tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-52871064104574095702024-03-14T11:14:47.156-06:00spiritual wheatiesMy thoughts on teaching high school and how I feel about accepting God's grace. (and other ideas that are totally irrelevant)Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger98125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5287106410457409570.post-51532605981558520392014-09-18T20:46:00.000-06:002014-09-29T08:19:33.254-06:00On being okay not being type ASo my friend Jenn is amazing. I actually have many friends named Jennifer and they are all amazing, but my Jenn friend is a rock-climbing, bass-playing, bilingual, Buddhist, super academic who also renovates houses at the drop of a hat. She is basically Sydney Bristow from Alias. And she wouldn't even get that reference because she doesn't watch television. Sigh. <br>
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She recently asked me to read through an essay she had written and I briefly asked her what was going on in her world. I had been laid up on the sofa for two days with a nasty ear infection and my major achievements in that time had been walking downstairs, showering and making tea. She had been having a day of controlled chaos; meetings, exercise, clients, classes, doggy day care... and in the middle of that she had taken time to pour out her heart and soul into a personal, cathartic essay. I hadn't even journalled. Jenn is always the kind of busy that involves late dinners and last minute projects. I loathe being that busy. I have to gear up for major tasks or errands. I have unfinished projects that I haven't even started. And I never eat meals late. Ever. <br>
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What is the opposite of type A? It rather suggests that type A is the best and then everyone else is just average or failing. Having never been a type A person, I have always considered myself the lame-o, the slug who has very little inclination toward becoming overly ambitioius. That isn't to say that I don't have passions or pursuits, but I can get sidetracked by a binge-watching marathon or a couple rounds of candy crush saga. Guilt usually follows these endeavors, but the guilt fades and it is okay again. Monday comes and so do the opportunities to do it differently, to take up the project, to be the non-slug.<div><br></div><div>Everyone is motivated by something, that is just the way we are. We may be motivated to sleep or to build a canoe, but here's the thing; life comes unexpectedly to our doorsteps, and when we set out to accomplish the to-do list, the universe often has different plans. Our best intentions can get waylaid by an illness, a break up, a chance meeting, a heartbreak or a heart surge. And even the tidiest, most efficient type-A person gets unavoidably put off course. <br><div><br></div><div>My to-do list will always be long but <span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">it won't be overly ambitious. As the holidays approach, I think about how I want to enjoy the holidays, not chase them. </span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">I tend to think I enjoy life and do well at life, but I did cancel my subscription to Martha Stewart Living, too much pressure. </span></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5287106410457409570.post-8679519020196042014-09-18T19:41:00.002-06:002014-09-18T19:41:33.134-06:00It's been a very very long while...Okay, I haven't posted for over a year. I know. It started with a bump that turned into a rut and then it was a hiatus that lasted longer than I wanted.<br />
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But lately I've been getting a message from the universe saying "go back to the blog". My friend Kara posted on her blog after a long absence, I met with some real-life writer friends and talked about why we love writing, and another friend wanted my feedback on an essay she submitted to a magazine. The messages were there. </div>
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So I am back. <img src="webkit-fake-url://3A21AA8E-ADF2-41BB-8AF8-09BE2BE78BC1/imagejpeg" /></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5287106410457409570.post-372546413742188252013-07-08T12:30:00.000-06:002013-07-08T12:30:09.550-06:00It's been a while. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I haven't written here in a while which was due partly to busy-ness (trip to Spain, end of year, blah blah blah) and mostly the stress and emotional agony of being involved in the world of online dating. Yes, my reader, I have been on a lot of dates in the last six months. Well, a lot for me. You have to realize that for a very long time my life was similar to that of a monk, or a wayward singing nun in an Austrian convent. I was super single. And I hated it. I wanted to be so super chill with my singleness. I wanted to not cry when I received wedding invitations and when that one guy I kinda liked didn't text. I wanted to be okay. <br />
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So it was a hard last 6 months for me. There are a lot of stories I could tell you about some of the guys I went out with. Hoo boy, there's another blog that one. The truth of this whole process is that I had to dig deep and find the self-compassion that I knew would be a balm for my aching loneliness. Because let's face it, dating someone isn't really an answer to prayer, it is just a review and remodel of your prayers. Yes, my dear reader, I am in a relationship with someone and it is pretty awesome. I like the fact that there is now a wonderful man in my life who calls me "sweet girl", texts me daily, appreciates my love of cheese, and brings me flowers. Ah... let's take a moment to drink in the nauseating, syrupy, icky, gooey romance of it all. Okay, cause when that moment is over, the reality sinks in. Getting involved with someone is not a Disney movie. It's hard work to listen, share, reveal, understand, connect, trust, and communicate. <br />
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My prayer for someone wonderful has been answered, and now I shift the focus to be patient during this foundational relationship work. I have to access a whole new skill set that in my many many many years of monastic singleness was absent to me. But I think in this whole process of getting to know my guy and being with him and building a relationship, I am learning the most about myself. What kind of listener am I? What kind of communication do I provide? What relationship skills are most important to me? How can I best meet my partner's needs in this moment? These questions are just the start. And since I can't be with my guy 24/7 (which in the beginning of a relationship you totally want to do) I have a lot of self-reflection time to practice patience and self-care. The most important part of this relationship is what I am learning about myself. And then the hope and prayer becomes how I can best show up in this relationship so that it is honest and real and fun and delightful. <br />
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It's been a while. Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5287106410457409570.post-6075033022271394772013-02-02T12:42:00.002-07:002013-02-02T12:42:26.862-07:00The end of a good bookBless you, Zora Neale Hurston. I've yet to find a better weaver of prose and life and love. <br />
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"Here was peace. She pulled in her horizon like a great fish-net. Pulled
it from around the waist of the world and draped it over her shoulder.
