The Deficiency

That just looks like a pasta salad. It's really a story about how my husband married a fool.

Roughly a month ago, tacos came up on our menu plan. I like some black olives on my tacos. I don't eat a ton though, and T could take or leave them, so I usually just buy a tiny can of sliced olives.

I zoomed up and down the aisles of my favorite Publix, grabbing this, crossing that off my list. I scooped up a can of olives, popped them into my cart, and went along my merry way.

As it would turn out, apparently they also sell tiny cans of sliced olives with jalapenos. Given that we were having tacos, which include a little heat anyway, from the spices and the salsa, we just upped the ante a little. Not *that* much a big deal.

So when the day-after-day heat squashed my appetite, a nice cool pasta salad sounded so good.

I like some black olives in my pasta salad.

I zoomed up and down the aisles of my favorite Publix, grabbing this, crossing that off my list.

And then I reached the black olives.

I stopped my cart, squatted down (because they keep the tiny cans all the way at the bottom), and really stared, hard. I saw the ones that said "with jalapenos." I gave them a wide berth, because jalapenos would not play with with the flavors of this salad. I pulled a tiny can off the shelf, scanning the label -- once, twice, three times, four -- and it did NOT breathe a word of jalapenos. I placed it carefully in my cart, alongside the other items, and went about the rest of my business, casting a wary glance at that tiny can every so often. A girl is only unsuspectingly burned by unintended jalapenos once, you see.

After I got home and put away the groceries, I began preparing my pasta salad. I put on a pot of water to boil. I mixed up my dressing. I chopped up cucumber and tomato, and cubed up two different kinds of cheese.

And then I opened the tiny can of olives. It was one of those pull-tab lids, so I cracked it just a bit, to drain the liquid more easily. I tilted the can over the sink...and nothing came out. Somewhere between mildly confused and mildly annoyed, I wondered if I had managed to pick up a bad can of olives. I pulled back the tab just a little more and peered inside. The olives had a rough-looking dry-ish texture. With a sigh, I opened the lid all the way and then took another good look at the label.

It did *not* say "with jalapenos," but it *did* say "chopped," instead of "sliced." (It claimed they were chopped, but I believe the word they were going for was "pulverized.")

Like the can before it, I used it anyway.

Apparently, I cannot be trusted to properly shop for sliced black olives. But I sure can make my husband laugh.

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Sweet Light

When you live in a proverbial cave for five years, you revel in the sweet light spilling into your next home.





Lots of people suffer from Seasonal Affective Disorder. The darkness of winter has an actual negative effect on their sense of well being. I don't face that affliction because winter in Florida is neither dreary nor relentless. It is, for me, a welcome refreshment from the oppression that is six months of endless summer. But I have learned that I require lots of natural light. Even two years later, I still find myself standing still and soaking in that glorious sweet light.


For the days I want to write but need that extra push, and, just as much, for the days when the prompt inspires me, all on its own, whether I need extra motivation or not.

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Rose Gold

Back before we owned our house, before we'd even seen it in person, actually, we were browsing online, trying to decide, via a few (usually pretty lame) photos, which homes on the market inspired us enough to make an appointment to walk through. We came across this one house that appeared to... could this be right? Is there a wall-sized *window* in that shower? Looking...outside?! We'd been stuck in a perpetual loop for a long while at this point. Well over eighteen months of looking at houses that ranged from "just not quite right" for this reason or that, all the way to "it would be better for this house if someone accidentally dropped a lit match on their way out the door and left it a heap of burning embers." Long story short, despite the weird window situation, we decided to see what the house looked like in living color. We've been living here for closing in on two years now.

Two years. The time... well, I don't have to tell you.

Back to that window. That strange, curious window...

...that somehow became one of my favorite things, like, ever. It is far from weird or uncomfortable. There is, indeed, a wall-sized window in the master shower that looks outside. But it looks out onto a private patio with a high security fence, *not* across my backyard and into the behind-us neighbors' breakfast nook or any other equally awkward location. I cannot even begin to explain the peaceful sanctuary of showering entirely by soft, natural morning light. How it wakes me up, slowly and gently. I breathe deeply and start the day feeling peaceful.

Even though I fell rapidly and completely in love with this window, it held another surprise. One I wouldn't discover for nearly a year. If time is fleeting -- and surely, it is -- then time is also fluid. The days stretch longer and contract shorter with the revolving seasons. The weather changes the intensity of the light. You look up at a sunset and before you can turn away, it's already changed in a thousand glorious ways.

In mid December, the sun rises just after seven in the morning. In the half hour or so before the sun raises its fiery orange face to illuminate the earth, the light begins to warm in anticipation. From the cool blues of overnight is born this...glow. And for just a few minutes, so brief that if you aren't waiting for it, you'll miss it, that entire patio garden is bathed in the most stunningly beautiful light I have ever seen. It reflects off the creamy fence and is nothing short of magical, a color I can only describe as "rose gold."

I don't have a single photograph of it. It happens exclusively at the time of day when I am physically in the shower -- where, for several reasons, my camera dares not travel -- and the gift of it depends on the whims of Mother Nature, But for a few short weeks, the wonders of this world align to christen a few of my mornings with an exquisite beauty so breathtaking that I cannot help to exhale a prayer of awe-filled thanks.

