Somewhere between pressure cooker and all-out bonfire*

I suppose there is risk in everything. There is risk in liking, most definitely risk in loving and hopefully some kind of assuring risk in committing. There is risk in expression as much as there is risk in keeping your thoughts to yourself. And though I don't have a site meter and doubt there are more than a couple dozen people around here on any given day I sort of feel like I've had this blog long enough to understand the risk in having an opinion. An opinion on the Internet, that is.
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I've had plenty of opinions prior to my blog experience, of course, but I'd venture to say this is it's own kind of special risk. Perhaps that's just my way of feeling good about what I write and how I share it, or because I love other blogs too much, but whenever there's a little bit of disagreement I wonder if I'm not getting scared. I mean, I want to share my opinions and I don't mind if no one agrees but I start to wonder if that's okay. I start to think about the chance of offending others.
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I struggle between writing from my gut and writing in a way that will allow me to relate to my known readers. I mean, without naming names, how does one go about sharing life's details without offending anyone between the ages of twenty-three and fifty-something? How do you write if you're constantly thinking about what the college student, or the father of four or the wacky cyclist or the pastor or the One You Call Your Internet Mom are going to think? How do you even begin to be authentic? And I don't mean what those people are going to think of me personally, I just mean in general. While I'd say I pretty much do whatever I want, I do like to think I do things with intention. I believe we can be careful without being too self-conscious.
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I'd also like to think I make an effort to think about what I say and how I say it. So when I write about the peace I feel floating in crystal clear water, it is really how I feel. And it is not just because I had a beer on the beach that day; though I can honestly say I feel like being able to experience moments where you feel at peace in your life and where you are, where you've chosen to be, are a blessing, even if they include a beer. There is nothing wrong with that.

I struggle a little about sharing some of my adventures and the experiences I'm able to have, fearing they'll come across as gloating. And though I've said many a time that a life well lived ought to be shared, the natural doubt that comes from so much good contributes it's share of guilt. I want to be sure that somehow, through sharing, I absorb the experience and the gratitude I feel in an otherwise impossible way. It is not just the experience itself that feeds me, but the perspective I get by possibly relating to another that makes it better. Richer.

The truth is, there are hard times in life. There's bad stuff in my life and your life and the life of the guy next door. There are things I don't like about myself, that's for sure. I try to work to make these things better, sometimes. For instance, I know I can become a better writer and photographer and maybe even a better runner. I know I can be a better friend to some and I know I can become better at knowing when to let things go.

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I am learning. I keep telling myself I can learn to like créme brûlée, but that's probably not going to happen so I'm learning to be okay with liking mole (pronounced mo-lay, F.Y.I.) and finally building up enough of my oh-so-white-girl tolerance to handle food with some kick to it.

But you know what I think? I think we all know that. We know all about the hard stuff. We live it and deal with it every day. We all struggle with our choices and the demands in our lives and try not to lose our minds on those days when we have seventeen different things to do and, oh yes, they are all important.

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So when it comes down to it, when I sit down to write a post and wonder to myself what is sitting in my mind's queue waiting to come out, I guess I don't think about the risk I might be taking as much as I'd thought. I try to aim to create something a little lighter, perhaps more interesting than the oatmeal I had for breakfast but less interesting than, say, politics. (Heh.)

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I guess my point is, when I might be so lucky to have people read what I write and then have something to say about it, I'd rather it happen in a way that feels good. I'd rather enjoy the little bits and pieces of life we can be so quick to glaze over. I'd rather be serious yet still joke about ridiculous, silly things. It's a tricky balance and it's not always possible but I've tried it both ways and I think it's better this way. If it's true that there's a place for every one of us, and all our words, then let mine be the place where I can slow down, do my best to absorb everything that's good and most of all, share it with care but without worrying about the risk.

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Coming to that conclusion here, in black and white, as they say, is a lot more refreshing than I imagined it could be.

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* Alternately titled: No this is not just a sneaky way of posting more photos

Pieces of perfect

We stayed at this little darling hotel on the quiet end of town. We walked through the rainy streets with bags and no umbrellas to get there and if the warm colors and adobe spiral staircase weren't welcoming enough, the staff was. They knew our names from the moment we walked in the door and offered us everything from directions to umbrellas to comfort us. The manager, whom I nicknamed Pavarotti because he was singing when we walked in, helped me reacquaint myself with Spanish. It turns out I can find more than the beer and the bathrooms when I'm in Mexico*.

