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

Sometimes More Than Others

On my recent trip to Mexico, we signed up for one of those guided tours. Not the kind where they stamp your hand and shuffle you through like cattle but certainly the kind that you take when you're in a foreign country and you want to go through the jungle without getting eaten by jungle creatures, lost, or worse, be out so late you miss the Red Sox game.

Through some streak of luck, reservation confusion and the magic that is "Mexican Time" (which is just like Island Time for any who may be more familiar with that concept; believe me when I say EXACT SAME THING), we ended up on a smaller, later starting tour with only four other people. And our guide, who was this hilarious self-proclaimed Mexican-American who immediately made you feel that even if you hadn't ever been to camp as a kid and had the "cool counselor" that the next six hours were going to totally make up for anything you might have missed. "I have a Mexican girlfriend now," he said, "I had a Dominican girlfriend before. And all that means is now instead of everyone getting their ass kicked, it's now just me." This is how the day started.

As we went on our hiking/biking/snorkeling/zip lining adventure, each activity became more fun than the last. Also, being in a very small group, we had a ton of time for a lot of "extras" that wouldn't otherwise occur. At one point our group was having a really hard time deciding if we wanted to eat, float in a cenote or drink beer first. "Float, eat, drink," I told our guide. "Dang, are you single," he asked, though it was more of a statement than a question. All I could say was "let's not go there." Sure, a little retro but I was serious. We did not need to go there.

Which sort of brings me to my point, the point of all this. There was a moment, when I stood at the top of a tower that was something like a billion feet in the air, looked at the three hundred sixty degrees of jungle canopy around us, took a deep breath and lifted my feet off the platform and felt, without any doubt, that there was no other place I would have rather been on Earth. Think about that for a minute; that feeling of knowing you are one hundred percent right where you think you ought to be. I didn't need anything else. I needed no one else around me. I wasn't anything but right there.

I felt a similar feeling when I walked in the door tonight. It's been drizzly and rainy all day. I'm still getting over this cold and the feeling that my head weighs sixteen pounds. I let the dog out, kicked off my shoes, and put on my slippers and a sweatshirt. I put the teapot on the stove and while I waited for the water to boil, I sat down at my table and looked out onto the patio and thought, this is good. It is good, like that zip line in Mexico. But with one difference, I really would have liked to have someone sitting at the table with me. At least once in a while.

Don't listen to me, I'm high on corn

Today I returned from a whirlwind road trip from Colorado to Iowa, via Omaha, Nebraska. All I can say after roughly 2,800 miles on the road, 13.1 of those miles spent running and yet another reminder of how blessed I am to have wonderful friends is I'm exhausted and I'd do it again in a heartbeat.

It was the change in scenery, the miles put on the car, surviving a half-marathon I was entirely unsure about and being around running friends (with whom, you know, no subject is off limits) that put me right where I needed to be. I wasn't sure about this trip, for many reasons. One, of course, being the running but also being so unsure of the steps I've been taking in other parts of my life. It turns out packing a lot into the last bit of Summer is just the thing to remind yourself that those steps, both running and otherwise, are inevitable.

And there's nothing like being with people who accept you, your choices, and your bad jokes just the way they are to reassure you that by taking advantage of every minute, you are doing just the right thing. Because when I think about that inevitable "end" we all will reach one day, it will not matter that I ran slower than I should, or that I passed up a chance for promotion because it didn't feel right or that I put off getting the carpets cleaned. Yes, all of those things might bother me, but it really doesn't matter.

So after an all-too-fast weekend and keeping myself up late tonight to do homework that I just didn't seem to get to before now, I can at least be assured of a few things: we really do only race one person, weekends and life go far too fast, and you shouldn't wear a skirt in a cornfield.

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P.S. I am so sorry to my Minnesota and Iowa blogging friends. There was just no time for an extended visit. I totally think this should be in my life plans soon, though. Believe me, I need no excuse to meet strangers from the Internet. Heh.

I regard your opinions very highly, you know

Here's the scenario:

-2 airline tickets

-2 friends

-must travel by September 10

-must be a long weekend (because we USE that vacay time, yo!)