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Craving.

Sleeping with the windows open.

A light, slow, "snacky" meal at Tutto Gusto Wine Cellar in the Italy pavilion at Epcot.

Some place new to play with my camera.

A summer evening ballgame at Fenway.

An uninterrupted lunch break.

A day off from work, spent with my husband, running a few errands, catching a matinee movie, just some time together outside our four walls. ... This one I get. Tomorrow. Am so happy.

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Be of good cheer.

Some days just require stripey socks and your favorite snowflake shirt.

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And exhale.

I've kept no secrets in regard to my trepidation about the re-imagining of one of my favorite attractions in all of Walt Disney World. Each new official update on the Disney Park Blog has lead to additional fretting and wringing of hands. I feared that when the walls came down, the parts of the ride I enjoyed most would cease to exist. When phrases like "Sim Car" and "design your own vehicle" were being tossed around, my heart sank, as I envisioned an entirely simulated experience. No matter how cool the update, there was no simulation that could take the place of wind in my pace as we zoomed around the elevated track attached to the side of the building.

As the date of the unveiling neared, evening circuits around World Showcase during Food and Wine Fest brought the familiar sounds of Test Track cars on the outside loop. Even then, I worried that they were finding ways to create a soundtrack, using the sounds of the attraction as it was formerly known for the the sake of nostalgia. I was bracing myself for a harsh reality.

On December 5, the doors were opened, welcoming in the first Epcot guests. I heard and read very little. When T and I planned our annual trip to Hollywood Studios to see the Spectacle of Dancing Lights (hooray for traditions!), I suggested that maybe we could stop in at Magic Kingdom first to see the brand new Fantasyland expansion, but T was itching to check out Test Track. I took a deep breath. There would be no more denying it, no more convincing myself that they couldn't possibly destroy my beloved Test Track.

We approached. Not too scary from the entrance...


The queue is completely different. Gone are the test dummies, the test simulators, the black-white-grey-yellow color scheme, the clanging-banging-relentless background music. It's all cool, soothing and sleek now. Blue and silver now accompanies the yellow. The soft color of neon and muted back-lighting has replaced the harsh overhead factory setting lights. And Chevrolet takes sole sponsorship.


Thus far, not at all painful. Dare I say, I like it better?

And then... I bet Bill and Sherry won't be waiting behind those doors, not even with a fresh script and updated hair styles.


As you file into one of the two possible studios, you stand at the screen that matches the color and number you waited on outside the doors. Here's where you get to play a bit. (Also known as break up some of the wait time with distraction!)





I was fidgety. I wanted to know if I would depart this room to shuffle my way through line into a lackluster simulated "Sim Car" that pretended to test the vehicle T created for us. (Everyone has the opportunity to design their own, if they wish. T and I opted to share.)

Oh, ye of little faith! I spy...

...a REAL CAR. In the same old (just repainted) loading dock.

I grinned with sweet relief. There are no photos from the rest of the ride (too dark to get photos while in motion), but suffice to say, the rest looks almost completely different but feels exactly the same. All is well.

Well, almost all...

MOO in peace, old friend and favorite detail of the original Test Track. I wish they'd found a way to bring you along or at least give a nod to your awesomeness in its new incarnation.

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One of these days...

...you're going to read that I died of a heart attack. No matter what T claims, it was *not* from natural causes. It's because he sneaked up on me and scared me all the way to death, instead of just halfway there.

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The Great Butterfly Escapade

On our last day in the northeast, we had some time between when we checked out of the timeshare and when we needed to be at the airport. We decided to stop along the way at the Yankee Candle flagship store (I didn't buy any candles since I would have had to figure out how to then transport them on the plane when our luggage was already packed, but I did get to sniff all the new scents so I know which I like when I buy online!) and after we browsed and ate lunch, my mom wanted to bring us to a place called "Magic Wings" to see the butterflies. They were beautiful and amazing, but I spent the majority of the hour we were there on a mission to get a photo of this one type of blue butterfly. The challenge: they never seem to stop MOVING. And when they finally land somewhere, they close up their wings so you can only see the outside/bottoms of them which are *not* blue.

But I was determined to get a good shot.



I am certain I looked like a lunatic...





...chasing the butterflies around with my camera...



...getting photos that were blurry or over/under exposed, as they darted from light into shadow.



Trying to time my finger to the unpredictable flapping of a resting butterfly.





But even though it isn't perfect, I finally felt victorious.

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In which I wish I were lying under a tree.

I was puttering on Facebook, and one of the companies I "like" there (Aveeno) posed the following question: "It's Arbor Day! What's your favorite type of tree and why?" I very nearly added this to my arsenal of "20 Questions" ideas, but then I thought that perhaps I would like to give this one a bit more thought than just a rapid-fire, quick response.