So much of life in its meshes! She called in her soul to come and see."<br /> - Zora Neale Hurston, <i>Their Eyes Were Watching God</i>, Ch. 20</blockquote>
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We finished <i>Their Eyes Were Watching God</i> in class the other day and I am amazed how this book hits me every year I teach it. I always tell my students to reread their favorite books from childhood because literature doesn't change, they do. <i>Their Eyes</i> is the same every year, but I am not. And in this new, 2.0 version of myself, I find the book to be a touchstone once again for the wisdom that can come from literature. <br />
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"Love ain't somethin' lak uh grindstone dat's de same thing everywhere
and do de same thing tuh everything it touch. Love is lak de sea. It's
uh movin' thing, but still and all, it takes its shape from de shore it
meets, and it's different with every shore"</blockquote>
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In the first month of 2013, I have come to some pretty awesome conclusions and felt compelled to swing out on the trapeze a bit further. What I know for sure is that I want my choices to be impelled by love instead of fear and anger. That is what creates the change I want to see in my life.<br />
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"It's uh known fact, Pheoby, you got tuh go there tuh know there...Two things everybody's got tuh do fuh theyselves. They got tuh go
tuh God, and they got tuh find out about livin' fuh theyselves"</blockquote>
So my hope for you this February is that you see the life in the meshes of your net. Whether you are young or old, your life is full of lessons and challenges and joys and successes. I am pulling my net in and calling my soul to come see what is next. <br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5287106410457409570.post-20858511493424650452013-01-17T22:16:00.001-07:002013-01-17T22:16:34.063-07:00YOU CAN GO HOME AGAIN<span lang="EN"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMrAwxCpQqGq5dThGXPXWQypg7yovUKZkOhXeT0solZiPNWk9A-5zP1Xl8D4BInLa4Ns_E5licHm_g_ZtWSdMbV1ml90i2eP6WxWWd3SX83zxJnfN2q1xJNMmTh1SBZSPqtwuDnwEXmEo/s1600/me+n+dad.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="378" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMrAwxCpQqGq5dThGXPXWQypg7yovUKZkOhXeT0solZiPNWk9A-5zP1Xl8D4BInLa4Ns_E5licHm_g_ZtWSdMbV1ml90i2eP6WxWWd3SX83zxJnfN2q1xJNMmTh1SBZSPqtwuDnwEXmEo/s400/me+n+dad.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me and Pop. Not a recent photo.</td></tr>
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*My dear dad is guest blogger this time. He tells a wonderful story below of family, memories, and Loveland. This story will appear in the local Estes Park newsletter and I am proud to publish it here. <br />
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My home is Estes Park. When I walk with protest signs in
Estes passersby recognize me. But when I walked with my “Cherish
Children, Disdain Guns” poster along 28<sup>th</sup> Street in Boulder, I felt like an interloper foisting my opinion on strangers. </div>
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So starting a wintry walk from Taft Avenue east on
Eisenhower Boulevard in Loveland (not my home since 1960) with my
sandwich boards, I expected the same ambivalence. The sun would soon be
down In a few minutes I would trudge back to my car and drive to my
warm home in Estes. </div>
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The new 1stBank rising across the street interrupted my
doubts. Tellers in the previous building welcomed me by name and cashed
my checks for all the 15 years I came from Estes to visit my Father’s
one remaining sister Annie. </div>
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Another 200 yards took me to the Barnes Ditch. In the
fifties we used the dry ditch as a clandestine route to a Big Thompson
swimming hole. Today I crossed exactly over its inlet to Lake Loveland.
Throughout my youth I heard how the man for whom I am named had swum
across that expanse. Once dog-paddling near the dock, swallowing some
of the silty water I plunged deep as a speedboat’s propeller passed
exactly over me. The Blooms taught me to water ski behind their power
boat on that water. Ice-covered and drawn down though it is today, the
lake on my left is a part of me. </div>
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Halfway to the replica of the Statue of Liberty is a bronze
figure of cavorting children, depicting actual youngsters, whom I
watched grow. Today, across the busy highway from the replica, even in
the cold wind, four bundled children climbed on the ageless World War II
artillery piece. Summers in the fifties I sat astride the same metal
barrel almost too hot to touch. My parents and my sixteen aunts and
uncles pushed aside the emptied paper plates and played pinochle on long
picnic tables. We cousins explored the vastness of that block sized
park, crossed the quiet road, (not quiet today) and sank toes in the
muddy shore. </div>
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Here is Garfield Avenue. My elementary school was eight
blocks down the hill. I have not used half the time till twilight.
I’ll go north till I reach 45 minutes. Then I will turn back. Between
the sidewalk and the lake are the homes of erstwhile patricians. Their
kids sat in classes with me at Loveland High. </div>
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The Loveland Cemetery is in view across Garfield Avenue.
The names of those card-playing aunts and uncles are on the gravestones.
A football field length farther on Lake Avenue will be Grant Ford’s
former home. A veteran of the Tenth Mountain Division who found a place
for me in his Alma Mater back east. He forgave me for not staying
there. He withstood far greater tragedies of life than my rejection,
worse even than the wounds of war. </div>
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At 29<sup>th</sup> Street, I am only a few minutes beyond my
time of return. It will be quicker to continue past the high school
around the lake. In 1967 I first saw the inside of the “new” school,
new in 1961 that is. Geography teachers were pleased to have me report
on the Peace Corps in India. More intensely in the 70s and 80s, I kept
the opponents’ book for my Niwot Cougar roundballers against my old
Indian boys. Across the avenue in the nursing home my mother’s mother
died as tranquilly as she had lived. When Aunt Edith visited younger
Aunt Leona in that place she was often challenged as a resident as
started to leave. My brother’s wife and three youngsters waited for him
to return from his remote Air Force posting in an apartment behind the
oldsters’ building.</div>
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Almost dusk, I find the wide pavement on the east side of
Taft Avenue. The cherry trees across the street are long gone. Good
riddance to the sticky summer picking job for pay. Mother wanted to buy
those abandoning orchards for a price that today would buy a used car.
</div>
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Having gone around the lake, I am minutes from where I
parked the car. The sandwich board signs (the back one says “More Guns,
More Dead”) of which I am so self conscious have not kept the past from
my consciousness. Several people have given me a quiet thumbs up.
Three cars have blared horns at me. I think three. My hearing aid
volume is at lowest setting. I turn it up so I can have a conversation.