It was an interesting place to see the fusion of different cultures. It always amazes me how if you take the time to talk with people and make the effort, you'll get an amazing response. You go from feeling slightly lost and very out of practice to knowing that yes, even with the barriers of language and culture differences, you can make friends anywhere.

Like the young lady at a small bakery we stopped in for dessert one day. Though it was simply apple pie, there was something oddly magical about her teaching us to call it tartleta de manzana as we ate it and read magazines while Springsteen tunes floated out from the back room. It was a fantastic contrast that settled me. One step up, two steps back, indeed.



The sky also happened to stay in a constant state of bright blue, of which the thought only causes me great discomfort today. It is fifty-four degrees (F) in Colorado right now and I didn't see blue sky all day. Call it nature but I think it's Colorado's karmic way of getting back at me for pining after others.





Mexico, and likely any place if you'll let it sink in, is filled with detail. And just a couple steps away from the mainstream, you'll see this more and more. Little things people do and say that show an effort to be unique. An effort not only to stand out but to do it in a way no one else does. We should each be so lucky to have these efforts noticed. We should be so lucky to always try to make the effort at all.


I must admit, was not enough time. But when is it ever? I took an entire week off running (not to mention every other endeavor) and I have to say, for the first time in a while, I really miss it. I miss the open road and the air being stolen from my lungs. I miss the sweat and the way it clears my mind. Oddly, though I so badly believed I needed to be taken away, I missed my feet being on the ground. And if we know anything at all, we know it won't be long before I'm floating again anyway.

* See Me: 101, #70.

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Last week's guessing game answer: C. I made it up. And if the above didn't make it obvious enough I will just explain by saying I think it would be nearly impossible for me to be friends with someone that so decidedly hated warm weather. There's just a certain basic level of understanding that must occur between friends.

Hey, Good Lookin'

Woah, well, post about weight and some folks are just all about the emails. Even if it's your own weight, the people, they've got a lot to say.

Rest assured, I'm not starving myself.

I eat quite a bit. And often. With friends, with family, even alone. In fact, here lately, I've been cooking my little butt off. (Yes, all irony and puns intended. And then some.) I've also been inspired lately by this girl who not only has been creating some fantastic delights in her kitchen but also seems to share my affinity for recipe substitutions.

Maybe it's the simplicity of the cooking I do or the fact that I am not sure I've ever completely followed a recipe but I find it to be quite easy and generally find myself a lot more satisfied eating what I've cooked at home rather than something that was prepared in bulk in some kitchen. There are always exceptions, but it's also, generally, those places that one shouldn't go to while wearing the same clothes in which they just ran five miles. And my kitchen? We don't mind a little post-run stank around here.

Not totally following recipes, though, does give one an enormous amount of creative license. While I don't despise onions, I'm not entirely fond of them, either. So the other night, while making stir fry based on this recipe I decided onions? Yeah, not so much. Squash? Oh yeah, baby.

And you know, it fit in just fine with the broccoli and asparagus. I did add it toward the end of cooking, though, which turned out to be a great decision. Ironically, squash is not at it's best when it's, well, squashy.

Stir fry, as many probably know, is the perfect runner's meal. It's all the things you need in a meal and it all ends up in one bowl. And to those of you making your stir fry from frozen vegetables let me just say while I completely understand the time and convenience factors, try fresh anyway. You will be so impressed with yourself.

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Oh yeah, and there's chicken in there, too. But I've got to say, for some reason I can't really put my finger on, taking pictures of meat that you're cooking or eating or anything else just seems weird. Maybe this is because I am not really a fan of preparing meat but I am a fan of eating it so I just get over the preparation and cooking portion. Does anyone else feel this way?

Another too-simple-for-words cooking adventure of late was influenced by my latest trip to the Caribbean. Where they have fish. Where I had fish. Where I had mahi, iron content be damned, every chance I could.

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I found this recipe and got all excited because the salsa portion of the recipe totally reminded me of an absolutely fabulous mahi sandwich I had while sitting in a seaside restaurant over-looking the bay on the last full day of my visit. It was while enjoying that mahi that I listened to sailor jokes and became friends with a young boy that told me not only was he going to become a famous drummer one day but if I came to see him play, HE WOULD LET ME IN FOR FREE. I always knew my involuntary adoration of musicians was meant to be.

