All Aboard!

Portland City Skyline with Mt. Hood

Brian and I were in need of a weekend get-away at the end of last term, so we decided to take advantage of the fact that Eugene has an Amtrak station and hop on the rail to Portland!  We got a sweet deal on a downtown hotel room, and had a list of spots we wanted to hit, snacks were packed, and no computers allowed.  In the words of Flight of the Concords (insert lovely Kiwi accent), "the conditions were perfect."

So, when our train was initially an hour late arriving to Eugene to pick us up, we weren't phased!  When we sat in front of a group of people who were loud and crude, that didn't throw us off, we just put on some headphones!  When there was a derailment that caused us to be delayed at the Albany, OR train station for three more hours, we still didn't break down.  And when the train was ready to leave again, but was delayed further by a medical emergency (a man two rows in front of us had a heart attack and the ambulance came!) we still were able to laugh at the absurdity of all of it!  That's right!  We VanderYost's just roll with it...easy breezy...that's us!

But then we finally got to Portland and when we walked outside the station, 4 1/2 hours later than expected, looking to see which way we needed to walk, holding hands, Brian tugged on mine to lead us in a direction....and that was what finally did it.

This is part of the wall decor at the new Jimmy John's in Eugene,
where we ate the following weekend...very apropo! 

Me: "Hey!  Don't just pull me like a dog on a leash!"
Brian:  "What?  I always do this.  You never know which way we're going."
Me: "Well, maybe I want to know before you just yank me around!"
Brian: "How am I supposed to know when I can take charge and when I can't?!?"
Me: "I'm not an idiot, you know!  I can read a map, believe it or not!"
Brian: "Ok, fine.  Sorry.  But we need to go this way."
Me: "Fine."

Walking in silence.  No longer holding hands.

And there you have it, folks!  Proof that little things might be little, but they do in fact eventually add up.  The final result of tiny cumulative stressors.  Seemingly innocuous tiny pokes that eventually morph into a tiff.  They sneaked their way in...like those six extra cookies at a holiday party.  But who's counting.

Don't worry.  We worked out our grumpy moment and lived happily ever after for the rest of the weekend...eating and drinking our way through Portland, with a little NCAA basketball on the side :)

These little stressors, though, blow my mind every time I finally have the privilege of hindsight.  I'll think "I'm fine!  Thwart away, plans!  Can't rattle this one!"  And then they do.  And then I do.

And every time this happens, I am so thankful for the benediction we chose for our wedding that Brian Marsh so eloquently recited:  May all your expectations be frustrated.  May all your plans be thwarted.  And may you come to know the powerlessness and peaceful contentment of a child.  What can I say, it ain't always pretty, but it's a work in progress :)

Ripped Jeans & Ethereal Thoughts On A Cellist

For the past couple months I've become hyper-curious about the uniqueness of the people around me...moreso than my usual interest.

It all started when Brian and I joined our friend Shelly to go to the Eugene Symphony. Yes, Eugene has a symphony. Potheads AND culture, all in one! The best part about going to the Eugene symphony is that you can wear jeans, possibly even ripped jeans, and no one cares.

Anyway, besides my husband's affinity for classical music, which I accompany with a smile, but not near the level of enthusiasm, we also went to this particular performance because of a hot, young female cellist, Alisa Weilerstein. I had never heard of this girl (and I say girl, because she's younger than I am), and both Brian and Shelly were excited to see her play, so I went along with an agreeable shoulder shrug.

And the music was amazing.   

But I was struck more by the transformation of Alisa Weilerstein that anyone who was paying attention had to have noticed.  When she walked out onto the stage, carrying her cello, she looked like a young, beautiful, dressed-up musician.  Put the right dress on me, and I could've done the same thing...walk, don't trip over dress, carry large stringed instrument.  Check. 

But then, her bow hit the strings, and she asserted her uniqueness boldly - and in an instant.

I had been sitting in my usual posture at a symphony event...comfy, but also teetering on having to start holding back my yawns over the next hour if nothing changed. (Don't get me wrong, the Eugene Symphony is actually really good...this girl can only take a rationed amount of unrecognizable classical music at a time.)

But thankfully something did change!  Alisa happened.

She made me sit up, learn forward...and just watch.

In the moment that Alisa began playing, it was like she became someone else.  Or, she became herself.  I felt like I saw with my eyes and my heart, a woman who had come to know her God-given gift and was sharing it wholeheartedly in exactly the right space at exactly the right time.  

And all this makes me think...

...if it's not professional cello playing, what is it that arouses this transformation in the rest of us?  What is it that makes God sit up in Her chair and smile?

I know we can't all be professional cello players.  Or professional anythings, for that matter.  But I'd like to believe that God's got big plans for all of us crazy humans.  And that at some point in my own life, and in the lives of those around me, I might get to experience and witness what I saw in Alisa Weilerstein that night.  Whatever "it" was, made me say to Brian on the way to the car afterward, "Damn.  That girl was made to play the cello."