</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoESJOet2-VMchUBdCOQMyV1Ui40-JpagqMwttFaLxGR3nstKCuU_6nCFMKXcxB8Gd6Lo3a1qBOXPNUAdBRdOyX4xWbqIxn1K3JHoX3TUdgs2cvg658P0NSnpm_tLqOKl0vT4c9jGl33s/s1600/IMG01308-20120704-1623.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoESJOet2-VMchUBdCOQMyV1Ui40-JpagqMwttFaLxGR3nstKCuU_6nCFMKXcxB8Gd6Lo3a1qBOXPNUAdBRdOyX4xWbqIxn1K3JHoX3TUdgs2cvg658P0NSnpm_tLqOKl0vT4c9jGl33s/s400/IMG01308-20120704-1623.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lake Loveland</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
That is because I have reached the Bloom’s house. Their
ashes are across the lake in that cemetery . He waded across five
Pacific invasion beaches. Her daughter married brother Carl. I knock
on the door. Niece Kristi is home from a much longer day at work than
my walk around her lake.</div>
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“I have been passing so many homes with shore frontages,
Ma’am, and I wonder if You would just let me look out your windows at
the lake.” </div>
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<div>
She replies, “You are home.”</div>
</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5287106410457409570.post-14270981347498377542012-12-27T21:52:00.001-07:002012-12-27T21:52:34.058-07:00Tis the season<div style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
Ah... the holidays are post and with boxing day comes that lonely meh feeling. The gift you didn't get haunts, the indigestion you did get lurks and the family member you got into a gun argument with was just... ugh...(another post on that topic later...). Overall, I have to brag that my holidays were absolutely lovely. Very stress free, with snow, with movies, with chocolate cake and with lemon basil cookies (my very favorite). </div>
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Today I was with my friend Amy and we were sipping lattes by a fire and talking about 2012 and Canadian geese and our hopes for 2013. I think most people I know have one of two opinions about 2012; either the year kicked YOUR ass, or you kicked the YEAR's ass. As I look back at my blog posts for this year and the mix tapes I made each month, I think I kicked 2012 all up and down the place. It was hard, and had its low-blow moments, but I learned how to lean into the fear and the hard times. </div>
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Leaning into fear is not a natural inclination for any of us I would venture. We are fixers and self-medicators. It is too easy to sweep things under rugs, tune out harsh voices (even our own) and pretend. But when the hard times really hit this year, I found myself standing in the midst of my own emotional chaos alone. That is not to say that I am alone... I am so NOT alone. I am blessed with fabulous friends and family and students and colleagues and neighbors and... well, just lots of people. But I really found that handling the hardest moments of this year by myself was liberating. I felt like a real ass-kicker of all those anxieties and fears and other turkeys that would try and get me down. </div>
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There's this great quote in Hamlet: "Not a whit. We defy augury. There’s a special
providence in
the fall of a sparrow. If it be now, ’tis not to come.
If it be
not to come, it will be now. If it be not now, yet it will
come—the readiness is all. Since no man of aught he leaves knows,
what is ’t to leave betimes? Let be." I think this means that since none of us can know when our time will come, why worry about what we can't control? Why allow the fears to get the better of me? I know a couple things for sure; that I am loved, that I love, and that life will have its good and bad times. The readiness for life (and all that encompasses) is all. </div>
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Back to those geese... I've had this thing about geese since I was in high school. I'm not a superstitious person, but when geese fly over, I see it as good luck. They fly in patterns and they honk and call out to each other, I love it. The other day, I was out on a walk and a flock of geese flew right over my head. They were quiet except for the springy hinging of their wings. It was so cool, and it was so hopeful. I've also been grading Mary Oliver finals from my seniors, (not a sign of good luck, but a daily occupation) and so this poem seems the perfect capstone for this post.</div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Wild
Geese</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">You do not
have to be good.<br />You do not have to walk on your knees<br />For a hundred miles
through the desert, repenting.<br />You only have to let the soft animal of your
body<br />love what it loves.<br />Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you
mine.<br />Meanwhile the world goes on.<br />Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles
of the rain<br />are moving across the landscapes,<br />over the prairies and the
deep trees,<br />the mountains and the rivers.<br />Meanwhile the wild geese, high
in the clean blue air,<br />are heading home again.<br />Whoever you are, no matter
how lonely,<br />the world offers itself to your imagination,<br />calls to you like
the wild geese, harsh and exciting --<br />over and over announcing your
place<br />in the family of things.<br /><br />~ Mary Oliver ~</span></div>
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<strong></strong> I hope that your new year celebrations are lovely and that 2013 brings you love and blessings and joy and light. </div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5287106410457409570.post-38995271636714975602012-10-27T13:37:00.000-06:002012-10-27T13:37:01.507-06:00Busyness and illness<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I haven't blogged in a while, and I thought I would at least do one post for October since it seemed to flash by in the blink of an eye. I was super sick, then I traveled, then I got sick again, then I had a mountain of stuff that needed immediate action. It was busy. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Homecoming calls for the old school Cons.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Santa Fe simplicity</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Road trip!!</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At home, room with a view</td></tr>
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And in the midst of all this busy, between holding babies and grading papers, I came to some wonderful epiphanies about who I am and what I want. Isn't that nice, when the busy in your life makes way for thoughtful reflection and epiphanies? I spent a lot of time reading and more time journaling and writing. I rediscovered poetry and found some new songs to gush about. And I realized that where I am is pretty darn good. I know what it feels like to want more; the feeling of dissatisfaction when looking around your life and seeing the same ol' and wanting the brand new because that somehow equates to something better. I think this is better. Right now is better. <br />
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I'm kinda discombobulated today... I reconnected with coffee after my month-o-illness and suddenly I am all kinds of caffeinated. But I will end with this excerpt of a poem I'm liking now:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<pre style="font-family: inherit;">And over one more set of hills,
along the sea,
the last roses have opened their factories of sweetness
and are giving it back to the world.
If I had another life
I would want to spend it all on some
unstinting happiness.
I would be a fox, or a tree
full of waving branches.
I wouldn't mind being a rose
in a field full of roses.
Fear has not yet occurred to them, nor ambition.
Reason they have not yet thought of.
Neither do they ask how long they must be roses, and then what.
