HolyHolyHoly Week

Beauty in the Battlefield

Inhale
The Lover departs.
Exhale
The Warrior steps into darkness
To remedy a Paradise expelled.

Oh, sleepless night.

Blood-stained cheeks
Bended knees.
Father, if it be Thy will
Let this cup pass over me…

Oh, lonely light.

Bathed in the moon
On the other side of pain
Heavy such agony
Heavy the strain.

Oh, tragic sight

Evil crosses the gate,
Combat begins with the press of cold lips
Humanity turns on eternity with a loveless embrace.
Betrayal wrapped in a kiss.
Time collapses this instant.

Empty armed
Open handed
Loaded heart
The garden gives way to the battleground

Oh, beautiful fight.

No cry yet forth from the Divine.
Patience, the Warrior shall avenge
The Lover shall redeem His sleeping bride.
Ecstasy awaits in the distance
For He will awaken her with a Son’s rise.


Song of the Day: I Have Loved You Wrong by The Swell Season

Daffodil

Spring is my season. There's life and excitement and hope almost tangible in the warm air.

It makes you want to do silly things, like read poetry and believe in love at first sight, as you shed your winter coat and exchange it for your most comfortable pair of flip-flops.

My very favorite flower is the daffodil. ( I think I'd rather receive one of these than an entire bouquet of roses! ) The first flower of spring, it stands tall and bright against the green grass. They come every year, usually popping up everywhere - my parents' backyard, medians down the highway, the local grocery store - but they never fail to stop me in my tracks. There's something delicate and brave about flowers that will bloom even if there's still some snow hanging around.

I've been known to completely lose my train of thought just by seeing a daffodil. To me they look like tiny stars that have fallen to the ground.

I'm not such a fan of winter. The dark days and coldness just clings to your bones after a while, and by the time the end of February rolls around, I'm dreaming of the way it felt to drive with the windows down on my car.

The daffodils are small trumpets announcing that spring and picnics and outdoor concerts and being barefoot are just around the corner...

We somehow made it through another winter after all.


As William Wordsworth said:
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.


Song of the Day: Tin Man by the Avett Brothers

Lab Coats

When I was in 2nd grade, I decided that my favorite subject was science. It allowed me to pretend I was making brilliant discoveries in uncharted mental territory (i.e. make home-made sky blue Gak). This romance with science has stayed with me for the rest of my life. I'm pretty sure that the only reason I got accepted into my undergraduate research team was becase I wrote in the personal history part of the application that as a child I used to stay up past my bedtime to fill blank journals with all the information I could find on my favorite topics: dolphins, stars, tigers, and dinosaurs. At the time, I thought this was research at its finest - collecting everyone else's findings and compiling them into something great. Nevermind the fact that I was completely plagarizing at the age of 6. Sometime in college I narrowed down my "what do you want to be when you grow up" answer to "Someone who gets to wear a lab coat." And I do. As a dietitian, (Diet-Titan) I get to wear my white lab coat wtih a stethoscope around my neck, sans the 5 years of graduate education to get an MD at the end of my name. The stethoscope is for checking your blood pressure with a cuff - the good old-fashioned way, not like these crazy gadets they have now in hospitals. Side-note - - it's really hard to check your own blood pressure this way. And this isn't just ANY lab coat, mind you. It's a 100% cotton, empire waisted with princess seams lab coat - a gift from a dear friend who knows me all too well. Yes, I am a fashion-conscious medical professional. I'm trying to make the health field more beautiful, one step at a time. Once in a while innocent patients mistakenly call me Doctor. I correct them...sometimes. Song of the Day: When a Heart Breaks by Ben Rector

Spiderwoman

Does anyone remember the song "Independent Woman" by Destiny's Child (and we thought back then that Beyonce was amazing...seriously how does this woman keep.getting.better???) It became this theme song for single, financially-fairly-stable (or at least pretending) young women everywhere.

Yeah, that rock I'm rockin'?? I bought it.

