A Few Things…

September 24th, 2010 § 49

(1) I regret to inform you, dear friends, that the flu shot is nothing but a lie and a fairytale. I already received my flu vaccination this season, and I’m already sick and feeling miserable! AND this happened last year on Semester at Sea. Hence, I wish to state officially that I no longer believe in the flu shot, and plan to decline the vaccination in the future.

(2) I ate it in the sandbox today at work. As in completely tripped and fell on my face. I would.

(3) Also at work, a darling little girl was playing at the water+sand table, digging her hands in the gritty wet sand. She told me she was making ice cream. I asked her what flavor. She said purple. Purple flavor: hitting stores near you.

Whirlwind

September 23rd, 2010 § 42

Things are all out of sorts.

And by that I mean, I’m all out of sorts.

My heart’s disordered, my schedule’s out of breath, and my mind is on it’s miserable little rat wheel again. But then, this is what happens when your name is Anna Clauson and a new quarter begins.

Yesterday, I started working part time (HOORAY for chasing after diapered children ten hours a week), I’m currently enrolled in 18 units, and I’m auditioning for 4 more tomorrow night. So there’s that. And then there’s the slew of other worries, ridiculous and otherwise, that wreak havoc on my ability to abide peace—things like antibiotic resistance and knowing it’s been too long since I last washed my sheets and fearing rejection if anyone were to find out how long my leg hair is.

I’m worried about my own needs, my own selfishness, my own passive-aggressive tendencies. And I’m worried that the raw chicken juice my housemate spilled in the fridge will give us all salmonella.

It seems life’s gotten away from me.

I do, however, know of a very specific anecdote for my own anxiety. When I find my heart tensing and my teeth clenched, I know it’s time to say thank you. I know it’s time for a healthy dose of gratitude. I know that it’s time to stop and recognize grace and healing, second chances and second tries, lovely new textbooks and bouquets of sharpened pencils.

So here’s to acknowledging abundance over anxiety, trusting that peak or valley, this quarter will teach me a great many things.

Summer Lovin’

September 16th, 2010 § 41

This summer has wooed me.

There’s no other way about it.

Maybe I’ve always had a soft spot for long days with late sunsets, or maybe it’s because the previous season was filled with unusually large doses of ache and apathy. In any case, the depth and texture and rhythm of this summer has me absolutely smitten.

Which is why I’m devastated to see it go.

But that’s the way with seasons—they tumble away from us before we’re ready to say adieu.

The beauty is that even whilst summer takes a final bow, she leaves behind a sweet little bundle of memories, crystalized and satisfying for the soul as the leaves begin to fall.

This was the summer for rootlessness.

The summer for slow mornings and long car rides.

The summer for balcony-sitting and musical-watching.

The summer for ten-gallon fish tanks and twirling sparklers in the street on the fourth of July.

It was the summer for dirt cups and plum tart and blackberry lemonade.

This was the summer for weddings toasts.

The summer for sculpture and Shakespeare and paper-presenting.

The summer for falafel and banana milkshakes, for puzzles and picnics and tractor-riding.

The summer for holding hands at farmers market.

This was the summer for county fairs and ice cream sandwiches enjoyed in the shade.

This summer was the summer for pillow-talk. Lots and lots of glorious pillow-talk.

A gift. Deeply prized and most profound. That’s what this summer was.

A Poem

September 15th, 2010 § 34

The Heart has narrow Banks

It measures like the Sea

In mighty — unremitting Bass

And Blue Monotony

Till Hurricane bisect

And as itself discerns

Its insufficient Area

The Heart convulsive learns

That Calm is but a Wall

Of unattempted Gauze

An instant’s Push demolishes

A Questioning — dissolves.

By Emily Dickinson

A Trip to See the Doc

September 14th, 2010 § 52

There’s nothing quite so fantastic as visiting the pediatrician’s office when you’re twenty-one years old.

You get to share the waiting room with diapered children, and recite your colors off a chart complete with boldly-shaded balloon stickers.

My favorite of all is the water-color painting of a green-eyed tabby cat that stares at you while you sit in your crunchy paper robe waiting  for the doctor to arrive in your exam room.

I was given strict orders to be sure and wear my helmet when I bike, skateboard, or rollerblade, to wear my seat-belt at all times, and to change my tampon every four to six hours.

Awesome.

Also, you’d be proud to know I received three shots without letting out a wimper.

I’m a big girl now.

September 12th, 2010 § 0

Tea and toast for breakfast this quiet morning.

You know when you go away for a much needed rest only to return and realize the rest of the world kept going without you?

Suddenly you feel very small and tender and a little bit betrayed. You thought the universe was going to pause with you instead of leaving you behind.

Some would call this thinking foolish. Irrational. Unrealistic.

I call it Hormones.

Perhaps one in the same.

Back from the beach

September 12th, 2010 § 60

…with hair that still smells of smoke.

And I even took a long, hot shower that didn’t require coinage.

I take this to mean we did some serious camp-firing while gone.

Carp done right, I’d say.

Carp

September 6th, 2010 § 56

Tomorrow begins the annual family camping trip to Carpinteria State Beach. We affectionately refer to our campsite at Carp as the Clauson family beach house.

Growing up, this trip was the staple of my summers, and returning brings forth a torrent of my most vivid childhood memories. Early morning walks on the beach with my father. Afternoons spent boogie boarding and building drip castles by the water’s edge until the lump of sand at the bottom of your swimsuit grew so large it beckoned you to the shower line.

Sunburns and red vines, sandy sleeping bags and skits around the campfire—Carpinteria holds these memories as only sacred ground could.

So excuse me, dear friend, while I unplug for the week and return to the mecca of rest, relaxation, and magnificent memories.

Five Good Things

September 3rd, 2010 § 51

One: No-cavity trips to the dentist. (Flossing really is all it’s cracked up to be.)

Two: Successfully executed meatball sandwiches (I’m not sure I ever ate, let alone prepared, a meatball sandwich until yesterday. But I used up the ground turkey in the fridge before it went bad. This is something to celebrate, no?)

Three: The Weepies new album. (Be My Honeypie? I say sure.)

Four: Sleeping in your underwear. (Is there any better way? My point exactly.)

Five: Haircuts. (My hair has what I like to call a strong personality. Those who empathize with this sentiment understand that haircuts are mini baptismal-like rituals for your locks.)

September 1st, 2010 § 42

Today I went to the zoo with two of my favorite human beings currently walking the planet.

The tiger roared quite ferociously.

I’m pretty sure he was making a date with the giraffe four exhibits over.

They’re going to share a milkshake later.

Where am I?

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