Or any other foolish question.</pre>
</blockquote>
"Roses, Late Summer" by Mary Oliver <br />
<br />
Happy Autumn to you and yours.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5287106410457409570.post-83477460195710522502012-09-10T20:23:00.000-06:002012-09-10T20:23:26.956-06:00What do you subscribe to?I subscribe to some really good magazines. There is no greater pleasure than sitting on my balcony with a coffee and a Coastal Living, or Mental Floss. Recently, I resubscribed to a magazine I had canceled a while back. It is a fashion magazine and I canceled it because its portrayal of women got a little too blatantly sexist and really just plain rude. I like fashion; give me a layout where a stylish peacoat and a smart heel are paired ridiculously well on a darling woman who is leaping confidently across Fifth Avenue, and I'm like, "you go, smart-heeled girl, I bet you'll get that job you're interviewing for." This magazine was definitely interested in using fashion to sell a message. The problem is that the message wasn't "you go girl" but "you use your sexuality to get what you want, girl." Okay, if I'm being honest, the magazine in question offered me a free scarf and a stupid low subscription rate, I was momentarily dazzled by the free scarf. It is awesome. I wear it all the time.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Truer words... Martha Beck's column in the Oprah magazine</td></tr>
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This fashion messaging made me think about what ideas I subscribe to. In the magazine stand of my brain, what ideas, beliefs and values am I subscribing to that are ultimately bringing me down? I did a mental clean out of all my subscriptions. The subscription of self-image came up a lot. I'm no glamazonian super model, and the last time I wore a size zero was never. But I finally had the realization (actually more of a der moment) that women's sizes and shapes are diverse, and they should be. Women constantly subscribe to an unreasonable self-image because someone somewhere must have sent a dictatorial memo that there is only ONE standard of beauty that we all must follow. And for what reason? There is way more than one type of beautiful woman, and if we are all unique like snowflakes, then logic suggests that there is way more than one standard of beauty. Are you still with me so far?<br />
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Another bunk subscription is other people's definition of success. Do you ever feel like the moment you've accomplished your latest goal, almost immediately there is an anticlimax? It could come as criticism from another source and it could be your own self-criticism. It is sometimes very difficult for me to be okay with my version of success. I think I'm doing okay, but someone comes along and sends a message that my success isn't somehow enough. At this point I have to pause for thought and ask myself a couple of key questions. One, do I appreciate what I have accomplished? Two, did I feel successful? If I can answer yes to those two questions, guess what? I did it! Allowing other people to define my version of success really saps the joy from my accomplishment. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">a fake tattoo... but a good permanent message</td></tr>
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It is so imperative in this often contentious culture to subscribe to the things that ultimately make us happy and enrich our spirits. If we find happiness and contentment in our lives, then we will be better humans, we will support others and we will feel the rich gifts that come with this one wild and precious life. Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5287106410457409570.post-48478606468781814152012-08-25T11:26:00.000-06:002012-08-25T11:26:27.720-06:00The heart of the matterAre we honest with ourselves? I mean, there are some little white lies we tell all the time, but are we honest with ourselves about the things that really matter? It's hard to do, right? It's kind of scary to face the big ugly truths. If we face it, then we might have to do something about it. It's easier to ignore the harsher realities and honesties and live for the moment. <br />
<br />
Remember that scene in The Matrix when Morpheus tells Neo to choose between the pills? One pill will lead him back to his quiet and boring programmer's life, ignorant of the larger truth, and another pill will deliver him into the cold reality outside of the matrix. For a long time, I took the safe pill. I liked my little safety bubble; I could sit and watch episodes of Mary Tyler Moore and eat peanut butter cups. But earlier this year, when the proverbial fit hit the shan in my life, I had to reexamine how the practice of self-medication was serving me. It is okay to self-soothe when hard things happen, and we need to figure out what we need when we need it, but beyond that, we need to not be afraid of the big awful truth.<br />
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For one thing, the big awful truth won't have any power over us once we confront it. For another, we won't have to carry it around everywhere once we face it. Growth and change comes from facing the big awful, and we are all strong enough to face it down. I find myself waking up each morning and confronting my little lies. I want to make sure I'm not carrying around some giant elephant on my back and putting on a facade of "I'm fine". That stuff festers and smells and starts to become truth even though it is a fiction I totally created in my head. So I have these mini-interventions with myself. What is true, what is false?<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I was an early cheerleader for truth... and Niwot, but also truth...</td></tr>
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And the outcome is always good. Freedom comes with honesty. I've felt so alive this year and it is because I'm leaning into the hard and scary and demystifying it. Does it suck, absofreakinglutely it does. But it replenishes and fortifies in it's wake. Peanut butter cups do not replenish and fortify, maybe in a perfect world. But in the meantime, I'm trying to be real and truthful about who I am and what I want. Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5287106410457409570.post-65281984822999347602012-08-03T16:53:00.001-06:002012-08-03T16:53:43.738-06:00Summer days drifted away...Yes, school is starting up in a few weeks and I am clinging onto the last days of summer (barbecues, afternoon naps, iced tea with friends) with both hands. I revisited my summer to-do list and I think I did okay. I read a lot, saw a ton of movies, I soothed babies and chatted with friends I haven't seen in a long time. No regrets. Summer days, like weekends, are there to recharge my soul. <br />
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Okay, so I didn't learn French, I didn't watch the Story of English, and I spent an obscene amount of time sitting on a porch playing Drop 7 on my iPod while listening to The Boxer Rebellion, Regina Spektor and Sigur Ros. I got a new high score. Bonus.<br />
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But I DISCOVERED a lot this summer. Discoveries are awesome, especially when you aren't looking for them. I've said before in my blog that I often succumb to the "go, do, become" pressure of life. If you haven't DONE this or GONE here or BECOME this, then what contribution have you made? I don't know where this comes from, but that is a crappy voice to have on a vacation. My summer motto was "sit, think, be; let the summer come to you". And it did.<br />
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And the recharging came from this. I like my summer to-do list. It was a good guideline and made sense to have some goals, but I'm okay if I didn't learn French. Tres bien! Croissant! Bonjour! There. It was more important to be present with others and watch the world go by. <br />
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My friend and bandmate Jenn had this great epiphany about sunsets. She's way smarter than I am (she has, like, five degrees) and she had this huge, metaphorical, connective dialogue with me about what she had learned from the metaphor of sunsets. It got me thinking, sunsets have always been a little sad for me. The day is done and there is a farewell that seems a little heart-tugging. Out at the beach, I had to pause the scrabble or card game I was playing and go take a photo of the sunset. In truth, sunsets are common as the rain, but different every night. I saw the sunset as a transformational time when the page turns and the next chapter reveals itself. No matter who you are, what you do, or how you live, you transform. You can't help yourself. I have seen the rate of change speed the hell up in my life lately. The transformations that used to seem slower have increased their rate of change and my head spins a little bit in the process. And just like a sunset, it happens daily but is different every time. <br />
