happy christmas: i am home.

i'll be home for Christmas,

you can count on me.

i'll be home for Christmas...

... if only in my dreams.

last year

i sang this song 

with a bit of 

a catch in my throat.

{a lump really}.

because i was no where

near home.

quite far far away actually.

and sometimes

that something in my throat

was just too much 

to swallow.

it would brim over,

seeping out

the sides of my eyes.

even when

i never asked it to.

because i missed...

the blustery snow.

the trimmed tree.

the cozy house.

the driveway shoveling.

the cooking making.

the caroling at the market.

the Eve service tradition.

the family gatherings.

the faces.

i missed home.

and yet, here i am now

an entire year later.

still in a place

quite different from my home

marking the day of Christmas. 

and it was this very afternoon

that i sat

amongst my sister, mom and dad,

when this song...

...that song.

carried itself through the 

speakers and filled our

Christmas-space.

i'll be home for Christmas,

you can count on me... 

i noticed.

there was no catch

this time.

because i realized.

that wherever i am.

south or north or east

it doesn't much

matter.

because in fact

it is not the place

that tells me.

no.

it's those 3 people.

mom & dad & sister.

they are the ones that tell me.

my body rests,

and my mind can take a sigh.

and i just know

that wherever i am

with these people.

yes indeed.

i am home.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

wishing you well

wherever you find yourself

this Christmas,

- n.

a donut discovery

this week i was

introduced to a new friend.

it was instant attraction.

some might call it:

love at first look.

upon the first moments 

of being together

it felt like we had known

each other all along.

like we'd never

been apart.

this friend was meant for me.

and i was, obviously meant

for this friend.

this is the friend

i had never known

i had always been waiting for.

and that is why our meeting is

serendipitously perfect.

a true fairytale

if you've ever heard one.

we met.

E 25th Street & 30th Ave South.

at a neighborhood favorite

called the Donut Cooperative. 

it took me a minute to know.

to know that is was

indeed this friend.

this friend that was meant

to be.

but after she was

on the plate.

all doubts were far far away.

like probably as

far as St. Paul.

that's how far.

her name?

curry coconut donut.

depends on who you are,

but you might have to

trust me on this one.

she was perfect in 

every way.

the other person i was

there with

...she made other friends.

but none as special

as my new friend.

 the whole place was

full of vibrant color &

clean-straight lines.

there is one cozy corner

to saddle up to 

if your desire is to

stay the morning away.

the staff is quirky & kind

and just crazy about

their creations.

the owner Dawn was there

that morning.

baking away.

and she seemed genuinely

pleased to know

her donut brilliance

brought me 

and my new friend together.

and i will probably

never be the same again. 

so dear curry coconut donut.

until we meet again.

at the,

yours truly.

- n. 

extra courage.

start.
...hesitate.
start again.
then...stop.


i watched a young girl
do this precise
dance
while trying to cross the street
this morning.


cars passing her by the many
she struggled to know
when.
to make that move.
that step.


i wanted her to be careful.
the cars were moving too quickly
for neighborhood streets and
paying no mind
to a little girl 
in a purple hood.


you can do it,
i heard myself whisper inside
my thoughts.


those first steps often require
the most intention.
and courage.

directions were being hollered
from across the street.
"go, go, go!"
"no, no. wait wait!"
"come on!"


but still she hesitated.
something hesitated.

no doubt she could do it
on her own.
she looked more than capable with
a younger-brother-hand 
tightly
encased in her own.
no doubt she'd done it
countless
times before.


but sometimes the road.
the same as yesterday
looks different
today.
the thing you did yesterday
it feels unknown today.
different somehow.


another car.
"not yet!"
"wait wait!"
"no, no, not now."


and sometimes
even those trying to be helpful
are just words
floating
in the space around you.


the intention
and courage are inside.
you know they are.
but summoning them
in that moment
seem impossible.


there i was.
standing next to the
purple hood.


sometimes asking is the 
hardest part.


i put my hand out.
found her wide brown eyes
staring back at me.
"maybe we can go together."
i ask.


she breathed deep
and nodded up at me.


and together we went.
both
fully capable on our own.
but together nonetheless.


sometimes we need 
that extra
courage.
to do the very thing
right in front of
us.


today.
may that extra courage
find you.


mine did.


- n.

changes like: bangs.

things change.
and sometimes there is nothing 
around you reflecting
that change you feel.


what can be done?
sometimes nothing.
but sometimes
something must be done.


something drastic.


to remind you everyday
of the change you
feel all around.
and of the change you
feel within yourself. 


this past week.
i did that something drastic.


uh-oh.


i got bangs.


i didn't just get bangs 
anywhere.
i went to the cutest, most
shabby-est of chic-ish interior
shabby-chic has ever seen before.


i tell no lies.
this is not something to
joke about.
that's how perfectly
fabulous it was.


where was i
you ask?

why! this lovely place,

yes you did just read
correctly.
salon & creative space.
um-hello?


if only i wasn't so busy
eye-goggling mirrors,
wallpaper & chaise lounges
pillows & birdcages
lamps & wall art...


if only i wasn't so absorbed
in the act of
you know, getting bangs...


i would have snapped some
photos to share.
because this place.
this salon & creative space
must be known.


but alas
the only visual i can share
is what can be found on 
their website.

no matter.
you'll just have to visit
yourself i guess.


tucked between the hour car rental
& the bird cafe
BANGbang is nestled cozily
into a weathered brick exterior.
right in the Kingfield
neighborhood.


as my stylist
stood snipping away
layer upon layer of locks,


she remarked,
"why didn't you come after 3pm? 
then you could have sipped on a 
glass of wine."


oh why oh why
didn't i?!


instead i enjoyed my
orange juice.
next time, i promised
my palate. 


i had to ask her.
as she snipped snipped away.
because what she was doing
was pretty typical.
yet how she approached it
...something was
different.


