Tuesday, January 24, 2012

daily scribbles :: courage

Click here to read why I scribble every day.

Inspiration:


"When you are born," the golem said softly, "your courage is new and clean. You are brave enough for anything: crawling off of staircases, saying your first words without fearing that someone will think you are foolish, putting strange things in your mouth. But as you get older, your courage attracts gunk and crusty things and dirt and fear and knowing how bad things can get and what pain feels like. By the time you're half-grown, your courage barely moves at all, it's so grunged up with living. So every once in a while, you have to scrub it up and get the works going or else you'll never be brave again. Unfortunately, there are not so many facilities in your world that provide the kind of services we do. So most people go around with grimy machinery, when all it would take is a bit of spit and polish to make them paladins once more, bold knights and true."


Excerpt from The Girl who Circumnavigated Fairyland In A Ship Of Her Own Making, Catherynne M. Valente. Words embolded by Bean. :)


I.

When we are born into this world, we arrive with a few things no one can take away from us. Every boy and every girl receives the same gifts: a jar and a bottle. Inside the jar is courage--sparkly and fuzzy and electrifying.  And in case you were wondering, courage glows slightly blue. Inside the bottle is hope--fresh, effervescent, smells-like-sunshine hope. Every child instinctively knows what to do with courage and hope. We rub courage liberally all over ourselves and drink deeply from hope and go out into the world to explore and discover and learn and take risks. We are fearless. We know that our jar of courage and bottle of hope are bottomless as long as we keep using them.

As we grow, some of us forget how to use courage, forget how to drink hope. At least that's what happened to me. I stopped using these gifts and began to ration them. For when I really need them, I said.

Foolish Bean.

Courage and hope, unused, dwindle away to nothing.

When I decided to start scribbling every day, I didn't expect to receive any feedback. In fact, I expected to lose blog subscribers and followers because I was rambling aloud.

I was just adding more noise to an already noisy virtual universe.

Blog friends, I was surprised and delighted and humbled to receive responses to the daily scribbles. I have loved the conversations we've had, the parts of your lives you've shared in your responses. Thank you for your texts, phone calls, e-mails, comments and spoken words of encouragement.

My jar of courage and bottle of hope were empty, but you filled them up.

Thank you

For encouraging me to write;
For wanting to have conversations with me;
For sharing your own stories.

II.

If you are running low on courage or hope (or if you're completely out), let me know. I will be your cheer cheerleader.

To those who strive to tell stories through words or sculptures or pictures or movement or song or paintings or movies:

Thank you.

You are courageous for telling your own stories and sharing yourself with a nameless, faceless audience who may or may not like you.

(You might not think that's courageous, but I do.)

Keep on keepin' on.

III.

Do you have a super-secret passion for something--anything--that you're hesitant to pursue? Do you want to open your own bakery or start your own dog-walking business? Write a novel/poem/screen play? Become the next Food Network Star?

Please share!

I could tell try to persuade you to go for it (in way too many words), but I'll let Jon Acuff do the talking. He is the one who inspired me to scribble every day. He is one of my favorite people--my far-away friend and unofficial mentor. (It's unofficial because he doesn't know. Shhh. It's still a secret.)

Also, he is hilarious. Check him out. Be inspired.

Monday, January 23, 2012

Daily Scribbles :: Thin Seasons


Click here to read why I scribble every day.

Inspiration:

"It isn't the great big pleasures that count the most; it's making a great deal out of the little ones."--Jean Webster

I.

I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'm thankful for seasons when life feels uncomfortably full, when I feel I'm stretched thin and am starting to lose my elasticity. It is during those longer, harder days that I see and appreciate all of the good things in my life.

We are entering into this season once more. Work demands more time than it already owns. Life demands more--more time, money, energy, self. I'd like to think that I'm not easily derailed, that I can segue from one season into the next without losing my cool or getting flustered.

But I lost my cool last week. 

I allowed myself to sit in a pool of despair for a few hours. I grumbled at everyone and no one in particular. I splashed around and waited till my toes got pruney. Then I got out.

No use grumbling and crying about things I can't change.

We're trying our best to adjust to work days that bleed into long nights, to eating everything out of our pantry and freezer because our budget is so taut you could bounce quarters off of it. 

We're in a thin season.

