Amy Lu's View

I recently got to spend some time with baby goats (not quite two months old). 

They were freakin’ adorable. 

This was Goatopia: a place, an experience, a state of mind. 

Probably nothing else needs to be said. But, since this is me, I’m going to try and make a blog post out of it, even if it’s mostly just photos. 

The goats–3 babies, 2 mamma goats and one daddy goat–belong to my brother’s family. 

The goats were playful and social, particularly baby goat Luna. They hopped and scampered and climbed on things, and it was adorable and hilarious to watch them run together in their little goat herd. 

I did get a little nervous when Daddy Goat started chewing on my dress, but I’m happy to say that no clothing was harmed at Goatopia. 

I didn’t do yoga with the goats, but swatting away all the many and varied bugs could be considered a form of exercise and a spiritual discipline.

I’m not sure if my brother came up with the term “Goatopia,” or I did, or if the goats simultaneously projected the word into our minds. But we kept saying it over and over. I’m still saying it over and over, at least in my head, as it’s just a really awesome word to say for a really awesome phenomenon.

The goats were magical to begin with, so they didn’t really need to be amplified by adding “topia” to them, but I’m going to try making other things into “topias” to see if that increases my enjoyment of them.

I’m not expecting miracles, but making things that feel blah or burdensome a little less so would be appreciated. So…

• Laundrytopia! 
• Worktopia!
• Recyclingtopia!
• DoingTheDishestopia! 

Maybe not. 

How about things I already mostly enjoy or fully enjoy, can I make them even better?…

• Runtopia!
• Saladtopia!
• StanLeetopia!
• Blogtopia!
• Churchtopia!
• Boozetopia!

Yeah, maybe for everyone’s comfort and safety, I should save my “topia” for the goats. 

I’m often content to stay close to home, without spending time in shared communal spaces. So when I do go out in the world, I should be thankful if my outing is full of unique and memorable experiences. 

In other words, I recently had a night that was rather annoying and somewhat stressful, but the upside is it gives me something to blog about.

My plan for the night was to see free, live local music (The New Standards) at Mears Park in St. Paul. 

I love seeing free music–and not just because I’m cheap and love a bargain. Free music shows feel like a gift. As someone who grew up in the middle of nowhere, I can’t get over that I have so many options to go see live music. For free. I also love having a reason to hang out in beautiful, or even so-so, summer weather. I love the ambience of outdoor shows, including when cute little kids are running around. I love the flexibility–yes, I make plans to see shows, but if things change I don’t feel too bad about wasting a ticket. I don’t have to be on time and I can leave whenever I want. 

I’m much more likely to check out musicians I’ve never heard of or who play a style I don’t usually listen to because it’s free. Although, in the case of The New Standards, I was interested in seeing them because they were The New Standards–a pretty big deal in the local music scene. 

That’s what I told my new would-be friend, and one of the annoyances, of the evening. My would-be friend–hereafter known as “WBF–was a very chatty guy who sat next me and wanted to know what I knew about the band, if I was a big fan, etc. etc. Ugh. I don’t know if he was trying to pick me up, or just trying to be social and friendly, but I just wasn’t interested in talking with him that much.

Sure, a little conversation with strangers can be a cool thing, and he was definitely harmless and not at all inappropriate, but I wasn’t in the mood to spend energy on an extended social interaction with someone I didn’t know. Finally, when he started to tell me about the music he makes (with his daughter, which does sound heartwarming) and asking me if I used Sound Cloud, I relocated. 

Okay, fine Amy, you may be saying, but was one overly talkative but harmless WBF dude who may, or may not, have been hitting on you, enough to make a whole evening “annoying”? 

No, my WBF was just seasoning in a recipe of bad weather, bad timing, and bad direction. 

I did not want to stay at the show too long because stormy weather was on its way, and I knew it would probably take me a long time to find where I had parked my car, so I wanted to leave around 8:00. 

But…The New Standards didn’t even start playing until 8. And yes, while the opening act was amazing and even featured an exceptional drummer who sang lead, and even though I just wrote about how I love discovering new-to-me acts, I really wanted to see The New Standards. 