A mantra saying: I don't need a man to support or take care of me. I've got all that covered, but if you'd like to be an accessory or recreational hobby, here's where you can sign up.

Somewhere between the failed plans and the great interruptions of my life, between the good and the "let's just block that one out" relationships, I find myself automatically coming back to this idea of self-sustainability. Now, I'm not watching Charlie's Angels and channeling Lucy Liu, but I work hard to get to the point where I'm a well-run, self-sufficient factory - just in case someone else breaks my heart or doesn't follow through.

And, strangely enough, I usually feel some sort of shallow pride in the fact that - - I take care of me.




Last weekend, I hung pictures in my apartment. I climbed on chairs, made marks on walls, used my own hammer and nails, and did the entire job by myself. It felt pretty good.


Last night, we had the biggest spider in our bathroom that I'd ever seen - about the size of the palm of my hand.

Initial reaction: desire to throw up and run away

My room-mate hateshateshates bugs. I didn't want to terrify her so I took a deep breath, knocked the daylights out of the little varmint, and quietly disposed of the remains - - realizing afterwards that for some reason I did this entire ritual while holding my breath.

I accomplished the mission by myself, and instead of feeling pretty good...it just felt sort of lonely.

Some days, it would be nice to have let someone help me hang a great picture of Italy or kill the spider for me - or at least stand there sharing a good laugh.


Song of the Day: Heartless(cover) by William Fitzsimmons

Ash Wednesday

This is a link to a poem by T.S. Eliot (the T.S. stands for Thomas Stearns in case you were wondering...) that I read every year on Ash Wednesday.

It's the first poem he wrote after converting to Christianity and delves into the struggles that exist between despair and hope.

I figured he would do a much better job describing Ash Wednesday than myself. After all, I've never won a Nobel Prize...not yet anyways.

It's a pretty long poem, ergo great distraction from hunger if you're fasting.

http://http//www.msgr.ca/msgr-7/ash_wednesday_t_s_eliot.htm

PhatTuesday

My life completely revolves around food.
That's not a complaint.

Today I have had 2 patients cancel and 1 no-show on me. Why? It's Fat Tuesday. I mean seriously, who would schedule an appointment to see a dietitian on a holiday with the word "fat" in the title?? Certainly not me.

I enjoy a reason to throw my healthy eating training to the wind just as much as the next person.

At 9:30am this morning I was hungry (yes, I'd already eaten breakfast...). Usually I would drink a bottle of water and tell myself: "Suck it up, Haaland. It's your job to avoid cravings." But, not today!!

At 9:30am you could have found me in the staff kitchen, eating half of a chocolate chip cookie. The kind that are soft and gooey in the center with chocolate chunks (not puny chips). So far, this has been the best choice of my day.

Our office manager walked in looking shocked. I shamelessly and messily responded, mouth still partly full with semi-sweet chocolate chunk goodness: "It's Fat Tuesday. I'm practicing my Catholicism."

I mean really, how is she supposed to come back at that??
It's not like I ate the entire King Cake (that could be because there wasn't a King Cake).



Song of the Day: Feels So Right by Matt Wertz

"Great see to you!"

It's a tad bit ironic, really. The people who I want to impress the most, or care the most about how they think of me are the same ones I tend to be the most awkward around. Maybe it's because I'm over-thinking each thought, and in some cases, even each heart-beat.

It's the moments when I'm the most self-aware that I'm the least like myself.

There's a history of this in my life, especially when it comes to boys. When you're in high school it always seems as though it's the random kid who you just happened to smile and say "good job" to after an exceptional physics grade that asks you out...while it's the tall, dreamy ones who leave you completely tongue-tied that one moment where they seem to notice you.

Now, not just boys, but graduate school interviews, potential coaches, bosses...those people in life who I really want to seem spectacular around are the ones with whom I'm so uncomfortable.


It just happens to be a little worse with boys.