-must go anywhere Jet Blue flies

New York? New Orleans? Nashville? San Francisco? Chicago? Where would you choose? What would you do? WHAT DO YOU DO?!? (Sorry, Speed flashback.)


I know, quite the perdicament. I know, I know. And I promise when I can actually think straight, I will post about just how damn lucky I am.

Living Anyway

At it again. There are roads to drive, roads to run. I’m off to do the relay thing. It’s brand new to me, I really don't know what to expect. I’m doing it anyway.

I haven’t conveyed my anxiety about this event to anyone. There are a couple of reasons but perhaps the most important is I’m just not properly trained for it. In my mind I’m not, anyway. If you look at either of the training schedules and then compared them to my log, it is, in a word, frightening.

The race organizers encourage diligent training for this. From what I hear of my team and dozens of others, many choose not to follow the plan anyway. This does not make me feel any better. The plan has you running two or three-a-days (I have done a few), doing speed work (does not compute) and running hills (which I’d like to avoid but here in mountain land, I fortunately cannot).

I have not been running this way.

I have been running for fun. I have been running for stress relief. I have been running to get the travel weight off and the sun on my face. I have not been wearing a watch. I have been running just enough to not piss off my knees. People around me are very disapproving of this. They think I am crazy or "asking for it" by running. I am running anyway.

(Sidebar: These are the same people, however, that send me ridiculous email "surveys" that I never answer because they ask questions like: If you died and were trapped in a bubble and could see no one for the rest of eternity, what three things would you take with you? And then they get upset when instead of saying photos of my family or inspirational novels I respond with beer, birthday cake and Jimmy Buffett. I just don't think about being trapped in a bubble of the afterlife. I prefer to think about life.)

My doctor, the ever-wise, blue-eyed comedian that he is, says running cannot make my knees worse. It is up to my discretion and my pain tolerance, at this point. That’s sort of like putting me behind the counter at an ice cream shop and telling me it is up to me what to do with the ice cream that day. Does he not know me at all? I have permission, I CANNOT CONTROL WHAT HAPPENS NEXT.

There’s another side to this, though. It’s the me side. The side that cannot wait to get on the road for 500 miles just to complete 178 more with my team. A team of men and women of all ages, from all over, of all different abilities. The fun, the running, the work, the up all night, the celebration, the smell of the van after fifteen hours or more. I cannot wait.

So there might be a little pain. So I might be slower than I’d like. So I might stink. Might. Might. Might. If I can’t make it any worse by running, then I’m going to go ahead and make everything else better.

I won’t live in the might, I’ll just live anyway.

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."

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.

Believe: to have confidence in the truth, the existence, or the reliability of something, although without absolute proof that one is right in doing

UPDATE: I meant to add this before now but this "Believe" exercise thing is, apparently, something well known on NPR. I don't know who came up with it or how it came about, but I think it's awesome.
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Well first she did it, and I thought "wow, I cannot attempt that." Then, she did it and I thought "dang, this isn't going to be easy." Then, she did it too and I thought "this is just too much."

But, like most things I do, I wasn't one hundred percent sure about it and yet, I did it anyway. After all, I am, if nothing else, a believer.



I believe that it’s okay to like stuff. I believe we are too hard on ourselves for wanting to consume what’s out there. The issue isn’t spending or buying, it’s control.

I believe happiness is a choice. Every thing, every day. Digging through crap will result in finding a pony.

I believe in the little things, like holding a door and saying “good morning.”

I believe life is very, very short but too long a journey to travel alone.

I believe our bodies are a gift, and we should make every effort to learn to love and treat them as such. I believe we are built to break a sweat.

I believe in kindness, and empathy.

I believe in the power of family, babies and puppies.

I believe you can find peace on the sea, at the top of a mountain or on your living room sofa.

I believe we were created, because I believe there are things that science just cannot explain.

I believe there is absolutely no replacement for education.

I believe music should move you, even if it’s just dancing in the car.

I believe you should approach every situation as if those involved have the best intentions. You will sometimes be disappointed.

I believe, when all else fails, you should laugh.

I believe the ocean has the capability to cure.

I believe shoes should not hurt your feet. This is probably also why I have forty-two pairs of flip flops (a.k.a. “thongs” for my Aussie friends).

I believe in Fall football, drinks with friends, and Sunday afternoon walks.