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What was not meant to be was the mahi. Trying to find good mahi in Colorado is like trying to find Rocky Mountain Oysters in the islands. I settled for tilapia. It was a very acceptable compromise.

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The recipe, though, and it's fabulous salsa, called for onions. And I had every intention of using the red onion I just knew I'd bought. But when I opened the fridge, alas, there was no red onion. I was so sure I'd bought it. Who knew my onion aversion was so deep.

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Instead, I decided a jalapeno and some roasted red peppers would have to do. And once again, they did.

I also added green peppers and later, the avocado. If nothing else, it was pretty.

And here again, I have no photo of the fish. I have a feeling, however, that it's less because of the I'm-creeped-out-by-photos-of-meat issue and more the once-food-is-in-front-of-me-I-must-eat-it issue.

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The fish did need something other than salsa with it, though. I went with my all-time favorite side, sweet potato fries.

I have no idea if this is an "appropriate" culinary pairing but in my world, you can never go wrong with these. Never. Slice them, toss them in olive oil, sprinkle them with pepper or your favorite spice and sea salt, pop 'em in a 350 oven for 30-35 and that's it. They are always good and always remind me how much I love sea salt. Why the entire world isn't cooking with sea salt and no other sort of salt is beyond me.
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No worries, internets, I do not starve myself to lose weight. In fact, when you're cooking like this, you're even more inspired to eat. You find yourself saying "oh, you know what would be good with this" or "next time, I'm going to add..." and before you know it, you have twenty more meals planned. For that evening.

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Instead of asking yourself what's for dinner tonight, you just day dream about ingredients and spend your days searching for all the possible recipes that call for lime.

And a good day to you, sir

"Do I have time to get some coffee before this meeting?"

"The coffee machine is gone."

"What?"

"Why do you care? You don't even drink coffee."

"I do today, brother, I do today."

You know when you, a 27-year-old woman, start calling your coworkers 'brother' that it's an off day.

And today was a textbook off day. The kind of day where you feel like everyone is looking at you like you've forgotten to wear pants. But they're too nice to say anything so they just stare and think "thank God that's not me without pants." I was so off most the day that all thoughts popping into my head about what I need to write about and how it ought to just start spilling out but isn't were superseded by the thought that maybe I really had forgotten to wear pants.
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So, instead of agonize over writing and thought organization and trying to come up with something with purpose or intent, I will just post some photos and call it good.

Carribbean Conversation

I think coming back from vacation is the closest we'll ever come to knowing what our own birth was like. There we were, all happy and warm and content and then, it's all gone. And we're shoved into (or back into) a world with cold air, loud people and responsibility.

Not that there was doubt beforehand, but the gods were on my side on this one. I had busy times, quiet times, times with friends and alone time. That was probably what I needed most, though I frequently have a hard time admitting it.

Everything I might have been worried about in the beginning was nothing more than a distant thought once I stepped off the plane. It's so easy, when you leave so much of your little world behind, to just be here. To just be in a place where there are no measures, no expectations and very few people to care who you are or what you're doing. Of course, there are those there to see and be seen. There are always those. But they don't take anything from you, from your experience.

The sailing was great, even with uncooperative wind.

"I don't know," said our Captain, "I think the mountains are calling me again."
"I understand," I told him. "Just remember, Doug, it gets cold up there."

A day on White Bay. Or was it two?

"How long were you there?"

"Just for the day."

"Really?"

"I think so... I'm pretty sure. You get sucked into some kind of Live Slow vortex over there."


Some time spent snorkeling... never a disappointment on St. John.

"Did you see the shark?"

"WHAT?! What shark?"

"Oh... ummm, nothing. Turtle. I meant turtle."


In come the waves, out go your cares.

"It is a known fact that all troubles and cares dissolve in sea water."

"All of them?"

"Yes, but as a Plan B, we have rum."


Palms growing any way they choose.

"This is supposedly the nude beach."

"Like all year round?"

What else would you rather see when you walked over a hill?

"Doing a head stand in salt water hurts."

" Honey, I think doing a head stand always hurts."


One of the billion photos I took of boats.