I thought we'd grow out of this by now, like pimples before the school dance. But, alas, I for one seem to still be trapped in this phase from time to time. The more attractive the guy, the more likely I am to invert some word or miss my cue for a great witty comment, despite the fabulous shade of lip gloss I'm wearing.

I was pretty sure that those moments would completely fade when I started carrying business cards and paying my own rent.

It's those moments when I care the most, when I'm the most worried about being vulnerable, that I'm suddenly no longer comfortable in my own skin. As though I've been thrown back to the 6th grade and I'm all elbow and knees. But I knoooooow (sometime on the drive home) that if I could have just been myself, it would have been easy breezy!


But, there's not much to do except get a good laugh about it and keep practicing talking to the boys - - praying that maybe one day, a good one will find the fact that you just invented a new word(s) out of nervousness...adorable.


Song of the Day: Someone Somewhere by Jason Reeves

Runner's Blues

Just bench me already.

Although, I may complain as though I don't have true feelings for it, running is one of my favorite hobbies. Some days I feel that my thoughts are such a whirlwind that I need the steady rhythm of my feet to enable me to figure it all out. As though once I can convince the major parts of my brain to control my feet, my breathing, my heart rate, my decisions about what turns to take...I'm finally in a place where I can focus on whatever has been on my mind.

I love the alone time. You can run with a buddy, but as far as I'm concerned that battle is just between yourself and the road. Every run I bring all that I have: my prayers, my great days, my stress, my worries; knowing that afterward I'll be completely exhausted and ____ miles stronger than I was before.

I never know what will happen when I lace up my "chocolate and champagne" colored sneakers before I head out. Some days I own the road, but there's definitely days where it owns me.




And here's the rub...
Every time I train for a race, I injure myself. A little too fixated on my goals, I make a plan and go for it, forgetting I'm not the woman of steel.

Last weekend, I somehow slipped in high heels and went for a run later that day. Some point during the run I noticed the arches of my feet aching more than usual. The next day, said pain prevented me from walking down the porch steps when I was about to go for a good 7 mile jaunt.

I feel like the new horse at a race, just too excited by the fact that he's racing to realize pain means you're supposed to slow down.



Now I'm sitting on the couch, icing my elevated foot and popping advil like it's Mike & Ike's (I don't even like those, but it was the best mental picture I could think of). I'm dreading the necessary doctor's appt in the morning, worried that the race in May is out.



It would be so convenient to blame someone right now...but there's no one to point a finger at except that road and me.


Song of the Day: Someone Like You by Adele

Liquid Love

Coffee might be one of my favorite things about mornings.
To quote Kenneth the page from the great show "30 Rock":

"I love how it makes me feel. It's like my heart is trying to hug my brain."

Can we have a moment of silence in its honor...


Okay that was long enough.


This sunrise ritual is comfort, warmth and as essential to me as putting gas into my car. Some days it's like I'm trapped in a haze that can only be lifted by the bold aroma, the dripping sound, and the warmth of my favorite porcelain mug against my hands. Yes, I've even been known to cuddle my coffee mug on cold days.

One day at work last week was so bad, I literally stood in the office kitchen after one of the nurses started the coffee pot and stared at it longingly until it was ready.

Now in my past life as a poor grad student, you quickly learn that taste and quality come second to the sheer power of caffeine. I admit it, I've had bad coffee...willingly. But it's okay, I'm in recovery - - thank you work force and accompanying pay checks.


I don't need too many accessories. You can hold the whip cream and the flavored creamers (unless it's pumpkin, that's a whole other animal). But, I'm not tough enough to drink it black, and I have no desire to be. Just give me some skim milk (preferably steamed if such option is available) and a cup of coffee and I'm pretty sure I can handle the rest of the day.


Once in a while I ponder if this habit is a vice. Perhaps something to give up so that I'm not a slave to anything?
To answer my own question, I found this great CNN article discussing the health benefits of bean juice ( http://articles.cnn.com/2010-04-28/health/coffee.studies_1_coffee-drinkers-coffee-studies-national-coffee-association?_s=PM:HEALTH ).

