How to Support My Work

I've been actively blogging as The Traveling Mandolin for nine years now— crazy! If you've been following along at home, you've read accounts of my various solo adventures, philosophical ramblings about Tolkien's work, lots of random thoughts, a host of travel tips, and, more recently, many posts about urban homesteading, books, and environmentalism. 

This Month: Cards, Hiking, and the Way Home

View from Harry's Ridge at Mt. St. Helens National Monument: Spirit Lake and Mt. Adams

Whew, it's been a while since I've posted a general life update! I've been so busy waxing eloquent about our backpacking trips and rambling about random things that I've let several weeks go by since the last "this week" post. 

The most important news is that Zach and I are officially on the last leg of our time out west; we're heading home to St. Louis in just over two weeks, and have been trying to cram as much Northwest into our remaining days as we possibly can. On Sunday we're heading to Yellowstone to visit my brother Christian for a week, and after that we're hoping to do a short camping trip with Gary, as well as see everyone one last time before hopping the plane.

The end of a trip is always surreal, and especially this one. Seven months is a long time to spend time in a place; I still don't quite feel like I can say we "lived" here, but realistically speaking, I suppose we have.

Now, at the end of our time, I keep on struggling with all the things we didn't do, all the places we didn't visit and events we said we'd attend but didn't. But I keep reminding myself that this is not the last time we'll be out here.

In the meantime, here is some stuff we did do over the past month…

Single Candle Card Productions

I've always made cards for people; one of the reasons I looked forward to Christmas, Valentine's Day, and birthdays was so I'd be able to make cards. When I was about seven, I thought it would be cool to draw a logo on the back of my cards, and I chose a single candle, along with the inscription "Single Candle Card Productions" on the back, because that sounded impressive to seven-year-old me.

Fast-forward twenty-three years, and I'd started drawing more consistently. After kicking around the idea for a few months, I finally took the plunge by setting up an online shop and ordering some prints. Single Candle Card Productions was "real!"

If you're interested in checking out my work, hop on over to my Facebook shop. I'd love it if you liked and followed my page, along with sharing any of my posts that catch your eye. (Thanks so much to all of you who have already done that!) And of course, if you'd like to buy some cards, that would be great too!

Hiking Mt. St. Helens

A couple Sundays ago, we hiked the eight-mile out-and-back trail Harry's Ridge at Mt. St. Helens National Monument. I'd seen the mountain on the Portland skyline for years, but never visited up close, and it was a perfect day for a hike: chilly and sunny. I highly recommend the hike; in addition to winding through some beautiful wildflowers and huckleberry bushes heavy with fruit, it took us up on a ridge with incredible views of Spirit Lake, which is lined with the white skeletons of trees destroyed by the blast. 

Exploring Ape Caves

Zach had visited this 2.4-mile-long lava tube as a teenager, and it had been on our to-do list for years now. We drove up to the park with our friends Tyler and Adrienne, and spent a couple hours hiking through the frigid hallway of the lava flow. Sometimes it felt like we were hiking in catacombs (we sang some Gregorian-chant-inspired improv), sometimes like the belly of a whale, sometimes a cathedral, sometimes a chamber lined with enormous eels. The Lower Cave route was smooth-floored and open, leading to a dead end tucked far beneath the surface. We returned to the Upper Cave route, which headed toward the surface and required some serious boulder-hopping and clambering over loose rock. It was the longest I had ever spent underground, and when we climbed a ladder through a skylight out into the sunlight, I felt like Jill emerging from the underground realm in The Silver Chair. It was an incredible place to visit— if you're ever in the Northwest, check it out!

Playing Xfest

Zach and I spent last weekend at the Xfest Christian music festival in Stevenson, Washington, visiting old friends, watching bands play, and taking lots of walks along Rock Cove and the Columbia River, watching gaggles of snow geese dabbling in the water, ospreys wheeling overhead, and huge bevies of California quail scurrying like cartoon roadrunners across the road into the blackberry thickets. We played with Insomniac Folklore on Sunday night, which was a lot of fun, too!

Morning at Rock Cove

Downtime

Since we're going to be traveling a lot the next couple weeks, we tried to take some downtime this week. We went peach- and blackberry-picking with Gary at Sauvie Island, played a house show with Insomniac Folklore, and took an eight-mile walk to downtown Vancouver (Washington) to hang out in the park and read books at the library. Now Zach is finishing up his last few days of work before his vacation days kick in.

