I have words washed out to sea. Words ushered quietly from my lips to my fingertips, waiting patiently for the right tide, for the moon to bring my stories alive.

I have words being reviewed, words accepted and words rejected, and I’m clinging to my favorite lines, fighting for them, and it feels strange and new and exhilaratingly infuriating, this tug-of-war of wills and how the slightest bit of caving can make me feel like I’m flirting with abandoning the sanctity of a story. As it turns out, I’m protective of my phrases, perhaps too much so, and so I’m learning when to stand my ground and when to let the ground go tumbling out from underneath me and I’m wondering if catapulting my words into the eyes of impartial third-parties will ever feel even slightly comfortable. Right now it mostly feels like every inch of me splayed open in front of scrutinizing strangers, my voice quiet while my words chatter nervously, naked and vulnerable and waiting to be torn asunder should they ramble or run-on or pause for too long.

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Twice a week we saunter to sleep before 9pm, invite our dreams to come early so we can rise and add the sound of our feet flying over ice and snow to dark moonlit hours otherwise devoid of all sound, save for the quiet and yet unmistakable hopeful humming of a day just breaking, all consciousness and worry still soundly sleeping, nothing more alive than the blank slate creeping across butterscotch hills laden with promise as long as the trails we traipse, eyes blown open by exhilarating cold, wind dancing across our eyelids. In these pre-dawn hours there is not light enough for worry; to-do lists aren’t welcome here, can’t compete with the peace of legs turning over and over and over still, arms pumping, hot breath steaming in front of faces softly waking, happily star-gazing. I love these mornings best because at 4am there is only the present tense and it’s stunning and I like to think about him climbing and careening down silhouetted ridge-lines above me, his legs warm and loose now and miles ahead of mine, his momentum pulling me ever forward like a conveyer belt of dirt and rock and sagebrush, like the magnetic mountains pull him to them, up and up and higher still.

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Yesterday morning I met a hawk on my way into my favorite coffee shop and he let me stand next to him for multiple minutes and I smiled as I admired his stately stance and his dappled rust-red breast and he looked at me with clear eyes (full hearts, can’t lose) and reminded me I’d dreamed of an eagle the night prior and since then I haven’t stopped thinking about flying.

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I’ve been spending the bulk of my days reading and writing and working and running and laughing and being happily highly caffeinated. I collect slivers of sunlight for less bright days, but in this valley of apples I’ve found I never have to wait too long for the light to come rushing back if ever it’s gone. The sun comes to dance here almost daily, giddily cascading, cannonballing, catapulting itself into windows and foothills and upturned faces. Soon enough with prolonged light warmth too will come skipping, clipping winter’s frosty heels, and already I can feel the gentle touch of spring soft and sure and green against my skin. Already I can hear fingers reaching for the edge of a page where another chapter’s ended, and another’s about to begin.

It began simply. A direct message on Twitter first, followed by texts; those texts, in turn, begat plans. With those plans came anxiety and apprehension – I didn’t know you, not your face or your voice or anything else, and I wasn’t sure I was ready to – but also something exciting, a strange and unexpected hope hovering quietly on the horizon. And then we met, conversed and laughed oh so easily, and hours bled across hours. (Evaporating time would become a recurring phenomenon for us.) Leaves boughed low with the brilliant yellow-green of growth, the trail we were traipsing just muddy enough that we each brought a bit of it with us into the evening. An afternoon turned into three days. And then you left.

You came, and then you left. Physically, anyway. You left a piece of yourself here, perhaps wholly unintentionally at first, but daily tethered were we by texts, emails, phone calls when you weren’t sure you could or wanted to keep going, when you wanted to hear my voice, when you wanted to pretend to be upset I was standing with my feet in the Pacific and you weren’t.

But ride off, you did – as you had to, and as I was excited for you to, even as I realized missing you had already most likely become inevitable. Pushed and pulled pedals through the miles of fatigue you insisted on spending yourself on, losing yourself in – and that was your summer. My summer was likewise a blur – of legs treading trails, ogling waterfalls, embracing a new level of busy, but also laden with anticipation, this adorable pterodactyl niece on the way, training for races I wasn’t sure I could really run, a friendship steadily deepening with daily exchanges, so many changes on the horizon.

