There's something to be said for speaking.

Live the story you want to tell later. 

Say what you need to say. 

Don't have regrets. 

!(@#@*&!@$(*#@$&@#$ ! Sorry, but I have trouble spitting out clichés like that without flinching (I guess flinching in this case means hitting random keys to create a colorful-looking string of characters).

What really gets me, though, is that they are true, and maybe even meaningful.

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Some of you already know that my grandma passed away in April, after beating cancer for over two years (my wording on that will be explained later).

The last time I saw her was on a Wednesday, two days before she died. The last thing I did as I was walking out the door was turn around. And the last thing I said to her was "I love you grandma, I'll see you later!"

If that moment can be labeled as the "ending" of my time with her, I couldn't have asked for a more perfect, more beautiful finale. I didn't deserve it. But I got it, and I'll be grateful for the rest of my life.

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There are very few things as rewarding in life as taking the time to make sure people know you love them. Whether it takes an extra moment to make eye contact, a gentle, honest word, or a hug -  do it. You will never regret it.

"Who are these people who write about themselves, and how did I become one of them?" - Donald Miller (A Million Miles in a Thousand Years)

Hi.

Between starting a second job, family weddings, going to college, and all the various introductions that occur when you run into friends of friends when you live in a small town, I've been meeting a lot of new people lately.

Usually the introductions go something like this:
Me: "HI!" (In an almost frighteningly exuberant voice)
Other person: "Heeeey... I'm Alexander." (In a tone that reflects that this person is slightly confused by my exuberance. Note: The other person is not always named Alexander.)
Me: "Good for you, having a name like Alexander. I'm Jazmin!"
Other person, now known to be Alexander: "Okay... well, I'll catch you later."
Me: "Okey dokey (or something equally embarrassing), have a great day!"
Alexander: "Yeah, umm, you too."

Actually, they never go like that. Just kidding.

But I was thinking - what is an introduction, anyway? Usually it just involves saying whatever your parents decided to call you and then shaking hands. In normal, run of the mill greetings, you don't actually get introduced to the person, you get introduced to the name.

All of a sudden, that's a weird concept to me.

If I ever decided to lengthen the introduction process, to provide my name as the beginning of a conversation, not the end of one, because I would continue on to introduce myself as a person, not just a string of letters and sounds, I would probably say something like this:


Me: "HI!" (Not having learned from previous experiences, I again say this in an almost frighteningly exuberant voice)
Other person: "Heeeey... I'm Heathcliff." (Told you they're not always named Alexander!)
Me: Nice! Well, I'm Jazmin, and (that's the turning point of the conversation, the signpost at the beginning of the trail to the top of the mountain of getting to know me, the warning sign that we're going to be friends, like it or not!)

No, I'm not the Disney Princess - seriously, the blonde hair didn't tip you off?

I'm probably too sarcastic for my own, or anyone else's, good. I'm also secretly more cynical than I have any right to be.

Note: I mock because I care. Seriously. I only poke fun at people I like. I know this is unreasonable, ridiculous, and hard to understand, and I'm working on it, but it's true.

However I do laugh at 90% of the jokes, puns, or witty sayings that I hear. That's probably one of the main reasons that people don't hate me.

Also, a warning: because of all the time I spend with small children (Elementary Ed majors for the win!), I tend to use pet names like "Honey" or "Dear" in everyday conversation. It's another one of those weird habits.

And I starting saying stupid things like "For the win!" and "Dude!" and "Legit!" "Baller" and "Bro" a while ago, no, I haven't been able to stop. Yes, I know it's silly.

It's especially silly because I hate abbreviations. A word is a word, you change the meaning of it when you chop it into pieces.

I talk a lot, probably too much, but I'll always listen to you when you need me to.

I'll respond to many different variations of Jazmin, and even to other names that don't have anything whatsoever to do with Jazmin. Yazmone, Jazminish, Jazmina, Jazzy, PaJazzle, Miss Jazmin, J-Dog, Jazzercise, J, Jazzy J, and the personal favorite of my family and some friends: Jaz.

I love to tell stories and jokes, and I'll always argue that telling a good one is all in the delivery.

I love people. I love Jesus. And I think those two things don't go together as often as they should. 

I love making people smile, which is why I smile.

I love saying that I love things, because I love love.

And I think you're pretty great for letting me ramble on like this. It's nice to meet you, Heathcliff, now tell me about yourself."

Heathcliff: "Well, I live at an estate called Wuthering Heights..."

*You should also know that I tend to reference what I'm reading in everyday conversation, or what I write. =)

If pride comes before a fall, get a band-aid ready...

Because I'm proud of something.

