" In those days, at that time, declares the L-RD, the people of Israel and the people of Judah together will go in tears to seek the L-RD their God. They will ask they way to Zion and turn their faces toward it. They will come and bind themselves to the L-RD in an everlasting covenant that will not be forgotten." (jeremiah fifty, four&five)

memories, wisdom

years ago when i lived transatlantic, there was a beautiful woman with curls and strawberry in her blonde and she taught me about seasons about about writing. there were books to write her life in. i have been traveling and recording in a book of maps.

i spend a lot of days wondering how much more travel there could be. transatlantic. transcontinental. and, i wondered, how long can a season of transition last? but here i am. in a home, that isn't quite a home, but must be one for now.

this afternoon my father called from new york city on his way to jerusalem. this is his typical farewell, and today, a piece of advice. "kate, embrace it. be lonely. explore the feeling. that's something new, right? maybe a story will come out of it." and with that, he was off to the holy land.

and, on a different note, i bought a new book today even though the old one was not finished. it is bound with rope and pictures a nest. and, i hope i do.

family.

before i left, when i was just deciding to leave in fact, a wise old soul young woman warned me about the loneliness.

when you go, she said, i will be worried about the loneliness. that's what i would think of if i were to go.

i told her i was looking forward to it. it might be nice to be lonely for a while. at the time, i craved such solitude.

it didn't come right away. the first five months i have been surrounded by hearts and love and welcome. and then, all of a sudden, it was thanksgiving and everyone had a family and i longed to look into little hannah's eyes and talk to her about her shoes. and i started crying. and there haven't been many days since that i haven't cried from need of a family.

i need a family.

Happiest Place in America.

Apparently, San Luis Obispo is the Happiest Place in America, second only to Denmark in the world.

A man from Delta Sky magazine wanted to take my picture for an article.

trouble adjusting.

I find that when I'm in the first hour of a nine hour work evening, and I'm already pressing my tea to my forehead, I really need to gear up for a tough night.

There are 21 days until home. That makes 138 hours of work, 3 bands, 2 Christmas parties and a whole lot of coffee and wine.

pictures, at last

Picture of life.

James came to visit me and we looked a sea lions.

Me & momma.

Dad and I climbed rocks to feel the spray of yosemite falls.

This is a bed & i own it. I often regret that I don't have a mounted moose head or antlers or something.

I really love my mini shelf

Roadtrip map

Desk complete with King's College coaster.

My favorite part.

another thought, in the same vein.

another thought, in the same vein.

i am tired of all this love thrown at me. i am tired of my affections asked for in places i cannot give in order to assure others they are okay. i am tired of love that will not go anywhere.

and this is what i ask for everyday. and this, i think, is why i love books with worn binding. and this is why i am quiet in groups of strangers. i ask for secrets. i ask for secret love. i ask for love in secret places. in the pages of a book that i read all by myself. me and a story, communing. in my bedroom with my door closed and my windows blocked by embroidered curtains. i have secrets in my book and behind my curtains. simple and waiting to be found.

i am a woman with old veins. i am not old. i have one hundred years to live before i go. i am old. i have lived one hundred years in twenty-three. i will not stop going. there are villages to build and huts to dwell in. there are children to be born. there are frames to fill. i live in a past that i did not create and work for a future i will not see. this is way of eternity. this is time i yearn for life never ending.

independence makes me tired. i much prefer a simple life of submission. bending and bowing to a glory beyond all my pride. i much prefer the life of family and of quilted history. it is all much different than i imagined, no longer hoping for my name to be remembered, but rather hoping for my history to be discovered.

my heart lived an ex-patriot

lately, life consists of a lot of me picking up. i come home from long hours of work and explode onto my bedroom floor. i wake up and pick of the pieces until it is time to go back to work. i am adjusting. i am conforming my life to a routine i never thought i'd follow. and, even working with the things that i love most dearly in an office of sorts walled in books and portraits, i get tired.

lately, there has been a yearning to conform. this is all different from how i imagined it. my youthful heart dreamt of trailblazing new life ways, to tell stories never heard. my heart lived an ex-patriot in its hometown. now, i look forward to making my bed. to putting all of my things back where they belong. deeper still, i have no fight in my against tradition. i take a step on an ancient road, and think, it is good and right to follow the ways of so many, to stand in the line of generations.

it is an old, settling sort of feeling. and peace descends as a covering on my head.

pictures coming soon.

the weeks go by so quickly when people keep coming through. james was the first and i remembered why i miss new york and why i left it. it is conflicting to be brought home in memories and kept here in body. running in so many directions makes it difficult to be where i am. i am in california. i must be in california. i wonder if day dreaming children have trouble later in life.

and then yosemite and my parents. the most wonderful man married to the most wonderful woman (if there are any heavens my mother will (all by herself) have one). and together we talked and prayed and fought and won. we may be a strange family, but i believe we are of the simplest hearts, though often misunderstood.

and all of those details are leading up to the biggest one. for the first time in months (years) i am sitting alone in a room all by myself. i anticipate no one. no one else belongs in these four walls except for me and my busy writing fingers. i have planted three seeds: a bed, a desk, a dresser. i am the most home i have been in months (years).

this is still scary when i think of intention. i intend to live abroad. i intend to have a family. i intend to have a bigger bed and wider walls to house and make this family. but last night i settled in my sleep and woke up to no one but myself. i am excited in my fears. perhaps this is a daily (life-long) question. how do i keep on moving while grounding myself in something?where do i sew roots? how do i weed them? should i? how can i run and stay still? (grow heart, grow.)

i have planted myself temporarily, and i no longer know when the end is. i no longer rush to leave. i love my home. i have planted myself temporarily. i live in a nursery. a newborn plant growing in a greenhouse before the forest. (a country of marriage. there are forests beckoning.)

all of this, and a full-time job. from now on, forty hours a week will be spent in the same place. how consistent. how terrifying. how suited for me. as my sweet friend said, it was like it was all tailor made. how can it be so tailor made?

sometimes, with sweet spontaneity, my heart floods with gratitude. it is almost more than i know what to do with. it is more than i could have ever expected.