So I stayed past 8:00, and just caught a few phenomenal The New Standards songs, and then left to find my car, and got horribly lost as the sky got darker and darker. I finally found my car, spent about 5 minutes thinking I would never figure out how to get out of the parking ramp, finally got on the road and missed my interstate exit, got on the correct exit and while driving toward some seriously scary dark clouds got stuck in traffic because of road work. 

Not surprisingly, I was very relieved when I finally made it home and celebrated with some festive beverage. 

So…was the night a bust? Am I going to renounce my love of free concerts?

No, and not just because the evening gave me something to blog about. 

As I examine my reactions and what bothered me about the evening, I realize it wasn’t really fear of being caught in a storm or stress about not finding my car or being flustered by an awkward social situation. No, what I really hate is the feeling of wasting time. I was supposed to be seeing The New Standards, and I put significant effort into seeing The New Standards, and the amount of time I actually saw The New Standards did not justify what I invested in the evening. My ROI wasn’t high enough. 

At least, that’s how I felt in the moment. But once again, I think I have the opportunity to learn a little lesson about not always trying to maximize my time. I can try to learn to accept that things, big and small, will not always go according to plan, to learn to be more open to things as they are, not as I think they should be, and to appreciate the moment that I’m actually living. 

Even though I didn’t catch that much of The New Standards show, perhaps the evening can inspire me to have some new standards for personal chillness. (I think I’m going to keep my current standard of not being too welcoming to unsolicited WBFs, though). 

Maybe I was just high on DEET, but my recent inaugural visit to Sakatah Lake Minnesota State Park was very relaxing. 

Actually, I may still be high on DEET. Even though I took a shower as soon as I got home from my Sakatah Lake trip, I could still smell the mosquito repellant I was using when I started writing this. Yes, I learned a lesson from my previous visit to Banning State Park when I was devoured by mosquitoes, and so I smothered myself in OFF (the natural non-DEET stuff just doesn’t seem to cut it in park conditions). Thankfully, I recovered from those bites more quickly than I feared I would, but I prefer smelling like mosquito repellent to being itchy and dotted with bumps. I don’t usually wear perfume anyway. 

I think the weather also contributed to my sense of calm–it was a surprisingly cool July day, and it’s much easier to feel mellow when you’re not all sweaty (and being attacked by mosquitos). Yes, I intentionally chose to take the day off and visit a park because of the cooler weather forecast, but I even got a little chilly at times when I was in the shade and the wind was blowing–almost unbelievable after experiencing 95 degree temperatures just a few days ago. Thank goodness I grabbed a long sleeve at the last minute as I was heading out the door. But I’m definitely not complaining, the weather was simply glorious. 

I loved being in a park with a lake. Not only is the lake beautiful and calming, but I didn’t have to spend as much energy on keeping track of myself and not getting lost, as I could almost always see the lake so could use that to navigate. 

Sakatah Lake park was also surprisingly uncrowded (but not in a creepy way) so the overall vibe was mellow. 

I “hiked” about 8 miles (which is about the average for me for a park excursion, yes, I may be bragging just a bit). I’m using quotes because I’m not sure what the difference is between a “hike” and a “walk.” I think hiking involves some degree of difficulty on a naturalesque terrain. Some of my ambulating was on the paved Sakatah Singing Hills State Trail, so that doesn’t seem like hiking. I also did the Wahpekute Trail which the park guide describes as a “moderately difficult hike” and promises that “Experienced hikers looking for an adventure will find lovely lake views ranging from tall overlooks to rocky lakeshores.” So I guess I can claim I did at least some hiking. 

Although Wahpekute Trail did provide lovely views and it was awesome hiking so close to the lake, I would not say anything about it was adventurous or overly demanding. My excursions to see waterfalls have definitely been more strenuous and challenging. I can’t really provide specifics about any of my hikes as my nature outings blur together–maybe another side effect of DEET.  

I even managed to do a little bit of reading an actual physical book as I sat by the lake, although I quit a little earlier than I wanted to because I was getting chilly. I did NOT finish the novel I’ve been reading sporadically since September 2021 (although I am close and will probably blog about it when I do) but was rather precious and read some poems from “The Poetry of Impermanence, Mindfulness, and Joy.” 

If only I could find a way to easily latch hook in a park, I may experience nirvana. 

*1) I didn’t realize I did two lake-related posts in a row until I went to publis this and 2) This title is fitting because I was listening to a King Arthur themed audiobook, “Morgan in My Name,” while doing most of my walking/hiking.

