Detroit, part II

So maybe I took this off-center on purpose?
Downtown.

Opa!!

detroit, part II

My dad dancing on the bar in a classy establishment called McNasty's Saloon.



Rock on!

Greek Town.

Memories, fun times.

First Day of School!

Well, sorta.
Since I work at a college I get to watch the blissful, nervous, and expectant faces of college students as they walk across campus on the first day of yet another school year. i remember all of the feelings, and as a person who love, love, LOVES school, I envy them. Not that I need to...

As I walked through the corridors of Santiago Community College last night, I thought of the sounds, smells, and sights of a new school year. *sigh* I love them! While I haven't always been excited outright for the start of school, it is still a treasured memory. I can remember the smell of my elementary school, the walls covered in paper leaves, children standing awkwardly in their new clothes. I think buying clothes and school supplies was my favorite thing about starting school for many years. I remember the aisles of pens and paper and the excitement of getting organized. I remember the one new outfit that would hang expectantly in my closet for that fateful day.

I can still see (still, because it wasn't so long ago) the waxed black and red checkerboard floors of St. Robert's, my favorite building at LMU. It would be full of hushed excitement, the pregnant pause before an onslaught of activity. I remember the joy of buying books for my college classes, having an excuse to purchase $90 collections of Shakespeare and Whitman, the shudder of excitement down my spine as I ran one hesitant finger down the book's corresponding spine.

Yeah, I know, I'm such a dork!!

And now I feel so fortunate for the classes I am taking, the hectic pace of life that replaced my studies has brought forth two opportunities to relive my school moments. I take a tap class with my future mother-in-law, and, if I don't chicken out in the next 24 hours, I will be taking a Renaissance Lit class at Chapman. For the master's program!!!! Oh grant me the courage to follow through...

hehe.

Detroit

Detroit, originally uploaded by koreyward06.

I spent the past weekend in my father's hometown of Detroit, MI. It was an interesting, tiring, and emotional weekend. It was also tons of fun, probably more fun than it is safe to have within three days. It rained, it was muggy, there was lightening, there was a tornado, it was hot, it was smoky, it made me miss my family that lives there even more and appreciate my home here in California as much as I should.

I have a wonderful, large, CRAZY family out there that misses me, loves me, and would do anything to protect me (really. anything.) In the midst of what was a pretty terrible week, I had a group of people waiting to see my face again, waiting to hug me again, and hear my voice again, and I realized all that I am thankful for.

I'll admit, it's hard to be there for long. They stay up late, smoke, and drink, none of which I do. There were arguments and fights, and Josh was basically tried before a biased jury of Wards. It was noisy and boisterous and real. It was emotional to be back in Lincoln Park, the suburb where my grandparents bought their house right after their wedding and after the war, the house they raised five kids in, the house my grandmother still lives in. I had a flood of memories of this place where I spent the summers of my youth. My mom would take my brother and I at least a week earlier than my dad would arrive to see his own family so that he could work as much as possible. My mom was always so well loved by his family that I never understood that marriages were the combination of two families, for mine has always just been one. It was hard to enter the airport terminal, remembering when my uncle Dave took us there once at the end of a wonderful trip. We sat in an airport restaraunt and talked and he left only when we had to go through the metal detectors and prepare to board. I could remember watching the sky outside of the terminal windows turn black and start to pour. My uncle turned right around and picked us back up, as though he knew instantly that we wouldn't be able to fly. He was all smiles as though the rainstorm was part of his plan. We spent one more night with him and repeated our goodbyes the following morning. That was the last time I ever saw him.

I teared up several times on this trip, for various reasons.
I appreciate my circumstances, and the fact that I can afford to travel there again to see this wild, unpredictable group of people who love me with hearts so large. Their love is limitless and perfect. It is rambunctious and angry at times. It is just what I need to reaffirm my existence on this globe. Thank you, God, for giving me this family. I only hope that I deserve their love. Thank you, Ward family, for teaching me countless lessons about how to live and love.

Old Proverbs, New Shoes

Some old proverbs ring true.
"Don't judge a man until you have walked a mile in his shoes" is one of my favorites. I like it because of the simplicity of the prompt, the straightforwardness of the language, the image it evokes in the mind of the recipient, and because it is such a difficult thing to do.

