Day 1: wings (London)

(I didn't know the British really dress like this!)

English breakfast

The hostel

Chicken curry

Their elementary school

Nerves. I didn't expect them to hit so hard. I think they were swallowed down by the magic of finishing my first year of teaching, but as I put the last kid in the car, the wave of nerves hit deep and hard in my stomach. I think it hit that I was going 6,000 miles across the world by myself. No one to bail me out if I got lost. No one to pick up the slack. People ask me why I'm nervous. I can't pin point it.

I think we all go in to things with expectations. My expectation was if see the world, learn a lot about God, fall in love with far away places and return home anxious to be there once again. I was ready. I wanted a prayer to constantly have over this trip, so I chose the following. "Above and below me. Before and behind. May every eye that see me, Christ be glorified". I didn't know that all my expectations were about to be turned upside down. 

At about 1am the night before leaving, I realized that I booked the wrong connecting flight. Instead of making a 4 hour layover in London. I had booked a 28 hour layover. The only thing I could do was book a hostel and spend some time exploring London. I was embarrassed to tell the school but, exploring is always a great mistake to make. At about 2, I got an email that my flight was delayed 3 hours. Suddenly, it all made sense. This wasn't a mistake, this was protection. If I had booked the right flight, I would have been scrambling in London to book accommodations for missing a flight at the last second, instead, I can mosey my way to the Heathrow Ambassador hotel, protected.

 

  When I got dropped off in San Diego, the luggage of supplies for the family I was meeting was a few kilo over, but the lady said she would let me slide this time. Protection is a theme already. I bid my last goodbyes and boarded my flight. Ten hours hour later, I step into the land of accents. 

My friends and I grew up mimicking British accents, so to me it felt like a big joke. Everyone sounds brilliant and I couldn't help but giggle. I took the tube into Feltham where I had booked my first hostel. When I find the place, it's the cutest little building tucked away into a rougher neighborhood that once was a city for the rich. You can feel it's shifts and struggles and tensions between the rich and the poor the moment you step off. I was greeted by a British man who took my bags and instantly offers me tea. He gives me my key and my room is called the Hideaway room. I'm in love already. 

That night, I head into town and look for food. Who knew that chicken curry was a staple in England? I guess we aren't the only melting pot. I saunter home and stumble across a fight between a man and woman. I look around and realize I'm not the only one watching and I'm not the only one too scared to step in. This place is more complicated then I thought. When I arrive home, I tell my British friend and he immediately apologiZes for this side of London. Feltham was a beautiful neighborhood that was chosen for housing projects. When the poor move in, the reality is the rich move out. When money is tight, tempers become loose.  He explained that he loved this city and would never leave. He had hopes he said. I loved the way this man didn't give up on a place due to it's complications, yet he saw the beauty in it, opened a hostel, and wanted to share it with others. I was hooked. 

The next morning, he had a traditional English breakfast ready for me along with a warm smile and that brilliant accent. I was so excited that jet lag wasn't a thing in my books. I spent the day gawking at Big Ben, the London bridge, Houses of Parliament and eating the creamy british ice cream. It was time to head to Croatia. London, I'll be back. 

Purposeless wanderings

Today is a day of rest. A random off with no reason for the holiday from school. It's tempting to take those days off and try to shift into overdrive as though we have tricked ourselves into believing that days off are actually days to clear the to do list that looms over each of us. 

This is dangerous I believe. 

This is the way to build passionless, weary, burned out people. 

I was one of those. 

Days off are where you do things for no reason at all. The day where that horse you always see out in that field and you dream of feeding it, you go. You go and buy the largest bag of carrots and drive the fourty minutes with the windows down and you feed that horse. You giggle a lot and you realize later your face hurts from smiling constantly. 

You lie on that bookstore floor and surround yourself in piles of books. You dive into the words of those before you that dared to rest and soak up their world and therefore had the peacefulness to record it so eloquently for generations to indulge in. 