We’ve lived in our northeast Minneapolis house for 24 years, and I just learned a few weeks ago that the Columbia Golf Course, which is half a mile away from us, used to be a lake.

I learned about the vanished lake from friends who also live in NE when they were giving us a ride home from the airport. Although I’m usually not into history or geography, I was pretty intrigued by this revelation. 

By the time we got home and unpacked our bags, I forgot all about the mysterious departed lake. But yesterday, I unintentionally discovered the lake was named Sandy Lake and learned a little about its history.

Yesterday afternoon, I decided to take a walk to the Saint Anthony Parkway bridge (also very historical–https://www2.minneapolismn.gov/government/projects/public-works/completed-projects/complete-cip/st-anthony-bridge/), which is about a mile from our house. A major construction project on the bridge was completed in 2017, and though I’ve run over this bridge countless times, yesterday was the first time I made the effort to read (or at least glance at) the markers posted on the bridge. (It’s not surprising I’ve never done this while running, there’s no way I’m going to stop at the beginning or end of a run for reading). 

I didn’t take in much about the railroad (over the last 24 years I’ve been surprised by all the people I see on the bridge just because they find the trains and rail yard interesting–not throwing any shade here, it’s just not something I find obviously noteworthy) but I DID find the name of the lake!

When I got home I Googled “Sandy Lake” and was able to learn a bit about its history and the history of my little corner of the world. I won’t try and recount that (please check out http://millcitytimes.com/news/columbia-park-129-years-of-history.html and https://racketmn.com/the-lost-lakes-of-minneapolis ) but my main takeaway was that the lake was basically naturally dried up by 1914 when the city drained it (so the city wasn’t really the bad guy here as I assumed). 

Also, now that I know that Sandy Lake used to exist, the recent “Stormwater management” project (https://www.mwmo.org/planning/northeast-stormwater-management-initiative/) at our end of the golf course makes a lot more sense. 

One of the results of this stormwater management project is an abundance of wildflowers. Just like living close to a rail yard has made me more open to the coolness of trains, my frequent exposure to these wildflowers has changed my perspective about wildflowers. Okay, up until about two months ago, I basically thought of all the new wildflowers that were growing along new pedestrian path as weeds. Weeds that were intentionally allowed to flourish, weeds that may even have some pollination values, but still weeds. 

For some reason, a couple of weeks ago, I decided to take some time and walk on the pedestrian path (which I usually just run by) and look at my surroundings. Wow, the plants along the trail are really lush and varied. I’m not sure if they are technically weeds, or wildflowers, or maybe both. But I do know that taking the time to actually look at them made them a lot more interesting. 

There’s much to learn about the history of where we live: There used to be a Sandy Lake. The Saint Anthony Parkway Bridge is a big deal. But perhaps the most important takeaway for me is that history can be interesting and provide a little more depth and nuance to my experience of living in our neighborhood and help me feel even more connected to where I live. 

A little information and a shift in perspective can help me appreciate things–in this case local history, and trains, and wildflowers–in a new way. 

I felt so defeated–I just put my head down on the table.

What calamity led me to these depths of despair? Was I thinking about global warming, learning to play and sing a difficult song, or the likelihood of ever getting all my clothes put away?

No, I had just learned that the restaurant we were at was out of the portobello mushroom sandwich which I had already ordered (and paid for) and the waitress was trying to substitute it with a Beyond Burger. 

Yes, you might think I was being a little extra, but please consider the backstory: The evening before, when we arrived in Pittsburgh, we weren’t able to find any restaurant that was open after 9:30 (when we got out of the opening session of our Unitarian Universalist convention) so I went to bed a little hungry. Then, in the morning, the convention hall breakfast buffet that was promised did not materialize. So, by the time I was trying to order brunch/lunch after the first convention session of the day (around noon) I was pretty darn hungry. 

When we found a cafe nearby to the convention center that served breakfast sandwiches, I was optimistic that I would be able to get something sans meat–seems like a pretty typical offering. But no, all their breakfast sandwiches had not only egg (which I do eat) but also meat (which I don’t, besides fish, which is another topic). Okay, fine, I could pivot to lunch and get a portobello mushroom sandwich. 