Thin seasons force me to assess my priorities and be creative and intentional with my time and resources. Thin seasons remind me to celebrate the little things, like having just enough time to hold hands before going to sleep. Great friends. Peanut butter. Happy dogs. A clean house. 

These things are more than enough. 

II.

Dear God:

Thanks for thin seasons. They remind me to celebrate all of the good things you give me every day. Maybe some day, I won't need thin seasons to remember.

Yours,

Bean

III. 

My friend, Nannette, is determined to focus on the blessings in her life and is sharing her reasons to be grateful each week on her blog. Her determination to focus on the good things has challenged me to focus on the good things in my life, too. 

What are three good things in your life? Here are my three:
  1. Mike Fox. And Crosby and Gemma. And our families. And our dear friends. (I'm going to cheat and count all of those people as one really wonderful blessing.)
  2. The Orange County Public Library
  3. Drinking tea with Mike before bed

Wednesday, January 18, 2012

Daily Scribbles :: Regret

Click here to read why I scribble every day.


Inspiration: A shameful memory.


I.

When I first started college, I naively thought I wouldn't allow "the world" to change me. I was going to change the world. I was going to bleed Christ's love all over everyone I met. 

I had never been kissed, never smoked a cigarette and never had a beer. 

College was eye-opening.

It only took a few days for me to realize I was just a girl among men and women. Perhaps "girl" is too generous of a label. I was practically from another planet.

My suite-mates were kind to me, but I felt my "otherness" showing. I wanted to bleed Christ's love all over everyone, but I also wanted to be liked. I didn't want to stick out so much.

Can you imagine my surprise when a boy showed interest? I couldn't believe my good fortune!

His name was Mark. He was charming and funny and cute, and I could not believe he was paying any attention to me. I was in college! A boy was talking to me! He thought I was funny! I was giddy from the attention, but the must-change-the-world-through-love programming could not be overridden. Was he a Christian? I didn't know yet. I was pretty green about boy-girl interactions, but I had enough sense to know that there were a few things you didn't talk about on the first date (or the first few dates, for that matter):
  • Marriage
  • How many kids you want to have
  • Ex-boyfriends
I assumed that personal beliefs fell somewhere on that list, though I wasn't sure where. I knew we would talk about it eventually.

It came too soon for me.

We were on our way to a concert on-campus when he asked if we could stop by his room. While we were there, he asked if I wanted anything to drink. I politely declined. He said, "Don't be shy, Lina--honestly, I have plenty. You're welcome to whatever I have." I told him I didn't drink. He said, "Oh. Do you mind if I do?" I told him I didn't. But I was secretly disappointed. This beautiful man drank alcohol? I felt as though he told me he killed puppies for a living. 

Let me explain.

I was raised to believe that certain things were unquestionably wrong. For example, killing another person. The bible says no, and the law says no. I also believed that there was another list of things you didn't do if you loved God. I like to call this list, "Lifestyle Choices for People Who Love God". If you love God, you wouldn't do these things:

  • Drink alcohol
  • Smoke cigarettes
  • Get tattooed 
  • Get extraneous body piercings
  • Have sex before marriage
(Disclaimer: I am not claiming that this list is Truth. This is just what I believed.)

I actually thought that doing any of the things on this list was bad, like really bad. Not quite up there with murder, but people who loved God didn't do these things. 

Back to Mark.

He could tell something was bothering me and was concerned and attentive. I was sweating profusely. I didn't want to talk about it. I didn't have to. He guessed.

Mark: Does it bother you that I drink?
Me: *nodding dumbly*
Mark: Why does it bother you? Does it offend you? If it offends you, I won't drink around you, or when we're going to hang out.
Me: *looking at my feet and hating him for being so nice*
Mark: Could you please say something?
Me: You don't have to not-drink when I'm around.
Mark: Oh, but it bothers you.
Me: Well, yeah. It's bad.
Mark: Why does it bother you? Is it because of your beliefs?
Me: Yeah. Why do you drink? It's bad for you.
Mark: I like it. It's fun. I really enjoy it.
Me:  I don't think we should hang out anymore.
Mark: What? Why? Because I drink and you don't?
Me: *nodding and avoiding his gaze*
Mark: Well, let me try to understand where you're coming from, because to be honest, I don't see how me drinking alcohol should get in the way of us hanging out. 
Me: Okay.
Mark: Let's say I like artichokes. And I really like artichokes, but you don't. Would that stop you from hanging out with me?
Me: Well no, but that's different.
Mark: How is it different?
Me: Artichokes don't hurt people.