The day you go to the park and find your perfect spot where you can lie on your back and watch the planes land and at a certain point you laugh our loud when it seems as though they are so close, they might land on your belly. The engines roar and rattle every bone in your body. It's good. 

This is the day you decide cliff jumping is the best option. You jump and jump and it never gets old. The waters chill makes you feel so alive. 

This is the day you wander. You love. You leave your agenda at home. These are the days where your soul is being fed. The day that recharges, rebuilds, casts new visions. 

Grab one of these  

Carve these out and cling to them. 

Bring a friend or find the friend in yourself. It's good.  

No matter what just purposeless wandering. Go find it. 

Tattered page

I had a friend once tell me that after a gut wrenching heart break she sat down the next morning in the middle of her classroom after a night of tears and that deep pain that only arrives when the deepest of heart strings have been torn and when you feel it, you know it's in town for a while. She pulled out her green crayola marker and tore a piece of highlighter yellow butcher paper from the rack. She had enough. Enough being the one to keep everything in line. She was tired. She was ready. 

She took that marker and wrote all the things that she no longer wanted to do...Who she married. What her future held. What was important to her. She wrote out what she earnestly prayed for and left aside those things that didn't matter. She couldn't do it anymore. She was empty. 

As the clock approached the arrival of 22 smiling faces waiting for her love, instruction, and energy she put her marker away and folded her yellow paper with torn corners into her cabinet. She wiped her eyes, took a deep breath and got ready to face the day. She had to be here with them. They needed her. Her heart could wait. 

Fast forward 4 years. She shares her story as I see this yellow crinkled, faded paper framed in her 1912 comforting home. To me, I was confused what a shabby piece of paper was framed for as though it were a family photo. When I asked her she gently smiles and her eyes twinkle some. She looks away as though she forgot herself. She finally shares that four years later, she looks at this daily and sees every prayer answered. From the details of her husband to the healing of things in her life. She holds this here to remind her daily of the time she let it all go and got everything she wanted back. We serve a God who relentlessly pursues our heart. We fight it hard. We think we can. Then we hit the classroom floor, rock bottom where all we have is a tattered paper and a green marker. We have no where to turn but to our father. He doesn't say I told you so. He doesn't give you that look, he just welcomes you in. He wants it all. He doesn't relent until it's all. When he has it all,  He gives us more than we could imagined. 

Don't forget to frame those crinkled moments where we were at rock bottom and he pulled us up. Don't throw away that butcher paper and forget. The next time you're waiting for a breakthrough, look to those to remind you that we have a God who always comes through...that's my God. 

Whimsy

I'm a day dreamer. 

My brain wanders to far off places that are reality of the past or visions of what could come in the future. 

They can be scary. They can make me smile. They can make me laugh at my teenage self and realize how much time has gone by. They can be full of dreams of the future. Ideas for what's next. They can be of clouds or simple nothings. They can be haunting, they can show me how far I've come. They can make me smile and laugh at what is now or what my little student said to me once. 

I'm craving a day where nothing's planned. I wake up and head out. I walk down trails with no intention. I drive until my heart just tells me stop. I do things for no reason at all. I crave a day where my day dreams can over take me and send me into whatever world I'd like it to be that day. 

I crave a day of whimsy.

Cravings

Rain. 

I find myself craving it more and more. I catch myself scrolling through Portland weather and dreaming of their downpours. I think it's unhealthy. 

The gentle rain that mists, tickles your nose, causes you to giggle and look to the clouds, to stop and notice, and maybe even form those frizzy curls at the tips of your hair. The silence during this rain is powerful. It's the silence that hits you down deep in those places we don't know of until we've felt it. It's the silence that reminds you how small you are. The wind seems out of place in it. The stillness. It's the silence that is loud. Have you heard it? Get lost in it. Get lost in those moments. It's magical. 

