Would you like the grand tour?

Yes, that's Nutella on our breakfast table. Eric and I realized this morning that breakfast has no dessert. We decided to change things. (I didn't bother doing the dishes for you. We're good friends, right?)

I know Nate Berkus says NEVER to have an office in your bedroom. But you know, whatever.  I'm thrilled to pieces that we actually have room for "an office." Maybe I'll even use it. Side note: Pittsburgh has blessed us with zero closet space. Say hello to vacuum cleaners just hanging out like it's a house plant. What to do, what to do.

My Tobi, and my (little) Dad and my Amazing Grace perfume (til the end baby.) And that's my wedding bouquet. I honestly can't decide if it's too "Great Expectations" to keep my wedding bouquet but it's so stinkin meaningful! I can't throw it out, right ?

 There are some things I care about and some things I do not. I do not care about hanging things evenly. Obviously. I do care about a supporting local artists (Eric's friend from Denver did the top white piece. mmhmm.), frozen butterflies, red handkerchiefs on women's heads, sexy flower petals and the girl family pieces.

Eric spent one of our first weekends here putting together this headboard while I was out of town. (what!?!) It's absolutely gorgeous. Reclaimed wood and the whole bit.

 The lover bookshelf.

Top: My aunt and uncle on their wedding day. Middle: my parent's engagement photo. Bottom: Eric and I on our 1st anniversary trip.

This door knob may or may not be the ENTIRE reason that we chose this apartment. 

 You might have thought we had central air or something fancy like that until this picture came along: two fans within six feet of each other. Gotta say, I'm so proud of my Denver boy for being so graceful with this heat and humidy. He's really knockin it out of the park. Only occasionally has a melt down (now that i think about it, almost literally.) where his eyes get all wide and throws his hands over his head "THIS PLACE IS SO FREAKIN HOT!" but yeah otherwise, very graceful about it.

The man himself. (His handiwork on the wall behind the couch. I'm so pumped to finally have enough wall space to hang his  g o r g e o u s  prints. In our last place they were tucked out of sight behind a book shelf. Saddest story ever told. )

#89 I went for a walk today

It's too hot in our 3rd floor apartment around 6:00 pm. I like to think that this is when all the hot air that's been collecting onto the pavement all day long reverses direction--in a slow bounce--and finds it's way into all the unsuspecting open windows on it's way back up out of the city for the night. It gets trapped with all that ceiling everywhere and makes the place something that would be toasty warm and cozy. if this were January. and there was snow boots by the front door. but there's not.  so I get out of the stuffy apartment where all the confused heat is and go where everything is moving around a little more. the street. my new streets. i took a walk three blocks north towards one of the busier streets and then doubled back through a vacant park, up alongside an old cemetery and back towards my apartment once the sun had officially tucked behind the tips of the furthest hill tops.


and snapped pictures of my favorite spots for you. isn't city texture exquisite?

#88: paul simon: my home

No matter where I go, how I feel, who I'm with--or without--the minute I hear Paul Simon's voice I am home. Some little locked door behind my heart, right next to where my soul must be, bursts open and I remember everything that is good and right and lovely. Which is why, when I'm feeling like I need to recalculate, I listen to that man all day long. And then, just when I thought I couldn't love Mr. Simon anymore he goes a writes this song just for me on this long, lazy, quiet Saturday. My Pittsburgh adventure is forever marked.

#87: pittsburgh observation #1

            The entire city is filled with middle aged women who talk very loud, drawing out their vowels to nearly oblivion. They're initially obnoxious and then endearing. And they're everywhere. Instead of the buses being filled with young single, stroller wielding mothers, clusters of chirping teens and city-dusted men in their quiet corners, the bus system is pulsing with these clucking women. It's hilarious. Women who grab my arm--forearm to forearm with her tight, small fist around my elbow--when the bus stops too suddenly and say, "Jus hold on to somethin, sweetie. Jus hold on to somethin." Women who moan and complain about the bus being a whole hour late as they board in their blindingly white, pediatric shoes and then look at me and say with a side smile,  "I'm just so upset. I'm just so emotional." They tug on suit jackets of the older gentleman who are standing to urge them switch spots because they'd really rather stand with a "Go ahead now. Take a seat. Go on." They holler up to the newest, slightly skittish bus rider who didn't bring enough for the bus fee, "Don't worry about it honey, I got it." as she pulls the dollar amount from the pocket book perched her lap and aggressively taps the gentleman in front so he'll pass it forward. It's a city full of put your jacket on, sit up straight and don't mumble mothers. That's what Pittsburgh is. The city of motherly love.

how to move to pittsburgh in 5 easy steps

 

say goodbye to your nearest and dearest. 

[insert brave face here]

  

cross your fingers and say a little prayer

that they'll be teaching like this ^ waiting for you. 

 

set your alarm for 4:30 in the morning, brush your teeth with squinty eyes

and remember to pack your phone cord, your toothbrush and a scarf.

 stop in chicago for a night with old college friends and a morning

with some pretty famous coffee to get you jazzed for the 24 toll roads

you'll hit over the next 8 hours

 keep it together during the last 45 minutes of a 24 hour car ride.

(which I've always found to be the very worst part.)
it usually helps to find the local techno radio station and stop every
five minutes or so for a snack or two.

it's just that simple. see, you could move to pittsburgh too.

#86: i can't do it on my own

Below you'll find a letter that my father wrote to his older sister, Melinda (who has just discovered that she has stage two melanoma, an aggressive form of skin cancer and while we're waiting to see whether the cancer has spread further, she's setting a date with doctors to have her big toe amputated.) I guess my mom was struck by the humble compassion in his letter too, since she sent it out in an email for us all to read.

sweet melinda,

what a horrible reality you've suddenly had to face.  we always know that fearful and terrible things happen in life, but when they show up in our very own everyday, it's a shock.  i know your world is being rocked and you are struggling to stay calm and be brave.  i am completely without courage and have always been marked by fear and insecurity. so i've always found the Lord to be the only answer for every little (or big) thing because i know i don't have it in me. 

last year I was reading a book about prayer, and something in particular from that book has really stayed with me.  the writer was calling attention to God being our father.  think of your own little child coming to you for help, and how you treat them.  all that matters to you as their parent is that they belong to you and that you are in a position to help them.  you don't care what tone of voice they use, what words come out of their mouth.  you just take them into your arms and console and care for them.  

this is how God, our heavenly father is toward us.  this is the essence of the gospel, that we are no longer cosmic orphans. we have a perfect father who can do anything.  he will never forsake us or fail us or reject us.  there really is no other permanent comfort.  go right to him and blubber uncontrollably. he loves you. he will take care of you.  he will solve all your problems.  what could possibly be better? we will also be talking to him about you, and asking him to really show up for you in a profound and reassuring way. 

we love you,

damien

I have no surgeries coming up, but sometime mid Thursday of next week, I'll be pushing past Colorado's border to start an internship in the yet-unknown city of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania sans Eric, friends, a place of my own and certainty in my near future.

In the midst of all things (tiny little new jobs and great big scary surgeries) this can be our bravery. We are no longer cosmic orphans. We are allowed the great, luxurious freedom of throwing our hysterical, sobbing pleas for comfort onto the lap of a sympathetic heavenly father.