I love trees. A yard entirely devoid of them always feels vacant and lonely to me. Despite all my grousing when I lived in the apartment (let me refresh your memory: two windows in the apartment, facing directly into the trunks of mature trees, made me feel as if we were cave dwellers), I loved them too. They shaded my apartment through the long (looooong) Summer months, keeping my electric bill a little lower. They provided privacy and protection (except when I worried, during particularly violent thunder storms, that they would drop one of their hefty limbs on my roof--and subsequently my head). I loved watching the squirrels race through and around them, and catching glimpses of hawks, owls and woodpeckers perched on their branches. So many reasons to love a tree.

But to pick just one? (Have we met before? Do I ever pick just one favorite anything?)

I recently shared how I feel about the magnificent sequoias.

I've sung the praises of orange trees. In March, their sweet, white blossoms perfume my whole world with their heavenly fragrance. I am not even joking when I say that I stand in my wide-open windows or stop dead in my tracks outdoors to breathe their scent deep into myself, trying to burn it into my soul. I get this mental image like I am a cartoon and if I inhaled enough, I would suck everything around me into my head. (Which is weird, because surely that would cause some congestion, but I never claimed I was normal, so there you have it.) But they aren't my only favorite trees.

There are the stately evergreens. I love them in the winter, edged in snow. Though they quietly blended into the background most of the year, during the drab New England winter, with its muted neutral palette, they became a more obvious pop of color, but when it would snow, they would transform into the stuff of Christmas card images, the sparkling puffs of white like garland, their needles shimmering with a frosting of ice. And when the snow fell heavy, driven by icy gusts of wind, one whole side would be coated in white diamonds, looking so much like the branches Gram would flock for decorating her home.

I have long been fascinated with the cherry trees in Washington DC. One day, I would love to see them proclaiming "It's Spring!!" (I imagine them with cheerful voices, like cousins to the Easter lily.) (I am starting to wonder if I should maybe stop sharing my imagination, before you start thinking I spend my evenings pretending to be the caterpillar from Alice's Wonderland...Ahem. I don't. I swear.)

Another harbinger of spring that I always found so lovely were the dogwoods. We had one in our front yard, right next to our driveway, when I was growing up. Every spring, it would flower. Its petals were creamy, edges tinged with the softest pink, like the color inside a bunny's ears. With each gentle breeze, a shower of petals would flutter to the ground. My dad would grumble (Lord only knows what adult aggravation this may have caused, but my child's mind knew nothing of such things, so my memory remains innocent) but I still dream of planting one in my own yard.

Gram and Gramp had a pair of white birch trees in their front yard, and I was always drawn to their uniqueness. The ringed stripes. The narrow trunks. The way their soft bark would peel away in strips. The golden leaves in the autumn. But what struck me most was how, no matter the amount of snow and ice Mother Nature heaped on them, they would just bend gracefully beneath the burden. Sometimes their tops would bend all the way down to the ground, but when the wintry mix would melt, they would bounce right back up toward the sky. It amazed me that they never snapped in two or were any worse for the wear.

And then there is the more ambiguous "Autumn in New England," when I love all the trees in their symphony of color. Hues from soft brown to flaming red, golds and oranges, varying in vibrancy, the whole world on fire with warm colors. One last joyful blast before the hibernation of winter. Leaves ablaze overhead. Leaves crunching underfoot. Big old shade trees, under which I whiled away the summer afternoons, and wee-but-spunky saplings all joining in the game. One of the things I miss most about no longer living in the northeast.

Happy Arbor Day, friends. Today, I am going to be thankful for trees.

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Small.

This past December, I visited my friends, Nichole and Daniel, in California between Christmas and New Year. They took me to Sequoia National Forest to see the trees. And while you might not think there is anything truly noteworthy about trees on a mountain, it's taken me nearly four months to put it into words.

We spend a lot of time worrying about things we can't control, things that feel overwhelming. We spend a lot of time rushing around, making mountains out of molehills. We spend a lot of time focused on self, but not really looking inward, not really seeing ourselves. Our priorities often get skewed. Our thoughts often get sidetracked. We feel like these moments we live in are enormous and pivotal, and we whirl through our days, not taking the time to see more than the blur rushing past.

Here in this forest, even with many people present, it is hushed. There is a stillness. And with the stillness, comes peace. Because when you stand at the base of these giants, gazing up and up...and up even more, you can't stop the quiet gasp of awe. It happened to me each time I stopped and looked heavenward, to the faraway tops of trees that seemed to touch the sky. I took hundreds of photos, attempting to capture the feeling, but I've come to believe it just isn't possible, because a photo, no matter how large you make it, is never going to duplicate the largeness, and it is in the largeness that the secret lies. Even the trees who have fallen, victim to time and the elements, still tower over heads, the trunk bases and roots with wide circumference, long trunks stretching away into the woods for hundreds of feet.

We started out on the General Sherman Trail.  General Sherman is the largest volume living tree on Earth. That statement means very little in print, mostly because I just don't believe it is possible to imagine the reality without standing beneath it. What gave me even more pause, though, was coming to the realization that I was standing in the shadow of a tree that was already between 300 and 700 years old when Christ was born, and still thriving. It humbled me. I keep trying to elaborate on it, but the truth is as simple and pure as that. It humbled me.

We continued wandering among these regal giants along the Congress Trail. There is no racing among the sequoias. The altitude steals your breath, forces a slower, more deliberate pace.