I believe you can make friends anywhere. I believe I have.

I believe a group, whether your soccer team or your entire nation, must believe in itself to succeed.

I believe we have a responsibility to our planet. I believe most of us don’t take this seriously.

I believe in questioning “the way we have always done it.”

I believe some things are worth the calories.

I believe in travel and broadening your horizons.

I believe harmless superstitions are healthy.

I believe in working hard, and playing hard.

I believe, even with all this, I’m really only on the cusp of knowing all I will truly believe in this life.

My Windshield on the World, Part 8

This latest edition of My Windshield on the World finds me in L.A., a trip I took nearly six weeks ago. It seems so long ago that there's a part of me that questions whether or not it even happened. However, as I learned, L.A. can have that effect on you.

Especially in traffic.

It starts out sort of innocent- I think that's it's strategy.

You see some nice views and think "hmmm, not so bad."

Then, out of nowhere, you're in the middle of something I can only define as definitely not Colorado. If anyone from or familiar with L.A. reads this blog, it appears as if I'm going many different directions in these photos. To that I would have to say, uhhh, yeah.



That's sort of how the entire weekend felt, like one big circle of traffic.

Luckily, I was also able to see that yes, people live in California. They make homes and lives and families. Even contrary to my hillbilly-type beliefs, most of them manage to stay out of the news and lead quite normal lives.

Nonetheless, I can't help but believe that after a weekend of driving or riding the highways, you have the benefit of coming away with the true definition of healthy fear.

As It Should Be

I'll never get used to coming back from a trip. I'd like to say I'm the exact same person when I'm sitting in front of this screen as I am when I traipse down a beach (even if I'm in multiple layers of clothing) but I'm not.

The person traipsing down the beach has worries and troubles, just like the one in front of this screen. The difference is, while I'm away, traipsing down a beach, everything seems a little more possible. When I'm laughing and running with friends, the responsibilities of life are just that. They don't weigh on me, they don't keep me up nights, they certainly don't call after I've left the office and ask what drive I stored a file on (even though I sent an email stating that exact fact). They just fade a little.

Now, sitting here, everything just seems a little more heavy and a lot more there. The dates to keep, the bills to pay, the conversations I have to have but don't want to are all here, right in front of my face. They scream "you can't ignore us now! haha!" And all I want to do is close my eyes and take myself back mere hours to a time when I could concentrate on something else. Where decisions didn't have to be made and life seemed pressure less. Where I seemed confident and fearless.

And maybe that's what I miss the most. I miss the girl that lives, for a few days, like she has no cares. (Sidebar: I don't really know if that's the right approach, though. After all, I did get a speeding ticket and that is definitely something to care about.) I know that's always in me, but you tell me when you see a bill staring you in the face for carpet replacement that you feel as good as when you're eating ice cream and staring out at the ocean. It is not the same.

Of course we all know that. We all know there are ups and downs, good and bad and I think I'm good at that. I think I can take a break and fully enjoy it. I think I can write a check for a bill and well, not enjoy it but at the very least, take it for what it is. The area that needs work? Getting used to living with both. My mind believes it. My brain understands it. My heart, and the kid in me, want to lay on the floor and flail around and whine that it's just not fair!

Part of me, somewhere between my heart and mind, between the whiner and the logical thinker knows that's just how it is. That's vacation. That's friends. That's running. It's all as it's supposed to be, even if paying bills sucks.

Things You Can Learn in Virginia

You can recover from an injury and train for a race and complete it, even if you don't completely believe you can.

You cannot use curse words. You can get a $50 fine (I did not).

You cannot speed on the highways, even by a few miles. You can get a ticket (I did).

You can hang out with friends for five days and it can feel like five minutes.

You can see snow at the beach.

You can drink beer after a race and never really know if you're pronouncing it's name correctly. (Yuengling; which, by the way, is made (I believe) in the home town of the fabulous Bre.)

You can spend five hours in a car with someone and not stop talking the entire time.

You can walk with your friends arm-in-arm to the starting line to keep warm, and then run off into the sunrise.

You can get over your fear of hot tubs.

You can eat and drink more in five days than you have in the last two months.

You can realize how great it is to have people that tell you you look nice. Every day.