Some things impending don’t need a name, but we tried anyway: a white whale, an albatross, separate souls adrift in the same sea. Writers both, we’d each our own heads to lose ourselves in with little effort. I tried to think it was nothing, knew it was something; you said you weren’t sure it could be anything, even as you routinely acted as if it were everything.

We staged a great road trip adventure (complete with exclaiming acronym!) and snagged weekends thereafter, kidnapped them from our respective schedules. I fell in love with a small town nestled beneath some of the most stunning mountains I’ve ever seen, and you kept finding ways to keep me there. Thanksgiving became a three-week festivity, lingering nearly to Christmas. Your landlord joked I’d moved in; my friends wondered if I was ever coming back to Portland. What had been a someday, maybe fell instead toward when?

I came home – or to what has these past four years been home – and you followed only a few days later. Co-workers were met, and then a few weeks later, family introduced. Packing became my daily evening ritual; each box sealed was another step from before to after, the unsteady in-between-times past to this happily unwritten present: exciting new terrain to navigate and explore. There are plenty of questions, yes, but it seems like maybe there are just as many answers, even if we haven’t yet unearthed all the right words for them.

The change of address forms are through; this week is my last here, though I’ll surely be back to visit my beloved and eccentric Portlandia, to hug the bodies belonging to the faces of those I can count on missing terribly, to frequent favorite haunts and all the best coffee shops.

In a week, I’ll again be a Washingtonian, nearer those snowy peaks and cold mountain lakes. In a week, I’ll have traded the bustling city streets of Portland for the hard-packed and secluded trails of Wenatchee foothills. In a week, I’ll have traded this stretch of Columbia for that. In a week, I’ll be with you – and for the first time, I won’t just be visiting.

Happy! Monday, friends.

(Oh, and I’m “kerri_anne” on Instagram if we’re not already photo buddies there.)

Friends. Bloggers. Countrymen. I have a confession to make.

I really like Pinterest.

It’s quite unexpected (to me, anyway) I’m enjoying it as much as I am, being that before joining I was staring at the site blankly, confused and overwhelmed and for the love of HTML, why, what is the point?

But here’s the thing. I think I’m sort of a story-boarder by nature. I love grouping interesting and like (and pretty) things together, sometimes just for the sake of grouping (see also: my Etsy favorites or my Flickr favorites). And that’s sort of what this is: Collecting and cataloging inspiring and/or lovely and/or helpful and/or amusing items together on a board to share and enjoy.

I also realized I have at least three versions of personal story-boards in my apartment. Like this one, which reminds me daily to eat breakfast and move until I’m sore.

As a bonus, you can add friends and family to your Pinteresting circle, and thus be newly inspired and helpful together. Just this morning I snagged an awesome(ly simple) chocolate mousse recipe Torrie originally found and posted, that I’m verily going to make for upcoming sisterly baby showers.

More perks to the Pinterest:

a) It doubles as a sweet bookmarking tool you can take with you anywhere without being tied to a specific computer or browser.

b) It makes me think of both golf (Pinnacle) and climbing a mountain (Everest). I don’t know how that’s a “perk” exactly. But I find it amusing.

c) I can also see how it could be pretty awesome and efficient for work-related projects, especially in the creative circuit, as there’s a setting which allows multiple users to add pins to the same board(s).

d) All of the above.

Anyway!

I’m sure a lot of you are already using Pinterest (If you are, what’s your username? Let’s be story-board buddies!), and if you’re not, maybe I just convinced you to try it. (Do it, do it!)

I may have also just convinced you to head for the hills, running as if being chased by a rabid story-board.

In any event, thanks for still liking me even though so often I’m a Super Nerd, built in a laboratory out of parts from lesser nerds.

(Oh, and for the record, this is Pinteresting me.)

(Updated to add: Let me know if you aren’t using Pinterest and would like to be. I have invites!)

Ian recently made one of the best homemade videos I’ve ever seen (below), and I’m not just saying that because I’m wholly biased about their family being one of the coolest on the planet. I’m saying it because Ian is an artistic ninja.

The best part? You can totally hire him to hit your life in the face with his insanely creative nunchucks.

Snow, A Tale of a Toddler. from theBolyards on Vimeo

Go to the movies where it’s dark and soothing, alone in your seat amidst a fleeting community. And then, take yourself out dancing to a club where no one knows you. Stand on the outside of the floor till the lights convince you more and more and the music shows you. Dance like no one’s watching, because, they’re probably not. And, if they are, assume it is with best of human intentions. The way bodies move genuinely to beats is, after all, gorgeous and affecting. Dance until you’re sweating, and beads of perspiration remind you of life’s best things, down your back like a brook of blessings.