Even after 10 years, I am still terribly embarrassed at how that conversation went. Mark was gracious and kind. He didn't understand me but respected my decision. I really believed that I shouldn't hang out with him--even if we were just friends--because he did things I didn't think were right. And instead of loving him and respecting his lifestyle choice, I decided we couldn't be each others lives.

I was wrong. I was naive. 

I perverted my desire to spread Christ's love by judging people and alienating them. Jesus hung out with hookers and cheats. He didn't treat them differently even though they were doing things He didn't agree with. He just accepted them. I blew my first real chance to show love to someone who didn't know Jesus. 

Instead, I just judged him.

II.

I saw Mark occasionally around campus while I was at UCSD, but I never mustered up the courage to apologize for being judgmental. And hypocritical. And the opposite of loving. I wanted to run up to him and say, "I'm so sorry, Mark. That was totally lame and judgmental of me." But I was ashamed. I also imagined myself running up to him and saying, "Mark! I drink alcohol now!", but I didn't think it would suffice as an apology.

I regret that I missed the opportunity to be friends with a really nice person, to show Christ's love to him simply because God made him. Period. It makes me sad that the only memory he really has of me is telling him we couldn't be friends because he did something I didn't agree with.

Because at the end of the day, who am I to judge him?

III.

I abandoned the list of don'ts a long time ago. It's formulaic. God isn't. I think ditching the list is one of the reasons I'm much better at loving people now. I stopped having ideals about who to love and what it should look like. Instead of seeing what makes us different, God helps me see everything that makes us the same--what makes us human.

IV. 

Mark,

Thanks for loving me where I was at. It was supposed to be the other way around. Sorry I didn't figure it out till it was too late. I regret it.

V.

Have you ever tried to show Christ's love only to fail miserably? Regrets are personal so if you don't want to share, please don't feel pressured. But if you want to share, I'd love to hear from you.

Tuesday, January 17, 2012

Daily Scribbles :: Bad Words


Click here to read why I scribble every day. 


Inspiration: 


Whoopee Cushion
I said my first bad words defending my Whoopie Cushion. It seemed like a just cause at the time.
I. 


Do you remember your first cuss word? I do. I was 4 years old.


A nice man at church saw me playing with a Whoopie Cushion after service and asked if he could see it. I can't remember why, but I didn't want to let him. I think he thought I was being cute and stubborn so he asked me again. He even added a "pretty please". 

I quietly said, "F**k you."

I didn't know what those words meant. I just knew they were serious and grown-up. I thought he would quit asking for my Whoopie Cushion after I'd said them.


The man's eyes almost fell out of his skull. "What did you say?" 

I repeated myself. Based on his reaction, I knew I had done a bad thing. I knew I was going to get in trouble.


This man took me by the hand, led me to my mom, and told her about our conversation. He said he thought I didn't know what I was saying, like it would help. It didn't.


Pastors' kids aren't supposed to drop f-bombs. At church.

II.

Do you remember your first bad word? 

Friday, January 13, 2012

daily scribbles :: table for one



Click here to read why I scribble every day.

Inspiration: 


East Borough. Costa Mesa. December 31, 2011.

I. 

I haven't talked to God in a long time.

("Long" is relative, but it feels long to me.) 

I don't have any excuses--I just haven't. At least not the way we used to. 

It  feels like we broke up, like we've been "taking a break". (And I was the one who initiated it.) During this time of voluntary "aloneness", I've had some really good days and some really not-good ones. Overall, I've  felt okay without our talks.

At least I did for a little while. 


Yesterday, I decided I missed Him and was ready to talk--really talk. This was going to be much more than the Facebook posts or text messages I'd sent Him to get by. 


You know, the types of prayers where you're zipping through the fastest thank you possible so you can tuck into your food. 
Or praying for safety. 
Or just saying, "Thanks for today! Talk to you soon. Promise." 


I was ready to have a full-blown dinner-movie-cocktails kind of date. 


(That probably doesn't sound like a fancy date, but I really like dinner, and I really like movies.)


I was ready to give Him my undivided time and attention.


