surface to write on. And I couldn't just buy it - I had to transport it to my new apartment (more information to come on the new place) and then build it. An easy distraction from the paper I was supposed to be writing. But I totally justified it by the fact that it would "help" me write, by creating a place specifically FOR writing.

Desk built and coffee brewing for the long night ahead, I hunkered down to find that I completely forgot how to write. I guess more accurately, I just forgot how to use words. It's ok, my writer's block was interrupted by the blown fuse in my kitchen. Apparently I cannot run the microwave and coffee maker at the same time - it's just too much for my new and small place to handle. So I repositioned my coffee maker to the bathroom (just like in a hotel, right?), because ensuring that coffee was made was more important than ensuring the refrigerator was running, and found my way to the basement to reset the breaker. Oh, did I mention that to get to the breaker I have to go through the main house (which I do not live in)? My neighbors have so far answered the door 3 times so that I could reset a breaker. Thank goodness they're nice!

So, I wrote and wrote and wrote, which consisted of a lot of NOT writing and a lot of frustration, and finally found my pillow at 2am. The pillow was so beautifully comfortable on my aching head. It welcomed me with warm and billowy arms. It hugged the contours of my cheek bones perfectly. (I just bought these awesome, new pillows from TJ Maxx, by the way). And, as comfortable as it was, I was faced with two obstacles to sleep. 1. I was attempting sleep on an air mattress, and 2. There was a raging thunderstorm outside and I was in a new place (but an old house), alone. And I love thunderstorms! Something made the experience very scary that night, though. Finally I drifted to a very apprehensive slumber at 3am. And then woke up 3 hours later.

I had a needs statement to finish and revise! Also, I had Marketing Management class at 8:30. And we were sure to have a quiz. Write, drink coffee, study, brush teeth, drink coffee, go. Drink coffee. Amazingly I was alert in class. I was actually quite terrified by how awake I was.

So I get to Grant Writing class at noon. I felt pretty confident in my writing at this point. I knew I had a lot of revising to do - this was my rough draft after all - but for the most part I thought I did a good job.

Wrong.

Writing was torn apart by peer/professor editing. Oh, and then... my group decided/my professor strongly urged us to change our funder.

Guess what that meant? Complete re-write.

Another night of working until 2am, another morning of edits, and here I am now. Running fully on coffee and fearing a normal sleep schedule will not happen for another 4 weeks (when the first half of summer classes ends).

My life is insanity. How did I find the inspiration to keep going? Ms. Ella Baker. Wikipedia can tell you all about her. If you're interested in a really great account of the civil rights era, read Freedom's Daughters. Through all of my insanity, the strength of women like Ella Baker pushed me to continue.

If Ella could change the course of history (which, she truly did), I could surely make it through this.

SSB

one big congratulations.

My dear friend, Katherine Krueger, has graduated from college. And, I'm really not surprised she did it by the age of 20 AND secured a job before even graduating.


She's talented. 


But, she has so much more talent than her eye for design and her superb managing skills (which allowed her to rock at being E-I-C of Hope's yearbook). Katie is a great, great friend. 

I'm so happy for you, Katie. I wish you luck on your career endeavors, and happiness with each passing day. You've worked so hard to get to where you are, and you deserve all that life is offering you right now :)

On that cheesy and sentimental note, goodnight world.

SSB

pretty patterned and painted things

I took notice recently of how many awesomely patterned things I own! And how much I am instantly attracted to things that are patterned and painted otherwise... Here's a small sample:

Three pack of patterned journals? Duh.

Pretty box the journals came in? Awesome.

Ridiculous patterned chairs found at Salvation Army? Great, except used furniture freaks me out.

Pretty mug :) only $0.69!

The cutest patterned gift bag (compliments of Elliot's mom) and a red patterned scarf? Yes please!
(I never pass up a pretty scarf, pretty much ever)

Placemat holding my TV... and I'm pretty sure I found this at Meijer.

Painted tin from my friend Winter :) Love it!

Two fake flowers, one holds a candle and the other is made from tissue paper.
Now that I think about it, I probably shouldn't put these next to each other!
(Ok, so these aren't patterned, but they're textured! Close enough).

