Waking Dreams: Stone Cup Reflections

The cold drinks here are served in Mason jars, a subtle way of merging the vintage, the unexpected, and the Southern. Yes, prices have gone up– I paid more than $5 for my caramel latte today, but I'd say it's worth it considering this serves drinks on par with the best caramel latte I've ever had in my life at Avellino in Bellingham, Washington.

As I sit in Stone Cup, one of my favorite coffee shops in Chattanooga, I realize that the people I see around me were in my dreams last night. Or did I just see them yesterday and the day before? Maybe that seems like a dream. I'm getting used to seeing people I know all around me again. After having been on the West coast for some time and moving around so much, I'd almost forgotten what it's like to see familiar faces. Some of the faces are new, but the feeling of this place is the same: a regular hang-out spot, an office for some. In a way it's a "room of one's own."

There are always more than a few fashionable people walking around this place. Chattanooga has style. There are people studying, writing, and sitting on the patio looking out at the river and the people below. There are interviews, mentoring sessions, DTRs (Define the Relationship talks) and reunions here. Always. There are those people who talk too loud and those I wish would come talk to me. The bulletin board is plastered with events: fundraisers, organic farm tours, fashion shows, festivals, and other community events that I've put in my planner.

If I listen closely enough, I hear people dreaming together. Plans are being made for the future, ideas being shared, excitement being uncorked, and the feeling of being a Chattanoogan is in the air.

One of the things I love about Chattanooga is the possibilities. Yes, there were possibilities in Washington, a lot of them. But here, every face has a name. Every idea has an origin in a person you've seen walking Walnut Street Bridge. Every dream can be a reality. Chattanooga is one huge sounding board, and it's more than that– it's a city of resources to make things happen. It's the people that have stood to be counted. It's the community that never settles for mediocrity. We are a city that cares about its people, about the quality of life, about making a difference.

I know that I could walk up to just about anyone in Stone Cup right now and ask them what they dream of, and everyone would have an answer. Some answers would be the same; some would be totally unique. The exciting thing is that Chattanoogans are dreamers, and I want this city to be a city of waking dreams.

Flight #1738 – Written May 1, 2010

It's flooding in Nashville. No sign if the storm's gonna let up. I left the rain in Seattle to come back home, back to where I came from, to the soil that grew me up. Lo and behold, the bottom's fallen out from the sky.

I fully intend on making it to that crawfish broil in Alabama tonight, even though my flight has been delayed in Chicago for three hours. I figure I need to start things right when I land.

I won't be home 'til I get to Chattanooga– not when the plane touches down in Nashville, not in the town in grew up in, not in Huntsville or Fayetteville or anywhere else but the Scenic City, Tennessee.

I don' think home will be what it was when I left it nine and a half months ago. Yes, somehow it will be that same– the same buildings and many of the people faces. Maybe it will be me that will be different, too. How could I be the same?

As the plane is now shaking in the sky, descending into the storm clouds of Nashville, I'm reminded that although home is comfortable, it has its own floods.

May God be with me.

Amen.

Re-learning Recycling

I only lived in Bellingham, Washington, for four months.

Granola City, I called it.

Ex-hippies, new hippies, bicycle riding, organic-focused, fair-trading, local-minded, environmentalists with a mission: to be a green city of green people.

Bellingham: The City of Subdued Excitement, as it is named by its people and by the city mural painted on the side of a historic building downtown. It's true– the excitement of the city is subdued, but the personality of the city is strong and unmistakable.

The house I stayed in on Williams Street with my host family, the Gauthiers, was just a ten-minute bike ride from downtown. It was renovated using recycled materials, most things from the Re-Store. The Gauthiers had gardens in the back yard where they grew most of the vegetables used for daily cooking, and we received a weekly delivery of local, organic fruits and vegetables to supplement what we couldn't grow ourselves. There was also a chicken coop at the house with eight pet hens that provided fresh eggs every morning for my breakfast.

The Gauthiers rode their bikes whenever they could– not just for exercise but to be as "green" as possible. They camped and hiked as many weekends as they could, enjoying the great outdoors that is Washington. After my first camping trip with them, which was culture shock to this city girl, I began to realize that I could get by with less– less stuff, less electricity, less people, less buildings, less unnecessary baggage.

On Sundays, we went to a church called Mosaic, a group of real Christians sans the bulletins, the hymns, the "Sunday best" and everything that goes with a 10:30 a.m. service. Less structure, more freedom, and a lot of genuine love for the community and each other. Refreshing. Sunday mornings, when we did actually meet in a building, we had community breakfast, everyone bringing a dish. And before we began to sing and worship, we sat about six to eight people at a round table enjoying breakfast together. These tables in the middle of a rented room were our church pews. I always found it funny, but inspiring, that the Gauthiers brought their own plates, silverware, and cups to church so that they could wash and resuse them, not wasting anything. No unnecessary trash.

Leftovers rarely get thrown away. Everything possible was recycled. This was life in Bellingham.

If I learned anything, it was something about recycling.

Life throws a lot our way. We take it in, process it, and we decide that some things are worth getting rid of. Divorce, death, hurt, loss, disappointment– they are by-products of life, and they are things we want to throw in the trash can. In my own life, I found that the landfill in my heart was filling up quickly, and if I didn't address the problem soon, the trash was going to overflow into less hidden places.

For several months I questioned God. I felt sorry for myself, and I pointed my finger, demanding answers. (I didn't get any.)

I had to learn to be alone, and in a lot of ways, I had to learn to let people back in. For the most part, my energy was spent trying to "figure things out" while I was living with the Gauthiers in Bellingham. I moved in with them only days after my parents signed divorce papers and only two and half months after my friend Katie was killed in a tragic accident. I was 2,500 miles away trying to throw of all my unanswered questions and hurt away.

I learned to recycle.

Reduce the garbage to begin with. To be fair, reduction is the hardest part. I don't have total control of what happens in life. But, we can learn to navigate through our lives as best we can, re-routing when possible, or at least bracing for impact.

Reuse the energy. Now I write. I'm trying to use the energy and emotions for something good, something positive. I'm taking my emotional plates to church with me so that I can wash and reuse them. I can't keep throwing things away. I'm being more conscious of what I invest in so that maybe there will be less sitting on the curb at the end of the day.

Maybe I can invest in things that will decorate my home after they're used up. Jars on the shelf holding fresh flowers. We've all got hurt places that we wish could be restored.

Its a conscious effort. It's easy to throw things away. It's hard to recycle. But it's good, and it works.

Granola City Recycling: Reducing the emotional landfill one plastic knife at a time.