The shower rain. The more then kissing sprinkles on your cheeks,  but a gentle organized rain. Almost like an orchestra. It falls neatly, it claps loudly, puddles form, it crescendos and decrescendos then without warning it ceases, as though a conductor were actually there directing it's cues, parts, and lines. Dripping is heard for hours from gutters even after the down pour ends. It's aftermath is felt. This is the one I often do not noticed. This is the day to day. The monotony. The daily grind we so call it and get sick of. Do you forget sometimes to see the beauty in it too? Don't lose it. This rain is still good. 

The pour. There's nothing like the pour. You sometimes see the clouds forming. You smell the air changing. But most of the time it comes without warning. It comes when you least expect it.  It's big, in your face stormy rain. You squint your eyes, you're dripping head to toe, sloshed. All you can dream of is that romantic kiss you've seen in movies where everything is perfect as they passionately embrace each other and they no longer even notice the rain.  That warm cup of coffee. That fireplace. A good book. When you run in this rain, you feel Unstoppable. You squint away the rain, but it's as though your body has absorbed the energy of this. You can't get enough. You push forward. Nothing hurts. Nothing is tired. You don't notice anything but your heart racing and your breathing in sync with your steps. But then you stop. When you stop, it's shivers and weight and sticky clothes. It whips you in the face, your hair looks like a fresh shower, and your clothes have never felt heavier. You're chilled deep to the bone and only hot showers can cure this kind of thing. You've had quite the journey and it was good for the soul. It's euphoric. But it's over and it's end is felt even deeper. 

I think to me the rains have it down. They show us how to remember.... From The simple gentle memories. The little things. The kissing sprinkles. To the down pours of love, laughter, joy, happiness, success. Where life just couldn't get any better. The moments we depend on when the orchestra rains flood in and seem to make us feel unimportant or full of doubt. The filler.  Don't ever forget the little rains or downpours even in those days.  Soak them up. smile at them. Create them. Cling to them. 

"What good is the warmth of summer with the cold of winter to give it sweetness" 

   -Mr. Steinbeck

Seeds and seasons

My pen became silent. It stopped writing, flowing, and describing what I saw and the stories my head created. I look at the posts from a year ago on this Blog. A year of change, reflection, laughter, love, tears, heartache in those deep places you don't know about until you've woken up in the morning and felt the pain come rushing forward as though it had been waiting for you to wake back up. 

But, Then the year transformed. 2013 was the year I learned Genieva. I learned I was stronger than I thought. I learned that I could find myself in the craziest things, like lying alone on the floor in bookstores getting lost in the words of Steinbeck, Hemmingway, Wilde, and Dahl.  I learned it can be a treat to spend time alone. Real alone, where all you can hear are your still thoughts and the wind through the trees or the man playing his banjo. That real is good. Real, vulnerable, free flowing is good. Never hide it. I learned about seasons and stories. Seasons come and we think those dry ones are the unfair ones where we plead why? Why another season? You then realize that just like the soil on this big earth, we don't see during the winter what it's doing. We don't the way the soil is resting and the seeds are rebuilding. They are preparing for something big. Something beautiful. That's our seasons. 

I learned to jump into those seasons ready to ask what? What is next? Then it shows. You see it like a connect the dot puzzle where the picture slowly forms before you and even when you think you know what it is, that last dot transforms it once more. I saw the jobs unfold, the people come in to my life, the memories, the laughter, the learning of myself, and so much more. 

2013 was one of my wildest years. It was one of my lowest yet my highest. It was revealing. It was bold. It was a monumental one. I wish I documented more. I wish my pen didn't become still. 2014 is a new seed of a year...My pen won't be still. 

