Ten Things I'm Thinking About Right Now (Besides the Pandemic, the Election, What it Means to be an Ally to BIPOC, and Climate Change)

1. Normally I dress like an Eastern European potato farmer but today I am wearing a button down with lemons printed all over it and I feel like walking sunshine.

2. Freckles are so weird. Like why do some people get them and others don't? I've noticed, particularly this summer, the tops of my arms are absolutely peppered with freckles and the undersides are smooth and pale, with one or two dots. I can't help but wonder what it would look like if my whole body was as white and unmarked as my stomach, which has never seen the sun. Then I picture myself like a rotisserie chicken, stuck on a spit to become evenly browned. Though I suppose that's an ungracious way to describe a tanning bed, which already exists. 

People without freckles/overt sun damage to their skin, do you acknowledge your privilege and how it has impacted your life? *presents microphone*

3. Am I too old to (re)learn how to rollerskate? Do I have the courage and good enough health insurance?

4. Flowers. I am never NOT thinking about flowers. In a world where I am independently wealthy, I move out into the country and start a small flower farm, selling cut flowers at farmer's markets and doing small-scale floral design, documenting the whole thing on social media (naturally). Right now in particular, however, I am wondering if I can coax the newly planted clematis to cover the chain link fence in my backyard.

Grow, my precious. Wrap your spindly green arms around the links and blossom. Help me pretend I live the lifestyle that can afford more attractive fencing.

5. People who listen to music loudly without headphones are public enemy number 2 and must be stopped. (Public enemy number 1 is, obviously, people who refuse to wear masks in a global pandemic.)

6. At lunch I saw a girl across the parking lot with a really cute skirt on and I was like, I am coveting that skirt, it is so cute. And then I looked down and realized I was wearing the same skirt, so, great taste, me.

7. What song can't you get out of your head right now? For me, it's Bonnie Tyler's "Total Eclipse of the Heart". It featured in my dream last night. I was getting married to Justin Long--yes, the actor-- and I walked down the aisle lip-syncing it. So much to unpack there but that's for me and my therapist.

8. I like to window shop online (who doesn't?) and sometimes I come across things that I can't believe are for sale, like who in their right mind would spend $55 (that's on sale even!) on a dried seed pod from Anthropologie for decor?  Speaking of, will someone else look at this insanely overpriced beach umbrella and tell me you see "testes" printed all over it too?

9. I miss Freedom. This time last year, my whole family was there, maybe for the last time. I think part of me felt it as we drove away. Did I appreciate it enough? I'm glad there are so many things in life to remind me of my heart home--- hollyhocks growing by a fence, a cool foggy morning, the sound of Papa's voice...

10. Thank goodness for the weekend. I've been house and dog-sitting all week and I'm looking forward to my own bed. Also, I miss my plants. They don't need to be let out to use the bathroom at 5:30 in the morning.  But I also can't take them on walks, so...

HEY THANKS FOR READING, I LOVE YOU.

Sick Person Score: C-

Photo by Hanna Postova on Unsplash

Feeling like a lukewarm plate of garbage today. If you could get a grade for being sick, I would get a C-. Not a D or an F, because I still show up when I absolutely have to, but also not an A or B because my inner monologue while ill is the stuff of Shakespeare.

“But hark! What light through yonder window breaks? It is the East and Coronavirus is the sun!”

It doesn’t help that this week at work, I have been answering questions nonstop about how the epidemic will affect client travel/can they cancel/are we all going to die? 

Yes Judy, just not all from coronavirus and not all today.

Now that I think about it, maybe I contracted this chest cold from the amount of time reading/talking/writing about viruses. Or FaceTiming my sister whose entire family has been passing it around like a diseased hot potato. Little tiny particles traveled through the series of tubes that make up the internet, erupted from the screen and into my nasal passages. 

Someone alert Vice President Pence! His first order of business is to scrub the airwaves.

Can you imagine if we could transmit disease electronically? 

Wait, never mind, don’t imagine that.

But I digress. I know it wasn’t the internet, or the power of suggestion. It was my coworker. One of the things my brain likes to do is fantasize that it knows the exact moment of disease transmission. Like an episode in a medical drama, a montage of moments plays in my mind:

I walk back to the breakroom to refill my water bottle. Coworker is there, washing his
lunch dishes. I turn from the fountain at the same moment he turns, coughing.
I hold my breath as I walk through the invisible cloud of cough, but it’s too late.
Time slows. Minute water droplets, infected with the virus, hang suspended in the air. A
few enter my lungs, milliseconds before my mouth snaps shut.
That song from Platoon plays as over the next 48 hours, my immune system begins to
battle the intruder.