To prepare myself, I gathered almost every devotional in my house--the ones that already have "the good entries" highlighted and flagged. I figured that after such a long absence, it was probably best for me to dive in with the most compelling entries. I wiped the dust off of the covers and stacked them on my desk. I also grabbed my prayer notebook, the one I use to record praises and requests. It was a little premature but I thought, best to be prepared. I cleared my throat, took a sip of my reheated coffee, and read the day's entry in the first devotional. 

Good, I guess. Thanks for the reminder.

I didn't feel the familiar stirring of convictions/adoration/praise/awe within me. I didn't feel anything, really. So I thought, maybe the next one will speak to me. Still nothing. I stayed positive.

That was really good. Thanks.

And so it went till I'd read through the entire stack of devotionals. In the past, I would feel a lot. The devotionals were just jumping-off points for long, soul-quenching conversations with God. It didn't take much for me to feel God's presence, to sit with Him in silence or talk about a million things. But that day, I struggled to find one nugget--something to think about--from these tried and true devotionals. I tried to find something to store in my heart, to pray about and dwell on throughout the day, but I felt nothing. I might have felt more if I had read a soup can label.

Not to be deterred, I picked up my Daily Bible--the one that helps you read through the entire bible in a year. Surely, God will speak to me through His Word! 

I flipped to that day's passage and read the old testament excerpt. I knew the story--Abraham makes his servant place his hand on his thigh and swear to bring his son, Isaac, a wife. Isaac ends up marrying his dad's grand-niece, which would make her his...I don't know, some sort of relative. 

I kept waiting for God to poke my heart, to fill me with the usual feelings of awe and wonder I feel when I read His word. 

I didn't feel anything. I kept thinking about the large gold nose ring and bracelets the servant gave Isaac's future-wife. I couldn't stop wondering what they looked like.

I read the passages from the old testament, Psalms and Proverbs. Still nothing. 

I began to pray but sort of gave up halfway through. 

For the first time in our relationship, I felt like God wasn't there. 

I mean, I know He's still there. And everywhere. I just didn't feel like He was there with me. (I feel sacrilegious for saying this. Please understand that this is just how I felt.)

Where was He? Why wasn't He talking to me?

In all the years I'd flaked on Him or rescheduled our "dates", I always knew He would be waiting for me when I was ready. This time, I felt like I showed up, and He stood me up.

It felt--feels--strange. 

I confided in my friend, Nannette, about it. I wasn't looking for a formula to guarantee God would show up next time, that I would feel His presence again if I just did certain things. I just wanted to make sure I wasn't crazy. I wanted to know if I was the only person who'd experienced this. She assured me I wasn't. She told me to keep seeking Him--even if I don't feel anything--because our relationship with Him should be founded in faith, not feelings. 

This made sense to me. I'm not married and un-married whenever I feel like it. God doesn't just want to be friends, with benefits. He wants a relationship. He wants me to pursue Him.

I respect that. I mean, I have to. I'm not sure how long the silence will last, but I will keep showing up to meet with God, even if I'm just sitting there alone.

I know He's not far.

II.

I've never understood when other people have said they don't feel anything when they talk to God. Now I do. Have you ever felt this way?

Thursday, January 12, 2012

don't give up

When my sister, Sarah, was a little girl, she didn't really care about anything other than drawing. She drew in the margins of her homework, on the underside of our dining room table, on the wall (until my mom stopped her), on junk mail, in countless sketchbooks (and some library books)--basically, on any blank (or mostly blank) surface. It wasn't all good, but that didn't stop her. It didn't matter. 

Drawing made her happy.

In college, she discovered that she also loved animation, and thus applied all of her time and energy to all-things-animating. Even though she knew it was a long shot, she applied to be in the animation program. And she got in. She has worked hard, taken risks, and has not given up. As a result, my kid sister--my hero--will graduate in May with a BFA in animation. 

But she knows this is just the beginning of a very long road to achieving her dream of working for a studio. In the mean time, she continues to hone her skills by freelancing and working on her professors' films. She attends animation conventions, armed with business cards and her portfolio, and solicits feedback from industry professionals to identify her strengths and areas of improvement. Home-girl is focused and driven!

Sarah's work has improved exponentially since she first started. I'm not surprised. She sketches every day. When she's not working on her film or freelance projects, she's sketching strangers at coffee shops, Disneyland, zoos--any place teeming with possible subjects. 