There are people whose "shoes" I know I could not wear. I worry that I do not have the courage to get even a few steps forward on that journey. This is something that makes all of us unique. We have different loads to bear, and we handle them with different levels of comfort and skill. i believe that God never gives us more than we can handle, and this is something that I have repeated to myself in my darkest times, and it has carried me through. I look at the characters in my life story and find some that seem miraculously well-fitted to tragedy, and they handle it with grace and honor. There are others, and I hope I do not fall into this category, that struggle with the few problems they face. We are all given our own loads to bear, and we have to trust that someone more powerful than all of us knows which weight He can assign to each pair of shoulders. Let this idea carry you through your darkest times, let it lift your face when you feel burdened and weighed down. Let it give you hope for a brighter tomorrow.

Sean and Michelle

Sean and Michelle 056, originally uploaded by koreyward06.

There's no crying in baseball!!

That was a League of Their Own reference for Krysta, but I thought it was appropriate for someone who is (in)appropriately crying right now. It's me, in case you didn't notice that already. In my frustration and sadness, through my inability to communicate the words I fear so greatly, I sit alone in my office crying into a tissue and hoping no one walks by. Am I more of a coward because I cannot talk about this? I always cry, and I hate it. It is my response to anything, happy or sad, and I get so upset with myself for succumbing to tears that I then cry even harder. I feel right now like breaking down and getting it over wtih would be more prudent, more healing, but I cannot.

All I can say is this: I hate you, cancer.

My Morning Pages (or lack thereof)

I am working on The Artist's Way right now, and as part of the healing process, I am supposed to be writing three pages longhand every morning. Well these are my thoughts this morning as I begin week three and sit here reluctantly. I do not like morning pages, I do not like mornings, I do not like longhand. It takes forever, my thoughts move so much faster than my hands, my handwriting is awful, my thoughts are jumbled and insignificant at best. I enjoy writing on the computer, I am used to it, I love it. Please don't forget that I am a child of the computer generation. I wrote my first story on a black and green screen computer. It was about a lion. I found the sensation that came from the empty black page and pulsing green cursor as exhilarating as I had once found an empty white sheet of paper. The computer is my ally. I measure my success by the abundance of clicks coming from beneath my fingers. That's all for now...if I have any more thoughts I will force myself to write them...


in the morning pages.

I am a coward

I have to admit to my own cowardice today.

I have become increasingly aware of my desire to enrich the lives of those around me, the lives I have the power to impact. As small as my desire is in scope, it has proved no less difficult than world domination or any other lofty goal. I have tried, I have succeeded, I have failed, but I have not been broken.

To quote myself, "I want to become a shelter from the storm of humanity to the people I love. I want to become a warm blanket to shroud them from the frigidity of hatred. I want to become the sharp blade of a sword, threatening and still, to protect them from anger. I want to be a resource in the confusion of living. I want to be a source of joy in the otherwise sullen lives of my loved ones. I want to be a candle in the darkness of the soul, and to illuminate all those around me. I hope to be all of these things and more. I am willing to sacrifice, to shelter, to protect and calm, to enlighten and enrich, and to exalt each precious soul that has turned to me and will continue to turn to me in the search for love."

I guess this was a very optimistic day for me. A diamond in the rough.

Now, as I am faced with the very times in which I must draw upon that strength I find myself cowering in some imaginary corner of my universe. I am faced with with a situation that I have feared and expected for so long and I feel all strength leaving me.

Lift me up, help me be the person I want to be, fill me with promise and hope so that I can truly be the beacon of Your light that I want to be. I need You now, to help me stand up straighter and face what I have known is coming for so long with dignity, respect, and grace. Dry the tears that fall at the merest suggestion of upcoming loss, quench the thirst for love that I fear will dry and crack from disuse, lift my soul from the depths of despair and fill it with your Grace so that I may help those I love in their times of need. How can I let them down now? I see the path You have for me more clearly each day and yet I find myself less capable of walking it. What has changed? Do I have more fear now? Am I hesitant? Was I once so strong because of my ignorance, my false confidence in my own bravery?