So I walked, taking it all in. Marveling as I passed beneath a fallen tree. Stopping to enjoy a handful of snow. Taking in the sight of The Congress and The Senate. Standing solitary or in dignified clusters, these trees are magnificent and astoundingly beautiful.

Most poignant for me were the trees scarred by fires. The trunks are blackened, some with spaces burned clear through, large enough for a man to pass through with ease. They stand tall, strong, defying the fury of fires. Fires which ravage nearly everything. And yet these trees, they survive. They go on as if it didn't happen, more of their mass unaffected and alive than the parts that bear evidence, even when those very parts dwarf a grown person. What's more, these trees *need* the fires. Without them, they would eventually cease to exist. Only the heat of the fires is capable of opening the cones, releasing the tiny seeds from which these giants grow. It's a lot to ponder. Not being consumed by the events assumed to devour you. Holding yourself proud, head held high, even as the scars show what's been endured. Seeing that being held to ferocious heat can be the key to growth and new life, that sometimes that is the only way these may come about.

So many lessons lie among these rich, red trunks, their green branches a serene canopy overhead. Lessons to be learned in the hushed stillness, surrounded by important reminders of how fleeting our lives, what specks we are within the scope of a much grander world, spanning space and time.

There is much to be gained from feeling small.

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I am not.

I am not a fan of the color yellow, even though it makes me smile, because it was Gram's favorite color and it makes me think of her.

I am not unable to make decisions. I am unable to make "unimportant" decisions. Like where to eat. What movie to watch. Which pair of shoes to buy. Put a big decision in front of me, though, and I know exactly what I need to do.

I am not a pushover just because I am quiet.

I am not able to tolerate people who laugh at me condescendingly. Don't get me wrong. I can and do laugh at myself. Often. And I invite you to join the chuckle. But if your laugh implies you are somehow putting me down? I'm moving on. Because mean isn't funny.

I am not going to shop at Walmart again, if I can help it. I loathe that store for so many reasons.

I am not "just a receptionist." If I were, I would just be answering phones and directing traffic. I wish that was the scope of my responsibilities every time I hear someone call me "just the receptionist."

I am not going to root for "the local team." No matter how long I live here.My body changed location, my loyalty did not.

I am not above the silent treatment. Chalk it up as me practicing the adage "If you don't have anything nice to say..."

I am not ever going to stop believing in Santa Claus, watching Charlie Brown holiday specials or getting excited over going to a Disney Park. My inner child is alive and well. It's one piece of the secret to my happiness.

I am not perfect. But every day, I try harder to be a better person than I was yesterday.

I am not the sad stories from my past, but the sum of each passing phase of my life, composed of the minutes filled with the sunshine and blessings of laughter and love. These, which far outweigh the storm clouds and fill the once shadowed spaces with light, are what define me. A faint scar is not who I am, but what I have overcome.

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Tangled.

There are many things I don't understand. Math. How machinery works. What all those lines on the ice mean in hockey. Add this to the list:



I've been using Aveeno shampoo and conditioner for a couple of years now. It gets my hair clean. It smells really good. And my personal preference, the "Living Color" formula, really does preserve and prolong the life of my highlights. It must be popular, though, because sometimes its little spot on the shelves at Target or CVS are forlorn and empty, little tumbleweeds rolling through, for weeks at a time. And if my backup supply is running on empty--I try to stock up when they run sales, but it doesn't really go on sale that often, and occasionally I find myself coaxing the last remnants of product from the bottle desperately, shaking it furiously and pounding it against the palm of my hand--leaving me with no choice but to stop somewhere that day for new bottles and finding myself in a situation where I must "settle" for a different formula.

I've made do with "moisturize," "volumize," and "strengthen" formulas at various times in the past. My hair was still clean. The products still smelled nice. The only thing I lost was the protection for my highlights. (And yes, they really did fade more quickly. Having short hair with a naturally dark color makes it easy for me to tell how quickly my blonde highlights start to fade.) I digress. My point is that I had no real complaints about any formula I've tried when my preference is out of stock. So when I picked up some from the "Pure Renewal" line, I was unconcerned. I was out of shampoo and conditioner, and this was on the shelf.

I swear to you, I do not know what happens with this shampoo when I put it on my hair--it looks the same, it has a scent I would expect from an Aveeno haircare product--but the second I apply it to my wet hair and start to work up a lather, my hair turns into one giant tangled knot. At first, I thought it was the result of a day I had used more styling product than usual in my hair, but it has happened on days I've stayed home and given my hair a rest from all styling implements and goo. Then I thought that maybe my longer hair style was getting more snarled while I slept, but even if I brush my hair right before jumping into the shower, it still tangles up when I start working the shampoo into it.

I don't mean it gets a little tangled and I can work through it either. The more I touch my hair, the worse it gets. To the point that I can't even run my fingers through the smallest section to disentangle the knots. Nothing helps, not rinsing it, not attempting to "comb" it with my fingers, not lathering the shampoo in my hands before applying it to my head--and my hair is not the type that is prone to tangling at all, even when I ride in the car with the windows down. The only thing that fixes the issue is applying the conditioner. Suddenly, tangle-free! Like magic. Which is great except...I don't feel like I ever really get to wash my hair properly because of the knots that form when I start to lather it. It *acts* like it's clean, but mentally? I don't know. It just doesn't feel like I've given it a good scrubbing.