You can be reminded how much you truly adore someone opening a door for you. Every time.

You can realize that renting a house with stairs is not a good idea for marathon weekend.

You can be lucky enough to witness someone making great changes in their life, and at the same time, see you have the power to do the same in your own.

Good Like Sweat

Well here I was all ready to sit down and write a post about how fantastic my run yesterday was. It was seventy-five degrees (I know!!) and sunny and hot hot hot and let me tell you, I just soak that stuff UP. Yes, sweat and all. There are few things in life that are really worth it if you don't even break a sweat, right? I mean, there's running, eating, drinking, laughing, kissing, singing in the car, dancing in the car- all a little better when it's hot.

But back to why instead of writing about my run yesterday, I cannot. I'm all scatter-brained and, as my Grandmother would say, full of piss and vinegar. I've got a mere ten hours and counting until I have to have my butt in a coach class seat headed East and I haven't packed a thing!

In those first two paragraphs, I got up twice to a) get a snack and b) get another snack. Heh. Clearly I'm in no shape to be all mushy and lyrical over my absolutely beautiful and sweaty run yesterday, right? And you might say it's pre-race jitters but you know, I've never really had pre-race jitters. I only get nervous about two things before a race: that I won't be able to go pee enough times before the starting gun goes off and therefore will ruin the whole thing from the start or, that I will forget something that's important like Gu or Body Glide and then bonk and chafe- ouch! Other than that, I'm always good. I know, barring serious interruption, I'll get myself across that finish line eventually so meh, whatever. I don't freak out.

The little ball of energy I am now, rather, is pre-friend freak out. Pre Spring Break '07 freak out, actually. I'm just so excited to land in a different city, hop off a plane (with my luggage, please airline, please), and see my friends and hang out for a few days and deal with nothing consequential. The house we'll be waking up to in the morning has an ocean view, a pool table and a hot tub. We've billed the trip as Spring Break '07: Like Spring Break '97 But a Lot Less Stupidity and a Lot More Money which I think is a good thing because instead of phrases like "dude, I am NEVER doing that again" it'll be more like "dude, I am not even going to try, I have to run in the morning." Those introspective walks on the beach will consist of thoughts like "are you taking that job offer in Toronto?" rather than the post-hangover pep talks of "yes, I swear he said he likes you! Who cares if he was kissing Beth, he wrote a song for you! He likes you!" As good as those days were, it's sort of nice to know we won't ever have to choose between drinks or food again.

I plan on packing the tech gear (dang, I am nerdalicious), mostly for picture downloading and sharing purposes, but as for blog posting, I don't know what will happen. I'll either be missing for a few days or updating with something like "You wouldn't believe what Jeff did yesterday! At 8:00 he had one beer and then, an hour later, HE WENT TO BED. This trip is off da hook, y'all!"

Either way, all the best to all of you. Get out there and do some sweating.

When everything starts reminding you of Summer

Yeah, it's no secret, I'm ready for Summer. Dying for it to get here, actually, which became quite apparent to me when I was cooking this weekend and started having memories of last summer. Food memories, which explains the asparagus. I haven't had asparagus since last summer which is not really significant except I'm reaching for just about anything I can right now.

Along with the asparagus, I also made turkey meatballs and whole wheat pasta with chipotle cream sauce made from this recipe. If I may be demanding for a moment, TRY THIS SAUCE. Be ye not afraid of sautee and puree, it's not difficult and it's entirely worth it . So worth it, in fact, that it was used on both the pasta and the aspargus and while I won't go so far as to call myself any sort of supercook, there were certainly no complaints from the eaters.

Anyway, so Summer. Yeah, I'm ready. And anything that reminds me of Summer, or makes me feel that it's near is welcome, anytime. (Hear that, 40 m.p.h. windgusts? You are NOT welcome.) As the wind gusted on Saturday, bellies full of good food, I sat down to go through some 2006 travel photos. I'm finally getting around to organizing them into some sort of non-digital format. I'm nothing if not eventual, I tell you.

The photos of a Vancouver trip seemed to be better than I'd remembered. It was such a whirlwind trip of quick sight seeing and driving, that I'd nearly forgotten the days I was able to soak up everything around me. In particular, I remember feeling very summery during a visit to Granville Island Market.