So, by the time I learned I could NOT in fact get a portobello mushroom sandwich, I was beyond hangry…I was sad, and despairing, and hungry…maybe I was feeling Hunspair (Hunger + Despair)?

Would I ever be able to find a moderately filling, not excessively caloric, vegetarian meal in this town? (I was opposed to the Beyond Burger because in my estimation Beyond Burger has a low ROI–a lot of calories for an overly processed patty). 

My little meltdown, authentic as it was, was embarrassing–to me, and Chad. Being embarrassed is okay, though–a good lesson that I’m human. But I felt especially terrible when the waitress said she comped our meal (just how unhinged did I seem?) because I hoped I didn’t cause problems or distress for her–none of this was her fault. It’s okay to have emotions, and to even act melodramatically and messily, but not to inflict that on others, at least not when the “tragedy” is small and not caused by anyone’s malice. 

My “not being able to find food and oh my god I’m going to starve” meltdown wasn’t really about being hungry, or even calories (okay, definitely some of it was about calories) but about my desire to be in control, my unrealistic expectations for maximizing my vacation, and my fear of wasting time. Yes, I know I’m not really in control of most things, and I know my time isn’t really all that precious, but the thought of continuing to wander around Pittsburgh looking for food when I was supposed to be an ultra tourist discovering the delights of this new city was maddening to me. 

But I DID get some food–I was able to get an egg only breakfast sandwich after all, with a side salad, and some french fries (the calories in the fries and the sandwich croissant were totally worth it)–and mellowed out a bit. In the end, I had a pretty awesome trip: I had many notable touristry experiences, attended some of the church convention we were there for, and even found more vegetarian, not-too-calorie laden meals. (And I got a lot of potential blog content!)

And maybe I’ve learned just a little bit more about having a sense of perspective and humor when dealing with life’s little setbacks.

I’ve definitely learned to always carry some snacks if I leave the house for more than two hours. 

“Oh yeah, I’m a Unitarian Universalist minister. I filled out something online so that I could do my friend’s wedding.”

–Guy at Bar (paraphrased)

We had just sat down at the bar in the really cool Speakeasy at our hotel in Pittsburgh, when we heard the guy next to us say that. 

I knew that couldn’t possibly be true, but my brain had basically shut down because I was rather tired and totally focused on getting a drink, so I didn’t even try to say anything to correct him.

But Chad piped in: “No, you can’t be a Unitarian Universalist minister, because you have to go to seminary for that–I’m in seminary for it right now. You’re probably ordained with the Universal Life Church–I did that, too, years ago, so I could perform a wedding.” (also paraphrased). 

“Yeah,” I chimed in, “I signed him up for it online.”

“Okay, cool,” said the guy as he packed up and headed out. “Have a good night.”

I’m pretty sure that guy wasn’t really listening to us and didn’t take in what we said, and he still thinks he’s a Unitarian Universalist minister. Oh well, we tried to set the record straight. 

“Thank you for saying that!” exclaimed the woman who had been sitting on the other side of Mistakenly Self-Proclaimed Minister Guy. Turns out, she actually WAS a Unitarian Universalist and although she didn’t go to seminary, she was a Commissioned Lay Minister with her congregation. Chad is also a Commissioned Lay Minister (yeah, we’re getting into the ministerial weeds here so it’s okay if you’ve stopped paying attention, the takeaway is the Universal Life Church is NOT the same as the Unitarian Universalist Church.)

Why were there so many Unitarian Universalists at one bar? We were all gathered in the same city, Pittsburgh, for our annual national convention, and this bar was in one of the official convention hotels. (I assume the topic of Unitatarian Universalist ministers came up with Mistakenly Self-Proclaimed Minister Guy because the lady mentioned why she was in Pittsburgh).

It’s tricky to explain to others what Unitarian Universalism is–we don’t have a creed and there aren’t that many of us. It’s usually easier to say what we’re not–we’re not Christian (at least not the majority of us) or theists (again, there is definitely variety with that), we’re not “preachy” or “judgemental” (at least, not in the ways we stereotypically think religious people are, but if we catch you not recycling, watch out). 

You can swear in front of us, and with us, and drink alcohol, too (unless we’re not drinking because of health or whatever reasons that aren’t directly related to being a UU). 