My make-up bag has to look cute, too!

A painting!

The inside of my coat! That's right, the patterns continue even on the inside.

My favorite seat in the house, which just so happens to sport a patterned pillow.

Three favorite cups! Tea cup, recycled green glass, and a deep blue coffee mug :)

Well I mean, I need a place to store my tea bags!

Because bills aren't fun unless they're in an adorable mail sorter.
Oh wait, even then they aren't fun.

Peaceful and serene :)

I buy books based on how they look.
They just also happen to be good books.

Night stand! Gotta love jade trinket holders!

Hope you enjoyed my ridiculousness!

Love,
SSB

a few things that keep me going

• GLEE

• Font Jokes

• Songs About Grammar
• Birds Chirping Outside My Window

Healing.

A lot has been going on – A LOT, people. Here’s a recap of ONE of the last few weeks, bulleted for efficiency and ease of read.

• Rock Against Rape: This event was truly transformational. Easily my favorite part of the night was seeing Steve Connell perform, hearing his honest and strong words bursting with rhythm and filled with soul. And this soul was ever present when myself and every member of Eyes Wide Open had the chance to meet him, hug him, share a few words with him, and have our RAR t-shirts signed by him. I found it so backwards when he told us all that this event was really touching for him, but I suppose that’s how inspiration works.
• I would like to think his words could change the world. I would like to hope I can have the impact he has some day. (Hopefully I can post a video of his performance later!)
• SIDE NOTE: I was chosen as the graphic design chair for RAR next year! Woohoo!

• Post-surgery: As if work and RAR weren’t enough to handle in a single Saturday, Megan moved. So, the following days were like recovering from an appendectomy – I was moving slowly, feeling lazy, and had an empty pain in my gut. I wanted nothing more than to remain in my jammies, snuggle up in bed and cry to some depressing music and soak in the sadness and gravity of the situation. But alas, I had to work.

• Pre-surgery: What’s more, my family was all downstate for a really big, important reason: my mom was donating her kidney to my Uncle Dan. So the day before the surgery (immediately following work) I went to visit my Uncle Dan and mom at the hospital, both of which were in pre-surgery states. Both seemed apprehensive yet brave, nervous yet strong. I can’t find a better representation of family and love than my mom donating her healthy kidney to her brother.

• Post-surgery, again: The surgery went swimmingly the next morning, and both patients were groggy and grumpy afterwards. I mean, who wouldn’t be? Sometimes I wonder why showing love can be so painful? I like to imagine a world where actions of affection like donating a kidney are rewarded with candy and rainbows and instead of pain one feels warmth and good-feeling over the incision site. I guess that’s what the gift shop is for, eh?

• Recovery: Day two of recovery was important for a few reasons: 1. My mom got to eat solid food again! 2. The donated kidney seemed to be working well, and 3. It was my 21^st birthday! I had a perfect dinner at San Chez among family (minus my mom), Elliot, and Brittany and was served the most delicious food and my first mojito! Really, I had never had a mojito before! They are wonderful!

• More recovering: The rest of the week was devoted to being at the hospital, visiting with family, going to class, and waiting for friends to come celebrate my birthday with me on Friday (hey, Tuesday is an awkward day to have a 21^st birthday!). Friday night we spent some time downtown, and had some good drinks and some fantastic conversation. The night wasn’t perfect, but it was excellent despite imperfection… I felt really special to have my friend Mark visiting from the D, too. (SEE: The D)
• SIDE NOTE: everyone (who can legally do so – gotta keep this blog rated PG in case my parents are reading) should try an oatmeal cookie shot. They are effing delicious!

• The remainder: So, all of the above happened in less than a week. And so much has happened since then! I really need to update more regularly! I promise I will once I have a break from school! (Sorry for the lack of creativity and multi-media-ness. I will try harder next time to be more eloquent and coherent!)
  
  
  SSB

empty room

There was this huge chunk inside of me
that I gave to you and
you gave part of you to me, too.

And when I think about those days where
all I could do is crawl under your desk
and cry,

It makes me question what must have happened
where all I can do now is to ask that your desk be empty
and we say goodbye.