Society is afraid of alone, though. Like lonely hearts are wasting away in basements. Like people must have problems if after a while no one is dating them. But lonely is a freedom that breathes easy and weightless, and lonely is healing if you make it.

Good Thing Two: Dynamite A Cappella Cover by Mike Tompkins

While it’s undeniable that Mr. Tompkins definitely knows he’s ridiculously charming, he’s also insanely talented, and this video just makes me ridiculously happy.

Good Thing Three: Literature, Speaking To Me

My sister is currently reading Anna Karenina and sent this to me when she read it two weeks ago. I haven’t read Tolstoy in years (and haven’t ever read this particular book), and have thus decided to read both Lolita (Nabokov) and Anna Karenina before the end of the year.

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I’d honestly love to hear what’s currently on repeat in your head. Share the wisdom! Share the nonsense! I’m a big fan of both.

• Friends who call me for no reason, or for very specific reasons, and who ask me every question, or no questions, while I ramble and spill my words clumsily and excitedly all over them.
• Butterflies in places where I didn’t realize I could feel them again.
• Emotional transparency.
• Accountability.
• Redeeming love.
• Grace. The amazing kind.
• Sisterhood.
• Greek festivals with tasty gyros.
• Impromptu mid-week dinners with dear friends who make me laugh, and make me feel like family.
• Nine out of ten consecutive days running in the woods, where I feel free to sprint and jog and sweat and stumble, and cry and laugh as my body remembers where it’s going and where it’s been.
• Hot apple cider.
• Crisp fall days that mean I get to wear scarves and hoodies and maybe even socks.
• New Chucks.
• Mustaches, both real and imagined.
• Meatloaf. (The musician, not the 1950′s dinner staple.)
• Walking toward difficult conversations intentionally.
• A job filled with people who believe in the work we’re doing daily, and who believe in me.
• Kind words spoken honestly and thoughtfully.
• Mid-day walks with coworkers who inspire me and make me laugh.
• Evening walks with a best friend who lives eight blocks away from me, and loves me even when I’m ridiculous.
• Bright October sunshine.
• New Twitter. You guys, I just can’t hate it. I cannot. I think it’s rad, and super functional, and I could just kiss it.
• Time to write, to read, to daydream.
• Texts about sailing, about support, about random hip hop lyrics.
• Possibility. Hope. A promise of something amazing on the horizon.
• Upcoming quality time with friends both old and new. (To clarify, Torrie and I have been Twitter buds forever, but I have yet to see her lovely face in person. EXCITED.)

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What about you? What are you thankful for today, this week, always?

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This post inspired by a dear friend of mine for whom I am quite thankful.

Writing, editing, and organizing grant proposals, and preparing gargantuan-sized grant budgets feverishly, to meet deadlines both old and new.

Snuggling with my pug and enjoying any downtime I have been able to muster.

Writing! I’m so excited about three different stories I have in the works, and thanks to a recent prompt by Danny, I’ve been sitting down daily to translate my excitement into actual words on a page. (Not unlike snakes on a plane. Only better. And with less Samuel L. Jackson.)

Ruminating on some writing feedback I received from a poetry competition (Spoiler alert: I didn’t win), and from friends regarding the first chapter of one of the three aforementioned stories.

Sucking at email. I’m sorry! I promise next week will be better. (I think!)

Editing photos from last weekend’s sisterly homecoming in Spokane. These are a few of my favorites:

Cleaning my apartment to an anal-retentive degree in preparation for Kristin! staying with me this weekend.

Absolutely riveted by the first installment of The Hunger Games. After a gentle prompt from Kali (It went something like, “Have you read these?”), I skipped over to Powell’s and bought the first book, not thinking I was going to be into the story, having read the back cover before and convinced myself I wasn’t interested. By page five Collins had completely hooked me, and I gave the Jiffy Lube attendant the stink eye when he interrupted my reading to ask me to pay him for my oil change. (And yes, I verily realize I’m late to the proverbial party, being that the first book was originally published in 2008, but I like to pretend I fall in love with series when they are basically over so I don’t have to wait years/months/days in between installments. See also: Patience is for suckers!)