So, when I shared my doubts and insecurities about writing, she gave me good advice:
  • Recognize your strengths
  • Acknowledge your weaknesses
  • Pick one area that you need to improve upon and focus on it--work at it. It's advice she learned from Bobby Podesta's blog. As a former Pixar animator, he is mainly talking about animation, but really, he could be talking about the creative process in general. It's good stuff, people. Read it! Be encouraged.
Then she told me to watch this video of Ira Glass talking about the creative process:


I understand that Sarah's advice to me is not new or original. A lot of bloggers and and well-respected writers have given similar advice. I just didn't think it could work for me like it had worked for them. I thought that in addition to a lot of hard work, they were just inherently more--more interesting, more well-read, more intelligent.

I needed to hear it from someone who was also doing the hard work, someone who hadn't "made it" yet.

Someone I could relate to.

If you don't have anyone to cheer you on and encourage you to pursue crazy-good dreams, let it be me.

Don't give up. 

Wednesday, January 11, 2012

Daily Scribbles :: Perspective

Click here to read why I scribble every day.

Inspiration:
MOMA. San Francisco. January 3, 2012.


I.

When I get frustrated with work,
when I feel like I'm not doing anything meaningful with my life,
when I ask why injustice (seemingly) abounds--unchecked--or
why relationships unexpectedly crumble, or
why some bodies betray the souls inside them and disintegrate too soon,
I sometimes want to

q      u      i       t

And stop trying
Striving
Seeking
Doing
Becoming
Hoping.

But then, God reminds me that it's all a matter of perspective--His, not mine.

It doesn't change anything, but it reminds me that my life--and everything in it--is (more than) enough.

My life is a work in progress. I need to stop interrupting The Artist and let Him work.

II.

Have you experienced a change in perspective lately? If so, what prompted the change? What was your perspective before and after?

Monday, January 9, 2012

Daily Scribbles :: Letting Go

Click here to read about why I scribble every day.

Inspiration:

MOMA. San Francisco. January 3, 2012.

I.

If you could arrange all the moments in my life in an art gallery, old hurts would be prominently displayed in a  place of honor.

It's backwards, I know.

I'm not proud of this. It's embarrassing to admit, but it's true. There are some hurts that I still cling to because they allow me to be wounded, sullen, withdrawn, selfish and fearful. I use these old hurts as excuses when I don't want to pursue friendships, when I don't want to engage in life with others.

I'm sure others who have watched me cling to (and sometimes exalt) these old hurts have been stumped. Why would I choose to keep old hurts close?

I'm sure my therapist friends and wise people everywhere know the "actual answer", but I don't. This is just what I think:

I think I keep old hurts close and build impenetrable walls around me to prevent myself from being hurt or disappointed or betrayed again.

But living in fear is exhausting. And it's not the way God wants me to live.

So, this year, I'm cleaning house.

This year, I'm going to stop living in fear.

I'm going to stop declining invitations to hang out/celebrate/do life just because they're scary or inconvenient.
I'm going to stop automatically thinking that women are crazy. Most are perfectly good and kind and nice.
I'm going to stop thinking I can't change, because I can.

I'm going to remove the old hurts from their place of honor. I'm going to let them go so I can start living.

II.

I didn't understand the all-black painting, even after I read the artist's explanation. (Something to do with light, though it wasn't about light...) I think I might have pondered it more and tried to force myself to get it if I hadn't been with Mike and our friend, Brian. We all quickly agreed that we weren't smart enough to understand and fully appreciate modern art--at least not the art we saw in that wing--so we left.

I like to think that the man in the picture understood and appreciated the all-black painting, but I only say that because he looked "artsy" himself.

III.

Are there things/attitudes/habits that you cling to that aren't good for you? This is an extremely personal question so I don't expect you to respond, but if you do, here's my next question:

Are you going to do anything to help you let go of said not-good-thing?

I hope so.

Let go.

Live.

Friday, January 6, 2012

Daily Scribbles :: The end

Click here to read about why I scribble every day. Even if you have different reasons, I hope you start scribbling too. :)

Inspiration:

BART station. San Francisco. January 3, 2012.

I.

Kate looked at her reflection in the full-length mirror for the last time. She was wearing her favorite cardigan--olive green, with mother-of-pearl buttons--and tan slacks. Her gray hair was pulled into a tight bun, just as it had been most of her life. Out of habit, she reached for the thin silver chain around her neck, rubbing the tiny silver disc between her fingers. She pinched her cheeks for to add some color, sprayed perfume on her neck and wrists, and carefully applied lipstick.