The thing I did not anticipate, for I made no list for this
is that the more you spend on friendship
the more you risk.

And now my fist slams hard on my steering wheel
as I cry secretly in my car because
I don't know how our conflict could have come this far.

But I do know this:

When I gave you that huge chunk and you gave me yours,
we did not intend for them to be tossed aside
with ease and stride.

That is abandonment.

And though your desk is empty and I no longer hear
your rapping in the air or confide my fears
I am still here.

Now that chunk may have shrunk,
it might not fit as nicely as ever but I don't easily forget
how our friendship has evolved since when we first met.

Trust me I have empty space in me too
and it's excruciating to sing the blues knowing
well I can't be comforted by you.

But give it time, my friend and when
I fill those empty spaces and you have too
we'll fit better together again.

As I said, I did not intend to abandon you
but I do need space so that
when forgiveness comes your chunk can have its place.

SSB

hipsters

I cuff my pants like this guy. Oh, and I let my stripy socks peek out, too.

Some would say I'm a hipster (Need A Definition? Click Here). And it would only make me more of a hipster to say that I am not. But here are some things about me, hipster or not, that are tried and true:


Shakespeare was my first love, J.D. Salinger came next. But it's more of a polygamist thing. As in, Shakespeare is not my "ex." Then came Bob Dylan.


I enjoy listening to vinyl (very 'hip'), but did not come to it until my boyfriend introduced me. Speaking of, my boyfriend is awesome at Plants versus Zombies, recovering from injuries, and ultimate frisbee. Oh, and he built me an amazing fixed gear bicycle. So, I guess we're a hipster couple?


I am writing this post at The Bitter End Coffeehouse, drinking a Cafe au Lait, listening to Ella Fitzgerald, about to write (in pen!) my dear friend Marcela after texting my dad on my iPhone. 


I prefer "old" to "new," most of the time - i.e. vintage clothing or furniture (though I can usually only afford the Target knock-offs of such items) to American Eagle; classic jazz to Lady Gaga; old books with awesomely embossed hard covers to new design-y paperbacks, etc. (Examples of "new" that I like: new milk, new babies, my new license that states I am now a horizontal resident of Michigan).


My favorite movies are spoken in French or written intelligently or both.


My dad has an iPad, and he knows how to use his iPhone better than I know how to use mine.


I secretly wish (whelp! not a secret anymore!) that I could paint or draw or do something artistic really well. I dabble in it, but nothing I am confident enough to share. (See: the absence of any piece of artwork I have done... hey, I said I wasn't confident enough!)


I have about... a million coffee mugs. And fully intend on purchasing more. 


My teapot (ahem, sorry... Elliot's teapot), my french press, and my coffee maker are my three favorite kitchen machines. I say 'machine' because they literally work enough to say they work like machines. 


My major entails me to be proactive in feminist literature, to think deeply, to develop theories about society, and to write... a lot. I love it, every minute of it. My minor entails me to consider how I will take little to no money and help people with little to no money. Basically just one hipster just helping another hipster out.


I feel a need to copy edit almost any piece of written work. 


I am moving to Portland to study at a midwifery school for three years and I've decided to sell my car to get there. No worries, my fixie and public transit will take care of me.


When I'm bored I play around on Photoshop or InDesign (that's how my blog's background came to be). 


I store random things in pretty mugs, painted tins, and Ball Jars.






So, this is just a short list (if you can believe that) of random things about me that are hipster-like or just things about me that I thought someone, somewhere would be interested in.


And, if after reading this you still or even more so classify me as a hipster, all I have to say is, "you could have done better but I don’t mind." Sorry if I wasted your precious time just to affirm your already solid view of me :) 


From one phony to the next, 
SSB

thoughts about decisions

Life has presented me with a series of difficult decisions recently.

And, I feel like such a fool for not knowing the obvious answers.

I feel like such a fool for not being able to develop an obvious formula.


And all of this foolishness has made me question destiny. Perhaps question is the wrong word. What I am doing with the idea of destiny is more about exploring. What feels right, for me, about destiny?

And all of this exploring sure gets in the way of decision making.