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It was a very good summer. I am happy, rested and ready for the challenges of the next school year. The changes I've gone through are in a sense providential I think, as though something is coming and this version of myself needed to be ready for it. I hope your summer was equally as wonderful.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5287106410457409570.post-83557427920750043052012-07-11T21:04:00.001-06:002012-07-11T21:04:42.272-06:00Gone to Santa FeSanta Fe is pretty magical place for me. I've never had a bad time there. My friends keep moving there so I will always have a place to stay. And the drive down is not too bad. It is 6 hours and 21 minutes which is basically three episodes of Wait Wait Don't Tell Me, Three of This American Life, lots of twizzlers and Annie's bunny mix, and three bathroom breaks. <br />
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What is it about this town that so attracts? Is it the possibility of seeing George R.R. Martin in person and asking him what the eff is wrong with King Joffrey? Is it running into a psychic at a bar who tells you your energy is, like, seismic? Is it hunting for pumpkin butter at Trader Joe's? In truth, it is all these things and more. Maybe it is the way the adobe buildings settle into the landscape as though they sprung up out of the arroyos. There are no Tudor mansions in Santa Fe. </div>
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And it is all about art. Art is everywhere in Santa Fe, and people want you to get all into their art and talk about art and argue about art and accept art. And the art is everywhere. No, that is not a soup terrine, it is art. No, that isn't a nifty throw blanket, it is art. </div>
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And I observed. I'm trying to be all creative and start a band and write songs and generally not hide my light under a shrubbery, but I just needed a weekend to watch and listen and be. Usually I am a spitfire of hilarity, just ask my friends. I have been described as "life of the party" on more than one occasion. But not this weekend. I'm sure I made for fun company, but I needed to listen more than I spoke. I was taking it all in. </div>
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I listened to The Shins and read the Nora Ephron book my mom loaned me. I got a pedicure with my cousin, ate breakfast burritos while watching Wimbledon, and was entranced by "Moonrise Kingdom" (seriously... go see that movie). My cousin Emily has this phrase, "that's sooo Santa Fe" which basically means that there is no standard, expect anything. I think every vacation should be so serendipitous. I still haven't seen the Georgia O'Keefe museum (but my mom went, does that count?) nor did I venture too far from my top three favorite places to eat (Harry's Roadhouse, El Parasol, and Plaza Cafe) but I did try new things and found some new favorites (La Casa Senna... heavenly patio of twinkly lights and gorgeousness).</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The "Jesus cloud" outside Harry's Roadhouse. </td></tr>
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So I hope you're getting some vacation time in this summer. And by vacation time, I don't mean running from museum to landmark to restaurant in a sprint. Take some time, enjoy the place where you are and let it unfold itself to you. Santa Fe wanted to impress me this weekend, so I let it. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Happy trails to you. </div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5287106410457409570.post-55538358592806041732012-07-05T21:00:00.000-06:002012-07-05T21:00:49.374-06:00seize the moment<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Do you seize the moment often?</td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white;">This whole year has been about seizing moments and breaking out of my sad turtle shell... okay, I don't have a sad turtle shell, but I can be a little reclusive sometimes. So lately I've been trying to say "YES, I WILL DO THAT!" more often than I say "No, I have to go buy stamps." There's just something scary about not having an anticipation guide for life. And I am sadly not one of those spontaneous, awesome people who buy stamps as needed. But I've been trying to change that. So when my friend Shannon called me the other day and said, "I have two free tickets to see Foster the People at Red Rocks tonight, wanna go?" I said, "um, yes."</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pretty</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Foster the People... a little blurry... a little far away</td></tr>
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So we went, we had a fabulous time and I was glad that I said YES to something I otherwise might have missed. Now I don't want to be a perpetual YES person, but I think I overrule potential awesomeness with my overthinking. Have I missed moments that could have changed my life? Yes. Is that okay? Yes. Have I done really awesome spontaneous things? Yes. Did I regret those moments? No. I think it is good to have a balance between the yes and no poles of decision making. The trick is to own your decision and not beat yourself up either way. And when you own a decision, really go for it with gusto. Be present in the moment and appreciate it just for what it is. Carry on. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My cousin and her friend chillin out at the lake on the 4th</td></tr>
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<span id="goog_293830851"></span><span id="goog_293830852"></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5287106410457409570.post-65165468959275851762012-06-25T12:24:00.000-06:002012-06-25T12:24:16.627-06:00In an instant...Every place has a type of natural disaster that haunts its residents. My mom, who lives in Oregon, wonders when the big earthquake or volcanic eruption will hit Portland. We go to the coast and see signs for tsunami evacuation routes. My dad, who lives in the mountains, has what every mountain dweller in Colorado has, a nagging fear that lightning will strike a dry pine tree, and acres of forested land will burn up in the blink of an eye. I live on the plains, so I've seen these fires from afar, too many to count. I've heard of people who've lost everything in a wildfire. The thing is, you never think it is going to happen to someone you love or to a house you know well.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The '72 bus and the side of my dad's house. That's not the real color... fyi</td></tr>
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It was a typical Saturday. I had read the paper, done chores, worked out, and done my nails. Then I checked Twitter and saw the Boulder Camera's tweet about a fire up by Beaver Meadows entrance station at RMNP. At first I didn't think about it. It didn't sound severe and I had already heard so much horrible news about the High Park fire near Fort Collins. Now that fire is a huge beeyotch, it has consumed close to 200 private homes and thousands of acres of forested land. The devastation is something the rest of us Coloradoans have been acutely aware of, donating money and goods and lending helping hands where needed. I clicked on the article. It said that the fire started at 1600 High Drive... hrm... my dad's neighborhood, and that the neighborhood had been evacuated. I knew my dad and his partner Mary were out hiking for the day, but Harry, my dad's housemate didn't answer the phone. No one home...<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dad walking a friend's dogs in the neighborhood. The houses in this photo are probably gone.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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I was headed up to Estes Park anyway. A friend of mine was getting married to a guy I still needed to meet, I was going to catch up with a bunch of good friends, and I had this great dress and killer shoes. So I shoved all that in a bag, called my cousin who lives in Estes and we started a command center of our own; calling Mary's cell phone, checking the computer for the latest information. I sped up to Estes and I remember driving past the skydivers at the airport and thinking, "What the hell? Why are you skydiving when I can't reach my dad and I don't know if his house is gone." Don't you just love mustering righteous indignation at people living their lives while you're in turmoil? When I got to my cousin's, we drove down to the place where evacuees were gathering and Mary called. She and my dad had just arrived to chaos and not been able to get up to the house. Dana and I drove over to them and we waited... and watched. We watched helicopters dump water on the smoke that seemed perilously close and horribly ominous.<br />