"One day, I promise, I will have my own boat down here."

"Cool, can I be your first mate?"

"Sure. But the first mate does all the work, you know?"

"Never mind. Who drinks all the rum? I want to be that guy."

The most I've been concerned about anything in several days

"There's something wrong with this."

"What?"

"It just tastes like juice and nothing else."

"Wow, that is wrong."

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If you've got a few minutes, my friends are building a little place on a little hill. Check it out here. They have an awful view- I think they're going to have a very hard time getting people to visit.

(Hopefully that link will work. If not, soon come.)

Chick Magnet

Thanks to Margo for the photo.

Token Things

This afternoon, when packing my suitcase (hello, procrastination) I was trying on clothes just to make sure nothing fit weird or had holes in it or something else equally as likely to surprise me when I'm thousands of miles from home, or a Super Target. As I rolled things neatly into place in my bag, I came across a strange-looking wooden token. At first, I could not figure out where this might have come from or how it got into my tote. There was some lettering on it, but it was mostly rubbed off and looked like it had spent a lot of time in someone's pocket.

I looked at the token, turned it over in my hand and searched every file in my mind about when and where I could have come across the thing. As it often does, my mind wandered, and I thought about all the traveling I've been able to do over the last year. I've been with friends and family, tasted new foods, stamped the passport, stood at the top of mountains and at the edge of the sea. I've run, I've been lazy, I've taken long drives down highways that were once only a place I'd read about. I've seen the sun rise in the East, set in the West and many places in between. I've met remarkable people, heard incredible stories and have been continuously reminded that being with people, talking with them, and connecting with them is an amazing privilege.

It is truly a small, small world and also, it is a blast. I have and have had more fun than anyone ought to be allowed. For all the reasons I feel confused or somehow lost, there are a thousand more to make me feel profoundly blessed and at peace. I can't explain how the things in my life, like work, writing, running and travel balance me. To have the opportunity to be rewarded and challenged by the life you choose is a very special thing.

The last couple months have not painted a perfect picture. There has been death, anger, sadness, strife, bad news, worse news, and many an akward moment. I thought about this as I held that token in my hand today, and the memory came back to me. The token, at least as I've known it, was laying in a crack in the sidewalk as I trapsed in front of a small shop on a humid, sunny, perfect island day. In a quiet mood and waiting for dinnertime, I bent down to pick up the token. It ended up in the pocket of my shorts and a few days later, while on a boat docked in the Caribbean, the token fell out of my pocket and onto the ground.

"You dropped this," said the man who'd been intently cleaning the boat.

"Oh, thanks. I have no idea what it is, I just picked it up the other day."

"It looks like a token... I wonder what it will buy?"

We laughed a little, and joked a lot about what you could get "these days" for a token. We talked for a while but never seemed to come to any real conclusion, though I do remember laughing for a good twenty minutes about the hilarity of the word "squall." (Say it a lot of times, you'll laugh too.)

Though I still don't know what that token was meant to buy, for me, today, it bought a memory. So I'll take it with me on this trip, too. With any luck, it will buy a hundred more.

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I'll be away for the next couple weeks doing the token Caribbean things: sitting, watching, sailing, snorkeling, thinking, breathing... you know. There is a chance, if I take advantage of some friends, that I'll be able to post a bit while I'm away. I know that if I spend twenty minutes laughing about random weather terminology, my bloggie friends are going to want to know, right?

Heh.

So anyway, I'm off for now. Thanks for taking the time to come to my blog, both new and "old" alike. That human connection thing I was talking about earlier? Yeah, that includes you. And you... and yes, even YOU.