Using the note I found on my car after leaving an apologetic note for the person I parked way-too-close-to (There is construction in our parking garage! It is a nightmare!) earlier this week as a bookmark.

Not getting much sleep.

This weekend I am going to:

Have way too much fun with Kristin.

Eat at Andina for the first time.

Introduce Kristin to Hans, and watch hilarity ensue.

No doubt cry as I watch Rhi walk down the aisle toward Bill, and then back again holding his hand, happily married.

Dance my face (or maybe just my feet) off with Kali, and Amanda, and Kristin, and a slew of other people who are in town to watch Rhi and Bill begin their happily ever after.

Take Way Too Many pictures, especially more ridiculous hand-held group shots.

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What are YOU going to do this weekend?

(Whatever it is, I hope you enjoy it.)

*Title is a literary hat tip to Joyce Carol Oates’ Where Are You Going, Where Have You Been?

At this point to say I cannot contain my already typically excessive exclaiming is to understate. HOW am I going to refrain from blurting out, “Hawaii! I’m going there!” from now until I leave at the beginning of September? Better yet, Maui! + getting to see my sister in TWO WEEKS = how am I going to sleep tonight? And the next night? And the night after that? HOW?

But I suppose this post is coming completely out of nowhere if you don’t follow me on Twitter, or don’t even use Twitter, and/or didn’t get a text or an email or a DM from me (IN ALL CAPS) saying something like “MAUI!” or “I’M GOING TO HAWAII!” or “THIS IS PERFECT BECAUSE I JUST WATCHED INTO THE BLUE LAST WEEKEND AND…what? No, no I did not watch Into the Blue. I mean, I did, but you can’t prove it and anyway, BACK TO SEA TURTLES!”

The oh so random “Kerri is going to Hawaii over Labor Day weekend” story goes a little something like this:

1. Kerri checks her email nonchalantly Tuesday morning, half-asleep.
2. Kerri notices Alaska Airlines trying to trick her into going to Hawaii by offering her a Crazy Ridiculous Low One-Way Fare. Kerri was in Hawaii ten (!) years ago and paid more like $600 for her ticket. So Kerri automatically think it’s a) a scam b) bound by a bunch of lame guidelines that will ultimately render her (at this point very imaginary) trip to Hawaii typical amounts of expensive, and therefore typical amounts of not happening.
3. After a bit of research Kerri realizes it’s a) not a scam and b) she can fly over Labor Day weekend for less than $300 round-trip. She also realizes Hawaiian Airlines beats Alaska with an Even Crazier Low One-Way Fare.
4. Kerri tweets about wanting to go to Hawaii, and says someone should come with her, because, hi, Hawaii, you look pretty today.
5. Kerri’s pretty sure everyone will think she’s nuts, and/or no one will be able to come, because who plans a last-minute trip to Hawaii after an already crazy August?
6. Kerri briefly considers going to Hawaii by herself, because why not? That is, until Terrell says she’s IN.
7. Kerri thinks about how much fun! it would be to go to Hawaii with Terrell, who is awesome and hilarious and likes sea turtles.
8. Kerri asks Terrell if she’s joking, because Kerri isn’t really joking, and Terrell, says nope, she’s totally IN.
9. Kerri finds a hotel on the beach for $72/night, which split between two people is Not Very Much At All/night.
10. Terrell and Kerri buy tickets (the air kind!) before they each leave work on Tuesday.
11. Kerri knows why she can’t stop smiling, but not why she is telling this story in a third-person numbered list.

I think I am seriously just in shock right now. I mean, I love! to travel, but this has to be the most spontaneous trip I have ever booked and (not) planned, and it’s just…exhilarating! Those prices were just way too good to ignore, and it will be nice to have a super relaxing (long) weekend getaway. I honestly can’t remember the last time a vacation was even remotely relaxing. Or tropical! It might have been the last time I was in Hawaii, ten years ago.

Ten years and I can still remember how perfectly floral the entire island of Oahu smelled when we walked off the plane.

I have a feeling Maui is going to smell even better.

*Post title from Forgetting Sarah Marshall which is a movie (that makes me laugh quite a lot and) set in…wait for it…HAWAII.

He’s brilliant in Brick, and in The Lookout, and I can’t wait to see Inception.

But this? This is quite possibly the most random and very best thing he’s ever done.

I absolutely love it.

Yes, that is also totally Channing Tatum. I’m telling you: serious amounts of awesome.