Back to the Grind, Ready or Not

You would think after literally a fifteen month break from legitimate academia a dork like me would be excited to return to school. The grass is so often greener on the other side, and I get to return to that side. An opportunity like that so rarely comes around, you would think I would really be appreciating it. Taking one last hurrah around the track, being able to return to the glory days of college. That is a precious, coveted gift, and I should be stoked about it.

The last half a year, I have been. But now that it literally looms right before me, now that I am about to dive into the thick of it, I am afraid I may drown. Oh God. Can I handle this? I really don't know. I might break down. I probably will; it has happened before. WHAT have I gotten myself into? Six classes and two jobs?! So much for that social life. Or my peace of mind or sanity or morning quiet times or physical health or any of the things that actually matter. Jesus.

So even as life continues on rather normally in the present and I go prancing around like the camp counselor I am for all of my residents and new freshman beginning to move in, even though I just received an amazing scholarship for a year of graduate study abroad (which should seriously take some pressure off of senior year, right?), even though I am just fine right now, I see the tsunami building miles off. I know it will inevitably crash over me, and I fear it. Just fine is not living, though. Just fine is getting by, and it can quickly spiral into a euphemism for No! I am not fine at ALL! I thought I had conquered most of my tendencies to worry or be anxious in high school, but I think it turns out I just have not had anything to worry about in quite a while.

I am trying to keep everything in perspective here. I get to learn, one of my favorite things to do. School will challenge me, but it is not going to kill me. My immediate needs are always met, I have loads of people who love and care for me, and I have one year. One year to soak up the community only found on a college campus, to pour into other students, to love them and share how Jesus does too. But right now, my emotions are playing with my rational sense, and I already need a reminder of the full life I was made for.

The school year is here. The daily crazy is back. I am not ready, but I don't think there is anything that will prepare me more. As most of us re-enter the picked-up pace after slow(er) summer days, I remember how futile worry is. It will not add a day to our lives, so let us take one one day at a time. "This is the day the Lord has made," I remind myself. I will rejoice in it, and I will let tomorrow worry about itself.

Living Righteously

I have noticed a pattern in the Scripture I have been reading lately in which God calls his people to live blamelessly. Of course, this is not a new tenant at all. It has been around since the foundation of Christianity before the Fall, and ever since then, we have been screwing that commandment up. In fact, most people who have just barely been exposed to Christianity think this is what it is all about: being “good people,” doing “good things.”

No matter what, followers of Jesus have been called to live righteously. As I return to a setting where I am unknown by half of the student body, I have been thinking a lot about the impression my actions and words have upon others. Do they know that I am genuinely interested in listening and caring for them? Is my light shining? Do they see my joy? Do they wonder where it comes from?

Each time I have opened my Bible this week, I have been reminded that Christians are called to holiness, not necessarily by reading Scripture or worshiping (though those are important things to which we are also called), but by our actions, by the everyday choices we make in our lives. Over and over in the New Testament books I have been skimming through, I am picking up on the emphasis to live righteously by being pure, honest, and loving. Through them, the verses read, others will take notice, and we glorify God.

Here is a summary of some chapters I have looked at recently:

Be imitators of God. Live a life of love. Walk as children of light, bearing goodness, righteousness and truth. Live wisely, filled with the Spirit.

(Ephesians 5)

God wants his children to be sanctified, living a holy and honorable life. If we don’t, we disregard Him. Love each other more and more. Live a humble life, so you can win the respect of outsiders.

(1 Thessalonians 4)

Train yourself to be godly. Set an example for believers…Be diligent in doing this, so that everyone may see your progress. You will save both yourself and your hearers.

(1 Timothy 4)

You are not your own; you were bought for a price. Glorify God in your body by living purely.

(1 Corinthians 6)

Be holy in all you do, because God is holy, and he redeemed you with Christ. Obey the truth, and love each other deeply. Abstain from sinful desires, living such good lives that others see your good deeds and glorify God. By doing good you silence foolish men…Live for the will of God, and love each other deeply.