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And then we ate a little bit. Dad made jokes like how now he could finally move in with me and live in my basement (which is not funny, ha ha so much as funny, hell no). Our waiter was from Lithuania and brought the wrong order and I started to feel like I was dreaming. This wasn't really happening, right? The fire would only get a few vacation cabins and it would stop and my dad would be able to go back to his house that night. Then we went up a hill and looked across into my dad's neighborhood.<br />
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We found dad's street, and the houses down the hill from his house. And then my dad said, "Well, it might have gotten the house," and we all froze. He took some photos and we squinted across and we saw the peaks of my dad's roof above the trees... but we weren't sure. We wanted to believe that it was there. I started to think about all the stuff that was in the house. The painting of my dad on Marroon Bells, the computer with all his photos, the giant map of RMNP that had red lines all over it where he had hiked, everything is replaceable, but there are lots of things he couldn't easily replace. Then there are memories of people and the fun times we have had at the house. My dad calls his house "Basecamp" because a lot of people visit at any given time. I actually have to book time in advance if I want to stay there. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The day Lucy met the elk.</td></tr>
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At the end of the day, we went to a briefing for the evacuees and the list of structures lost was released. And they didn't read dad's address. His house had been saved by incredibly skilled firefighters, helicopter pilots and police officers who worked hard and braved smoke and fire.<br />
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There was relief for what was saved and profound sadness for those who lost everything. Losing a house cannot be assuaged by insurance, your home is an extension of yourself, and good, innocent people lost the very safe place that they had created. The Red Cross set up a shelter at the high school and people dispersed to be with family and friends and neighbors. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Smoke from the High Park fire over Lake Estes</td></tr>
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After the stress dissipates, your body stops tensing, everyone is safe and you settle into a kind of sleep, you review. I had to say things to myself like, "that just happened" and "what just happened?" I couldn't believe it was so close and so real. This year has truly been a game changing year for me. Everything I had previously done, the ways I had adopted and settled into like a warm blankie took a 180 (there are some back blog posts about this). And this change is sometimes subtle, sometimes not so much, but it seeps in and around and suddenly, you like asparagus... like who knew that would happen?? What I noticed about my response to this situation was my lack of paralyzing anxiety and panic about the unknown. Anxiety was a nice blankie for me to hide under for a long time, but it didn't really serve me at all. The unknown is coming for all of us, we just don't know anything about what the next day, hour or minute will bring. Sometimes it comes as a beautiful surprise, and sometimes a horrible tragedy. And the kicker about both sides of that coin is that life keeps going on around you; the skydivers will just keep skydiving. I wish I had some profound, deeply metaphorical Bob Dylan song to share with you here, but the one I keep coming back to is the chorus of Ok Go's "Here It Goes Again": <br />
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Just when you think that you're in control,<br />
just when you think that you've got a hold,<br />
just when you get on a roll,<br />
here it goes, here it goes, here it goes again.<br />
Oh, here it goes again.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sunset from my dad's porch</td></tr>
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5287106410457409570.post-85262911897293971482012-06-17T14:35:00.002-06:002012-06-17T14:35:36.613-06:00California here we come...Actually, if I were to pick my favorite song about California, it would be Joni Mitchell's "California" which kind of transports the listener to a woody canyon in the hills above LA. But that's not where I was. I was in the O.C., where freeways take the place of back roads, jasmine and jacaranda trees bloom lazily, and backyard pools are aplenty. <br />
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I went to visit my dear friend Kara, who has a <a href="http://wherewavesgrowsweet.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">fantastic blog herself</a>, and a lovely home, a fun family and an open door to her Colorado friend. Kara is my spiritual touchstone. She is honest, kind, sincere and warm and I had no idea we would become such good friends when we met ten years ago, but I think God knows who fits together, even when they don't know it yet. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me and Kara, post pedicure, sandy feet.</td></tr>
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We had a fantastic time and I am so thankful for her. I needed a retreat in a spiritual oasis to kick off my summer. And it worked, I feel detoxified of the collection of pent up stuff and nonsense that I put on my emotional backburner during the school year. That's what good friends do, they amplify the best parts of ourselves and they encourage growth and change. It was exhausting, but in a good way... the best way. Now bring on the summer, I say. I am recharged.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kara, her husband John and a lovely sunset.</td></tr>
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5287106410457409570.post-51625055387537078122012-06-05T08:12:00.001-06:002012-06-05T08:12:07.952-06:00Missing Aunt Marti<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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This weekend marks the year anniversary of my Aunt Martha's death. She died the day after her 61st birthday. I am sure that she would have liked to die on her birthday and close the circle with more mathematical symmetry. She died because pancreatic cancer ate her away and I'm sorry if I offend anyone, but fuck pancreatic cancer. It took my dear Aunt too soon and too awfully. I miss you, Aunt Marti. Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5287106410457409570.post-91059034947846498042012-05-29T11:26:00.001-06:002012-05-29T11:26:39.992-06:00On graduating...It was graduation this weekend, and my dad's 70th birthday, and the end of the school year wrapped into one fabulous package of hallelujah and amen. This is really the end of my "year" and the opportunity to rest, catch up on life and try new things is this great buffer between now and August when I have to go back. The trips are scheduled, the books are piled up, the friends are called and dates are made. Who says Christmas is the most wonderful time of the year? <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The day I graduated from Niwot... the clouds look all kinds of ominous.</td></tr>
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What is graduation? To me, graduation is a moving forward. I had a fantastic high school experience. I had lots of close friends, I was involved in a lot of fun things, I didn't worry too much about my grades and I remember my parents being mostly happy with my life choices. And graduation day was really fun. It was my dad's birthday, and my Grandma flew out from Oregon, and family and friends gave me a lot of presents. I remember being emotional and sad that I wouldn't be in the protective bubble of high school, but I was looking forward. I was hopeful that good things come more than once in a lifetime. I suppose I still am. <br />
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This weekend was so wonderful because of that hope. Hope that these graduating kids will find their paths and joy in the process, hope that my dad continues to enjoy good health and happiness, hope that this year and this summer will be restful, joyous and full of love. We have everything we need, everything else is gravy. Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5287106410457409570.post-40445078453203723532012-05-05T17:25:00.001-06:002012-05-05T17:25:05.924-06:00Get your garden on...I rather fancy myself a garden person. This is not to say that I am a gardener. Far, far from it. My version of gardening is buying $100 of annuals at the local hardware store, planting all of them in all kinds of pots and terracotta holders, watering them, and crossing my fingers that they will take off and become a kind of English garden, but on my patio. <br />
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I just love flowers, I think. This year, since January, I've made a point of filling my house with blooms. <br />