On a sunny day, under a very pretty Summer sky, we pedaled borrowed mountain bikes over to the ferry, hopped on and rode across the water to the market.

I know it's really not going to be a shock to see that I had to take pictures of everything. But really, how much better does food look and taste when you're in some far off place, padding around in sandals in warm weather with a light ocean breeze? A lot better, I think.

The fruit was all particularly beautiful. It's possible it might have been sweeter than normal fruit, too. Or maybe it was just the entire day.

I'm also nothing if not a sucker for foods arranged in a manner pleasing to the eye, especially vegetables. Those tomatoes? Went on some burgers later that were the kind of burger that makes you want to unbotton your pants so you can eat that one last bite. Of course, that might also be the way we grilled them outside and and ate them on the patio, while drinking homemade beer.

Also, the bread. Oh my Heaven and Earth, the bread! I think, if I were to allow myself, I could go on for a good eight to ten paragraphs easily about my love for bread. I will never, ever go on a no carb diet. Never. And if you were to take bread away from me, well there would be a lot of hostility. Let's just leave it at that.

Let's not forget dessert. Mass quantities of reasonably priced, beautifully arranged desserts is about all I needed to get down on one knee (okay, two) right there and ask the woman behind the case to please, marry me and if she wasn't the baker could she please find him or her so that I might marry him/her, handcuff them to me, and drag them back across the border and home to Colorado. Because then, I might be happy forever.

Thank goodness we'd biked twenty miles there and back and I was able to a) come down off my high and b) get it out of my head that marrying someone who would get up at 3:00 a.m. to make cheesecake for breakfast would actually be the answer to all my prayers.

We all know that is silly. They would also have to have a boat.

My head is a box of bricks

Oh, L.A., you gave me so much.

First, I learned that the term "breast aug" is common. Doctors use it in commercials. Forget that it's actual surgery, with actual anesthesia and actual risks. We need to save a few syllables to conserve commercial time. Also, the first 80 callers get a "free limo ride to and from surgery." Oh, boy. Thank you for reminding me I'm happy with what I have.

Second, I can drive like a maniac. I try not to but sticking me in the middle of traffic like that and asking me to mind my manners might be like throwing me in a pool and asking me not to kick. Thank you for giving me my attitude back.

Third, I must always look like I didn't pay a bit of attention to the outfit I assembled today although a) I totally agonized for hours and b) it costs more than a mortgage payment. Such a cliche, I know. Thank you for reminding me I'm cheap.

Forth, I got a cold late yesterday and therefore this post along with the comments I've been leaving on other sites all morning probably make little to no sense. I suppose saying "I never get sick" just sounds whiny and pathetic right now. Thanks for taking my brains, in less than four days.

Fifth, I got some sun. And wore flip flops in February. That made it all worth 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.

