THANKFUL FRIDAY

There was a time when if you told someone you’d met your boyfriend online, people would gasp and immediately become concerned for your safety. The internet just seemed like an inconceivable way to meet a great love. How can you trust that person? What do you really know about them? Suddenly the term ‘catfished’ appeared in our vocabulary and there became a new fear. What if it was a scam? What if it was all a way to lure you to your demise? When Jen met Turayis online, it was shocking! We were shocked! We were stupid and naive and small. They’ve had the longest, most stable relationship of all of us.

By the time I entered the dating scene, online dating was normal. The digital age requires digital connections, but all of those above concerns lingered. What did I really know about the men I was texting with? There’s no tone in text. Dating profiles are designed for vagueness. There’s not much authenticity in those descriptions. Eventually you’re going to have to meet face to face. Michael did this old school thing and called me. Maybe that’s why I agreed to a meet-up, even though I hate talking on the phone. Hearing a voice is different from reading a voice. Even though online dating is the norm, I still think of our meeting as unconventional.

I have a big group of loves who I met in unconventional ways. Like Chad. I love it when someone asks me how we know each other. A random commenter on photos in Flickr takes a road trip across America and from one simple dinner, ends up becoming family. Now I have a group of women in my life that I love and when asked how we met, I say “We all met at Adult Summer Camp.” First of all Adult Summer Camp conjures all kinds of imagery and how could that possibly lead to great loving friendships. I attended many a summer a camp as a kid. None of those camp friends lasted more than two letters. But there’s something to be said about meeting people when you’re older, more comfortable in your own skin, a fully formed person. My friendship with Jenn came out of summer camp and Jenn introduced me to Lauren and Sadie. We’ve formed our own coven of rollerskating crafters and my heart literally swells with love when I look at these women.

Amani is also an Adult Summer Camp find.

I took one look at Amani and knew I wanted her in my life. Love at first sight, but distance is a bitch. She’s in Seattle. We are regular postcard pals and text often, but it’s not the same as being able to see each other’s face and squeeze each other. It has been two years since I’ve hugged Amani, two years since we’ve linked arms and skipped down a sidewalk together, two years since we’ve dissolved into a pile of giggles together. Some how the stars aligned and we ended up in Philly at the same time for different things and we had two glorious evenings of hugs, giggles and shenanigans. We over ordered at a delightfully charming French restaurant where the sommelier flirted outrageously with Amani. I’m surprised he didn’t come home with us. I snuck her into a nerdy science party at the Franklin Institute where we were cornered by Benjamin Franklin who went on and on about lightening and lightening rods and the armonica. We finally managed to peel ourselves away with an excuse about coat check. We jumped to various heights on different planets, made our own light art, and even snuck into a closed exhibit on the brain. It was fascinating. Here’s the thing. I would have desperately wanted to sneak into that closed exhibit, but would never have actually done it without Amani. She gives me the courage to do rebellious things.

At the end of our last evening together, we stood outside waiting for the cab that would take Amani back to her hotel. For once, we were grateful for the bitter cold that made it impossible to actually shed real tears. Both of us agreed that two years was too much time and made promises to see each other sooner. All in all, the conference was better than I expected and the company was phenomenal. The only downside was not getting a chance to see my dear friend, Talaura. We talked on the phone and also promised to find a way to see each other in the next year and I hope she’s feeling better. Sometimes I joke that I collect interesting people. But the thing is, I do collect interesting people.

And I’m pretty grateful for that collection.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

This has been a big week for vulnerable moments. On top of the vague thing I did in the middle of week, I also submitted a photo to the New York Times in hopes that it will be featured on their Spelling Bee Forum page. Then a co-worker/friend asked me if they could have a photo or two to use in their presentation on the intersection of Art and Science at the Innovation Festival. After a moment of hysteria, I provided them with a small handful of photos to choose. Then the big vague thing contacted me and asked me to complete a few tasks and that is where I am today. I am in the rare position of wishing that the work week had an extra day to it. I think I will be spending a few hours with my laptop at a cafe somewhere this weekend.

There is a lot happening.

Rose sent out more information on Human Design and Split Definitions this week and there was one part that really hit home.

You naturally draw in people that bridge your split and spark collaborations

Once, a long time ago, Michael said something about I even know some of these people. He was referring to my friends, ones that I made here and those from before. At the time, I just shrugged and said “I collect interesting people.” Michael laughed at this and said that I should wear a button that says that. Since that conversation, I have added to my collection and what a wonderful collection it is. I realized this week that these are the people who are my bridges and sparkers. I feel you cheering me on and supporting me while I do the big vulnerable things.

Thank you.

Thank you.

Thank you.

PEBBLE IN MY POCKET

I found these while scrounging in my purse for something.

6 Likes, 1 Comments - Cindy Maddera (@elephant_soap) on Instagram: "I found these while scrounging in my purse for something."

I was rummaging around in the front pocket of my purse looking for the charging adapter for my iPencil. Have you guys seen that thing? It's about the size of a Tic-Tac. I am amazed I haven't swallowed it. Any way, my fingers kept brushing across tiny things that could or could not have been my charging adapter. In order to get those things out of the way, I just pulled a handful of crap out of the pocket. Most of that crap turned out to be rocks; three of them to be specific. I held them in the palm of my hand trying to remember what beach I'd picked them up from. Last year I stood in the spot where the sun first touches the US in the mornings. I also stood in the last spot the sun touches before it goes down on the continental US. Those rocks could have come from New York, Maine, California or even Wisconsin. 

I bet the largest one came from Wisconsin. It is flat and smooth. It fits perfectly in the hollow of my palm. I am sure I picked it up with the intention of skipping it across Lake Superior. At the last minute I held onto it because I found the cool, smooth feel of the stone to be soothing to rub with my thumb. I took a picture of the rocks in the palm of my hand and my mother left a comment about how she still has pebbles in the pocket of her raincoat. She had picked them up off of Dingle Beach when we were in Ireland. Apparently my pebble collection is a genetically inherited trait. I am more likely to look down at the beach under my feet than out to sea. I will fill my pockets and the pockets of those walking with me with rocks and bits of shells. It has always been this way.

As a child, the discovery of an interesting rock was equivalent to discovering buried treasure. It didn't take much to determine a rock to be interesting either. A specific shape. A sparkly quality. A fleck of gold here or a fleck of silver there. Most rocks were special. Most rocks are special. I think one of our favorite family travel stories was the time we found a bucket of rocks at our campsite in Colorado. It was like we had discovered the Holy Grail and the Ark of the Covenant...IN A BUCKET! The rocks from that bucket later became decorative garden rocks, terrarium rocks, show-and-tell rocks and even pet rocks (googly eyes make all things funny). There are bags of rocks stashed in the toy cubbies now. I brought back rocks from the Dakotas for the Cabbage. I have brought back rocks from different places for Katrina. The best time I had at Deana Rose Children's Farm with the Cabbage was sifting through a bag of dirt for pretty stones. I think there's a large granite rock in the car right now. 

There is a moment, a line really, when all the kids are trick-or-treating in It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown where a kid looks into his treat bag and says "I got a rock." Except he says it in a disappointed, dejected way. It is probably my favorite line and some times I say it in reference to receiving something unexpected and slightly unwanted. Now that I think about it, now that I look at the rocks I carry around in my purse, maybe "I got a rock" is something I should say with joy.