What is it inside you and me that could cause someone to stop and say, "Damn.  YOU are clearly made to do THAT."?  And how can we support others in the same quest?

Liberal...Conservative...Who Really Cares?

I recently watched "Fireproof", the fictional movie created by Sherwood Baptist Church in Atlanta, GA to put a spotlight on marriage and God, in a nutshell.  I watched it with a somewhat skeptical eye, given my admittedly resistant reaction (at least, initially) to anything put out by the "conservative" side of Christianity.  This reaction in me stems from a less than pleasant experience with a "religious right" group of Christians while I was in Germany, and the southern baptist church unfortunately falls into the same category in my mind.

And you know what?  I liked it!  It filled me with hope, and it motivated me to take steps to deepening my own Christianity.  (As well as my marriage, for that matter!)  And yes, I thought most of the acting was UBER CHEESY and there was a lot of "God talk" that makes me squirm a bit, still.

And all this got me thinking...

Why do I, as what I would call a "liberal Christian", feel unsafe admitting that I got something substantive out of a movie like Fireproof?

Answer?

Assumptions.  That's why.

By saying I liked the movie, I assume that I am opening myself up to others' potential assumptions about the kind of Christian I am.  Does the fact that I enjoyed Fireproof also suggest that I am pro-life, anti-gay marriage, and read the Bible literally?  I hope not, because none of those are true about me.  So, why do I feel like I need to add a caveat to my reaction to the movie?  "Fireproof?  I liked it and got a lot out of it....and it's too bad they couldn't include a gay couple in it, too, huh? Or maybe a female minister?"

So that's where I am...struggling to react authentically, yet being mindful of the stereotypes our society has set in place and letting those invade my thoughts.

And what was the scripture reading today at church?  Romans 12:1-2, 9-10: "I appeal to you, therefore, brothers, by the mercies of God, to present your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God, which is your spiritual worship. Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewal of your mind, that by testing you may discern what is the will of God, what is good and acceptable and perfect...Love must be sincere, hate what is evil; cling to what is good, be devoted to one another in love, honor one another above yourselves."  

Let's face it.  My held-onto stereotypes and assumptions are an expression of being "conformed to this world".  And I know they make Jesus cringe...so here I am, sharing them and trying to break them by saying: I liked Fireproof, and I also support gay marriage.  I liked Fireproof, and I also believe women should be able to lead in pastoral positions.  I liked Fireproof, and I don't interpret the Bible literally.

I liked Fireproof, and I would likely not become a member at Sherwood Baptist Church in Atlanta, but I might get something out of a sermon or two.  Baby steps, right?

Halloween Cyclo-Cross Racing in Oregon

This past Halloween, Brian and I joined our friends Michael & Rebecca for a cyclo-cross race in Astoria, Oregon.  (Yes, that's where they filmed The Goonies.)  Michael & Rebecca had done this race before, and said it was a lot of fun and so we decided to join them and give it a whirl!  It was a blast!  We camped, drank some local brew from Fort George brewery, and took in all the GREAT people-watching at the race.  There was everyone from super advanced (not us) to complete beginners (us) participating, and everyone was so nice.  Rebecca and I raced together and I was amazed at how friendly all the other women racers were.  Even the really fast ones were so kind and encouraging when they passed me on the course saying, "Good job, girl, that's it, keep going!" as they rode on by.  The crowd was great, too, cheering for everyone and having a good time...albeit a little rowdy here and there :)  There was even a super cute kids race, too, which was ADORABLE to watch.  Enjoy the pics...there are a lot more on our other website, too, but I thought I'd try sharing via this site also.  And I couldn't figure out how to move the pics around with the captions, so they're not in order...so use your imagination :)

That's a mountain bike he's carrying...which is a lot heavier than a cross bike like everyone else had!  You go boy!

Yep....lots of mud.

Michael, helping Brian get his number pinned on...in the best "nerd" fashion, of course!

So fast even the camera can't keep up with her!  :)

Anne & Rebecca Post Race: Muddy bikes, but fairly clean riders! 

Post Brian's Race (hence, the mud) & Pre-Anne's Race (hence, the clean)

What time is it?  Race time!  Next to a man dressed as a cow...

That's Anne lifting her bike up over the barriers, while a few racers perform their dance moves to "Single Ladies" by Beyonce...they had it playing on repeat :)  And, yes, that's a man wearing #251

Adorable, right???

The crowd cheered for the kiddos like crazy; it was great!

Listen

I didn't write this.  It's an excerpt from a reading for one of my classes on the importance of communication, and it struck me as something I really need to remember...so I thought it was worth sharing.  Reading it aloud worked well for me:

When I ask you to listen to me and you start giving advice, you have not done what I asked.


