fallingwater

I remember the first time I saw a picture of Fallingwater by Frank Lloyd Wright. It was also the first time I realized that homes could be named and the day I decided that one day I would do just that. It was my junior year of high school. I was sitting in my AP Art History class next to my best friend, enjoying the antics of our rambunctious teacher who insisted on us calling her "Mother Wood." The room was dark and our faces were lit with the glow from the projector screen. It was nearing the end of the year and AP tests were heavy on our minds. I was anxious to have the test over, but reluctant for the class to end because, despite my initial hesitation of our flamboyant teacher, I had fallen in love with the class.

Architecture had been incorporated into our curriculum throughout the year. I enjoyed learning the difference between ionic, doric, and corinthian columns, the use of clerestory windows by the Egyptians, and the importance of flying buttresses. However, it wasn't until I saw the picture of this home that I realized that architecture was art just as much as painting and drawing and sculpting was. And this was art you could literally be inside of.

I won't ever live in a house like this. I won't have a Tiffany lamp in every room but maybe just in one room? or a special pool beside the front door where my gardener leaves my freshly cut flowers. But it was beautiful to see and be a part of for a morning. My 17 year old self would be proud.

peace and art
rrww

perspective

It's no secret that living in Minneapolis has been difficult for me, and it's no secret because it's one of the first things out of my mouth in almost every social situation that requires communication this post being my case in point. Before we moved here we had a lot of people telling us how much they loved this place, how they thought we would fit right in, how jealous of this adventure they were etc etc. I guess I kind of thought we were moving to the land of milk and honey when we packed up our Uhaul, and while the midwest does have stupendous dairy products especially when deep fried it just hasn't measured up to what I thought it would be. I'm beginning to think that part of that might have to do with me *eyeroll* oh really rach?

Now, I cannot simply create mountains for us to play in. I cannot will our bank account to be larger, or fast forward time to when we have a brick home, yard and vegetable garden, sheltie dog, and teardrop trailer that we take camping in Glacier National Park. if you can't tell, i take great pride in in my imaginary, future life. I can't do all those things, but I can try to look at where we are with a different perspective - specifically that of my 19 year old sister in law who came to see us this weekend.

She may have just been trying to be nice, but whenever she was presented with something midwestern she reacted with awe and excitement, telling us she was jealous of our lives here and what we have going for us, which stood out in great contrast to my opinion of our current situation.

For example: when I look out of our 18th story apartment, all I see is the lack of patio and grass, and instead the presence of a noisy freeway that prevents us from keeping our windows open if we want to sleep, have conversation, or think. However, she stood and stared out that window for a quarter of an hour, on a few different occasions, commenting on how far she could see, how many lights there were, pointing out the planes that fly almost directly in front of our windows, and how the sky and land seem to stretch on forever. All of which is actually very true of our view.

You see, I keep waiting for this moment of our lives to be over. I desperately want it to end, and I resent everything that happens during this time or makes it last any longer than necessary i'm a real joy to have around. But lately, and especially after this weekend, I'm starting to wonder what I'm missing out on while I focus on the noisy cars instead of looking at the never ending sky.


Images from the weekend.

peace and birkenstocks
got my first pair and i can't stop wearing them

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iwd

My whole life I have been surrounded by exceptional people. I'm beginning to realize how just unusual my situation has been. I have had people who encouraged me to do well in school, to pursue and develop talents, to play sports, to be creative, to work for independence. I wasn't ever aware of what "feminism" was until well into my college experience, but when I studied it and learned about it, I wondered why it was such a big deal. Wasn't it a given that women were equal to men?

I had been just as important to my soccer team as the boys had been. I had competed in math competitions just as much as the boys had. I had participated in leadership roles just as much as the boys had. And I had a mom, dad, church leaders, friends, friends' parents, aunts, uncles, grandmas, grandpas, cousins...people as far as I could see telling me that what I was doing was normal. I wasn't overly praised for doing these things because I was a girl. I wasn't held back and discourage because I was a girl. I was a person, just as capable of being successful as any person around me.

Having recently started to try and grow up, I'm realizing that that's not the case for a lot of girls and women. It's important for me to realize that my experience is not everyone else's, and it's important for me to at least be the same type of person I was surrounded by growing up, and that I continue to be surrounded by. I am still very blessed to have had few experiences of blatant discrimination based on my gender. Or so I thought. dun dun duuuunnn.

As I take on more real life responsibility, I've been drastically more hard on myself. Disclaimer: I have emotions - a lot of them. They are each so vital to my experience and I wouldn't want to live my life without every one of them. Joy, frustration, sorrow, humor, boredom, excitement, anxiousness....I want them all. I need them all. 

