Anxiety...

So afraid
Of what?
Invisible dread
Body shaking

Nerves blazing
Brain frying


Can't think straight

But can't stop thinking

Confused and
Trapped
Feels like falling
Without moving
Screaming in silence
Desperate for relief

What can relieve?
What will calm?
Comfort?
Return normalcy?

...

Can't think straight

Can't
Stop
Thinking...

Stop thinking.

Today I Asked A Girl For Her Phone Number

She said no, and later I wrote this poem.


A moment of confidence.
A moment of confidence and quickly it is punished
by a blow from reality.
It hurts. Like it always does,
it hurts.
However,
I'll make it to the other side.
Like I always do,
I'll make it to the other side.
Just
another scar.
To go with many scars
Another scar...

Some Small Closure

At least once a year when I was young our family would pile into our tiny blue Honda civic, my parents up front and me and my two (at the time) younger brothers stuffed in back. We would set off across the scorching New Mexican desert for a 8 ½ hour trek through Texas and into Oklahoma. Our final destination was the college town of Stillwater, OK and our reason for the long and often epically hot journey was to visit my grandmother, Esther Andrews. We would all be looking out the window in those last few minutes trying to remember little a landmark that would ensure us we were getting close. Then we would make the last turn, the one we all remember and arrive at grandma’s house. By that time we were all usually cagy and tense from the car and the close quarters and ready to stretch our legs. One of us would run excitedly up to the door and Grandma Esther would come out to greet us all with a hug.

My grandmother’s hugs were something that in retrospect were quite extraordinary. She would put her arms around us with an always surprisingly strong embrace. This is something I only thought about later in life but my grandmother was a remarkably strong woman both physically and spiritually. She would always be the driving force in all our vacation activities when we came to visit. We did what grandma thought we should do and went where she thought we should go. My father and his siblings would describe her as stubborn and that was mostly true. She was more than that though. She acted with a sort of inner confidence that was rarely challenged and even less often matched. She was a smallish woman but had a hand shake that would put most young men to shame. Her hugs were always long and full of love.

I always loved visiting grandma. When I was young the reason was strictly superficial. She would, almost without fail, buy at least two boxes of Reese’s Puffs cereal. You see, we would never get Reese’s Puffs at home. They were too expensive or had too much sugar but grandma would always make sure we had some for every breakfast we ate at her house. This small thing means volumes to me now. It holds as proof my grandmother would anticipate our arrival and find a simple and perfect way to welcome us for each visit.

Later in life my reasons for loving our yearly visits changed. As I matured I realized how funny and loving she was. She was humble and outspoken and an amazing cook (especially her homemade bread which at a certain point, with a little butter, cinnamon, and sugar, replaced the Reese’s Puffs as my breakfast of choice). She was also one of the most faithful and spiritual people I have ever met. My personal beliefs about religion aside when my grandmother said she was praying for me, I knew she was and I knew it was a pure and humbling expression of love.

Grandma Esther Also gave me a chance to have one of the most amazing experiences of my life. In early 2001 I had an opportunity to go on a trip to Australia with a group of student ambassadors. The only problem was that I needed a $400 deposit to reserve my spot. A sum that our family could never have afforded at the time. I called some other family members asking for a short term loan of sorts but had no real luck. Until I called my grandmother. She said a check was on the way and not to worry about paying it back. All she requested was that I take lots of pictures and show them to her the next time I was down to visit, which I did the very next fall. She was always full of small selfless acts and occasional bursts of absolute that made her one of the most amazing people I have ever met.

In early December 2009 my father received word that my grandmother was very ill and he might want to come down to see her. He flew down a few days later and gathered with his family at my Aunt Janie’s house in Texas. She had been sick on and off for the previous year or so and this time she had made a decision that she did not want to fight any longer. My father visited with her and then flew back home to be with us for Christmas. When he returned he urged us to call and talk to her as it would likely be our last chance to speak with her. I spent days thinking about what to say to her. I just could not wrap my head around finding the last words I would ever say to someone who has meant a great deal to me. A woman that always had faith in me when no one did, my self included. I actually had such a problem that nearly a week passed. I finally decided I had to do it whether I was ready or not.

Two days before Christmas eve while I was at work. I told my boss I needed a break and I went to the back and called my aunt. She informed me that my grandmother had been in a great deal of pain and had been given a dose of morphine. She was now asleep and I would not be able to talk to her. I asked my aunt to call me as soon as she was awake. As soon as I hung up the phone I started to cry. I just knew that I had missed my chance and I was devastated. I went through the rest of the day fighting back tears and in a state of deep despair.

After work I went home and started writing the first two-thirds of this very blog as a way to settle my emotions. While I was writing I received a call from my cousin. Grandma Esther was awake and wanted to talk to me.

Her voice was weak and I could tell she was crying.

She said she loved me and I said I loved her too.