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It started with roses. I won these when I won my Lenny Kravitz tickets. I like to pretend that they are FROM Lenny, but I do live in reality most of the time. They're from Whole Foods, which has a DELICIOUS floral department. The florist made a big deal about wrapping these up with ribbons and then making me walk through the aisles waving like a princess. Okay, maybe I did that waving thing on my own. <br />
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Then with spring came many many daffodils (one bunch cost 2 dollars at my grocery store), tulips and threelips and fourlips, and early lilacs I pruned from my friend Heather's shrubbery (I did ask first). What is it about flowers? I like the metaphor, don't you? Growing and blooming into something lovely once a year. Having a season and knowing that when the season comes to a close, it will happen all over again. There is something so faithful and permanent about flowers, you know? They've inspired songs, poems, paintings and lovers with simple beauty and scents. Bees dig 'em, and thank goodness they do. <br />
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Yesterday I planted those annuals on my patio, and this morning I took my coffee out there for some morning garden love. It is my heraldry of summer, "TAH DAH, your bloom time is around the corner!" How will you bloom during this season?Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5287106410457409570.post-71375582945494832392012-04-25T19:26:00.001-06:002012-04-25T19:26:22.313-06:00Summer To Do ListApril is drawing to a close, and I'm a little amazed. May signals the end of the school year and the end of the school year means a summer TO DO list! Here goes mine:<br />
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<ol>
<li>Eat my favorite burrito at El Parasol in Santa Fe</li>
<li>Sing a song that I wrote on a stage with my band</li>
<li>Learn French (I always put this on my summer list)</li>
<li>Make bread, with yeast.... here's hoping it doesn't turn into the yeasty wheat blob</li>
<li>See Steve Martin play banjo while sitting on a lawn with a beer </li>
<li>Take a long walk with my friend Kara... she goes on these realllly long walks</li>
<li>Watch the Story of English</li>
<li>Read like a muther lover (I kinda overloaded the ol Kindle.... not to mention the stack of novels I want to get through)</li>
<li>Wear high heels through an entire wedding and reception</li>
<li>Do five yoga poses every night before I go to bed</li>
<li>Sit outside Chautauqua and listen to a concert</li>
<li>Band practice!</li>
<li>Write more poetry </li>
<li>Wake up early enough to smell the dewy grass</li>
<li>Soothe a baby to sleep</li>
</ol>
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It's a work in progress... might add to it. What's on your to do list?<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5287106410457409570.post-76781472356458181962012-04-07T13:17:00.002-06:002012-04-07T13:17:46.608-06:00On creativity and band namesThere has been this influx of creativity and general ingenuity in my life recently. I mean, just now my neighbor was like "Let's make cheese next week" and I was all, "Okay... why not?" and that was just a few minutes ago. There is this stagnation that comes with my hibernation in winter; it involves cozy comforters and marathons of Parks and Rec. And that is okay too, but with the buds of spring, the greener leaves, the itchy allergies (okay, not so great) come many lightbulbs. A friend wants to start a band with me... yes. I created a new knitting pattern for a scarf... absolutely. I have read like five books cover to cover in the last three weeks... awesome. I made cake... well that's not ingenious, or helpful to my figure, but cooking is creating. I really like this openness to creativity I've had in the last couple weeks. It makes me feel more aware and present in my life. It comes with a good dose of purpose and intention that makes the morning more easily met.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My guitar and lyric books.</td></tr>
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I think 2012 is going to be an amazing year of growth for me. Growth comes with tough challenges and fantastic results. Right now the creativity in my life is breeding more creativity and who knows where it will go, but it will be fruit-full. I suppose on Easter, that is a good lesson for me to take away. What is your creative outlet? Where is it taking you? <br />
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p.s. What are some good band names?Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5287106410457409570.post-62383754427257556962012-03-30T20:48:00.003-06:002012-03-30T20:54:14.507-06:00Born with duck feet...No, I wasn't born with a duck's webbed feet, but I sure do love spring. And what is better than spring but spring in Portland, Oregon where ducks waddle into fountains and the smell of damp bark lingers on your clothes. I am fresh off the plane from my spring break trip. I really love Oregon. And I am really glad that my mom moved back there so I can go and visit and be in the greenery. Sometimes, a girl needs to hydrate.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fangorn Forest aka The Reed College Campus</td></tr>
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Oregon is lush, and the flowers are in profusion, but more are coming. We've had such a mild spring here in Colorado, but I worry that that mildness (sans snow and rain) will make a tough summer. Listen, I am a Colorado girl at heart, I was born knowing all the words to "Rocky Mountain High" and I have a great sense of direction. But there is a draw, a pull towards the rainy northwest, especially the Pacific ocean.<br />
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The coast was especially beguiling this week. It would be coolish and stormy, and then the blue sky would creep through and reveal a postcard just for me. Mom and I went to Newport and holed up next to a fire and read books and drank tea and ate fantastic sea salted cookies from Panini's and settled into our beach routine. Get up, breakfast, read, walk, lunch, read, grade (maybe... don't overdo it), look at the fire, go out to the lighthouse, eat at Local Ocean. It is a good routine, and sometimes we get to see the people we've come to know in Newport and sometimes our family comes to meet us. Fish, chips, and crabcakes are always involved in our days there. <br />
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I didn't find the Graham Greene book I was looking for at the used book shop, but I did find something else this break, my sanity. You know how sometimes people picture their "little stone cottage" when faced with anxiety and stress? Oregon is that for me, and I work on refueling the imagery when I venture back into it.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Reed College--yes, it is gorgeous</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Blue sky! Go catch it!</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ruby at the pub with a friend... and tater tots.</td></tr>
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>To what purpose, April, do you return again?<br />
Beauty is not enough.<br />
You can no longer quiet me with the redness<br />
Of little leaves opening stickily.<br />
I know what I know.</i></span> </blockquote>
<blockquote>
<span style="font-size: large;"><i> </i> "Spring" by Edna St. Vincent Millay</span></blockquote>
</blockquote>
I love that poem by Edna St Vincent Millay, Spring. It is sorta bleak to be honest, but poets have always been a little cynical about springtime. Yeah it sure is purdy, but it comes with mud and muck. But every cycle has some detritus, right? We leave a season, enter another and the moving boxes take a while to break down. But this April, my refreshment has arrived, and I will be the babbling idiot running down the hill, strewing flowers. Deal with it, Edna. <br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5287106410457409570.post-67345977175366903662012-03-04T15:02:00.000-07:002012-03-04T15:02:40.439-07:00Bye bye Facebook, Hello Spring!I deactivated my facebook account last month. General reaction to this was "WHAAAA??" and "Oh good, cause I thought you defriended me." I don't miss it as much as I thought I would. I love my friends, but now I catch up with them the old fashioned way, I text them :-) I haven't been tempted to go back to it. Really, I like the thought of being a little less plugged in. I've been enjoying life for realisies. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjDYvrScc8kUd9TRkvQ3fY2aZlN3wyKPL9ogyPhjf3zTdyuQUotcNfxxUCTT45XYxMhY1xgc8jozvv4n475xGg_xYubjAyGRgAw35tdyjZk17VnljBQtNyXhoyO55qF4S46de2J_PV4O0/s1600/IMG00786-20120219-1514.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjDYvrScc8kUd9TRkvQ3fY2aZlN3wyKPL9ogyPhjf3zTdyuQUotcNfxxUCTT45XYxMhY1xgc8jozvv4n475xGg_xYubjAyGRgAw35tdyjZk17VnljBQtNyXhoyO55qF4S46de2J_PV4O0/s400/IMG00786-20120219-1514.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Painting Pottery instead of facebooking</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHkxXqqjzBHJyvDtWkTVunhkLIfFbRpPAkKdfgZfJp-IRBq6exH_H5mlK7uYBPKfk108YmBL3L255znPMKHmTnmJYuKNDSuBLml_aA9PFvxo2BmAcmPMe6rzb9aYnopVSeB2VZ9onrKLA/s1600/IMG00784-20120218-1322.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHkxXqqjzBHJyvDtWkTVunhkLIfFbRpPAkKdfgZfJp-IRBq6exH_H5mlK7uYBPKfk108YmBL3L255znPMKHmTnmJYuKNDSuBLml_aA9PFvxo2BmAcmPMe6rzb9aYnopVSeB2VZ9onrKLA/s400/IMG00784-20120218-1322.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Visiting Estes Park and waiting for my dad while he grocery shops... instead of facebooking.</td></tr>