Not a Moment Too Soon

If last week were, say, part of a contest- a really not fun contest where a family could compete with other families, or a twenty-seven-year-old woman could compete with other twenty-seven-year-old women- to see who could have the worst week ever, my family and I would have been fierce competitors. Or maybe, if there were a television show called Worst Week Ever and they featured people that were really having a really bad week, we might have been one of the top stories.
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The loss of a family member started the week. Then, a much beloved couple close the family have decided to separate. Then, a family member attended and then, subsequently, was stranded at a wedding-gone-wrong. In Kentucky. Kentucky, where none of us is right now. And we thought that was it; we thought we had our Unfortunate Things Happen in Threes trifecta. But then someone had a heart attack and all my theories of threes just went out the window, along with the cake I'd tried to bake but couldn't because the middle kept sinking. Twice. Thank you. (The upside to that is, you have to do something with all that icing you made. I opted to eat it, rather than slapping it directly onto my thighs. Yes, thank you, again.)
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So many times in the last week, I've found myself just shaking my head, trying to think but not really being able to get anywhere. I've written a thousand things, most of which make no sense now and the rest of which will probably make very little sense in the days to come. I've gone for countless runs (yes, more than once per day), thrown myself into work only to come out feeling drained and guilty, and tried passing the time with friends and drinks and catching a little bit of sunlight. It's incredibly challenging to catch sunlight in between all the clouds, by the way.
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While I know this is not the worst plight in life (I'm well aware more people than me could be on the Worst Week Ever) I'd be a complete fraud if I didn't admit to what I'm thinking right now: I have a break coming in seven days and my gosh, I feel like I've earned it.

Dreaming

So close.

Let's Talk About Running Before My Head Explodes

Why is it that just when you think you can't add anything else to life, life just goes on ahead and adds it for you?

I've made every attempt over the last few days to escape and find some place I can go where I need not think about anyone else's life. Yes, some of it is valid, some of it trivial and much of it ridiculous, but honestly, if I have to utter the phrase "what did you expect?" one more time, I might gag. Instead, I've tried to get away.

Just ask Barb who got five questions from me that I pulled straight out of oblivion and slapped into an email. She says it was painless, but I think she was just being kind. Or, you could ask Nicole over at Powered By Vegetables. She asked me if I had any opinions or recommendations on travel to St. John (U.S.V.I.). What she didn't realize was that asking me about Caribbean travel is sort of like asking me to share my opinions and recommendations on the importance of breathing.

Both, though, were attempts at escape. As has been my running lately. It is not particularly smooth nor consistent, but when I'm out there, sweating and my heart pounding, I find relief. It's a little like years ago, when I "got serious" about running and started to train regularly. It's a struggle, but also a progression. Today's run feels a little easier than the day before. My body, even if it's fighting me for each step, is also getting it's memory back. I feel my strides becoming a little longer, my lungs a little more relaxed. Last weekend, I ran five miles with a friend and was able to talk the entire time. What used to be normal is once again an accomplishment.

In my continuing effort to convince myself that there is good to see in every struggle, I'm also reminded how running has brought more than just cardiac health and two-piece bathing suits into my life. It has brought me people; through them I get encouragement, inspiration and most of all, a reminder that we're all more the same than we are different.

Lia, a woman so very close to her first marathon, is in taper mode right now. I forget how this feels, the way your mind and body react to mile reduction before a race. She reminds me of that. It's a normal feeling and yet, when you're in it, you feel so very abnormal.

Or Ginger, a runner who pretty consistently leaves me in awe, is coming down off the high of one of the biggest races in the world. Through her struggle with injury, weather and the unfathomable (for me) emotions of one of the highest pressure races of many runner's lives, she crossed the finish line. And now, she has a question on her mind so familiar to a runner: What now? I don't know the answer but I do know that through this, I'm reminded of the inevitable let down that comes after a major event in one's life. And, I'm also reminded that we get past it and be it good or bad, we can look back on that time a different person than we were before.

And then there's Michelle, who makes a thirteen mile run sound like walk in the park. Who talks about beat up runner's feet like she merely stubbed her toe. Who gives a race report for a 50K in much the same tone you might talk about your trip to the grocery store. A 50K gave her trouble, she says, so she'll stick to just marathons from here on out. Yeah, just marathons. Michelle, you pansy. But I can identify, because there was a time when I scoffed that the phrase "just a 5K." It happens.

I thought about all this on my drive to work this morning. How we "use" some things, some people, in our lives from time to time to escape. So all of you that are returning from vacation, expecting new arrivals and, living, breathing and most of all, sharing, have been part of my escape, too. I'm really thankful for that, because this last week, more than I have in a long time, I needed it.

Carpe Diem?

I have an opportunity to seize the day. Fourteen of them, actually.

Over the next few years (or so), a friend of a friend of a friend will be circumnavigating the globe on a 65' Ketch he just purchased in early 2006. He's an accomplished skipper, has already got about the first two years planned out and is looking for friends to help crew. Not your standard "barefoot cruise," my friend. You have to participate.