When I ask you to listen to me and you begin to tell me why I shouldn't feel that way, you are trampling on my feelings.

Why not give the gift of listening, this Valentine's Day?

When I ask you to listen to me, and you feel you have to do something to solve my problem, you have failed me.


Listen!  All I asked was that you listen - not talk or do - just hear me.


When you do something for me that I can and need to do for myself, you contribute to my fear and weakness.


But when you accept as a simple fact that I do feel what I feel, no matter how irrational, then I can quit trying to convince you, and get about the business of understanding what's behind this irrational fear.


And when that's clear, the answers are obvious and I don't need advice.


Irrational fears make sense when we understand what's behind them.


So please listen and just hear me.


And if you want to talk, wait a minute for your turn, and then I'll listen to you. 

- Anon (one of my favorite authors....hehe!)

And I Say to Myself, "Self..."

My high school chemistry teacher, "Doc Lorson", was famous for saying the title of this entry, and it always made me laugh.  I just celebrated my 10-year anniversary of graduating from high school, and the Doc's phrase still  sticks with me.

 One of the best ways I am able to express myself to myself is through writing.

When I was in high school and college, I filled journals like it was my job.  And I loved it.  Writing just flowed out of me the second I put pen to paper. 

For the few years after college, that easy flow stopped for some reason.  I guess I started exploring other ways of expressing myself, because every time I tried to sit down and get into the "zone" with my journal, I just felt stuck.  When I lived in Missoula, I took an Adult Education class on journaling to see if I could get my spark back...but it didn't stick.  [It was a way cool class, though; at one point, we wrote with crayons to be more free like a child :) ]  Whatever I was going through at that time just couldn't translate onto paper, as hard as I tried to make it.

Thankfully, my journaling bug is making its return!  Aside from whatever growth edge I was experiencing, in all my attempts to force journaling, I've realized that I was ignoring one of the most important pieces - the journal.  I've been trying here and there to scribble in boring notebooks that have absolutely no character!  It dawned on me last weekend that it's time for me to find my journal.  My safe space, where my pen can hit my paper.  When I really thought about it, here's what I determined: it needs to be hardcover, bend open easily (so the pages won't inconveniently flip), the pages need to be lined, the paper needs to be a certain shade of beige/tan, and also have a slightly soft/earthy texture to them....and I found it!    It's my safe space, and my pen seems to be hitting the paper much more easily than on any college-ruled spiral notebook. Thank you, Borders!

This all makes me think....(surprise, surprise!)....about the process of finding our expression.  How do you express yourself TO yourself?  

Hippo What?

Tonight I went to Papa's Pizza. It's a kid-friendly, over-priced, greasy pizza joint...and it's called Papa's.  Needless to say, not the typical restaurant Brian and I frequent :)  But tonight, I went, to support my massage school buddy, Mark.  I didn't know the details except that 50% of whatever I spent would go toward a non-profit that he works with that has something to do with horses and kids.  "Cool," I said, "I'll be there."

I thought I'd just pick up my to-go order, say hi to Mark, and be on my way.  What I did not predict was being asked by an incredibly enthusiastic woman named Ferronato if I'm interested in hippo-therapy.

"What?"  Blank stare. Inner thought: No, I came for the greasy pizza and Mark.  "What therapy?"

Hippo therapy.  You know, right?  No, I don't know what that is, and I've heard hippos are are violent, so I don't think I'm interested.  (Here's a little Greek lesson.)  Evidently (I was enlightened to learn) "hippopotamus" is greek for "water horse", and "hippo-therapy" is "horse therapy".  Oh, horse therapy.  Ok, I can wrap my head around that, sort of.  I told her I took horseback riding lessons in 6th grade, but that was about all the horse knowledge I had.

I listened intently to her describe (with great passion, I might add) what exactly she does, and I found myself tilting my head and raising an eyebrow when she said she's had chiropractors come out and adjust a human in a horse arena, then adjust the horse - yep, evidently gettin' cracked isn't just for humans! - and then she proceeded to describe this incredibly fascinating process of using hippo-therapy to heal and re-align someone's structural integrity.   Evidently the therapist (like my friend, Mark) will sit behind the "client" in the saddle and "massage" or manipulate their muscles and stretch/re-align them while on the horse.  And they do this with disadvantaged kids.  And they charge $100/hour.  Huh?  Who knew?


I walked out of Papa's with a common and getting-more-familiar feeling that I like to call an "only in Eugene" moment.

When my order came up, and Ferronato asked me again if I was interested in equine massage or hippo therapy, I said "No, I'm thinking more along the lines of prenatal massage...but I'll definitely spread the word about what you're doing!"
So, in keeping my word:

You can check out Ferronato's and Three Treasures Farms at: http://www.threetreasuresfarms.org/bio.php