Day 6: Benches

Gethsemane: I have this friend. She's wild. She speaks her mind. She loves passionately. She tells you how she feels. She forgets about filters. She has these fears that I giggle at. I know I'm an awful friend. But with these traits, comes a friend who loves you is honest, who drops anything for you. She listens to you. She laughs with you. I used to think we would never mesh, but I have never been able to say I have this friendship that keep my faith pushing forward and that craves adventure more than anything. You should find yourself a friend like that. Anyways, this morning she sent me a tweet she saw. It said ,"everyone has their gethsemane crisis where you are given the choice to say not my will but yours be done. It sets your eternity". Do you ever have changes or new things in your life, and you want nothing more than to grasp on to it. Hold it tightly. You're saying God I trust you, but really inside you're expecting your plans. Career, financial, relational, ministry. You name it. Or you start to let his plans come in but at any moment of uneasiness, you go back to those clenched palms. Those fighting hands that say no. Reading that tweet really puts it in perspective. What if Jesus had done that? What If he had clenched those fists and said okay I guess god. Would he have let Peter continue to defend him and change the plans? Would he have run when Peter attacked? Would he have had the strength to carry his cross the whole way? Would he have begged the people for a chance?

It would have all been different. Less poetic, romantic, mysterious, confusing, but it wouldn't have set his eternity. Our eternity.

What am I missing out on when I forget to stretch those arms out, lift up my palms and choose to say not my will but yours be done?

Symbol: In Philadelphia, the liberty bell is there. I figured it would be a neat bell with a story. You turn the corner and you see this thing and it's small and less majestic than I pictured. I back tracked and decided to read the museum. This want just a bell. This was a symbol of their freedom. This bell rang during the constitutional convention, it was carried away when the British attacked to protect it, women threw their babies on it to grab any piece of what this bell stood for. They dreamed of a free future for them. This little bell soon became a symbol around the world for free liberated people.

Taylor: Miss Swift is in town. It's my mission to find her. #girlcrush

Pensive: I remember the weirdest things. I feel like my head is this storehouse for facts that are strange. We got in to Philadelphia and I kept thinking there was a famous publishing place here I wanted to see but I couldn't remember which I saw the Curtis Publishing Company. I knew there was something exciting about this. This was it. The publisher of the Saturday evening post, the beginning Of comic books, the change in the focus of publications. The beginning of women publications. If you know me, I have an obsession with books. I have a list of 243 books that I want to read. Classics, philosophical, children's, and so much more. The entire works of Steinbeck. Lewis. This place helped out so many of those ideas out there within reach of our fingertips. Those thoughts that you can get lost in and forget your world for that chapter and be a part of theirs and you subconsciously allow your world to interpret theirs. Their building was just a magical as what they've done.

Trapped: you drive down New York. Honking. Rushing. Calling cabs. Lights. Hotdog smells. Foreigners. Languages accents. Wrapped in this place. After I got a little used to this, I realized you can no longer see the sky. These people could go months without seeing a sunset. You feel sort of trapped by a cage of buildings and people. When I finally got to Central Park, the sounds stopped. The cars vanished. There were runners, dogs, kids playing, and finally that sky was bak. I love the east coast, but I wasn't made to live here. Tourist only. I need my sunsets, coffee shops. All I wanted to find was a bench to sit and soak it up. Where you soo take it in, rejuvenate and head back in to the day. I live off of benches.

They weren't lying: when they told you this was the city that never sleeps, they weren't lying. My pictures below show what this city looks like at midnight. It feels like the sun is out from the lights. The rush of people doesn't ebb and flow. It literally just keeps going. Santee shuts down at 10. This girl ain't used to this.