I like to think of it as saving my life, one mug at a time.



Song of the Day: Coffee by Copeland

Gone with the Wind

"It's windy tonight" would be an understatement.

It's hit force of nature levels out there. You can't see it or tell when the next big gust is going to strike, but it does. And it roooaars through my crazy hair.

It's one of those evenings where if it wasn't for this wind, it wouldn't be too cold. And it's nights like this that I walk the long way to my car.

There's an excitement in this wind. Change is in the air. The sound of the howl is haunting, almost aching as it penetrates your core. So I slow down my steps and take it in as it steals my breath. It's as though the night is so full with pent up potential energy that it was to escape somehow.

You can't deny it. You can't stop it. So I brace myself against the brick pavement, savoring the adventure in the moment, and smile as I lean into this ferocious wind.

Change in the air.

Song of the Day: Closing Time by Sean McConnell

Super Bowl Etiquette

I love football. There's an empty place in my heart during spring and summer where some good tail-gaiting and tackling usually reside.

Growing up, we were not allowed to interrupt my grandfather when the Pittsburgh Steelers were playing, the penalty would be death glares and family isolation. As a child it seemed silly, but now I understand he was just passing us down the torch of real football fans. That which separates the individual who watches the football game from the person who pays attention long enough for RedZone moments and mistakes Sunday evenings for social time.



A Guide to Super Bowl Manners....Stay Classy.


1. Do not walk in front of the TV.

2. Passing the snacks around doesn't require sound unless it's "mmmmm's" or the crunch of Doritos.

3. Talking is okay when special teams come on the field, but only if it pertains to the subject at hand.

4. Limit yelling at the ref to 10 words, unless a repeat commercial is following.

5. Telepathy helps, practice it.

6. No whining. If your team stinks, your nagging voice isn't going to improve them.

7. If you bring someone new to the group and your team starts losing, it's perfectly acceptable to exile him/her to a different room. Even if it's your grandmother.

8. No girly drinks. Your questionable choices will distract real fans.

9. Any celebratory dancing must stop by the time the next play commences.

10. Don't start talking trash if your team is behind. You just look desperate and will probably have fewer friends later.

11. If no one answers your question, wait until half-time to ask it again...at your own risk.

12. Don't shriek unless it looks like a player has a compound fracture. It's football. It's supposed to hurt.



Song of the Day: She's Got You High by Mumm-Ra

Cheap Cheese

25 has been a pretty good age for me. I can't complain. Well, that's not true because I often do. It's scary and exciting and tumultuous, but it feels like we're starting to lay down some sort of foundations for these lives we're building.

It's a Thursday night and we have company coming. Our go-to dinner is Fondue - - Always a crowd-pleaser. Our very own fondue pot, fully accessorized with color-coded spears?? (wait a second, what the heck do we call the spear/dipping things?!?) and hot pink place-mats conjures up memories of the Candy Land board game.
It looks sooo decadent and fills the quaint basement apartment with the aroma of melted cheese. My favorite food group.

But, the best part about fondue night is that it's dirt cheap. We can feed a group of us with some sourdough bread, vegetables, a beer, and a package of shredded cheese (preferably on sale). Then we sit around the melted dish for a long evening of cherished conversation.

And I am completely content.

We are literally living from paycheck to paycheck with fairly recently acquired bills and graduate school loans causing us to second guess our unquenchable drive for higher education. 75% of our lives were spent in the safety net of "home" and here we are now pretending we know how to build our own.

The glimmer of a flawless diamond in a friend's engagement ring reminds me of the reality that our lives can completely change course in an instant. But for this one evening, we're all right here. And that's something wonderful.
We giggle, we pretend we have it all figured out, and we learn lessons the hard way.

Dinner? Success.



At 25, here's what I do know:
I'm a work in progress
My life is far from glamorous
Nothing will ever take the place of nights filled with cheap cheese & rich conversation


Song of the Day: Nothing Better by The Postal Service

At Least Saturn is Still a Planet

5:55am
I'm on a treadmill - running my heart out but not going anywhere - because the ice outside gives no friction.