I would like to get better at explaining what a UU is in a clear, simple, and concise way, especially if I’m going to be a minister’s wife. I’d like that description to be positive in the sense that it illuminates what we are all about (love, community, justice, equity) and not just what we aren’t. 

I aspire to being able to give a good UU elevator speech, but this will not be the post to do that. (I’m happy to talk about being a UU in any other venue, as long as you accept I’ll be inarticulate and long-winded).  

This is the post where I just share a little hopefully humorous anecdote that highlights that it’s frustrating to have something important to you be so deeply misunderstood, but that it’s also uplifting to make connections with people who DO get you. It’s an anecdote that illustrates we should always be humble because whatever we think is a BIG DEAL might not even be interesting to others, but that it’s also good to take pride in what’s special to us and to try to speak our truths. 

This post also hopefully clarifies what Chad IS going to seminary for, and explains that he does not need to take graduate level courses and spend thousands of dollars and hours and hours of his time to fill out an online form (he had me to fill out the online form for him). 

But no matter how you think of Chad–as a Commissioned Lay Unitarian Universalist MInister, or an in-process ordained Unitarian Universalist Minister, or a Universal Life Church Minister–he does an amazing job officiating weddings and I love accompanying him at weddings, so please book him! 

I think Fred Rogers is a national treasure. 

He reassured, comforted, affirmed, inspired and entertained countless children. 

I was not one of those kids. 

I did not like the Mr. Rogers show. It wasn’t because of lack of exposure: My older sister, Jenn, had me watch Mr. Rogers and tried her best to make me a fan, but I just could never get into it. Mr. Rogers spoke too slowly, I found the show boring, and the puppets creepy. (I did like Sesame Street–except for the “How this is made” segments, and loved the “Electric Company.” I even “enjoyed” “The New Zoo Revue” which was weird as s#*t.)

As an adult, I am moved by Fred Rogers’ ministry to children and the world. I’m glad I got see the display about his “neighborhood” at the Heinz History Center exhibit on neighborhoods when I was getting my tourist on recently in Pittsburgh. 

I did wonder if seeing some actual Mr. Rogers artifacts would activate some buried childhood memory of how I really did enjoy Mr. Rogers.

Nope. 

I’ve made peace with not liking “Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood.” I think we can learn something from this (besides the fact that there might be something deeply wrong with me): We can learn from and appreciate and even be inspired by things that we don’t really get. (I’m having this feeling a bit seeing all the glowing reactions to the recent Minneapolis Taylor Swift concerts).

And…you may be doing something completely awesome and wonderful and important (like being Mr. Rogers) but that doesn’t mean that everyone (in this case me) is going to dig it. And that doesn’t mean you’re wrong  or doing something wrong. 

I was intrigued to learn that Fred Rogers switched from a button up cardigan to a zipper cardigan rather early on, because the buttons took too long to do. I love that example of practicality and flexibility. 

Speaking of clothing…I was also surprised to learn that Fred Rogers often wore a jumpsuit in his regular life–-not a disco thing but more of a working person’s outfit. That just seems really inconvenient for accommodating trips to the bathroom. 

While writing this, I’ve been asking myself if I could be Mister Rogers neighbor. At first I thought this was an obvious “no” but now I realize that of course I could. I wouldn’t be a super friendly or engaged neighbor, but I’d wave uncomfortably and give a forced smile as I dashed into my house. I’d call Officer Clemmons if there was a situation. 

It IS (or can be) a beautiful day in the neighborhood, even if we’re not all feeling super neighborly–- as long as were not total assholes.

Last year my sister told me she was getting into Japanese “v-streams” (I think these are basically amateaur mini-travel videos about Japan). I was surprised and heartened by this. Surprised because I don’t think my sister was ever interested in Japan travel or culture before (maybe “Hello Kitty”?…wait, I think that was just me) and heartened because it’s cool to share people’s excitement about something (well, within reason) and I was glad to learn about anything that was bringing her delight as she was experiencing all the difficulties of having cancer. 

We also had an amusing tangential conversation about why Chad and I would NOT be traveling to Japan any time soon (basically, that’s waaayy too arduous of a travel undertaking for us. Count us out until we have teleporters). 

