It never rains in Southern California

I think I left my heart in Southern California. Oh, sweet sunshine that warms the whirring freeways in a cloudless sky, accept me as your devoted fan and know my heart is always with you. Forgive my hiatus - wait for me. Mighty 405, may your crowded multiplicity of lanes be ever-ready to carry me to every place I feel at home: the sand of Newport where I went to be quiet and watch waves, the swanky suburbs in Mission Viejo where I fell in love, dear Costa Mesa that I first knew, and my very heart, Disneyland.

Two weekends ago Husband and I went to Orange County for a wedding. As soon as I saw the layer of smog the plane would have to wrangle in order to land at LAX I felt at home. When we stepped out of the airport I experienced two sensations that I've rarely felt simultaneously since moving to Washington: being warm and being outside. This alone had me ready to cash in my return ticket for some In 'N Out burger. I left all jackets at home. I had no business with them.

A matter of hours after arriving I met a girl that lives in the same town I work in. She would be the bridesmaid ahead of me in the wedding. Apparently I have to go to California to meet my Washington neighbors. I knew I had to cash in on Neighbor girl. If I didn't snag her I deserved to be lonely. After some chatting at the bachelorette party (uh, no thanks, I don't think I can drink through that and retain my fidelity, I'll take a regular straw), I felt I had to move in. I did not feel the time was right to move in, because I really would have preferred waiting until I had said something especially funny or shown myself to be wildly talented and brilliant. I don't mean to be down on myself, but I'm already quiet at first, and since my bedtime is usually around 8:30, the nocturnal demands of the bachelorette party were especially hard on my woo-hoo levels. Also, once again, I felt the disadvantages of not drinking alcohol, though that might have had something to do with the fact that the bowling skills I retained from my 5th-grade end-of-the-year bowling party were still enough to win three games in a row. I tried my best to make it seem like the thing I was looking forward to most in life was not going to bed.

So anyway. I suggested we meet at Starbucks on my lunchbreak. She upgraded my offer by suggesting the Austrialian Pie place. I have always wanted to go there. It's a teeny tiny little yellow shop where you have your choice of hot, flaky, Austrailian pies. If there were ever more than eight people in the shop at a time the fire marshall would bring down the axe. Neighbor girl knows it? Likes it? Clearly, I'm going to enjoy hanging out with this girl. And I did. I had a lunch date. Our next adventure? Well, there's been talk of a taco shop...

I think I'm learning I need to let go of my demographic. Trying to make friends with young married people, or with people of similar interests, or who also love toasters is good, but it leaves a lot to be desired. I think it was about a month ago when Husband and I were coming home from our church's young adults' group *cough*youth group*cough* and I said that I didn't think I would ever feel like I fit in there. He simply asked me if that mattered. I was rather affronted. But I think he's right, (I HATE how often that happens) fitting in is not so very necessary.

With this in mind, I finally had the courage to do what I'd been told I was welcome to do - I invinted myself over to the lady that hosts Wednesday night prayer. She lives about three minutes from my house and oftentimes it's just me and her on Wednesday nights. She's a bit fiesty. She has a tendency for knick knacks that I've solemnly vowed to never allow myself. She has grandkids my age. She's my friend. I didn't realize how special it is to have someone that I could call and just pop over and present myself to without warning was until I didn't have it. That's a special relationship, and for her to tell me (previously) that I was welcome to do just that, really shows great open-heartedness and love. What meant the most to me was that, though I certainly had a wonderful time visiting her, I believe she had a good time with me as well. And that sort of sounds like a friendship, doesn't it?

Worms and Oreos

There was a Sunday after Easter, and I was prepared to accept the fact that I have no friends at church, will never make any friends, and then grill myself a nice worms sandwich. But alas, it was not to be. Despite my resolute plans, I found myself extremely encouraged when we met some new people at church for whom I will shortly have to think of monikers.

They met us, rather. It was a good decision on their part. Who knows? Given enough time without varied social interaction I might have eventually snapped and thrown myself at them in a well-meaning but compromising manner. Much like a puppy so eager to make friends it runs up to you hoping you'll be pet him and play with him forever and ever, and then he promptly pees all over himself, causing you to jump out of the way of the rapidly spreading urine pool thereby severely mitigating the chances you'll throw the ball for him for fourteen hours.

I'm sure our new acquaintances had been meaning to talk to the charismatic and unusually good-looking new couple for weeks, but God somehow had them hold off so that just when I was about to take up residence in a corner and revert to thumb sucking, He could remind me that He's on top of the situation. "So, um, you done now? Because I was thinking we'd move forward with my plan now, which, by the way, does not include you being constantly on the verge of a mental breakdown." That's what He does. He cares, and I'm pretty sure often smiles bemusedly while I freak out up until the point He reminds me that he loves me very much and I just look ridiculous when I decide I'm helpless.