But lately the adversary has been taking some of those emotions and using them against me. I tell myself I'm not worth it, that I can't do it, that my only purpose is to be in the background, that I'm not good at what I try to do, that I'm not succeeding or living the life truly independent women live, that since I'm not getting a masters degree my education is worthless, that I'll never be a top executive because frankly i don't really want to and that makes me less of a strong woman.

As I write it out it seems so bogus! But when it's running through my head it seems so true. 

Thus, in honor of International Women's Day, I'm committing myself to fight off the most chauvinistic, selfish, evil, greedy and discriminating being in existence. I will work on liberating myself from his destructive influence. He wants us all to be miserable, and I think he works especially hard on women. 

But guess what? We're stronger.

peace and IWD

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fix it

A severe, moral wrong has recently swept our world, leaving many confused, conflicted, and searching for answers. This social catastrophe has impacted my life, my world, my home, and after much deliberation and thought I have decided to open up and share my thoughts and feelings on the matter. I anticipate some backlash, unfavorable comments, and loss of friendships, but I must do as I see right and call to repentance the group that has so insensitively hurt and harmed individuals, families, and homes.

Netflix, how dare you take Chip and Joanna Gaines from our lives.

Now that I have that off my chest, I can continue with some thoughts I've had stirring around in my brain since our big move out midwest. And yes, Fixer Upper is my key example in this post and all other aspects of my life.

In this HGTV hit show, a couple helps others turn homes that look like haunted sheds made of cardboard boxes and potato skins into luxurious, envy-inducing abodes. The show's impact has had a broad reach, resulting in every woman now wanting white shiplap somewhere in their home, pilgrimages to Waco, TX becoming more and more mandatory, and all young people having dreams of buying ugly, questionably safe homes. i fall into all of these stereotypes.

Most people are pretty enamored with the concept and content of the show. To see a building that, by all accounts should just be bulldozed over, actually turned into something beautiful is kind of inspiring. Maybe we love this show because we love to see second chances and changes.

Sometimes I think we feel a lot like that shed made of potato skins that has no purpose but to be bulldozed over in order to be replaced by something more grand, more useful, more beautiful. We try to paint over the water marked walls, or deep clean the orange and brown shag carpet. We sweep the very sloped front porch and patch up a foundations that look more like sand than cement. Meanwhile pushing help away saying "No, I can fix this myself. I know how I want it to look and if you get involved then it won't be just how I want it. I have my own vision," as the ceiling collapses behind us. 

But God is the Master Carpenter. He sees our little shacks and starts to make changes - changes that weren't ever part of our vision either. The boy or girl you like doesn't reciprocate, and there goes the carpet. You don't get into the school you were banking on and down comes the railing. Your car breaks down indefinitely and the pool gets filled in. You're a new or seasoned parent with difficult children and the jackhammer is taken to the driveway. You move to Minnesota, away from everyone you love, and all the walls start falling down.

Eventually, little by little, our shacks and lean-tos that we were so protective of, so proud of, become "dream homes" we could never have imagined for ourselves. Perfectly designed, with the best products, they are truly the most functional and beautiful homes we've ever seen. You'd never guess that at one point you wanted to bulldoze it over.

Let Him fix it.

peace
rrww

happiness

Today while I was walking to work, I thought to myself "I would be so much happier if I were single." It had been a rough morning with me getting after Harry to clean up the spilled orange juice, a puddle in the bathroom from our leaking shower, my hair being greasy but me not wanting to wash it oh woe is me!, carpet that hasn't been vacuumed in weeks and has bits of toast, cheese, and salt stuck in it, you know the crumbs you can feel with your bare feet when you walk? gross. and a desperate plea to the powers above that I somehow could stay home from work. It was a morning that was also compounded on a rough night, because that's just how life works right? 

So as I walked to work, realizing that I had forgotten to take the frozen chicken out of the freezer so we could actually eat something other than macaroni and cheese for dinner, I thought "I would be so much happier if..." which was followed by a long list consisting of things like:

...if I had long, beautiful hair 

...if I were single and only had to worry about feeding myself

...if I didn't have to clean up after anyone else

...if I could afford to have someone grocery shop for me

...if I had an actual home instead of renting an apartment

...if I lived within some vicinity of the mountains 

...if I could be paid to just frolic on the beach like everyone on Instagram seems to be able to do

I've begun to realize and be taught by my mother, who keeps me grounded that happiness is becoming less and less of a spontaneously occurring state, and more and more of a goal that I have to actively work for. And despite what everyone on your phone might show, sometimes being happy is hard. For some reason choosing to do the things that you know will make you happy seems impossible. Satan has made beds too comfortable and treadmills not enough so, just to keep us miserable. so we should all go exercise just to show the devil who's boss. and ohmygosh i'm suddenly having an epiphany about what exercise and the temptation to be lazy actually is. stay with me here. lucifer is all bummed out because we have bodies and he doesn't so he wants us to be lazy and sleep all day so essentially we aren't using our bodies and we're miserable and then he wins. i'm going to start a gym class based on this.