Thank God this bottle is more than half gone. It's too early in the morning to find myself baffled and it's ruining the zen of my beautiful bathroom. But seriously. What is the deal with this shampoo??

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A Day in the Life: April 2, 2012

G & I made a pact that we would blog more regularly. And then we decided to both do "a day in the life" posts. G did hers, so it's my turn now!

5:50am - I am awake. Exactly six hours after I fell asleep. My internal clock is so predictable.

5:57am - Out of bed to brush my teeth.

6:00am - Shut off the alarm on my phone. I can't even remember the last time I actually needed it to wake me. I just feel better, knowing it's set. Head out to the living room to snuggle with T and watch the morning news til he leaves at 6:15.

6:15am - Say goodbye to T. Start an episode of Rachael Ray on the DVR (I can only take so much news first thing in the morning and Rachael is so cheerful). Check my email, Twitter and Facebook while I finish waking up.

6:45am - Pause Rachael and head to the bedroom to get ready for the day. I have the best view while I shower, but it's a bit foggy this morning.

7:00am - Put The Today Show on the bedroom tv while I dress, make the bed,

do my hair

and put on my makeup.

Wash my makeup brushes. (I wash my loose powder/blush brush once a week, because I am blessed with oily skin, but I wash my eye makeup brushes on the first of every month. I forgot yesterday, so I am doing it today.)

7:15am - Ready for work! Bedroom tv off. Back to the living room to un-pause Rachael. Pour my morning glass of juice. Always pure unsweetened cranberry mixed with something else. Right now, it's no-sugar-added 100% apple juice. (I switch it up between apple and pineapple.) And I can't drink it any earlier, because pure cranberry juice, even mixed with something else, tastes terrible with freshly brushed teeth. Like "spit it out" terrible.

7:40am - Power down the tv and my laptop. Pull my lunch out of the refrigerator. Set the alarm and head out the door. Still foggy!

7:57am - Woohoo! Easy commute despite the (seriously dense) fog! Power up the work computer and put my lunch in the refrigerator.

8:15am - Eat breakfast at my desk while I get my computer set up for work.

8:30am-Noon - Answer the phone. File some paperwork. Get interrupted. Check my email, Facebook, Twitter. Print delivery tickets. Play Words With Friends. Ask a co-worker to please wait before printing a new order. Clean up the subsequent mess when he does not listen to me. Reload a printer with more paper. Process payment for a customer making a pick-up. Repeat repeat repeat.

(insert) 10:00am - Time for the third phase of my breakfast! (What am I? A hobbit?) But I have all my important food groups covered now: fruit (juice), dairy (yogurt), and now grains. What can I say? I graze.

Noon - Lunch!

12:05pm - Lunch interrupted.

12:15pm - Second attempt at lunch. Answer the phone every time I take a bite. Read some blogs.

12:55pm-3:00pm - Back to work. Answer the phone. Answer questions. Answer texts. Tell a sales rep how to make a photo copy. Un-jam the copier. Print delivery tickets. Input approved time off into the calendar. Get interrupted. Check my email, Facebook, Twitter. Repeat repeat repeat.

3:00pm - Print the new orders. Match them with the corresponding purchase orders, prints and other assorted documentation. File. Put copies in the production manager's mailbox. Print a report. Put a copy in the shipping manager's mail box. Get interrupted by the phone.

3:40pm - Match up office copies of the delivery tickets for the day's shipments. Cross check them with the shipping log spreadsheet. Set up each shipment with an invoice and enter any shipping charges. Run the batch of invoices. Match the invoices with the corresponding delivery ticket and the hard copy of the paperwork from my files. Get interrupted by the phone.

4:10pm - Stuff invoices into envelopes. Run them through the postage meter. Laugh at how boring my day is going to sound. Post the day's new orders and invoices to close out the day. Gather the invoice packets and reports and stick them in the general manager's mailbox.

4:25pm - Power down my computer and head out for the post office.

5:05pm - Pull into the driveway. Am greeted at the door by this lovely. (And T, on the couch.)

5:15pm - Start putting away my things. Get changed into comfy clothes. Power up my laptop. Take a couple of photos (Photo of the Day!). Relax for a few minutes with T while we watch some Around the Horn on ESPN.

5:50pm - Check my daily tasks checklist to see what the day's housecleaning project will be. (I use a method called "Clean House in 30 Minutes a Day" that gives a couple of tasks each day. The idea is that if you follow the list, you never have to spend a whole weekend cleaning endlessly.) Oh goody. It's bathroom cleaning day. (Careful. Don't slip in that puddle of sarcasm.) I clean the bathrooms while T works on dinner.

6:20pm - Eat dinner while watching the news.

6:45pm - T cooked so I take care of cleaning up the kitchen.

7:15pm-9:45pm - Crash on the couch. TV is on (Big Bang Theory rerun. Jeopardy. Marlins/Yankees Spring Training game). Laptop is at hand. Play on Facebook. Play Words With Friends. Chat with T. Read some blogs. Chat on Twitter. Start building this blog post. Have my evening glass of grape juice.