My sister’s Facebook message: “I think Japan is so interesting. I started watching these Japanese travel videos, basically ferry videos with English subtitles. Travelers video their experiences with rooms and food. I started watching when I first found out about my cancer. They are calming. Anyhoo, no matter if it’s a hotel or a boat or the cheapest room or the most expensive suite they always provide pj’s…This one v-streamer did a live stream from a Japanese public flower garden. He walked up these hills and then walked the whole garden with those cool wearable cameras so you feel like you are actually participating. It was so beautiful I cried.”

I love that my sister was finding joy in “small things” like travel videos in the midst of all the big terrible things she was dealing with. I admire her for that, and find inspiration in it. Learning about her interest in Japan also illustrates how people can constantly surprise us. I had no idea that my sister was or would ever be interested in Japan. We only know pieces of someone, we can never know all their facets.

This Friday, June 16, was my sister’s birthday, and she would have been 64. It’s been not quite two months since she died. An ordinary day, and a really meaningful day–what could I possibly do with it?

Thinking back to our messenger conversation about Japan, I decided to visit the Normandale Japanese Garden. It was a lovely garden and it was a beautiful day. I’d like to say that I spent my visit in spirit of reflection and attention, but I was my usual antsy self, distracted by mundane questions such as “Why did I wear pants on this warm day?” and “How bad will traffic be on the drive home?”

Still, it made me feel better to have something to do for my sister’s birthday, and a tangible way to mark the day, and say “Hey, I find today significant.”

There is a sculpture at the entrance to the garden titled “My Heart is Open.” Well, that certainly seemed appropriate. In response to my sister’s death, I’m trying to have an open heart–to love, to memories, to grief, and to gratitude. I’m trying to be open, just like she was, to all the little joys that are available to us, even in the midst of things that are sad and terrible or just irritating. 

My heart is open, but not usually wide open. Sometimes, maybe most of the time, it’s just a little bit open. Sometimes I can only handle a small amount of all the wonder and terror of this life.

“Some things are too big to be seen; some emotions are too huge to be felt.”

― Neil Gaiman, The Sandman, Vol. 6: Fables & Reflections

I heard that quote just last week while I was driving and listening to a Sandman audiobook, and it felt like another extremely on target message.

I can’t see or feel everything my sister meant to me, at least not all at once. I can’t truly take in the beauty of a garden, or how lucky I am to have comfy pants (even when I wear them at inopportune times). But I’m going to keep trying, and I’m going to try and stay open to discovering new things about myself and others.

Still–don’t expect Chad and I will be traveling to Japan in the near future.

*This title is completely unrelated to the content of this post, but I really like how it sounds, and Chad is working on a project about Zen Buddhism, so we have Zen on the mind right now, and Zen IS Japanese…and yeah, I just like how it sounds.

The Summer of 2023 is going to be my “Wet Waterfall Summer”!

Er, how about…”Wild Waterfall Summer”…or “Whimsical Waterfall Summer”? “Woozy Waterfall Summer”?

Hold on now, do I need to have a theme for my summer? Of course not, but I glanced at a New York Times opinion piece a while ago that was about branding summer and the idea got stuck in my head. I’ve spent so much time thinking about it, or more precisely, thinking about blogging about it, that I feel I’m obligated to write about it, even if this is a classic example of the sunk cost fallacy. (There’s got to be a band named Sunk Cost Fallacy, right?)

The opinion piece seemed to be exploring the idea of a summer of something rather concrete–so instead of a “Hot Girl Summer” or “Summer of Love,” this could be a “Caftan Summer.” And the writer did indeed use the example of “Caftan Summer” so maybe that’s part of the reason the column made such an impression on me, as my friend Bethany had just been telling us that she had discovered the joys of a caftan. 

I’m not about to declare this “Caftan Summer” for myself (not only would it be a bad look to try and steal someone else’s thunder I don’t think I could pull it off) but what would work for me? 

Inspiration hit me as I was sitting at Willow River Falls last week and totally digging everything about it. These falls were awesome, and I had just been at Minnehaha Falls the week before and Hidden Falls in Nerstand Park the week before that…was my summer turning into a Summer of Falls without me even planning it? 

Oh wait, “Summer of Falls” could be terrible. I definitely do not want to have a summer of falls or even one fall. I better make sure to keep “water” in my slogan somewhere. 