Satisfied, she collected her purse and the dark blue envelope from her bed. She touched things as she walked through the house: the edge of the dining room table, where she had cooked and shared countless meals; her favorite reading chair; her husband's keys, still hanging from the key hook, even after all these years. Kate looked at her home, smiled, and walked out the door. She didn't bother to lock it, and she didn't look back.

She walked slowly down the sidewalk, greeting familiar faces and strangers alike with a warm smile and a friendly "hello". On her way to the train station, she stopped at her favorite coffee shop for a few last indulgences. Kate quietly sipped her coffee and ate a generous slice of cake at a table near one of the large windows. Outside, people rushed to their play dates and appointments, back to work and school and their lives. She carefully cleared her table, brushed off the crumbs, and thanked the young staff for serving her, even though she knew they couldn't hear her with the ear buds in their ears.

Kate walked into the train station and sat on a bench as she searched her purse for the envelope. She extracted her ticket and re-read the date and time of her departure. It was today's date, and she had seven minutes before she had to leave.

She watched commuters walk briskly past her, carrying their bags and books and crying children. Then, she walked across the platform and got on her train. There were only a few others on it: a young girl, maybe seven, with dark hair and round eyes; an older gentleman with a full mustache; and a red-haired woman in a navy dress. They all smiled and nodded at her as she sat down. And then the train sped off quickly and quietly beneath the city. She thought about her children and grandchildren. As she thought about the stories they were living, her heart swelled with love and pride.

Too soon, the train slowed to a stop, and the other passengers exited the train. She watched them cross the platform and insert their tickets into a slot on the turnstile before pushing through. Then they turned the corner and were out of sight. Kate crossed the platform, ticket in hand, and fed her ticket into the slot before pushing through the turnstile. She pushed through, rounded the corner and saw a flight of stairs. She hesitated until she heard Him.

"You're almost here, Kate. Everyone is excited to see you, including Henry. Especially Henry."

At the mention of her Henry's name, Kate smiled. She even giggled. Her Henry was there, waiting for her at the top of the stairs.

"It might take me awhile. My knees aren't too good anymore."

"That's okay," Jesus said. Suddenly, He was by her side at the foot of the stairs. He hugged her, and then offered His arm. She leaned on Him, and together, step by step, they began their ascent into the light.

II.

If you could plan your last day, what would it look like?

Wednesday, January 4, 2012

Daily Scribbles :: A letter to the world


I.

Inspiration:


January 3, 2012. San Francisco.

II.

Dear person-who-wrote-this-letter:

I was there once.

I'm sorry you're there now.

Did you abandon your sign because you found love?

Did you abandon your sign because you didn't?

I wonder.

III.

I think I'll come back to this picture again and again, and will be inspired to scribble something different each time. What did you feel when you saw it?

Tuesday, January 3, 2012

Adventure is out there!

Mike and I are spending a late Christmas with his family in Northern California this week. I hope to find a lot of inspiration (that will result in mad scribbling) while we're here.

Stay tuned!


Monday, January 2, 2012

Daily Scribbles :: Ghosts


Click here to read about why I scribble every day. Even if you have different reasons, I hope you start scribbling, too. :)

I.

Inspiration: I'm not sure. One moment I was waiting to get my hair cut, the next, I was scribbling on my phone. *shrug* 

It's strange, what you remember about a person--what stays with you--when he or she is no longer in your life. 

I thought of you today, unexpectedly.

I remembered

Your earlobes
Small hands
The way you looked at me when it was just us, and you saw me.


I could hear your husky voice, the way you say my name.

Used to say my name.

Years and experiences, both terrible and good, whittled down to a few details.

They remind me that you were once flesh and bone and air to a younger version of me. But that was a lifetime ago.

The last thing I said was, I love you. I should've said

Thanks

For letting me go.

Wherever you are, whatever you're doing, I hope you're well. 

II.

What do you remember about the ghosts from your past? What has stayed with you even after they're gone? I tend to remember strange details: 
  • the way a friend always smelled like sugar and frosting
  • my favorite professor's nail polish
  • the crunch of pea gravel on my favorite patio
What do you remember?