"each head of hair
is my canvas," she remarked.
"to create, style and transform.
that's the fun part.
the creating.
helping to create
the change for people.
that's why i do this."


and that,
is precisely what she did.
style & trim.
here, here & then suddenly
... there.
an artist in her
own right.


her work
reflected something deep
inside that
was begging to be
expressed.


BANGbang assisted me
in that expression.


"there!" she said,
twisting me around to see
her final touches.
"i'm done here."


good, i thought.
now my work begins.
to settle into
the change inside
as well as the change
that is now
staring right back at
me.


"oh yeah, and pop in
anytime
for a bang trim.
they're free!"


i can't exactly remember.
but i think
i might have hugged
her.


have you been to BANGbang?
do tell. do tell.


- n.

one. then two. then twenty.

one.
then two.
then five.
then twenty.
and then one hundred thousand.
all
falling
together.


and hours later.
our world is....


sweaters.
tugged in tighter.
warm beverages 
cupped between thankful
hands.
cozy-ers cozy in to their
someone closer.


and the candles lite hold 
the color
of our glowing, flickering existence.


and hours later.
our world is....


have i ever seen this 
brillance of new 
before?
every time i ask myself.


my collection of memories seem
to encourage me that...
yes.
in fact i know this.


but the shimmer. 
gentle gracing.
resting.
delighting.
being.


all. it all is new.
every time.
new again.


and hours later.
our world is 
completely changed....

covered.
.....in snow.




it's the best, right?






- n.

music in the mail.

i have a favorite thing
about my new apartment here.
on this side of the
ocean.


it's the mail slot.

{often the simple things

right?}

it's charming.
it's old.
it's from the 1920's.


but you know, sometimes the mail

gets a little stuck

in there.

so you have to tug.

and sometimes

the mail

takes an unfortunate

hit for this.

{oh well}.

today.

something new happened.

a package.

held my name.

propped nicely beneath

#106 mail slot.

that's strange,

no cyber monday

shopping done here.

i tucked the package

under my arm with the

rest of little victories 
from the tug-o-mail.

hands full.

i set the loads in my arms

down and promptly 

forgot all about

this little brown package.

until later.

when i finally stopped 

for a minute to remember.

how can you forget mail?

and a package at that!

{still unsure.}

i opened the brown paper 

to find

two CDs:

one christmas. and one not.

and a note.

from a kind gentleman

that i met once.

once.

we had chatted and connected 

on our mutual love for 

the beauty only choirs

can create.

here he was

sending me some of 

his son's choir tunes.

wondering if i might

enjoy them.

might i?!

oh yes i might..

and i'm going to try

my absolute best

to perhaps see the famous

land of lakes choirboys

this december 9.


any joiners?


come.
we can sit and
rub our goosebump-ed arms
together.




-n.

rub your arms moments: are you listening?

i once had a teacher
who would rub her arms 
full of goosebumps and implore
her class,
"shhh! shhhh!!
did you hear it?!
weren't you listening?!"

she was not everyone's favorite.

she gave us B's.
sometimes C's.

shook her head
and told us we weren't trying hard enough,
just when we thought we were.


she marched out when we were

impossible.

she pursed her lips, piercing 
us with silence, when we

didn't listen.

she moaned when we couldn't

hear our own faults.

and worse...
she made us do it 
again & again & again.


we would say, i'm no good.

she would say, you can be.

we would say, i can't.

she would say, you can.

we would say, i won't ever.

she would say, you will.

but we loved her.

when she was absent for even a day,

we begged to have her back.

she stole our hearts.

we might not have known.

she might not have known.

regardless.
it didn't matter.
because she taught us
what she was.

 

melody.

rhythm. 

movement.

moments.

music.

she taught us these things.

but most importantly
she taught us

to listen.

to listen to 
our own voice.

to the voice beside us.

and the voices all around.

she taught us to love beauty.

beauty that we

all

standing together

working toward one thing...

created. 

together.

she taught us

harmony and perfection

could come into a single moment.


she taught us to
notice the moments.

she would gasp.
and glow.
her excitement
and wonder penetrating the room,
rubbing her arms.


"did you hear it?!
are you listening?"


the body knows beauty.


but she taught us to listen for it.
and appreciate it.


this teacher
she doesn't know. 
she can't.
of how often my mind wanders to her.
to her classes
where she would push and push us.
bubble with pleasure
rubbing to her arms...


because of her,
there is always something for me
about a choir...
those moments.
only envoked by voices
working together.
to create
those moments of perfection... harmony
and utter beauty.


hmmm...
it touches something deep inside.


do you hear it?
are you listening?


may choirs find you.
or 
may you find them.
and may you notice
the moments.
and rub arms full of goosebumps.


let the season begin,
natalie.

ps beautiful images found here. here & here.