(1 Peter 2, 4)

“The eyes of the Lord are on the righteous and his ears are attentive to their prayer, but the face of the Lord is against those who do evil.”

(Proverbs 21:21)

“Set an example for others in speech, life, love, faith, and purity.”

(1 Timothy 4)

Fortunately, being virtuous is not the whole story. These verses attest to two other results. First, rather than doing works just to stay on God’s good side, grace flips our actions into an eager response of gratitude because of the the lavish gift we have received through Christ’s blood. It is not just about being good. It is about honoring God because we are a precious commodity for which he paid the ultimate price. In response to that miracle, we get to shine. We are given the chance to strive to be more like God, emanating his light, his radiance. The second outcome: when we do live in a way that is pleasing to God, other people take notice. Through our righteous actions, we testify to a different life. People who are not Christians will see us and not only recognize the difference in the way we choose to live or find us faultless; they will yearn for what we have. 

Thrifty, Part 2

The difference between thrift shopping in Colorado and South Carolina is mainly in the type of clothing bargain one finds. While it is easy to snag a Lily Pulitzer dress at the Goodwill near Isle of Palms, in Colorado, it’s all about the outdoors and the cowboy look. So, like the Vikings hopping and sacking one community after another, as the rain set in each afternoon, we ventured to a new thrift store in the Durango area, hungry to lay claim to any hidden treasures we could find. By the end of our exploits, we hit at least seven stores, lugging off a heavy load of gems, including a $22 genuine leather jacket worth about $300 (I am so jealous of Rosa Marie), a(nother) cowboy hat for Hoffa, and my four dollar puffy vest.

After the Jailhouse, we stormed into the United Methodist Thrift store at 3:15 for our second plunder, where pillaging ensued. In half an hour, we seized all kinds of valuable goods from the racks. But we were cut short. I don’t know when stores started closing at 4 o’clock, but this one, probably manned by volunteers who made it very evident they were eager to listen to mountain music that night, were ready to go.

“Customers, please report to the cash register to make your final purchases.”

As they make this announcement, I am in the dressing room, and treat this appeal much like I do Mama’s calls for supper when I have not quite finished up with my work. Don't worry, I'll be there in five minutes.

Literally two minutes later, they are back on the loudspeaker. “The store is closing. Attention, the store is closing. It is time to go.”

Jesus, calm down old retired people. Not sure you could be too much more subtle there. I have one more dress to try on, and I’m probably going to buy it. Chill out a sec!

The dress was a go, and in a chaotic rush to make it out the door without physically receiving the boot, we all piled our findings on the checkout counter, helping  remove clothes from hangers and report price tags - none of which were over five dollars - to be manually entered into the register. All of our clothes were subsequently stuffed to the brim in a white kitchen-size trash bag. The rush worked in my favor, though; despite their meager price, I am not sure my padded spandex biker shorts would have made the purchase cut otherwise.

“How are we going to get all this stuff home?” Cain asked as we hauled our booty down the street.

It was a legitimate question, but I reassured him we would resolve that when the time came.

The spree continued. At one ten by thirteen foot sketchy hole in the wall, it may have been hard to navigate the piles of clutter, but if you found something good, it was practically free.

“Oh heck yes,” Georgia exclaimed as she pulled off an American flag blouse from one of the store’s two racks. “‘Murica forever.”

“Georgia, when are you ever going to where that?” I reprimanded.
“Ummm, basically to anything having to do with our country. Duh. I realized during the World Cup that I own nothing to display my ardent affection for my country.”

When Mama went up to pay for three shirts and a puffy Northface vest, the cashier-less cashier counted the items and said, “That’ll be five dollars. Plus forty cents tax.” He just stuffed the cash in his pocket, and I somehow doubt that forty cents will be submitted to the IRS. But hey, Georgia can now be patriotic, so I’m not complaining.

At Dunn Deal, another store selling more furniture and gear than clothing, I happened upon a pair of clip-in road bike shoes that fit my foot perfectly, and the price seemed right. I brought them over to my sisters for evaluation.