Lots of linkage, less content

Friday night held plans of grand proportions, let me tell you. I was to attend a "party" with my mother in which women try to sell other women things they don't need that promise to inspire all things wonderful in one's life. While I'm not altogether against these types of things, I would not say I looked forward to it nearly as much as a bottle of wine I've been dying to try since it was given as a gift at Christmas and a travel book I've been trying to get through since, well, forever.
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Somehow, the stars aligned a little (or possibly froze in place, thank you very much Groundhog Day of 2 degrees F) and the party was cancelled. I feel a little guilty, though, because [let's call her] Suzy, the party host, was involved in a fender bender and though everything is okay, she was too shaken up to host a party. There was also something about a husband's fancy car and some splainin' to do, but I didn't quite follow that. Blame the weather, Suzy, everyone else is.
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Thankfully, I stayed home with books and wine and a fully functioning furnace (ahh, heat!). Part of me feels a little boring as I have booked a few Friday nights home in the past couple months but part of me also says, who cares, it's -7 degrees outside and the streets are icy. You would be crazy to go out there! Which also reminds me that I have plans tomorrow and sometimes two nights in a row is a bit much. The cold is also totally bringing out the Granny in me. Did I mention my joints actually hurt? Heh.
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In addition, over the holidays I became the proud owner of one of these little buggers and I have yet to be able to actually use it since it's arrival. I am more than a little ready to take it out since I, though disliking math, love little things that do math and numbers for me. I have been known to be a little number obsessed, actually (see, Michelle, it's not just you) so Garmin and I are likely to be very happy together. Ever after, one might even say. Also, I hear it will tell you exactly how to get back to your starting point which will be infinitely helpful in situations like my North Carolina Woods Adventure 2006. Oh all the things the cold is keeping me from doing!
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Which reminds me, all y'all (sorry, I spoke on the phone earlier to someone in Texas, it rubbed off, as usual) had all kinds of suggestions for getting over the Winter Blues. A couple of my favorite Minnesotan bloggers suggested special lights. Several suggested tanning beds, which I know we are all against but they are soooo warm and cozy and really, what else forces you to lay still and close your eyes for ten minutes straight? Josh, in his usual I-am-a-human-search-engine way, suggested a Bahamavention which is equally hilarious and disturbing. Really, go watch it. The intro is all average, albeit angry and stressed, folks who need a vacation and then the page itself is full of people that look like they went back and shopped at JCPenney in 1984 for their outfits. Though, I suppose if you've been "Bahamavened" you don't necessarily care what you're wearing because maybe it won't last long anyway; I have, after all, been to Senor Frogs. I kid, mostly. Just not about that tropical locale part because it was [let's call him] Mr. Anonymous that hit it on the head saying "A trip to STJ would probably help!." Yes, it would. And it's coming, I promise. Not soon enough but we all know 'soon' is relative.
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I'm not quite sure how to end this so I'll just leave you with this:
(This is a scanned photo from actual film so it's a little pixelated because I stink at resizing stuff I guess, but I think you'll get the point anyway.)

Have a good weekend!

Guarantees

This past weekend, I purchased a lot of airline tickets. It just so happened that I found good prices for all the places I need, err, want to go over the next six months. After dropping that amount of money in a matter of minutes, I was feeling a little guilty. A little, uhhh, financially irresponsible.

I reasoned that the savings was something that a) I worked very hard for and b) would replenish soon with a tax return and by minding my budget. Heh, well, mostly minding it anyway. Still, I wasn't feeling great. I mean, what kind of person goes and schedules not one, not two, but THREE coastal/beach vacations within the first six months of the year? Obviously, this kind of person.

After giving my chunk of change to the airline industry, I wrestled for the remainder of the weekend back and forth over what I’d done. No, I couldn’t take it back but that doesn’t mean I could allow myself to feel completely good about it. This is what you save for. But the money could go somewhere else. You do share your money. And you share your time. You’re young, you need to have fun. You’re young, you need to plan. Don't worry, you have travel insurance. And you have a retirement account, several. And mutual funds, don’t forget the mutual funds! But maybe you could have helped someone else out. This is what it’s like to live in my head.

Then, I came into work Tuesday and opened an email that read something like this:

It is with great sadness that I inform you of the passing of one of our fellow employees. Mary Jones died Saturday at her home. Mary worked for our organization for over twenty-five years and had recently retired on November 30, 2006. Funeral service and donation information to follow as soon as it becomes available.

Over twenty-five years. Retired six weeks. She wasn’t sick. Children, grandchildren. Travel plans with her husband. Plans to sit back and really enjoy life. I heard all this from other employees, employees closer to Mary than I. And now, there was nothing. She’s gone, there are no plans.

I’m often unsure of what there is to learn from death. I struggle so much with making any sense of it at all. Faith and logic only go so far, when someone’s six weeks into retirement, “the best time of life,” and it’s all gone in an instant. How can you make sense of that, sense of no guarantees? Is there anything to learn?

I have a hard time really knowing the answer to those questions. I probably always will. But little by little, and each unfortunate time I have to be reminded, I think I might know a little more. I might be a little closer to the answer. And yesterday, when I sat back down at my desk and thought about the dramatic depletion of my money over the past weekend, I didn’t feel that guilt anymore.

While I know that saving and planning for my future is important and a priority, it’s not the only priority. We also have to plan for right now. We have to allow ourselves to live right now and take advantage of those opportunities that may deplete our bank account, but will also fill our lives. Fill our souls, even, if we let it. That, I think, might be the only guarantee there really is.

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?