Treadmills can make you crazy. So much movement, so much being still breeds a compulsive type of thinking. But today, I am victim to someone watching the Discovery Channel on the gym TV. Topic of the morning: Saturn.

At the age of 7, I decided to read everything I could find on the solar system. My favorite planet was Saturn (yes, it may have extremely nerdy to like planets but I was still a girl...Saturn had pretty rings). We lived in Kentucky, there wasn't a whole lot to do but read.

According to the Discovery Channel, which would obviously never lie to a viewer, one theory is that the rings were formed by a destroyed smaller planet or moon of Saturn. This moon, perhaps a little risky, ventured too close to Saturn and was pulled in so violently by her strong gravitational forces, the purest form of attraction...that it was destroyed.
Blown into tiny bits and left to circle the planet forever in the form of beautiful rings.

I almost tripped on the treadmill as it occurred to me:

Some days you're Saturn

some days you're its moon.



Song of the Day: Cosmic Love by Florence + the Machine

New Year's Revolutions

"So, did you make a new year's resolution this year?"
"No, I think they're ridiculous because no one ever keeps them."

If the above exchange has happened to you, you've been the victim of New Year's disillusionment.

I've talked to so many people this year who feel this way, who don't see the point to making a resolution because it will be broken. Bout, resolutions aren't wishes that you make on stars ord whil e wearing bihrthday party thats. It's simple goal-seitting - you either fight or you give in. Don't doom yourself with doubt.

This year, instead of a resolution, I decided to have a new year's REVOLUTION. There's tons of little habits I have which I wish I didn't for example: hitting the snooze button, drinking diet soda, not standing up straight - - aspects that I am not proud of. Ergo, 2011 is the year of being the version of me of whom I would be proud. My personal revolution. If not now, then when??

Now, this hasn't been easy. A Revolution is a long road. In fact I had a diet coke today...I hate the fact that I have a weakness for diet sodas, I mean seriously, they don't even taste good. But, the revolution has made me more aware of myself. Several times throughout the day I stop and ask myself something cheesy like "are you being the person you wish you were?" And if I take enough time to answer "no", those are the days when I don't grab the coke.
Even though I'm not 100% different, it's still an improvement from not trying. It's a few steps closer to the ideal Robyn.

Be brave, Revolt!


Reasons why 2011 is going to be a-MAZ-ing:

11 is a prime number
Each year we're learning from our mistakes (hopefully)
Eleven is fun to say
my iTunes collection has improved since last year
20-elevensies is going to catch on, I can feel it
Do you have any others?


Song of the Day: Cigarettes by The Wreckers

Any Other Name Would Smell Just As Sweet

In my opinion the art of choosing a blog name lies in finding one that makes sense, can some how apply to you (that's you, not me), and of course references something greater.



Worry is a theme in my daily life. If any given time you asked me what I was worried about, I would have an answer. This summer on my way to a new job I was so worried and scared that I made myself sick. Yet, it's common for me - before exams, first impressions, public speaking - I waste minutes of life in futile fear.

But, this commute was different. I realized I had wasted the entire morning not listening to the amazing playlist I had made, but instead freaking out over worst case scenarios and I didn't even know what was causing the fear. It was an inefficient way to spend the present, these moments that none of us will get back.

And then I remembered that Bible verse we always hear at June weddings:

"There is no fear in love, but perfect love drives out fear" 1 Jn 4:18

The fear is there because I let it in.
I allow this silly fear/worry/anxiety to play a theme

But, what if every time we felt the needless anxiety creep in, in the form of knots in our shoulders, we just focused on how to love better?

I think that a lot of our choices fall somewhere on a spectrum anchored by Love at one end and Fear at the other. I'm a pendulum that swings back and forth between the two.

Although striving for love, I usually fall somewhere...in between.



Song for the day: If It Kills Me by Jason Mraz