“You know, you should probably get a road bike before you get shoes,” Georgia suggested.

“Yeah,” I sighed. “I guess you’re right. It’s just hard when I know I won’t find a deal like that back home…” Plus, I thought, I might as well complete that new biker outfit of mine.

I returned to put them back on the shelf, but the owner intersected my direction. After talking about the shoe brand, its fit, and the hardly worn, fantastic shape they were in, I began to cave.

“If you were my daughter,” he disclosed, “I would be announcing to you that we are spending getting those shoes. Thirty dollars on a pair like that is a steal.” Of course, he had a vested interest in me buying these shoes, but his advice seemed genuine, so I went for it. I really am hoping owning all of the gear, you know, minus the bike, will encourage me to hit the roads more seriously in the future. Or at least a few more spin classes.

After almost entirely disregarding price tags up to this point, our next stop to ReRuns made me gasp, literally. Thrift stores that identify themselves as “high-end second hand stores” are one of my biggest pet peeves, and this was one such boutique. Once that article of clothing is back on the market as “lightly worn,” those stingy store owners need to realize that it no longer matters that that sucker was once marked at $85. It is not anymore, so don’t go off trying to sell it for $40. I might have scoffed a little too loudly. “They don’t make dresses like this anymore,” the stylish and age-appropriately dressed older owner retorted. Yeah, just like you. You’re cramping my steal-a-deal style, grandma.

After a very chilly and under-dressed semester in DC, I have become an advocate for owning the right clothes for the weather. The down coat I splurged for in Italy was one of my wiser purchases, and it kept me toasty for half a year plus a backpacking trip…and then it began to stink. Although I carefully researched proper washing methods for such gear, all that was left after the light tumble dry with tennis balls was a clumpy, featherless heap of nylon and a despondent owner. I already missed its squishy, body-heat trapping attributes, and I longed for another one.

Over the past few years, I have almost entirely converted to consignment stores, where my shopping has become economically frugal, though perhaps quantitatively excessive. In my experience, I have learned that you will likely be disappointed if you go in searching for a particular item. You just have to survey what is available, and let the right clothes and their beautiful prices find you. Still, with every door we entered, I had my eye out for that down coat. Day by day, we began to exhaust the host of thrift stores in Durango. Each time we entered a new shop, I searched for it; I just felt like I was going to find it – somewhere on a rack it would be hidden from the masses, just waiting for me, the destined second owner. But as the week progressed, that fate seemed increasingly less likely.

So I must confess, having been let down by my search for that ten dollar down coat, there is one exception to my stingy sprees. I’m a sucker for outdoor clothing brands. Marmot, SmartWool, Chaco, and so many other overpriced, Made in America, lifetime warranty rugged companies, you’ve got me. I consciously guard against this weakness by only entering REI or Half-Moon Outfitters when I do not have money. I did have money in Durango, though, and I did mosey into one of those local outfitting stores to happen upon the perfect down coat, and by the end of the week, after a thorough investigation of online prices and a daily visit to the same sale rack, I did, of course, crack. It was sixteen times more than the envisioned price tag, but that charcoal black, thirty percent off Patagonia was calling my name. Following a week’s worth of cheapskate shopping, I splurged on something that will not lose its European goose down, and I am glad I did.

After shopping almost everyday, our trip came to a close. To solve the predicament Cain addressed from the very beginning, we returned to Dunn Deal to buy a seven dollar suitcase; it is only fitting that our thrifty finds be packed in a reused item. We crammed and kicked and stood on top of our luggage to zip it up, but we successfully returned home with all of our thrift booty, and we made the most of our rainy afternoons. Our wallets are a little emptier, our drawers a little fuller, but I would say that a combination of Caesar’s famous phrase and our family trip Instagram hashtag #ComptonsConquer applies quite well to our thrifty ways. 

We came to Colorado, we saw the sights, we conquered the thrift stores.