Right now, going home doesn't feel real. I'm just floating along, trying to soak everything in, letting the current of events take me wherever I'm supposed to go.

~~~

Opportunity: Host a Foreign Exchange Student

Hey all! 

I wanted to give a quick shout-out to a non-profit organization that my cousin works for, Ayusa. They coordinate a program for foreign exchange students, and they’re actively seeking hosts right now for their out-of-country high schoolers. You don’t have to be a nuclear family to host: they accept all sorts of family structures and situations! 

Although I’ve never personally hosted a foreign exchange student, it sounds like a great opportunity for both the host and the student. If it’s something you’re interested in, please check out their site, or go straight to the FAQ page about hosting.

Thanks!

~Lisa

Why I Love My Record Player

On Christmas morning this year, I woke up to hear one of my favorite Christmas albums, Noel by Joan Baez, playing softly. It took me a minute to figure out that the sound was indeed coming from our house, and Zach’s grin told me that I was hearing his Christmas gift to me. Since I didn’t own that CD yet, I was overjoyed. However, when we got out of bed and stepped into the living room, I was shocked to see that it wasn’t a CD playing— it was a real-life vinyl album, humming and wheeling on a brand-new record player. (Zach had woken up before me and plugged the player into a timer so it would go off right about when I woke up.) I was so happy I broke down crying, and Zach won many points for style.

We had exactly four albums to start our collection: in addition to Noel, the Steely Dan albums The Royal Scam and Gaucho, and the soundtrack for the movie The Sting. We listened to these over the next few days, and I was awed and enchanted by the warm sound of the music, the whirring of the record player, and the soft crackling sound like sparks popping in a fireplace.

In addition to the atmospheric quality of the music, I’ve really enjoyed the idea of owning a physical manifestation of music. This isn’t like a CD, which holds data that translates into the sounds of music— the sound waves are physically molded into the surface of the vinyl, just waiting for a stylus to release them into an amplified sound we can hear. This concept is still pure magic to me.

Albums also invite a different kind of listening experience. I love that you can’t skip songs, that you can’t rush through an album or put it on shuffle— a record player encourages you to listen from start to finish, to view an album as a single unit instead of just a collection of songs. On my iTunes account I have a ton of shuffle playlists, but it’s nice to take a break and focus on just one album at a time. 

Assembling an album collection is like hunting for buried treasure. Since Christmas, I’ve been raiding all the local bookstores, Slackers, thrift shops, and record stores, shuffling through stacks of cardboard sleeves in search of my favorite albums. We’ve found quite a stack of treasures already: Simon and Garfunkel’s Parsley, Sage, Rosemary and Thyme (one of my all-time favorite albums) and Bridge Over Troubled Water, The Police’s Synchronicity, Rush’s Moving Pictures, more Steely Dan albums, a mixed album of The Who’s old songs, and some classical music. The collection is unique and special to me, and contains some gems that I wouldn’t have listened to otherwise. 

Almost every day, I put a record on and listen to it while I’m washing dishes or cleaning the dining room. Sometimes I sing along, belting out my mediocre tone in melody or harmony with Geddy Lee or Roger Daltrey. My vinyl collection fills my life with music in a way I’ve never experienced before, and that’s always a good thing.

~~~

Happy New Year, a Little Late

I didn’t intend to take a blogging hiatus. It just happened. I could blame this on many things: a desire for family time when my sister was in town, large chunks of my day spent away from home over the past couple weeks, the busyness of the holidays, etc., etc. But the real reason, I think, that I haven’t picked up my metaphorical pen in the past three weeks is that I haven’t found anything to say that didn’t sound like a self-absorbed Facebook status update.

Of course, there’s been a lot on my mind. Thoughts, ideas, plans and fears roll around in my head like marbles: translucent, self-contained, difficult for me to grasp or articulate. A lot has happened, from celebrating Christmas to seeing my sister to the airport at 5:30 this morning. It can be difficult to process everything.

Here are a sampling of my immediate thoughts:

This foot of snow on the ground is very, very pretty, with the clear pastel sunset sky above it. It’s kind of exciting to have a day when the actual temperature is 5 degrees below zero. (That said, thank God for good central heating.)

It wasn’t weird to have my sister here in town, but it’s not weird to have her gone, either. I’ve gotten used to life without her immediate presence. This upsets me.

I hope Zach’s car will start tonight when he gets off work at 11pm.

I want to declutter my desk but I can’t seem to get motivated. Maybe if I played the Pirates of the Caribbean soundtrack it would help.

And a sampling of my thoughts over the past few weeks:

Holy cow, the PCT is less than four months away. How the heck are we going to afford it/get all the logistics done?

I have a lot of stuff to do but it’s hard to do it.

I need to learn to focus more.