G. Bliss

Ps. One of my favorite stories, Once, is on broadway :)

Day 5: shoulders

One man: we get through Capitol security and weave down rows and rows of government offices. I turn a corner and see one man sitting in the window sill overlooking the city. His notebook is closed. His phone is put away. He just gazes out the window. You could feel his desire for final moments of peace, a clear head, and a weight lifted from him. For when he entered those buildings he was one of the men chosen to decide which is best for our country. Where we should go, what is right? An ordinary man, father, friend. Like you and I had this decision o him. I said a quick prayer for clarity, direction, and for that last restful moment to fill him up. For today was going to be a big day

Underdogs: For those who haven't been on Facebook or watched tv this week, marriage rights are being discussed again. Coming in to the Capitol, you pass groups of people from all over. Holding signs of phrases that passionately protect what they believe in. I couldn't help but think how I'm always a fan of the underdog. The one who rises above and defies all the odds. I think that's why I am a such sports fan. Mark Schwan once wrote "there is something so unifying in sport in its simplest form. athletes rise above themselves and touch greatness and, in doing so, remind us all that we also have greatness inside of us". We see those figures come out and do things that didn't even seem possible. We see that and for a second we forget our fears and feel like nothin can stop us.

Those protestors, both sides, captivated me just by their desire to rise up. As a Christian, I sometimes feel pressured to instantly be against "them" In the marriage issue. I always knew you were told we are against this. Being here reminded me when my view in this exploded and collided with everything I believed in. It was my last year at PLNU and one of my closest friends came out. I couldn't wrap my mind around it. He was someone whose faith was always an example to me. It was strong, passionate, real, and something I wished I could have that depth in. I always looked up to it I couldn't figure out how someone so in love with Jesus could decide to be this.

Over the next few weeks, I listened to his story. I heard of how it wasn't something he chose but something he felt and was real and his initial response was to be honest and work in it. My ideas on this topic were jumbled and I couldn't tell you what I believed. This scared me. I felt like an awful Christian and someone who wavered in their faith. I prayed for answers

Soon, his church quickly hurt my friend. I watched his outlook change and his heart become hurt. I watched as we all became confused. How do you love your friend yet be against what your always been told to?

That's when so much more became clear. No longer was I being a "good Christian," but I was being Jesus. My heart changed to loving him, being an ear, encouraging, and throwing down my judgements and quest to look like I had it all together. All I knew was to love him. I couldn't solve it, show him, I couldn't interpret verses with him or others, I couldn't understand their struggles. All I could understand was that commandment to love. Since then, I feel like when I don't understand why things go a way in my life, why my new student slept in a bed for the first time in 9 years, why things happen in the world I don't understand that all I can do is resort back to this. It makes sense now why he said this is the second greatest commandment. When it doesn't make sense. Simply just resort to this. Today these protests were underdogs fighting and all I could do was love with a gentle smile as I walked by.

Closed eyes: throughout these streets, there was a sense of hustle and bustle. I was learning to shut it out and slow it down in my head. Find the slow moments. This street performer was one thing that caught my eye. His saxophone could e heard around the corner and down the street. His tune became the soundtrack of politicians heading to lunch, tourists snapping photos, kids running through the fairmount park. When he came in to view I loved the way he closed his eyes. I found my slow moment here. He was expressive, passionate, and he couldn't keep from bending at the waist leaning forward like he couldn't wait for that next piece in the composition. He had no clue who was watching, who was tipping, or what everyone else was doing. He was in his world and found a slow moment there. My friend told me he did this in Mexico in order to live. He told me he couldn't open his eyes he didn't want to know. He just wanted to play and feel and trust that rent and dinner would be provided. Thanks to the jolly man on constitution drive who let me share in his slow moment in this fast place.

G. Bliss

Day 4: slow day

Today was about no alarms. Less agendas.

Churches: I see them all over. I've seen them in other countries. They comes in different shapes and sizes. Someone's living room. A circle outside. A small room. An old grocery store. A small chapel. And even today. Themajestic castle like one. They captivate me. I visited this church today. A gothic style three story beauty. There were woman all over who would give anything to tell you all the facts they knew of this place. The murals, the chapels, the history. The stained glass that tells stories. This place was stunning.

Cupcakes: you've heard the show DC cupcakes. Who could come here and not try it? The sisters weren't in, but they know what they are doing down there. The irish Creme cupcake is top notch. I highly recommend it.