So not only does it look like I'll soon be swapping recipes merrily in the kitchen while Husband and husbands of new friends play video games and eat Oreos, but I'm happily reminded of God's love for me, and not only love, but affection. I'm reminded of the hope I have, and that produces joy, and I'm pretty sure that will count for a lot next time I decide I quit being a grown-up and want to pout (preferably with a steady stream of Oreos heading toward my mouth). It's hard to feel so extremely alone when I'm cared for so very much.

The only thing I had to be happy about this Easter was a resurrected savior. I know, I know, but hear me out. I've never had an Easter like this last one. There have always been trappings. Easter baskets filled with glucose products were my first Easter joy, but as I aged, the quest to convince my mom that we needed to dye 87 dozen eggs despite my unwillingness to eat even one consumed me. I had an insatiable desire to see those virginal white eggs come drink up vibrant color from various dye-filled coffee cups. My family's several dozen eggs combined with the eggs of my ever-increasing supply of cousins made for an epic Easter egg hunt at my grandparents' house - which sometimes lasted unintentionally for several months, until we could find the eggs by smell. When there were too many cousins younger than me to justify my hunting eggs, (which never would have happened if my family could have stopped being so stinking fruitful for ten seconds) I found the joy of hiding eggs myself. Aha! Try to find that egg you little ankle-biter. Finally, as I matured I found a growing appreciation for family, church traditions, and a day to celebrate Christ's resurrection properly--with joy and chocolate.

So the day before Easter, Saturday, Husband and I once again set out on our quest to pretend we have a social network and showed up at our new church's young adults group. I was hopeful - this would certainly be where we set up a big kids' playdate with Mr. and Mrs. Canadian. I might even get invited to coffee with Cute Girl. Once you set a coffee date you've arrived. Movers and shakers have coffee dates, am I right? At the very least I would have the pleasure of chatting pleasantly with someone other than my wonderful husband, who cannot fathom why anyone would ever go to a coffee shop when they can talk at home - for free.

I feel duped. Young adults group my eye! We went to a youth group. Last week they might have been able to fool us, what with the chairs in an intimate circle and all, but this time I saw through their clever "young adults" facada. Ages 16 to 30 - lies! I doubt anyone there could even fathom being 30. You might as well try to explain to them why that piercing is not a good career move, but good luck being met with more than a blank stare.

Mr. and Mrs. Canadian and Cute Girl, or Shoe Girl, as I find I'd rather call her, did not show. They probably had grown-up things to do. I don't remember what the preaching was about, because someone brought a puppy! A Beagle puppy! It was sniffing around and intent on searching out all mischief to be had. Husband and I were once in the market for a Beagle, and it was a beautiful, beautiful dream. We woke up when we remembered we live in a condo and work full time. See? We're such adults it's disgusting.

Easter service was beautiful. There was real joy in celebrating Christ's resurrection. The preschoolers sang an Easter song, and even though no one could understand a word they were, ahem, singing, it was sufficiently precious. Families were together. Everyone was smiling and dressed beautifully. After church we went home and I sat in the car and cried hard. The holiday left me longing for family, for friends, for someone to share joy with. I wanted to be joyful that day, not go back into the condo and cook for five hours while Husband read C.S. Lewis, silent, on the couch. In the car I told God my frustrations (and they were several). My impulse was to call my mom and cry to her, but I knew that comfort was not a lasting solution. I needed action.

I cleaned up my face and went into the house. I told Husband I was going back to church (they were having muffin fellowship). I did not ask him if he wanted to g0, because I knew he didn't and I wanted to be able to do this on my own.

I went to church. I made small talk. Consumed muffins. I even talked to Mrs. Canadian, mostly about the ridiculousness of our respective husbands. Progress? No, I don't think so. But at least I talked. At least I showed myself friendly and took action. Mrs. Canadian will have a baby any day now, (damn fruitfulness again) and I realize that the chances of her and I forming a friendship will be dramatically reduced after that. It's not as if we were even on our way to being friends; she was just a hope I had.

What I wanted to say is, this Easter I learned about hope. All would have been lost if Jesus had stayed in the tomb, but death could not hold him and there is hope for us all. God has given me snippets of hope in different ways this week, and I'm grateful that my current desperation helps me notice them. Jesus understands loneliness in a far deeper sense than I ever could, and yet he holds me and doesn't think my hurting is silly. So, as I told my mom when she lamented that she had not sent me any Easter gifts, a resurrected savior is much better than a chocolate bunny. So onward, further up and farther in!