Eh, that's destiny for you I guess.

then and now

Notice: the red lipstick, not that it doesn't jump out or anything, highlighting my prized braces; the gray blazer, courtesy of my mother's 80s collection; and the blue shirt that features two birds and reads below the crop, "love conquers hate." I'm sitting with Sarah, fellow cellist, happily awaiting rehearsal at Hill Auditorium. The time this picture was taken was right around the dawn of a new age: the social media era. I had a blog, I was moving away from myspace at this point, and shortly after this photo was taken - my coveted invite to join Facebook from Sarah came via email.

Not much has changed since 9th grade. I still wear red lipstick on occasion, though the braces are gone. I still have in my possession the gray blazer, though I rarely wear it. And, well, I outgrew the blue shirt but I still have a magnetic pull to basically anything with a bird on it (see: Put A Bird On It). As for my future, it pretty much follows the "love conquers hate" concept (at least I'd like to think so).

The real difference between these two photos, besides knowing now how to crop a photo as to not feature my large forehead, is that then I had all the faith in the world that Facebook meant community. Then, I thought, Facebook equivocated maturity and broke away from the ever-juvenile myspace.

But that faith is gone. Facebook was nice, for a while, but then it became basically a way to "creep" on people - and this creeping isn't secretive or in any way thought of as actual stalking (though in some cases, I am sure it has been). Snooping on photos and wall posts and shared links became a way of seeing where a person has gone in life, and most people are hooked. Even the advertisements started to creep on me - they somehow always knew what I was thinking or doing. I am sure you computer geeks have a name for this, but I think it is just invasive.

So, despite having access to status updates, notes, photos, videos, event invitations, and so much more priceless data all wrapped up in one location, I am saying goodbye. Au reviour, Facebook! Facebook, you have given me a great and entertaining locale to waste hours of time, but in those hours I have become closer to no one, really. The interesting thing about social media is that it changed technology from allowing one person to communicate to many, to many to communicate to many (watch: One to many - Many to many about 2:20 to 4:10). And though the idea of a community where each individual can be heard is intriguing, something happens when everyone talks at the same time: nothing gets heard.

For example, my best friends from elementary school and through high school - I have no idea "where" most of them are in life. Sure, I can read they are in Muskegon or East Lansing or back in Traverse City, but really location has nothing to do with where one's soul is, or how a physical changing of location has influenced a change in heart. Maybe I could have utilized Facebook to answer these burning questions, but I was too busy trying to compile the answers by looking at their every photo. I felt updated when they updated their statuses. And how false is that?

Facebook is great for many things, but not for me anymore. But part of becoming older and wiser is recognizing the difference between following something because it's where everyone else is going, or following something because it's where your heart is.

My heart is right here, in my words. My heart is in connecting on a deeper level with those I care deeply for. My heart need not be clouded by the murkiness and false-community Facebook has to offer. And, evermore, my heart is open to find its own way.

Love conquers hate,
SSB

my title

I realize many may not know the origin of my blog's title. So, here it is:


if everything happens that can't be done
(and anything's righter
than books
could plan)
the stupidest teacher will almost guess
(with a run
skip
around we go yes)
there's nothing as something as one

one hasn't a why or because or although
(and buds know better
than books
don't grow)
one's anything old being everything new
(with a what
which
around we go who)
one's everyanything so

so world is a leaf is a tree is a bough
(and birds sing sweeter
than books
tell how)
so here is away and so your is a my
(with a down
up
around again fly)
forever was never till now

now i love you and you love me
(and books are shutter
than books
can be)
and deep in the high that does nothing but fall
(with a shout
each
around we go all)
there's somebody calling who's we

we're everything brighter than even the sun
(we're everything greater
than books
might mean)
we're everyanything more than believe
(with a spin
leap
alive we're alive)
we're wonderful one times one

- e.e. cummings -

So, why this poem? I'm not sure. I have always loved it, its motion, its feeling, its existence. I think I chose this poem because I imagine a perfect life - my perfect life - to be in the state that this poem exists. 

Why this line - "one hasn't a why or because or although" - for my title? Because I don't, in fact, have a why or because or although. At least not for the biggest questions in life. So, join me on my search?

SSB