My body does not like it when I eat a lot of white flour.

What is simplicity? How do you find a place where you can maintain simplicity in life, in outlook, in desire, in practice?

I’ve reached a comfortable plane of selflessness, where I do nice and kind things for other people but don’t truly sacrifice myself in the service of others. This year I’m asking God to draw me deeper into what it truly means to be a servant.

These thoughts are random. Some of them will become blog posts later. But in the meantime, I’m putting oil on the rusty gears of my writing and shifting into gear. Happy New Year and a Blessed Epiphany, everyone!

~~~

Projects of the Week

1. Finish up my Write@Home students for the semester (except for a couple late papers).

2. Completely sort through and categorize the 4,000+ messages in my Gmail inbox. (This is step one in my journey to de-cluttering my life. More on this later.)

3. Master the art of kefir-making. (I just purchased some kefir grains from Cultures for Health, and it rehydrated really quickly. I had a kefir-banana-walnut-chocolate smoothie yesterday!)

4. Finish buying and wrapping presents.

5. Make a bunch of homemade Christmas cards.

6. Send out a Christmas letter to my relatives who don’t have Facebook.

7. Spend as much time as possible with my sister— who is HOME FOR CHRISTMAS THIS YEAR!

~~~

Zachary's No-Shave November Adventures

This year, I took the trouble to record my husband’s No-Shave November efforts. I wanted him to keep the mustache, but he didn’t agree. Ah well!

Day one

Day six

Day fourteen

Day thirty!

Goatee.

Soul patch.

Zach in the 70's. (I made this pic largest because it's the best.)

Back to the beginning!

Happy Birthday, Mary!

Today marks the 22nd year on the globe for my baby sister Mary. Even though it’s been hard for us these past couple years as she’s been in California while I’ve been in Missouri, we will always be best friends. I’m so proud of her for following her dream and touching the lives of everyone she meets in San Diego. I love you, Mary!

And, in honor of this day, I give you seven photos that pretty much sum up our relationship (and these, too).

Our first trip to San Diego.

Hamming it up for a photo in the ghetto of Oakland.

Pretending to be Daniel Jackson and Jack O'Neill. Because of course.

Pretending to be drunk at Mary's going-away party (the hardest thing we'd drunk that evening was soda).

Devouring burgers at Hodad's in San Diego.

Being pensive at Larabee State Park, Bellingham, Washington, on our first trip together.

Naptime!

Six Pics from Halloween

Yesterday marked the first Halloween in my own house! Zachary and I prepared by buying a massive bag of name-brand candy. Unfortunately, it seems that the kids in our neighborhood don’t believe in trick-or-treating… a grand total of nine kids showed up on our doorstep. They all got a lot of candy.

Still, we got to hang out with family, dress up, and eat yummy food! So, although it wasn’t the Halloween I was expecting, it was still good.

These are sugar cookies— way better than actual candy corns!

Zachary carved this adorable kitty.

INDEED.  (Any fellow Stargate fans out there?)

I also threw in some toys, which were, surprisingly, more popular than the candy.

Zach as Beren (note the missing right hand) and me as Luthien (from The Lay of Leithian).

On Shyness, Travel, and Extroversion

When I was first getting to know my husband-to-be on our tour from Illinois to Oregon, I remarked offhandedly that I’m really shy. Shocked, Zachary replied, “You’re the least shyest person I know!”

This was a revelation to me, although it shouldn’t have been. I considered what he said. I realized that the entire trip, I had been ridiculously extroverted, especially when I’d noticed (with much gleeful hand-rubbing) that he was shy. My desire to befriend him made me chase him like a lion after a gazelle, pestering him with question upon question and sharing all about myself. 

As I thought back to my other travels, I realized that this was always how I acted on the road. I wanted to talk to everyone; I wanted to hear their stories. I wanted to talk about the weather and culture and history of where they come from. I wanted to hear about their families and talk about mine. I wanted to know what they believe about God and religion and morality. I wanted to know their passions, their favorite food, their travel adventures. On all my trips, I was anything but shy!

Yet at home, both then and now, I all too often dissolve into the silent girl squirming under someone’s attentive gaze, avoiding eye contact and trying very hard to keep my hands still— as I have done almost my entire life.

A combination of my parents’ hard work, some friends pursuing me in my awkward teenage years, and drama class coaxed me out of my initial shell. I learned that I didn’t have to be shy around strangers. I often overcompensated and seemed eager to the point of maniacal attention. But I preferred to be seen as annoying rather than unnoticeable, because I find people fascinating.