9:50pm - T heads to bed. Time to watch one of my shows from the DVR (Private Practice, time to get to this one, it was from March 15. I make it 49 minutes into the episode before it has me crying.).

11:10pm - Finish this blog post and schedule it to publish. Read my evening devotion. Get my lunch bag ready for morning. Shut the house down for the night. Wash my face, brush my teeth, get into pajamas.

11:20pm - Climb into bed with my book.

11:50pm (or sooner) - Lights out. Sleepy girl.

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In boxes.

On a particular evening, a couple of weeks ago, as I sifted through some boxes long set aside, filled with dreams of a life I once thought I wanted, I realized I was ready to let them go when I last sealed them inside those cardboard walls. Item by item, I discarded the contents into a large plastic contractor's garbage bag. Then I broke down the cardboard into a flat, tidy pile. In the morning, I wheeled the garbage can to the curb, the yellow recycling bin set to one side, casting them away forever, ready to step into the life waiting before me.

I am ready.

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Imagine me with eyes the size of saucers.

I have no idea what happened to most of February and the first half of March. For serious. It had been just long enough since my last move that I had conveniently forgotten the toll it takes on...everything. It isn't that I am having a difficult time feeling comfortable in a new house with new sounds at night or anything like that. In fact, it felt exactly right from the very first night there, comfortable and familiar.

The adjustment has been more in the disruption of my familiar patterns. I don't know where anything belongs yet, so I keep losing things, even though I have carefully put them away. Case-in-point: We wanted to go out to dinner on Saturday, and T asked me where our stash of gift cards was. I knew for certain that I had not carelessly tossed them in a pile. I distinctly recalled holding them in my hand and telling myself to put them somewhere that made sense, where they could be found when needed. And then...right, I couldn't figure out where that place was. I wandered the house in circles for a good twenty minutes before I finally located them. They *were* in a place that made sense, but the problem with a new house is that nothing actually makes sense yet. That is actually an accurate representation of my whole life right now too. My old rhythms and routines were designed to fit into an apartment, and now I am adjusting to a new space and a new routine, and I frequently find myself overwhelmed.

Toss in "plan a long distance wedding" and you have a recipe for not getting anything done before the next task draws my attention away, and my poor little blog sits neglected, weeks of my life shuffled out of sight with hardly a glance and a mention. A thousand thoughts that get swept into a meaningless pile, never making it into this space.

I am, in a word, overwhelmed. Maybe the first step back to feeling balanced is to just start the new normal. Maybe then the rest will fall in line.

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In Review: 2011

Oh, what the heck. I was going to wait til next year to start doing these, but it's still January and there's no time like the present, right?

1. What did you do in 2011 that you’d never done before?

I had surgery and saw sequoia trees. Both were pretty humbling, though in very different ways.

2. Did you keep your New Year’s resolutions, and will you make more for next year?

I had some goals, which I completed in part. I have loftier goals for 2012.

3. Did anyone close to you give birth?

I had a couple of friends give birth. It was the year of the boy.

4. Did anyone close to you die?

Two of my dad's cousins died in 2011. I hadn't seen them in years, but we saw them fairly often when I was growing up. T's mother also died, and while I cannot say I was close to her, I am obviously close to him, and I wish I had been able to meet her.

5. Which countries states did you visit?

Let's be serious here. I have a more likely chance of visiting other states than other countries. This year, I only visited California. I did go three times though (twice related to my surgery).

6. What would you like to have in 2012 that you lacked in 2011?

A. HOUSE. Seriously. After a year and a half of searching, it's time to be done with this nonsense.

7. What dates from 2011 will remain etched upon your memory, and why?

March 23: The day I had surgery.


July 4: The day I got engaged. 

8. What was your biggest achievement of the year?

It was more "ours" than "mine," but building up the savings account. It has a way to go, but it's off to a good start.

9. What was your biggest failure?

There was a time or two that I could have been a better friend and fiancee.

10. Did you suffer illness or injury?

I don't know that it qualifies as either an illness or injury, per se, but I had surgery to remove some fibroids. Other than that, a couple of mild colds was it.

11. What was the best thing you bought?

My wedding dress! It is beautiful and I love it, *and* I got it at 45% off! 

12. Whose behavior merited celebration?

Dr Parker! My surgery could not have gone better, thanks to him.

13. Whose behavior made you appalled and depressed?

My regular GYN. Grrr!

14. Where did most of your money go?

Paying down debt. Medical bills. Rent.

15. What did you get really, really, really excited about?

Successful surgery. And, hello! Diamond!

16. What song will always remind you of 2011?

Lady Antebellum's "Hello World." It really stirred up a lot of reminders to be mindful of what is important.

17. Compared to this time last year, are you:

a) Happier or sadder? Happier. More every day.
b) Thinner or fatter? I weigh the same, but I am five fibroids lighter.
c) Richer or poorer? Richer, in every way.

18. What do you wish you’d done more of?

Getting to spend time with the people I care about most. 

19. What do you wish you’d done less of?

Worry.