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And did you notice? Spring is coming... all muddy and windswept and budding it caught me by surprise. <br />
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I caught the awful chest cold blarghy madness last week, and now I am emerging into 60 degree weather and daffodils. I needed that. Right now, all my windows are open and I am letting the sounds of life come in. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Zoey sniffs the spring air</td></tr>
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It is a good cure for the mean Sundays. Another cure for that is going to the big red box store and indulging on free samples of waffles and chocolate filled cereal. I love going through the dollar section and finding silly Easter decorations and ready-to-grow plants. I also indulged in a new pair of pajamas (they were on sale, and I like sleeping fashionably). My point is that Sundays are always my hardest day, the weekend is over and I'm gearing up again. But it doesn't have to be so meh. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0ltUPykeBdUZxdILzWsB2PebRXPcCBxZExsVmN5YSCWUeLCrK7mi3usNOj6TDbMAI2GNKJao5-1jgySGmWa7L8oKiaDIxzq6QcTLZsOh-gF1SP07HRgxCT085iL6dv0CDvUd7qxesMOk/s1600/IMG00817-20120304-1403.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="383" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0ltUPykeBdUZxdILzWsB2PebRXPcCBxZExsVmN5YSCWUeLCrK7mi3usNOj6TDbMAI2GNKJao5-1jgySGmWa7L8oKiaDIxzq6QcTLZsOh-gF1SP07HRgxCT085iL6dv0CDvUd7qxesMOk/s400/IMG00817-20120304-1403.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mini roses on sale at Safeway! How cute are these??</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYmE_9_S2-zk4w5X0FDBGY2GjJTVwj9SOblAHWVGS5w5kJSOa2NUjUtvWt4uiG9IgXaLWJR2MYimnmgImPVMY5CtOUOpHQBi3vkE8WDEX_BOQum7L-OYqVdm_iFulQ0tUh7YKam-CfHfY/s1600/IMG00814-20120304-1337.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYmE_9_S2-zk4w5X0FDBGY2GjJTVwj9SOblAHWVGS5w5kJSOa2NUjUtvWt4uiG9IgXaLWJR2MYimnmgImPVMY5CtOUOpHQBi3vkE8WDEX_BOQum7L-OYqVdm_iFulQ0tUh7YKam-CfHfY/s400/IMG00814-20120304-1337.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Basil, forget-me-nots, and a joshua tree.... germinatin'</td></tr>
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So what are the lessons for this March Marvelousness? Maybe I've learned to be okay letting the meh in, give it a cup of tea, maybe some ginger snaps. Just as long as it takes the hint I'm sending and knows when to take it's leave. I've got things to do. Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5287106410457409570.post-49145564296828329142012-02-22T18:14:00.005-07:002012-02-22T18:14:47.314-07:00A good question...<h1>
<span style="font-size: small;">The Summer Day</span></h1>
<h2>
<span style="font-size: small;">Mary Oliver</span></h2>
Who made the world?<br />
Who made the swan, and the black bear?<br />
Who made the grasshopper?<br />
This grasshopper, I mean-<br />
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,<br />
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,<br />
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down-<br />
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.<br />
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.<br />
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.<br />
I don't know exactly what a prayer is.<br />
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down<br />
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,<br />
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,<br />
which is what I have been doing all day.<br />
Tell me, what else should I have done?<br />
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?<br />
Tell me, what is it you plan to do<br />
with your one wild and precious life?<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="credit">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">from <i>New and Selected Poems</i>, 1992<br />
Beacon Press, Boston, MA</span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5287106410457409570.post-51220188251314521342012-02-20T11:32:00.000-07:002012-02-20T11:32:32.192-07:00In my other life... I was a dowager countess<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I love Downton Abbey. As the second season came to a close last night, and as I scour twitter for news of the current seasons' filming, I am sad and yet hopelessly caught in the world that Julian Fellowes has created. Damn good television. Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5287106410457409570.post-37124379933569783732012-02-11T13:06:00.001-07:002012-02-11T13:06:16.937-07:00Let Love RuleMmmyeah, remember how I said I'm gonna live in the last post? Well, I
think it is happening. Life is happening and I am in the thick of it. First of all, I
won two tickets on the radio to see Lenny Kravitz from the 2nd row. I
touched Lenny. I shook his hand. He dripped a wee bit of Lenny sweat
on me. For reals. <br />
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It started as a fairly innocuous week. I mean, I'm behind on grading and I started some new units with my students, but other than that, it's been about getting back into a routine. And then, I called KBCO and I actually got through and I guessed the correct Lenny Kravitz songs and I won. And then I had to go to school and tell all my students.<br />
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Most of them didn't know who Lenny Kravitz was... they do now. <br />
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It was amazing. He rocked the older songs, he killed the new songs, he crowd surfed to a group of women who were my mom's age and then told the crowd he liked "vintage" ladies. He charmed us all. <br />
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And for two hours, we were present with him. It was a moment extended. It was real and vivid and FIERCE. <br />
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So what do I take away? Other than a teeshirt, a used guitar pick, and much happiness, I take away the feeling that anything is possible. I have no idea what may come my way tomorrow, but I HOPE it is something good, and if it isn't then try for the next day. The truth is that we need so little, everything else is a gift.<br />
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Thank you, Lenny. I loved it!<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5287106410457409570.post-85723167158631590362012-02-06T20:32:00.002-07:002012-02-06T20:32:53.463-07:00I'm gonna live.The other night I had a life-coaching session from my friend Anna. She isn't actually a life coach, she's just nosy and bossy (with love). And I didn't invite her over to coach me, I invited her over for a drink and some nibbles. She came over at 4:30 and left at 11:00. Yeah, it was like that. I've had some messiness in my life recently (see January post) and I've been trying to get through it, and it being February and a new month and all, I've been trying to make a fresh start. But making a fresh start doesn't just happen. It is a process of little changes that we have to do. A house doesn't just appear, it is built, you know? <br />
<br />
These changes have come with a lot of self-reflection. There are some big questions I don't want to ask myself but won't find the answers to unless I ask the questions.... did that make sense? Questions like; what am I afraid of? What do I really want? What do I value? How do I
view myself? It is rather easy to toss those questions over the
shoulder like some spilled salt and deal with them later. It is way too hard to actually think about.<br />
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The truth is that I have some pretty scary monsters under my bed and in my closet. They make themselves quite comfortable and then they keep me up at night. They keep me down, you know? They tell me how unattractive or pathetic or awful I am and I have finally said enough. I have let them stay way too long. I feel like Kaylee in "Serenity" (yes, I am a syfy nerdgirl) when the whole crew is pinned back by reevers, and Simon finally tells her his one regret is not being with her. She says this great line, "To hell with this, I'm gonna live." That is exactly how I feel. Bring on life, I am ready to toss the monsters out of the house.<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2