Travel is the perfect construct for meeting new people and having intense conversations, whether it’s the girl you’re volunteering with, the guy you meet at the hostel, or the random lady walking her dog in your sightseeing town. Almost everyone is willing to talk to you if you’re from out of town.

At home, those constructs go away. My fearless travel persona starts to melt at the edges. I forget to make eye contact with the Walmart clerk. I stutter and stare at the floor. I stand in the corner at a party, oddly exhausted at the thought of trying to initiate a conversation. 

Over and over, I’ve tried to figure out the difference between people I don’t know on the road and people I don’t know at home. I haven’t been able to figure it out yet. 

So if I see you in person and I seem stiff or awkward— or if I’m way too extroverted and up in your face— please forgive me. It’s a delicate balance, and staying on that tightrope is proving to be much, much harder than I expected.

~~~

And Other Random Things You See in Illinois

On the way to Chicago to catch a flight to Europe last year, I saw a boxy peach-colored church along the highway. It was named “The Friendly Temple of God in Jesus Christ.” 

Am I the only one who gets an image of robe-clad Levitical priests with censers loudly greeting people and handing out bulletins?

~~~

Vanilla and Butter, or, The Need for a Food-Buying Intervention

Whenever I go to the grocery store, I always buy certain things. Zach and I go through some staples at an alarming rate, so I always put them on my list, regardless of whether or not I’ve checked the cupboards. Last week, I discovered two bottles of vanilla squirreled away in the back shelf, in addition to the half-empty bottle I already had. Three bottles of vanilla! How silly of me! 

As is my habit, yesterday while grocery shopping I bought a pound of butter (in addition to about thirty pounds of other food which I carried in my backpack from Aldi to my house). What I didn’t notice was that when I threw it in the left-hand corner of the top shelf, behind the milk, it was joining a breeding ground. Later last night, when I was rearranging the refrigerator, Zach asked, “Why did you tell me to buy butter the other day?”

I shrugged. “We go through butter really fast,” I said.

Zach stared hard into the back left-hand corner. Then he began pulling out packets of butter. More and more and more of them.

We ended up with this:

We had six pounds of butter in the fridge.

SIX POUNDS.

(And that’s not even counting the half-pound of clarified butter in the cupboard.)

We fell on the floor, we were laughing so hard. And Zach said, “You need to write a blog about this.”

“Yes,” I said. “Yes, I do.”

~~~

Cheap Factory-Made Woolly Bears

On our walk to Pere Marquette last week, Zachary and I saw lots of caterpillars crawling across the roads. For the first twenty or so I stopped and made a little squee and talked about how cute they were, but for the next several dozen I was content to simply look at them. 

The most common caterpillar we saw was the Woolly Bear, a caterpillar which turns into the Isabella Tiger Moth. This is what one looks like as a caterpillar:

And this Wikipedia link will show you the moth they turn into, as well as some crazy facts (they freeze solid during the winter, apparently!).

Farmers’ lore says that you can tell how long the winter is going to be by looking at the band of orange-brown between a wooly bear’s black ends. If it’s narrow, the winter will be harsh. If it’s wide, the winter will be mild.

I, of course, got the prediction backwards, and so spent the entire walk exclaiming what a crazy harsh winter this was going to be! The band was very wide in every caterpillar we saw. Some of the caterpillars had barely a smidgen of black on either end, and others only had a black end on their head. Zach remarked that they look like they had been cut from one long cylinder of striped fuzz.

“There must be a factory where a slicer cuts off the little segments,” Zach said. “But the slicer isn’t very precise, so the caterpillars all look different.”

Within seconds, we had determined that these caterpillars were the result of a cheap factory line (probably made in China), being mass-produced and edging out the good old-fashioned handmade woolly bears. “Why, in my day, our caterpillars were painstakingly handcrafted, not like this cheap factory junk. And they had uniform bands of color, doggonit!”

Have I mentioned that I love autumn, long walks, and my husband?

~~~

15 Reasons I Love Autumn

(Halfway through this list, I realized that many of these reasons have less to do with autumn and more to do with summer being over. But if you live in St. Louis, you can agree with me that summer being over is the best part of autumn, anyway.)

1. Bonfires.

2. Food roasted over bonfires.

3. Good hiking weather.

4. The sun being mild enough that I don’t get sunburned.

5. The sound of migrating geese overhead (even though the majority of geese in St. Louis don’t migrate).

6. 80 degrees seeming cool after the murderously hot summer.