20. How did you spend Christmas?

T and I celebrated at home, with our regular traditions. And then I flew to California between Christmas and New Year to celebrate Christmas with Nichole and Daniel.

21. Did you fall in love in 2011?

More and more.

22. What was your favorite TV program?

No one who knows me expects that I will pick just one. The ones I've enjoyed the most are: Parenthood. Grey's Anatomy. The Good Wife. Modern Family. Mad Men. The Big Bang Theory. Dexter. Fringe. Blue Bloods. Once Upon a Time. Pan Am.

23. Do you hate anyone now that you didn’t hate this time last year?

I don't hate. It's toxic and eats you up until you become a warped and bitter version of your former self.

24. What was the best book you read?

Hands down, "Atlas Shrugged." It gave me a *lot* to chew on.

25. What was your greatest musical discovery?

I am not one of those people who ever discovers music. 

26. What did you want and get?

A successful surgery.

27. What did you want and not get?

A house. OMG, a house.

28. What was your favorite film of this year?

Atlas Shrugged: Part One.

29. What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you?

I turned 35. I am not much into big celebrations. We went out for a quiet dinner.

30. What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying?

I feel like a broken record, but a house, a house, a house. But to be honest, I find it difficult to not just be grateful for my surgery going better than I ever could have hoped.

31. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2011?

Typical Dawn style: comfortable and simple. Though I did get some new tops that were slightly more feminine and soft and "less simple."

32. What kept you sane?

T. My closest friends. A surgeon who was confident without being arrogant. 

33. Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most?

I just haven't found anyone to replace Mike Lowell.

34. What political issue stirred you the most?

I firmly believe in The Linus Philosophy (There are three things I've learned to never discuss with people: politics, religion and the Great Pumpkin) but I will leave it as: the economy.

35. Who did you miss?

Seems like I miss everyone (well, not T, of course, since he's here). When will I convince my loved ones how awesome Florida is and that they should move here? Heh.

36. Who was the best new person you met?

Ingrid. Which probably means she will move out of the state some time in 2012.

37. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2011.

I am always stronger than I think I am. And good things really do come to those who wait.

38. Quote a song lyric that sums up your year.
Well, hello world, how you been?
Good to see you my old friend.
Sometimes I feel cold as steel,
Broken like I'm never gonna heal.
I see a light, a little grace, a little faith unfurl.
Hello world.

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One Little Word: Commit

There has been this online "project" put together for several years now by a blogger and scrapbooker named Ali Edwards. It's called "One Little Word" and the basic idea is that you choose a word to be the theme of your entire year, a springboard, a catalyst, for living the kind of life you want for yourself. I never intended to participate in it, not because I have any particular problem with it--I actually think it's a great idea--but more because I don't scrapbook anymore and I am a "play by the rules" sort of girl. However, I did elect to do another "online challenge," for a photo-a-day project, and one of the prompts centered on photographing your one little word. I played along, chose a word, photographed it, and that was that. And now...I find it creeping into my every day life. Funny how that works...

My word is "commit."

For obvious reasons, that is a big word for me in 2012. I am going to legally and officially commit to a man. Not that I haven't already, but...there's a difference. That's *why* people take marriage seriously: because they feel it's a deeper commitment than just "being committed." (And yes, I know, maybe you don't need it to "define" *your* commitment to another person, and that's ok, but for *me*, it is a big deal. The commitment of marriage means something to me. It is a declaration I wish to make.)

With any luck, I will be committing to a house in 2012. We'll see.

And now I see this word--commit--sneaking into more than just these Big Things.

I am committed to growing out my hair. Even on the days it makes me loony.

I am committed to this photo project.

I am committed to some personal goals and wishes.

And just this morning, my photo prompt arrived in my inbox: "living your word." And I looked at my plan for today: a trip to my happy place, to Disney World. And I realized that, while I am always up for a day in the world of magic and sparkle, I am especially drawn there when I have been exposed to too much crabbiness.  I have made the decision, the commitment, if you will, to take the flood of negativity that rises up around me and push it aside, replace it with things that fill me with joy. I am committed, to myself and my mental well-being, to not be weighed down by the world around me.

I don't know if I am "doing this right." Maybe this is one of those things that cannot be done wrong. What I know is that "commit" is finding a way into my 2012 in ways I had not anticipated. And that's pretty cool.

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What the WHO?

I am all for stopping to appreciate the small things. I believe I make that abundantly clear. One of my favorite things about the apartments where I live is the wide variety of wildlife I encounter. Just the other day, as we were doing our daily post-work walk, we saw an owl swoop from one set of trees and perch in another. (We presume, to scope out the squirrels that we fatten up with the nuts we toss to them as we do our laps.) Each time we passed the tree where he was sitting, I had to stop and peer up into the branches at him. He was majestic and amazing.

Until last night.

I was awakened in the wee hours by a very chatty Mr Owl. Sitting in the tree directly outside the bedroom window. And very much NOT using his nighttime voice. For a good half hour, I lay there, wide awake, listening to "Who-who-who-WHOOOO! Who-who-who-WHOOOO!"