Back to the point. Although the point is morphing as I type because things are coming into my mind and I don't know how this is all going to wrap up. At some point in our lives, we will have to actively work on being happy. And I think that's ok. Whether it be hauling ourselves to the gym, committing ourselves to that class we're interested in, being brave and generous, reading a good book instead of watching crummy TV, exploring a new place, reading a conference talk instead of mean facebook posts, or blogging for the first time in years despite blogs basically being dead. If we are medically able to choose happiness, or at least choose to work on happiness, then we should. 

I mean, if you think about it, why not?

This is me on a frozen lake. Because that's the type of thing people do in Minnesota.

peace and brian kershisnik

i'm in love with this piece

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What am I supposed to blog about now that I'm married? I've had an identity crisis since becoming not-single. I used to joke about the reasons I'd be #singleforever and how I never cooked anything but cheese. the good ol' days.

Now I mince garlic for recipes that I actually plan out a week in advance. And I invite people over for meals that I've prepared. Myself. Are you as scared as I am? WHAT HAPPENED TO ME. DOES THIS HAPPEN TO EVERYONE. I went from 0 to homemaker in 2.5 seconds. My budgeting used to look like "My bank account isn't at zero yet, so yeah let's order pizza and Thai food and go see that movie for the 7th time in theaters because Nicholas Hoult." And now...well...yesterday I downloaded Mint and have found actual enjoyment in deciding how much of my income should go towards boring things like heating our home and buying vegetables. 

My evenings used to consist of chatting with roommates about our days while putting off homework and eating cookies made by almost any person in that house other than me. We'd brainstorm prank ideas and sit on the porch while I spied on the boy across the street now my husband and ride Razor scooters and play foursquare. it's sometimes hard to distinguish between my college experience and elementary school life. Now I work all day and come home and feel like I need to dust things and hang pictures and iron curtains and wash my rugs.

So I guess the whole gist of all this is that marriage has made me better, which I resent. Good thing the guy I'm with is even more eager to binge watch ridiculous TV shows about privileged youth in New York than I am. And that he knows how to rig a drawing (in an honest way) for us to win a Smart TV. And that he attends my cycling class with me, being the only man in a class of 30. 

He keeps from being too boring.

peace and law school

rrww

crafty

Welcome all to the same blog I have always had but with a different url! I am currently trying to convince my tongue that my cup of noodles isn't actually the temperature of the sun by continuing to burn said tongue on the molten lava I hold inside a Styrofoam cup. I like bringing lunch to work because it shows that I'm professional, grown up, careful with money, and am too busy and important to even take a 30 minute break from the demands of my profession. Because nothing says maturity like a $0.70 cup of chemically preserved veggies and sodium levels the size of the Great Salt Lake. 

Welcome to life after college. It's the same as life in college.

The only thing that's changed about the basic makeup of my personality is the fact that suddenly I want to craft. I want to craft every single thing that I could easily buy at the store for much cheaper.  For example: I need a planner. Should I buy a $3.00 notebook of paper purposefully designed to assist in the scheduling of my life? NO! Instead, I shall go to nature and pluck the seeds of a tall and grand oak. I will put that seed in the pot I have recently fashioned on the potter's wheel I just whittled. Then I will nurture that seed into a tree, make that tree into my own paper, infusing its fibers with flowers and butterfly wings. Then I will bind my beautiful parchment with the string I have spun from the wool of a baby lamb. On the cover I will glue leaves and berries over my stenciled chevron design. And then I will proceed to write in calligraphy those items I must purchase from the store. Frozen pizza, Eggo waffles, and Pop Tarts.

Perhaps I am prone to exaggeration. Nevertheless, when I stepped into Michael's last night there was a physical reaction the likes of which I have never experienced before. Watch out. You might be getting a poorly crafted craft from yours truly. 

These are just pictures I feel obligated to share because I finally bought the chord that allows me to easily access them from my camera. 

peace and hot glue guns
they're still not as hot as these blasted noodles

rww