I thanked her for everything she'd done for me throughout my life.

She told me that if she had ever done anything too offend me or upset me that she was sorry.

I told her that she had never done anything but good for me and my family.

She said "I'll see you in heaven Steven, me and Grandpa will be waiting for you. Just promise me it will be a good long time before you arrive"

I said I would do my best.

We said goodbye and she gave the phone back to my cousin. He asked me what I said because she smiled during our phone call for the first time in days. A flood of tears prevented me from answering.

Two days later my family had just finished eating dinner and two my of brothers, my sister, my parents and I were driving around town looking at the lights (a tradition for us every Christmas eve). We had parked near a business in Kennewick that had an animated/musical light display. After the lights had gone trough one cycle we were just about to leave when my father’s phone rang. We all knew what that meant.

Esther Ida Christensen Andrews died just after 7:30 on December 24, the same day her husband, my grandfather Theodore Andrews had died some two and a half decades earlier. The mood in the car was very somber after that but we still followed through on our traditions as a way to draw closer as a family in a time of deep sadness.

The next day was an almost surreal experience. We did everything we had done on Christmas the same as we had the previous 22 years but we all felt a small piece was now missing. Since that Christmas I have continued to work on this blog and it has taken me two years of rewriting and tweaking and rewriting again. This is still nowhere near the tribute I would like it to be. It is very hard to find words to describe how much someone like my grandma meant to me and what it was like to lose her. Perhaps there are not even words that would ever be adequate.

I will miss my grandma Ester but her legacy lives on through the great man my father is and the great man I will strive to become.

Esther Ida Christensen Andrews

May 6, 1921-December 24, 2009

Football.

Sorry if you don't like soccer but this was so awesome I had to share it. Lamar Neagle is a Federal Way native playing for the Seattle Sounders. This was his first MLS goal and has to be the goal of the week.

Video Not For Human Minds II

Significance

Osama Bin Laden is Dead.

My first instinct is to try to find someway to be cynical or comment on our American obsession with revenge. Eye for an eye and all that.

But no.

On September 11 I was scared and uncertain as I know many others were. I cried. Not initially for the life lost but because I was truly scared. It was the first time I felt that deep a turmoil involving my own safety. The one constant of my life, the strength and invincibility of my home country seem to be collapsing before my eyes. Then I did feel an overwhelming sadness for the people who died. The pictures that I saw that entire day at school, in every class were, in a word, devastating. The pain and suffering seemed to be greater than just the individuals directly affected. It was pain and terror our young generation had never know and was not prepared for. The years that have followed have been hard and at times tragic for our country. Uncertainty and anger tinged we youth and was stuck down deep in us. After years we seemed to give up not only on finding Bin Laden but seemingly on justice itself.

Now after hearing the news that Bin Laden is indeed dead, I am happy. Not at the death of a man but at the liberation of a generation. The assassin of our innocences is dead and I say we deserve to celebrate.

My cynicism is intact but for tonight I can't help but put in aside and let a feeling of relief and triumph take it's place.

"I've never wished a man dead but I have read some obituaries with great pleasure." - Mark Twain

Passion

I love to cook.

I love everything about it. I love shopping to find ingredients, looking for new recipes, throwing out recipes all together, experimenting, testing, tasting, and trying again. I like rushing and raving and doing things fast. I like slowing down, waiting, simmering and stewing. I like it all.

And it makes me happy.

I mean really and truly happy.

And it does it better than anything else in my life. Better than my family or friends (no offense I do love you guys), better than my favorite song on a perfect day, or the smile of a million babies. When I'm cooking I am doing something that I am truly comfortable doing, something that comes naturally to me. That, in and of itself, is enough to make it my favorite thing in the world.

See, I am not good at very many things. As a matter of fact I'm not even OK at many things. I'm out of shape, bad at sports, bad at math, and a terrible writer. I have some social anxiety issues which makes me pretty bad at talking to, well, humans. I'm uncomfortable and akward in nearly 90% of my daily life.

But then there's the kitchen.

I will venture to boast that I AM GOOD AT COOKING. I'm smart at cooking. I'm even GREAT at cooking sometimes. I know it. I have it down and the things I don't know I can pick up with ease. It's in my heart and down deep.

It means so much to be that this past Thanksgiving my family went to my brothers future in-laws to eat. This meant we didn't have to cook anything. I was so upset that I insisted that I be allowed to cook a second thanksgiving meal at our house a week later. Which I did. Turkey (brined for 8 hours and roasted), mashed potatoes (both garlic rosemary and traditional plain), dressing (sausage, sage and apple), green beans (sauteed with bacon and garlic), and homemade yeast rolls (best I've ever made).

Sounds stupid right? I spent an entire paycheck on food just to have the pleasure of busting my ass for 12 hours to cook it all myself on a Sunday.

Such is my relationship with cooking, my one true passion.

What's yours?