Well, I've returned to snowy  Maple Valley after a 3 week hiatus wherein I gallivanted all along the West Coast.  After spending two glorious weeks with my niece Clara (and her parents, they're pretty great too, I guess), the saint flew down to join me in driving our new car back to Seattle from San Diego.   We expected horrible snow showers and icy conditions, but the weather couldn't have been better.  A peaceful trip indeed.

Thankfully we have friends and family all along the way so we didn't have to make the 23-hour drive in one straight shot.  We had such enjoyable times visiting people; I'm counting right now and we visited 7 homes and 30 people (12 of them kids) 6 dogs, and 4 cats.

So you can imagine that this introverted lady is soaking up the quiet familiarity of her home like the solitude-sponge she is.

After the 10-hour stint from Redding to Seattle yesterday, I arrived home sleepy and thankful.  I rested in the hottest of scalding baths, lighted a candle, and ate a tortilla with butter (I often eat while in the tub, it's so luxurious!).  I noticed that I was indeed spent in word count and thought-process, full well knowing that when required to extrovert myself, the fatigue manifests itself both in cerebral function and physical fatigue.  It feels like I've just ran a 10-mile race.

Now I've returned and am eager to catch up with those here in my home; also knowing that I will need some time to recapture my social stamina and here's the great part about all of this that hit me while I was in the bath...

I was hit with my limits and let down into rest, knowing that I could not call or see a single soul for a few days and two good feelings took over where before those feelings would have been self-deprecating and full of toxic bile.  I used to berate myself for my own limits, but in the last few years of care and growth, I noticed that I liked myself not only in spite of these frustrating limitations, but even because of them.  No one can be Candace like I can.  The other wonderful feeling is receiving words from friends that remind me to take my time settling in, to call only when I am ready, to reemerge on my own time.  So, I shall. 

And the magic keeps coming in the form of flurrying snow falling upon my country home.  What perfect timing.

Perhaps tonight I shall decorate the house with my Christmas baubles...

~crm

You may have noticed a theme around these parts lately. I've been somewhat obsessed with the idea of becoming a "real woman." In the last year, I sewed my own my own dress, learned to make jam and pies, and shot guns. Though I've joked about these things being the crux of my coming of age, I realize that I've treated something rather intentional and meaningful in a cavalier manner.

Lemme s'plain.

One of the ways I've learned to be kinder to myself in the last few years is in self-definition.

In a home where there is X amount of love and Y amount of kids fighting for X amount, a child will do anything to stand out, to form her own identity. A child becomes the "smart" or the "athletic" one; she'll be named the "outgoing" one or the "stubborn" one. These labels are not put there maliciously, but they do indeed stick. We are taught from an early age to focus on one goal, to decide who we will be well before our soul's reveal their essence, be this one person so that we are easy to figure out, easy to handle, easy to love.

I looked at my soul carefully, turning over the rocks, inspecting the bugs. Turns out I had a concrete box poured around the garden of my identity. This box was suffocating my roots and killing off the new growth. For example, I used to hate pink just to hate pink, I used to be so serious because immature behavior was irritating. I never wanted to fit into any status-quo of womanhood so I decided that I don't wear short skirts, I don't draw hearts, and I'd never be caught dead doing something as boring as staring at a flower or using my imagination. Granted, I also didn't do some of these things because they simply did not interest me at the time, but I realize that if I had continued on a path that did not allow for my interests to change, my soul would be stuck. Hell, I was so cut off from my natural desires that I wouldn't even know which new things I would want to try. My opinion about them would have been formed well before I had experienced it.

And that's my point. Why do we form opinions about things we know very little about? Perhaps it's fear that breeds the desire to squelch that which we do not understand with petty definitions and wounded resentment for an identity we couldn't have because someone else already claimed that label.


I hated pink, so as an experiment, I wore pink fingernail polish for months. It made me laugh all month because of the frivolous joy of being a little girl. Turns out that I actually don't like pink after all, but at least I know that it's because of my natural taste, not bull-shit labeling.

I thought I found sewing and baking boring. So, I decided to delve into it...break some needles, get my prissy hands dirty with dough! Turns out that I love to create, but was SO PARALYZED that I would look stupid in the attempt or that the product would dash my hopes and leave me with a big pill of disappointment to swallow, that I had convinced myself that I was in no way an artist. But I am an artist. I never thought that a pie would show me that more clearly than my writing or my photographs.

I was scared to shoot a gun at first...which is totally typically girly I guess. But because I was in touch with how I felt on the subject ("Hello, anxiety and nerves. Hmmm, you must be scared to shoot off your big toe. This makes perfect sense! Let's be scared"), I was able to stop using every little thing to define myself. Here's the way it sounded in my head,

"Am I the kind of girl that enjoys shooting guns because I want to appear bad-ass to the men in my life? If that is the case, why should it be about how they perceive me rather than what I actually enjoy doing? And what the hell do I actually enjoy doing, after all? Will the other females think I am doing this to just get attention? Am I doing this to get attention? Is that bad? Why is that bad?"

OR

OR DING DING DING

"I'd like to explore shooting more. I think I started liking because it's a natural curiosity born from being a cop's daughter. Also, I am a voracious learner and enjoy the intimacy of sharing else's hobbies. I'll spend time with this person who can educate me on how to shoot AND enjoy myself in the process. I will be concerned only with what I think of myself and not drown that voice out with the PERCEIVED opinions that others have about me. Also, I like guns because I DO feel empowered, bad-ass, and sexy."

Yes. I vote for the third option.

But let me tell you, all of this filtering takes an awful lot of work. Many find it an exhausting trait in me; many find it an inspiration. This is not important, and truthfully, I wish I didn't know either way, for everyone is easily-influenced to some degree...and I don't want to be doing it for anyone else but me.

And there you have it. CRM version 9.15.09. This is by no means an exhaustive definition of Candace. Perhaps tomorrow she'll will learn to love brussel sprouts and all of a sudden despise Prada (GOD FORBID!).

I don't do groups very well.
Correction: I don't enjoy groups very well.
The bubbling cauldron of everyone's issues mucking and mixing together burns my soul to the core.

That being said, I can do groups if I've managed to have approximately 1.5 tons of solitude. I am a solitude whore; an alone-time glutton. Though I have been able to fill my solitude tank to the brim, I noticed that since early July it has been rapidly depleting. It totally, fully caught up with me.

So this last week and weekend, I decided no groups. It was a good decision and by no means an antisocial one. I was able to see almost all of my friends on a one on one intimate basis. And this weekend? The first weekend with no big event. Oh so nice.


We went to Mom and Dad's house both days this weekend and stopped at yard sales, picked berries off the wild branches, took naps on a bright yellow blanket, ate too much pasta even WITH the smell of blackberry cobbler cooking, clipped dahlias, cuddled with Abbey, squeezed fresh limes, smelled tomato plants, and just rested, rested, rested.




And consequently, today...Monday, it feels grand and hopeful.
Here's to your Monday, your self-worth, and your weekends of nothing,