And now, if you have made it this far, you may be entertained by a just-shy-of-fifty item inventory of our ridiculous thrift store purchases.

Hoffa

Mud Doc Boots

Hat

Braided belt

Flannel shirt

Nice heavy jacket – barber-esque

Leather Cowboy hat

Baseball cap – 50 cents

Tie – 70 cents

Tassled Loafers

Mama

Gray Shirt

(With the caveat that she doesn’t need USA shirts and joke Jerry jackets.)

She is a minimalist. We could probably take a lesson from her.

Jessica

Patagonia down coat

Patagonia thermal shirt

Brooks long-sleeved running shirt

Yellow V-neck

White long-sleeved shirt

Lucky shirt

Gray dress

Bike shirt, shorts, and shoes

Puffy vest

Heavy pea coat

Colorado t-shirt

Georgia

USA vest

Jerry jacket

USA shirt

Gray striped shirt

Patterned belt

2 white shirts

Black shirt

Baseball cap

Rain boots

Denim shirt

Rosa Marie

Great western rocky mountain brass band festival, 2004 (what?)

Green beaded belt

Leather jacket

Floral dress

Hawaiian shirt

Fancy white going out shirt

Brown Native American Shirt

Blue jean dress

Nike shorts

Cain

Pullover sweater

Vest

2 t-shirts

Canvas Coat

Thrifty, Part 1

When most people travel, it’s common for them to pick up a few souvenirs along the way. Indeed, my two knick-knacks after ten fun days in Durango include a metal Native American bracelet, a new bumper sticker on my Nalgene, and a Colorado state flag patch to add to my collection. Upscale shoppers in Milan or New York may even need an extra bag on the return flight to pack all of their new chic outfits. But we did not spend ten days in one of the world’s great shopping centers. We were in the Four Corners region of the United States, where tourists flock to the many National Parks and Forests, the more adventurous taking part in outdoorsy activities like climbing and mountain biking, the less simply enjoying the area’s geographic diversity, ranging from towering mountains and giant evergreens to barren clay desert and deep canyons.

And we did do a little bit of both of those. Every morning we woke up early, attempting to get out the door at a respectable hour. We are a distracted, dawdling group, though, so our departure usually ended up being around 10 a.m. But eventually we got out, and each day, we checked off an excursion: taking the tourist-obligatory Durgano-Silverton Narrow Gauge railroad train, hitting several hiking trails, horseback riding, exploring ancient 1,600 year-old cliff dwellings at Mesa Verde, soaking in natural hot springs, and bike riding.

And though we did all of those things, we still had to check a whole extra suitcase of garments we picked up during our stay in South Colorado. It weighed in at 28.7 pounds. This is how the thrift store shopping escapade started.

Despite being in a several-year-long drought, we arrived during Colorado’s monsoon season, and the rains came consistently almost every afternoon. Like clockwork, we knocked out an activity in the morning, and then we prepared for the mass of converging clouds ominously darkening before us to empty themselves. They did. And what does a cheap family of six on vacation do in the rain? Plunder Colorado’s abundant thrift stores inundated with expensive outdoor brands of course.

The first time was actually a mistake. Compton family plans almost always go awry, and that is probably because we don’t have too much of a plan to begin with. On the second day of our trip, we decided to go biking. It was mid-morning, and all the bikes had already been checked out for the day. Ohmagoshhhh, I think to myself. I can just forsee this becoming a recurring pattern for the rest of our time here. Okay, regroup.

“Mama, we better go book that train ride,” I urged. “I don’t want to miss it because we didn’t reserve tickets in advance.”

The Silverton Narrow Gauge railway has been running between Durango and Silverton since 1882, and steam engines that are now almost one hundred years old still carry over 160,000 passengers a year. During a round trip seven hour ride, over six tons of coal and ten thousand gallons of water are used every day as the train chug-a-chug-a-choo-choos its way through the San Juan National Forest[1]. Given the monsoons we had already learned to expect, it is ideal to take the train in the morning and bus back. At the station, we asked to book a morning train ride for the next day. Full. Saturday? Sorry. Sunday? Nope. Any time in the next week?!