Battery: I think I work like a car battery. If I sit stagnant I become exhausted. I need a jump. Not physically only, but mentally, emotionally, spiritually. It's the end of the day and my heads got a lot going through it. Adventure does that to you. So I laced up my nikes and pounded away through these foreign city streets. It's the end of the day and most are inside at dinner. I'm not sure if you run. There's this moment now and then when everything feels good. Not just good, but perfect. Like this machine and you go with it and you run paces you haven't run in a while. You remember this is why you love this. Tonight was that night. I turned my last corner. That moon shines so bright and so big it was like a movie set. I smiled and stopped to try to capture it. Most people are bummed when the picture just won't capture it. I like when that happens though. When you know it was just a moment for you and whoever you were with. You can't share it quite the same. You can't describe the way the moon looked with those dim city lights. When i was in Costa rica you cant describe just how green that rainforest is. That little little moment is forced to be just yours and boy does My God feels so much like a romancer when this happens. The car battery. The more I use and work myself in these things that make me feel alive, the even more I feel alive. Tonight, I feel alive.

G. Bliss

Day 2: The men not afraid.

Day 2:

Rows and patterns: I headed to Arlington cemetery. I've always had a weird fascination with cemeteries. I think it comes from my family. On every trip we had always made it a priority to see the local cemeteries. For me it's the stories, the families. What did they mean? What were their dreams? Today's cemetery had symmetric rows that please your eye. But this was different. Each of these men was someone who had significantly stood up for liberty. Peace. Freedom. Something they believed in. Their stories were bold and passionate and these men laid with men like Kennedy, Robert e. lee, and many more.

Generational: the tour bus rattled on facts that these men did. I was captured by an old woman in her walker. Her gray hair swayed in the wind blowing her frail timed body. Along side her was a woman helping her up the cemetery hill to a tombstone. My head instantly created the story that it was her daughter. Taking her to see her loved one. The man who smiled at her, adored her, touched her in that small part of her lower back that makes any girl squirm. She was there to pay her tributes. Her daughter spent the day hearing of how they fell in love. How time flew by. How time was slow when he was out at war. Their wedding day. The day she way born. That day when she got the call that their memories together were over. I want to hear her story. I want those memories. I want that story.

Unknown: the tomb of the unknown soldier. It's a place where the guards seem to look like Floating soldiers. The walk back and forth beside the tomb, it seems to hover above the ground. I have to admit, I tried it. The ground they walk on has impressions from the decades of feet pacing and guarding these unknown men. These men were honored for defending what they believed in and never returning home.

Washingtons: their home is classy, warm, inviting, and looks as though the Washington's left for the weekend and left their home to thousands of house sitters who are strolling through. The leaves, the cows, the piglets. The piano. Their love story was beautiful and raw and his heart was selfless. Another story my heart is wrapped in.

Boots and bridge: I've always loved bridges. The way you feel so big on them as you tower over something majestic. For what is the point of the bridge? To get over something that you couldn't have otherwise done on your two feet, whether it's a river, building, ocean etc. you stand on top and you look below and it makes me feel like I'm a part of that crazy majestic thing for just a second. When you feel like you're finally getting through something and walking on that bridge. Dot forget to look down over that something majestic down below. It's good.

Iwo Jima: this impresses you. You've seen pictures of those men holding up that flag. It's immense and there are no words to describe.

Short: we ended up back at Murphy's with friends. I was wrapped up in march madness and keeping up with my bracket (not looking good). Snow flurries were beginning and one young man grabbed my arm. He said are you really sitting on les miserables? I think it's cute that you sit on a book to eat...after three comments, I am beginning to think east coast men have never seen a girl Of my stature.

This place has history, charm, speed, silence, class, culture, and is crisp. I see it in the people, weather, food, architecture , and those sailboats that line the bay.

G. Bliss

It's been awhile...day 1: east coast adventures

It's been a while. I remember being in college and being a regular blogger. Busyness got the best of me.