7. Wearing boots.

8. Watching my breath smoke in the air.

9. A holiday that involves both costumes and candy.

10. The colors, not only of the changing leaves, but of the grasses and sunlight.

11. Wearing clothes for fashion instead of figuring out how to dress in a way to avoid both sunburn and heatstroke.

12. Hot soups and stews tasting good again.

13. Crunching dry leaves underfoot.

14. Wearing long sleeves, which double as mittens and potholders.

15. The harvest moon.

What would you add to this list?

Hayden Christensen (or, An Incredibly Mortifying Quote from My Diary)

A few days ago, I was reading through an old diary and found these exact words, written June 5th, 2002:

“Today we went to see Star Wars: Episode II, Attack of the Clones. It was cool! Awesome! Amazing! Incredible! The guy who played Anakin was an incredible actor!”

My only consolation is that when I wrote this, I was 13. This is reason number 8,647 I’m glad I’m not a teenager anymore.

Someday, I want to get a haircut here.

Simply Magic

Two days ago, after getting up late and taking way too long to make a healthy lunch (why do celery and onions take so long to soften? Honestly!), I asked Zachary what he wanted to do on his day off. I had just gotten my paycheck, and we were ready to blow some dough.

“Let’s go to Pere Marquette,” he said.

And so we blew some dough on gas, packed a lunch, loaded up a backpack, and hit the road. We listened to Jonathan Coulton on the way up, leaving the city behind and winding along the highway beside the Muddy Mississip’, which sparkled blue under the clear October sky. At Pere Marquette, we hiked up the blue trail, watched the sun on the confluence at McAdam’s Peak, and hiked to the other side of the bluff, finally settling down to eat at Flag Pole Lookout. After we finished our summer sausage sandwiches, Zachary pulled out his copy of The Fellowship of the Ring. We sat on a stone wall with the sweeping wooded countryside beside us, and he read to me. As the air grew chillier, I donned my jacket.

We were so caught up in the story that by the time we realized we should hike back, the sun had already slipped below the horizon. We hiked the couple miles back to our car in the dark, looking at the black tree silhouettes against the rainbow-glow of sunset on the western horizon.

On the way home, we ate caramel sundaes at McDonald’s and listened to Bach’s cello suites, and once we got home, Zach continued reading Lord of the Rings to me until midnight passed and his throat was sore. We made it to the end of Book One. 

Some days are simply magic.

Random Thought of the Day

Many people think that Jesus was a “nice person” who taught “feel-good” philosophy. These people have clearly not read the Bible. 

Difficult Things Are Difficult (and other statements of profundity)

If I had known, 11 years ago, how much effort it would take to become a proficient violinist, I would have given up on the spot.

If I had known, 20 years ago, how much effort would be required to learn to draw at a basic level, I would have been crushed with the hugeness of the task.

If I had known, 24 years ago, how much effort it was going to take to live life, I would have asked not to be born.

Anything difficult in life requires a lot of effort— so much, in fact, that when I look back, I’m amazed that I was ever able to accomplish anything at all. To me, it’s a small miracle every time I realize that I’m at point where I can realize that a huge chunk of the hard work has been done. I can play violin pretty well. I’m okay at drawing. I’m still alive and haven’t gone crazy yet. 

All in all, I think it’s a great mercy of God that I don’t know how hard stuff is going to be until I actually do it. 

~~

Random Drawing of the Day (From Three Years Ago)

I think it’s a perfume ad. Or perhaps the introduction to a clothing line. Whatever it is (and whatever I was thinking when I drew it), I like it.

Dreamer for a Dreamer

Yesterday evening, I sat down at my computer, pulled up a copy of my 2009 NaNoWriMo novel Dreamer (I lied to you in the previous blog when I said it was 2011), and began reading. As I read, I wrote a brief sketch of each chapter in a separate document, noting inconsistencies, looking for larger themes, reminding myself of the plot, cringing at some sections, smiling in surprise at others. Half my brain immersed itself in the story while the other half ran a list of a million questions about timelines, pantheons, logistics, character traits, themes, nonsensical plot twists, and so on. 

I didn’t notice time going by. I just looked up and saw it was time to make dinner for Zachary when he got home. I leaped up, danced into the kitchen, and worked on homemade pizza, my mind still lost in the land of Chaldia. I peeked through the window slats at the sunset, blazing in the sky and in a puddle and on the side of the neighbor’s car.

I felt ridiculously alive, present, aware of everything in acute detail. 

I had forgotten how much I love writing novels. Not just the raw material, but the second and third and twentieth drafts. The search for plot holes. The tweaking of each word. The hours of nitpicking and rehashing things you’ve already nitpicked and rehashed a dozen times before. I love it all so much.

Now I’m going to work on my tutoring so I can finish and continue outlining Dreamer.

~~~