A summer of water fall does sound lovely, but is it practical? How likely am I to get to that many more waterfalls? Not only is my time and effort a consideration, it looks like we’re going to have another dry summer (#YesGlobalWarmingIsReal) so there’s a strong chance that some waterfalls will dry up (#sadness). 

In the plus column for a Waterfalls Summer, whatever summer I declare should be something rather unique….afterall “Bright Bourbon Summer” doesn’t feel all that different than a “Bold Bourbon Winter.” 

We’ve now arrived at the point in this post where I ponder parts of speech. (Alliteration for the win!). What is the difference between “Summer of X” and “X X Summer” (oh wait, that’s not supposed to be “XX” as in naughty adult content but “X” as a placeholder). What’s the difference between “Summer of Waterfalls” and “Waterfall Summer” and does there need to be an adjective?

I have no idea, but thinking about this reminds me that in 1987 I gave a speech for the Miss Augusta pageant (yes, you read that correctly) about the anniversary of the Summer of Love. I have no memory of what I said but I decidedly did NOT win. 

And returning to an observation I made at the beginning of this whatever this is, the New York Times opinion column was exploring summer themes of a more tangible variety, so “waterfalls” as opposed to “wildness.” I like trying to embrace that, because a specific thing like waterfalls can lead us into more abstract ideas like wildness and whimsy. 

So yeah, okay, 2023 is going to be my “Waterfall Summer” and it may be a big failure because I’ll never get to another waterfall, but even that might give me some blog content. And I reserve the right to play with adjectives to my summer that may or may not be alliterated, or to use my theme as a jumping off point to dive into whatever connections I can make to metaphorical waterfalls. 

To revisit the question I posed at the beginning of this piece…my summer doesn’t need a theme, but maybe having one will have benefits beyond the rewards of content for this post. Maybe it will give me content for at least one more post! Maybe it will inspire me to visit some new-to-me places. Maybe it will give me a new frame to view the summer through that sparks some new ideas and connections for me. Maybe it will help me be more intentional about and attentive to my summer, and make me feel more gratitude about however my summer plays out.

Maybe it will inspire me to learn to play the song “Don’t Go Chasing Waterfalls” (on piano? ukulele?)…more likely, it will just mean the song is stuck in my head all summer. 

Chad: “We need flowers for the service tomorrow, so let’s use your bouquet* from our wedding.”

Me: “Great idea, although the flowers are pretty faded…then again, so are we.” 

Ah, classic Chamy comedic gold. And since the service was inspired by our wedding anniversary, it seemed fitting that we and the flowers were faded. 

But comedy and metaphor aside, I actually don’t feel all that faded. 

Maybe my perceived vibrancy is simply due to comparing myself to where I started…did I ever feel all that vibrant? (I was morally opposed to exercise as a young person so I may actually have equal or even more physical stamina now then I did in my youth). Or maybe I just don’t really remember how I felt 28 years ago when my bouquet and our marriage were brand new. 

Maybe it’s just that I don’t feel more faded than I was. Yes, sometimes I do feel at least somewhat faded, and tired, and deflated–but I’m not sure it’s more than I was when I was younger, maybe just different. 

When I feel faded, tired, and deflated now, it seems to reach into me a little more. That’s not necessarily a bad thing. 

I think I feel more of everything now–or at least I allow myself to feel more than when I was younger. Maybe, because of time and experience and even a little bit of learned wisdom, I am actually more capable of feeling.

I should reconsider the value of being faded. At least one of our church friends complimented my bouquet–she thought it was lovely. She appreciated it as it was, here and now, and wasn’t judging it based on what it used to be. Or might have been. The colors of my bouquet are different than they once were, but my friend liked the flowers just as they are now.

And “faded” is one of my favorite phone camera effects–not because it mimizes wrinkles, but because it makes my photos look all atmospheric and artsy. Soft and nuanced.

I think I feel pretty good about being faded after all!

*Obviously, my wedding bouquet is fake. This wasn’t my first choice at the time I got married, but now I’m pretty thankful to still be able to have this artifact with me, and I fondly remember my mom and I choosing the flowers. 

**This is a reference to brand of Walmart clothing, discontinued in 2018. Yes, I’m pretty sure I owned at least one or two articles of Faded Glory at some point.