I promised my 5th and 6th students to post each day about my adventures this break so ill give the raw uncut version here and edit for them. And that what brings me back here.

Day 1: Heading 2000 miles east.

I'm a snapshot person. A person that throughout life understands through story. A piece of someone else's story becomes my story and the way I experience. My adventures will most likely come out through stories.

Organized chaos: For some reason, my favorite part of traveling is the airport. When you look around, it's chaos. People going 1000 different places, checking hundreds of pieces of luggage, securing that each person isn't dangerous, and somehow all these people end up at the right spots on time with their safe safely in store below them...most of the time. It's an organized chaotic system that works and flows and somehow my favorite part of traveling is going through it. I am in see over this system.

Junior high: I get on my flight and discover I forgot what spring break means. Junior highers flooding the areas that have founded our country, the infamous DC trip. I board and all around me are these students, and even some from my own school:). They are anxious, excited, and filled with that puppy like energy. Mumford and Sons here I come.

Sun doesn't mean heat: we land and the sun is shining. I checked the weather before and expected east coast winters. My San Diego girl thought, it's warm! Reality. Sunshine doesn't mean warmth in this neck of the woods.

Walking dead: Brooklyn is my first stop. I expect hustle and bustle, but as I adjust to being a tourist, I quickly learn to stop expecting. It's deserted. I felt as though every turn I crossed I would see walkers coming along and Rick would come out with his clan and I'd join. It was an apocalypse type scene. I strolled through antique row, jazz museums, old churches, and an old fine arts district. I saw a few people with dazed faces that seemed to be walking with no direction. Whats their story?
A quick google search taught me that since the Martin Luther King jr assassination, riots occurred causing $10 million in damage. Since then the town has remained deserted and a place that marks this time and reminds them of the changes that have come and the changes that still need to be made. It was as though this place was to this people like that song you can't listen to again when your heart is broken. The song is beautiful but too painful now as flashbacks and echoes of that time come flooding in anytime you hear it. This place was that to them and so far, I think it captured my heart the most. I get them. I sat in it and stared at the buildings. The music. They had a piece of me.

Irish roots: the night life was beautiful. Lit brick paved streets. And Irish roots were clearly here. A man named Calvert was the original colonizer of this town and he come from none other then Ireland. The pubs, the flags, and the sweet little old men musicians. I found a man on the street corner. He let me play music with him. We laughed and he spoke of nonsense, but life was whimsical for him. We even ended up in Murphy's pub. Enjoying Irish stew and other Irish brews. Adventure was beginning

The night ended with a bed overlooking the pentagon. The place where it all goes down. Can't wait to explore.

G. Bliss

New and Old

Just a little look at how far we have come... hahah love this

Happy Friday

Love...

"It is not a lack of love, but a lack of friendship that makes unhappy marriages." -- Friedrich Nietzsche

Story

College is coming to an end. It's crazy and scary, yet exciting.

So for now, I am holding on to this place and making more of these memories.

Tonight, we went on a GUYRAD. (Loma language for Get Your Roomate A Date). Naturally, Peter took me. Smores, bonfire, talking, playing in the water.

It is inevitable. Most of these people I will never see again after I walk through that Greek. For now, I am holding on to them and soaking up every bit of their story.

Little Miss

Look who I got to play with today

Miss Bailey Beeman

Day 1: Cab, bus, walk, hitch hike...

Headed out of the hostel early this morning to jump on a cab, run to a bus, ride the bus for four hours. This may sound like but I enjoyed the chance to sit back and ride the city bus with the Ticos. Some headed to work, some were going to see family.

We got to the QERC station (below) where we are staying. I see kids that live along the side bank and I am sure by the end, I will be playing with them. For now, I am off to explore. For the next few days, there will be hikes, waterfalls, catching animals, night hikes, delicious food, people, Spanish, and so many adventures with Peter.