“I’m sorry,” the cashier dressed in a conductor’s uniform responded. “For six people, it looks like that won’t be possible. You can take the bus now and the train in the afternoon, though.”

Hoffa can be a little impulsive, so without much consulting, he decided that we would go now; the bus departed in an hour.

Now, had we booked these tickets online ahead of time, we would have been able to reserve a morning train and not even worry about the weather. And had we done that, and happened to mysteriously be really on our A game, we may have even checked out the FAQ page, where it reports that “Mountain weather in Colorado is often unpredictable. Wearing layers of clothing that you can remove or add as the temperature changes will add to the enjoyment of your journey.” But, you know, that is a bunch of “if”s that never transpired. So Hoffa and my siblings went back to the house to grab the GoPro, while Mama and I puttered around the downtown shops. Which turned out to be just one more bad idea. When we re-convened for the bus ride, Mama asked where the rain coats were.

“We didn’t pack any coats.”

“David. We are taking an open-window gondola at three o’clock in the afternoon, just in time for the rain to start. We’re going to freeze!”

A Mama reprimand is at the top of Hoffa’s metaphorical “Avoid at All Costs” list. In typical Compton fashion, we boarded the bus transporting us through 14,000 foot mountain views and deep valley gorges completely unprepared. So, upon arriving in Silverton - a small, notoriously lawless town of bandits and prostitutes during the American Gold Rush – what was the first thing we did during our mere three hours in town? We headed straight to the Jailhouse Thrift Store, a dilapidated shack which actually used to be the town jail back in 1883. Thirty minutes of scouring the store and six warm layers later, we were prepared to weather the expected storm in style.

The Jailhouse saved Hoffa from the doghouse, and we walked out with an over-sized silver hip-hop coat with the monogram “Jerry,” an authentic button-up flannel (frockets and all), a tan canvas cargo coat reminiscent of a U.S. army uniform, a heavy pea coat that could keep one insulated through a Chicago winter, and a horizontally patterned knitted wool pullover. While we were at it, we may have also picked up a pair of burnt-sienna rainboots, a ghetto baseball hat, a New Mexico-style beaded belt, and a Lucky brand shirt. While most items were only a few dollars, it took some serious restraint to abstain from buying a $30 pair of climbing shoes, which, though ideally I would like to use, in reality I knew I probably would not. I think we also met the week’s store quota on sales, all benefitting Silverton’s local radio station.

And thus it began – the thrift shopping escapade of the 2014 Durango family adventure. The Colorado thrift store saga continued on. Check in soon to read what ensued.

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[1] http://www.durangotrain.com/faqs#.U-bjpfldWSo

Durango, CO Photo Journal

10 Photos for 10 days of awesome days of family fun (…and dare I say, just a little too much family?) in Durango, Colorado.

Day 1
Chicago Layover Excitement

Day 2

Hitting the ground running on a trail behind our house

 Day 3
Exploring the San Juan Forest on the Durango & Silverton Narrow Gauge Railroad Train

Day 4

Animas River Trail Bike Ride

Day 5

Exploring Cliff Dwellings at Mesa Verde

Day 6

Horse Back Riding at the Rapp Corrall 

Day 7
It was a slow start that morning, but some of us ended up hiking Animas Mountain

Day 8

Did you say natural hot springs?! -- in Pagosa Springs

Day 9

Vallecito Reservoir, where though it looks like we hiked, we actually just got socked in by predictable afternoon showers (We should have left earlier or brought rain coats. We failed on both counts.)

Day 10
On our drive back to Albuquerque, we spent the evening in Santa Fe - the oldest capital in the United States. This is in the courtyard of the art museum, where they provided free entry and Haagen Dazs ice cream that day!

We get a little antsy if we stay in the car too long. Our drive back to the airport was one such occasion.

All in all, Colorado made for a memorable, outdoorsy, and fun family vacation. I'd say the Comptons Conquered Colorado 2014!