I don't know if he finally gave up or if sleep finally overtook me, despite his chattering, but I can tell you this: At random intervals today, I have caught myself thinking "Who-who-who-WHOOOO!" much like one would be plagued by an earworm. He obviously planted that seed in my brain while I was slumbering.

I will also bet on this: No way did he catch his dinner with all that hooting and hollering. Every tasty morsel was getting plenty of warning to stay safely hidden from sight.

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Rain-washed.

We spend a lot of time talking about how "it's the little things that matter," but I've noticed we spend a lot less time actually living that out. I watch the status messages on Facebook and the steady stream of Tweets bemoaning the lack of this and lamenting the absence of that. I very rarely pat myself on the back, but I do feel that I do a fairly decent job of being more grateful for the blessings I have than focusing on what I don't. Even my "I Want Wednesday" posts are meant to be more about tongue-in-cheek daydreaming than in actively wanting or expecting (though there are some cases in which I do actually plan to save up my "fun money" for a special splurge). But I won't say I that I get it right one hundred percent of the time either. I have my moments...and I feel kind of ugly when I see them in retrospect. It's a constant work-in-progress.

Which is why one of my very favorite things is when I catch myself so immersed in a "little things" moment that I lose track of the rest.

For weeks, now, I have been musing on a particular blog post. (For real. It's been a side note on my Daily To Do List, probably since mid-November, tacked next to "Blog" -- in parentheses, of course, because I fully embrace any possible opportunity to use parentheses. And ellipses. Ahem.) I was waiting for the right time. Which was tricky, because it's the dry season, here in Florida, and I needed it to have rained. And not only to have rained, but to have rained overnight, and to not have dried before my commute. (I don't know why this mattered so much, but...there you have it.)

Last night, it rained. And this morning, as I turned onto the highway on-ramp, I caught sight of the inspiration for this seed of a blog post. It's not something I've ever been able to photograph, mostly because I am driving, and if it isn't safe to text while driving, it's probably even less safe to be operating a camera while behind the wheel. But also, I am not sure I can translate that image accurately with my camera. (Perhaps someone with more skill might be able to, in fact, I am reasonably certain they could. But I don't think I can, and while this might be a red flag for not selling myself short and letting my fears prevent me from accomplishment and all that, let me also say that I'm not sure I would want to anyway. Sometimes an image and the feeling need to simply live in your mind, waiting to be enjoyed "in the moment" when that moment happens again.) I wanted to share it on a morning when it was "true."

Whoa. Tangent.

Back to this morning. I turned the corner onto the ramp, and I saw the sun cresting the horizon. The sky is that perfect blend of pastel Easter hues: soft gold around the sun, followed by layers of peach and rose, fading into pale blue, with just the faintest hint of lavender at the far edge where the sun's rays haven't warmed it yet. There are a few wispy clouds, the final reminder of the rain that has passed through. There is the muted haze of fog, gauzy and light, rising from the damp earth in the distance. And then there is the road. That ugly pavement transforms under the morning light, shimmering fresh with the last of the standing rainfall. There is just *something* about it. The way this glistening rain-washed world looks. The ordinary that I don't see, not to appreciate, most of the time, but that reels me in on a morning like this. My eyes sweep the view my whole trip up the ramp and along the highway until I reach my exit. And then the spell is broken with the change of the angle of the sun, now throwing shadows instead of light.

But it stays with me, brightens me, that image. Something so simple. Something that cannot be purchased or forced into being. Something that I have to wait for, patiently, and that I must be observant in order to receive it.

I love the "little things." Rain-washed mornings. The particular sound of a squirrel crunching through a nutshell. Scrolling through my Google Reader and catching sight of a photo on a blog that causes me to actually catch my breath. Watching the flight of a owl as he moves to a new perch.  Life teaches some harsh lessons at times, but this one has always been my favorite: Open your eyes and take the time to find joy all around you.

When people wonder why I so often appear content, this is the reason. Cross my heart. I am surrounded by wonder and the only cost is the effort I make to really see it and to be grateful.

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Motivation.

Anyone who has ever grown out their hair understands the frustration. Especially if your hair has been pixie short for the better part of a decade, and up off your shoulders nearly two. The up-side is that my hair grows quickly, so the growing out process won't take a painful amount of time. The down-side is that my hair grows quickly, so it gets ridiculously shaggy between trim-and-reshape appointments.

I've noticed that my feelings on my hair during this process are cyclical. I have several tolerable days in a row, followed by a day or two of awful, and just when I have a good mind to call my stylist and scrap the whole plan, I have a great hair day. Lather, rise, repeat. (Ha. A hair-related joke. I am so clever.)

And so, every morning, when I break out my blow dryer and my hair wax and my hair spray and my brushes (I have had no use for a hairbrush in at least a dozen years and now I need two OMG), I also pull out the page I printed out. I lay it on the bathroom counter as I dry and finger style and fuss with my locks. Partially because this style is new, so I need the visual assistance in conquering this new style (or a modification of it, at this point, anyway)...and partially because I need the motivation of seeing "the prize," so I don't take a pair of scissors to my head in a fit of madness.



It better be worth this.

P.S. The upper right is the plan for the wedding. That's my other motivation.

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