I personally recruited two counselors for primary camp at Camp Kellogg this past week. One of them was a pretty experienced counselor, I just convinced him to sign up for yet another week of camp duty. The other had little to no experience with kids, and I persuaded him that he would love camp.

When I was asked what a first-time counselor should expect, I had to pause. "Well... you'll hate kids for a little while. When, not if, that happens, take a break and maybe a nap, and you'll recover. You'll get exhausted and hot, you'll feel like you're in WAY over your head... and you won't regret it." Then I said that my experiences as a counselor have been the most fulfilling times of my life. And it's true.

There's nothing like the feeling of having someone (or eight someones) be completely dependent on you to help you grow up, fast.

I remember seeing a clogged toilet one night, and thinking, "Man, someone should take care of that..." and realizing that, finally, that person was me.

Sure, camp is fun, camp is free food, and a way to work on your tan because you're outside all the time, but it's also a lot more than that. It's a chance to focus completely on putting a child's needs before your own and to get over yourself.

There's a lot more that could be said about camp, but then again, I would never be able to say all of it.

Random but sincere spew of thoughts...

First of all, I'm sorry that I haven't posted for a while (I think that is what one is supposed to say when one abandons one's blog for a fairly long period of time). 

My mother's birthday was a couple of weeks ago, and when I wrote in the card I got for my mom at Serendipity in Bend, I realized something - I hope I'm like my mom when I grow up.

Specifically, I hope that one day I can live as gratefully as my mom does. I hope I write dozens of thank you notes like she does, I hope I call people and recognize what they did like she does, and I hope I learn to be as sincerely thankful for everything, like she is.

That said, I decided to thank just a few of the people, objects, events, and other things that I'm grateful for.

• Toms Shoes. I'm really, really glad that there are companies like this. They give away a pair of shoes for every pair they sell to children who desperately. Also, I love the shoes themselves - they're incredibly comfortable, and I wear them with everything. Literally. 
• Saturday Night Live, especially when it puts Tina Fey and Justin Bieber together, like in this sketch, Teacher. It's life-changingly hilarious! 
• Car mechanics, both professional and unofficial (this includes Les Schwab men). Whether it's noticing the air in your tires is low or replacing your cat converter,  they're looking out for you and your car. And it's always, always nice to be looked out for. 
 

Annnnnd pretty much everything else in the world. 

Backwards road trip narrative

It's not really a secret that I have an intense dislike for coffee that I am not familiar with, and for coffee that comes in cans. However, my distrust of gas station coffee far outweighs those concerns, which is why I'm drinking a Starbucks doubleshot.

I'm sitting in my mothers car (because my beloved 1995 Thunderbird is in the shop, again) in front of the Pilot gas station/Subway/convenience store in Chemult.

Ten minutes before this moment, I was inside the eerily modern (because it's in Chemult) building. I held my doubleshot and my brother's gas station coffee (he has no taste, we have discussed this). I wondered if that man with the 64 oz. soda is aware that he's drinking something the size of Dwight Howard's shoulder. AKA huge. I also wondered why the music playing was such a horribly awkward combination of country and pop. Most of all, I wondered why the tinny, sugary music coming from the claw machine in the corner, when combined with the countrypop, did not cause every patron in the building to run away screaming, clutching what little was left of their sanity. I told my brother I would wait in the car.

About half an hour before that, I was headed East on the road of life. It's most commonly referred to as the North Umpqua Highway- a long long straight straight uphill uphill road that leads from Highway 97 to Diamond Lake and Crater Lake. I call it the road of life because it reminds me of life itself - the end is always so far away, until it's upon you.

For the time period between ten minutes before that and about 23 hours before that, I was at Diamond Lake with my family. It's hard to describe how I feel about that place... how do you describe your childhood best friend's house? Your favorite pet growing up? Your first car? Your favorite sweater? Your grandparents? Something that contains some of your favorite memories, sights, smells, and feelings. Everything about it is familiar, even though it has changed over time. It's a piece of you.

Probably twenty minutes before that, I was driving West on the road of life. It's the perfect end to my favorite drive - right when you hit the top, if you peek over the trees, you can catch your first glimpse of the lake. It's like coming home, every time.

Between that time and an hour and forty minutes before that time, I was enjoying the beginning and middle part of said favorite drive. I love the southbound stretch between the Baker Road exit and the High Desert Museum, and I love the view of the mountains from LaPine, and I love the wooden huge bear and logger in Crescent.

Right before that began, I filled up my travel mug with coffee.

But now, right now, my brother is coming out of the Pilot Station, and I get to finish the last leg of my trip home.

How many hipsters does it take to flush a toilet?

None, they leave it and call it "art."