Most of the legs are three or four weeks long but he's got a couple two week legs in there, too. Do I need to say it? Probably not. But there's one leg that works out quite perfectly for my calendar in early 2008. It's approximately a year from now. Sure, there was this other thing I'd like to do but sailing for two weeks at minimal cost (seriously affordable) might just have to take precedent.

The thing is, I just don't know. A year in advance is tough to plan. Jumping on a boat with people I've never met before is a little scary- okay, I've done it before but two weeks is a little more than your standard island hop. I'm trying to be logical. Last year, though, I read this book and when I finished it, I promised myself if I ever had the opportunity to do something even remotely close, I would take it.

I'm also overwhelmed with the thought of how great it could be and the amazing opportunity. Think of the experience, and learning about sailing; my gosh how I've wanted to do that! And the leg? It's perfect, it's one of the Caribbean legs (go ahead, act like you're not surprised I'd choose that one). It feels like a "sign" or something that this particular leg, in my preferred season, in my preferred sea, is being put in front of me right now.

I have some thinking to do.

On Caribbean Villas and also, lots of ( )'s

Well here's where I talk a lot about something I like and wholeheartedly expect that everyone and their dog will then like it, too. Yes, that was a warning because you know I never do that. Never.
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The thing is, you can only like something so much before you have to start sharing it with others. Relax, Internet, you are not the first. That, of course, was Mom. But now, Mom is over it and I'm tired of her what, you think you know these people? attitude and my well, no, not now but maybe someday response. She is just never okay with the way my mind wanders and dreams. She's all concerned with "how much time I spend at the computer" and blah blah blah.
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WHAT?! is this girl talking about, you might ask. And, well, rightly so. I am talking about this:

Oh yeah, I know. Ginormous surprise here, right? Dreaming of a photo that looks like it was taken on an island. What a shock. But really, this gets good. Promise.
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The place in the photo (and 1,000,000 points to you if you already know where it is*) is this. A Caribbean villa built by two self-proclaimed "average guys." (They also proclaimed themselves idiots and insane a couple times but do you see me mentioning that? Oh nooooo. Because I? I think it's genius and we all know me and my rational thinking.)
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So why am I writing about this? Well, for the most part, and as I warned you earlier, I have loved loved loved and followed their blog from nearly the beginning and now that things are complete (for the most part, anyway) I just want to share share share. Of course, I think you should go start from the beginning and read the whole darn thing but that is just me and my amazing and never-failing ability to kill an entire afternoon at the office.

At the very least, though, maybe you'll just want to read the last few months or so and then maybe go visit their new site ( and I swear I am not being paid for any of this, but you know, I really should be because this post is likely to be read by nearly a dozen people and if that doesn't say CHA-CHING! I don't know what does). Now, their new site is just evidence of their love for the island. Yes, I'm sure, like me, they loved it before as visitors but now, it's more of an "invested" kind of love. (Gee, you think, dork? They just built a house there. Duh. Really.)

Anyway.
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They say you can love your dog, just don't LOVE your dog. Well, it's a good thing the same is not true about tropical rocks sitting out in the middle of perfect, tranquil turquoise waters edged by soft, sandy beaches and littered with flip-flop wearers and fine establishments that never run out of rum. Oh, it is a real good thing that is not the case.
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Should the boys from Bongo Bongo ever read this post (and don't think part of me doesn't want to head over there and tell them about it right now) they might think they don't "know" me. Well, they (and my mother) might be right but, also, they might be wrong. They sort of do but I'm really not going to say why because A) it makes me sound a little insane and I realize I am SO pushing that envelope right now and B) they know my real name! Gasp! I know! But, just as a note to them, should they ever see this: think pants. Non-pleated, to be exact.
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So now go, off with you. Off to read about building a villa on an island and how yes, yes friend, you can do it too! Who knows, they will probably come out with a Do-It-Yourself-on-St. John kit anytime now. And, like I said in the beginning, if this sort of reading is not something that interests you then I feel sorry. Mostly, for you. (Kidding, you know I love your little, cold-loving, non-flip-flop wearing soul.)


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* Yes, I will send you your 1,000,000 points. In exchange for $1,000,000. I know, tricky, eh?