That’s it, that’s how it happened.

Fortunately I live alone, and have only myself to take care of. 

Can you imagine if I had a husband or children? 

“Small ones, Mommy is unwell. Play quietly to yourselves for the next eight hours til your father gets home. If you get hungry, there are fruit snacks in the cupboard above the stove. Just push a chair over to the counter to climb up. Change your own diapers, or better yet, potty train yourselves.  Not too much noise now, it hurts my head.”

So props I guess, to moms and dads and caretakers.

As for me, I will wrap myself in my fuzziest scarf, drink hot tea, and hope the power of positive thinking heals me quickly.

Just kidding, I will call my mother and complain, tweet about it, and finally write a blog post.

Stay healthy, my friends.

Ten Things I'm Thinking About Right Now

In the absence of proper content, here are ten of the many things in my brain at this moment.

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1. I have a very specific pain in the crook of my left arm. It is upsetting, and I am struggling not to Google it.

2. Speaking of pain, it makes me sad that animals can feel pain. Except cockroaches. I have no remorse for any pain they may feel.

3. I went three months without Facebook and the only reason I came back is because I missed being able to immediately share with 700 people when I thought of something hilarious. Yep, that's it. I do not care about missing other people's content. Hashtag, definitely narcissist.

Ok, except for this kid I babysit, his mom and dad are on there and I did miss the hijinks/photos of the little dude.

4. I really really want these obnoxious sequined high-tops. I saw them in a Madewell over Christmas and I'm still sad I didn't buy them.

5. Somebody just told me that this summer the USPS is issuing scratch and sniff stamps with popsicles on them and if they made that up, I will be very sad.

Can't Google it to confirm though, because I will definitely Google the arm pain immediately following.

6. I feel kind of bad about the Facebook thing, but not really, because you all need to know that in real life I can be a selfish villain. A Disney villain, but still.

7. Sharp cheddar is the only cheddar worth eating.

8. I got a sample of Marcelle NewAge Precision 8-in-1 Power Serum (definitely not enough words in the name, for sure!) and it's the best thing I have ever put on my skin GOODBYE, THE END. I think it's made out of butterfly chrysalis? Jk it's probably not, but my face looks like a brand new baby.

9. Despite having baby skin now, I could never be Instagram-famous because my hair is always a mess. I just have to make peace with that.

10. I live in constant fear of leaving the bathroom with my skirt tucked into my underwear because it happened once. The first day I relax is going to be the first day that it happens again. CONSTANT. VIGILANCE.

---

What's on your mind, friends? It's ok if you don't want to share, I'm only asking to be nice.
Jk, really, tell me.

Sunday Morning in Penthalaz, a Haiku

This post was inspired by Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop. Write a haiku about something you're thankful for.

April 2011

Ten souls communing,

Golden vials around the throne;

My purpose renewed.

How to be a College Alum

          1. Attend Homecoming

This past Saturday I drove down to my alma mater for one of those classic college student experiences, you know, the kind you’re supposed to have while you’re still in college. I went to a good old-fashioned, all-American football game with my friends.

Yes, pick your jaws up off the floor, I spent my own money and free time to attend a sports game. It wasn’t even to impress a boy! That’s how good of a friend I am.

But really, let me tell you about these friends. A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away, a gaggle of fresh(wo)men were randomly assigned into a student orientation group based on where they lived in student housing.  A few of these girls came and went, but fast forward to the present day and a core of them remain, affectionately referred to as Starship Windsor. (I’m not telling you why, it’s incredibly nerdy and you weren’t invited to make fun of us, so there.)

So anyway, when Starship Windsor plans a reunion, you go. Even if it means displaying your incredible lack of basic sports facts. (Actual things that left my mouth: “Who has the ball right now?” “Why are the guys from Foot Locker on the field?”)

2. Be frustrated by how much has changed since you left.

The first thing I remembered upon arrival was how terrible it is to find parking as a visitor. Your options are to either get there at dawn or pay $20 to park in the cattle pen that is the Ross Ade stadium lot. Or, a third option, drive around for 45 minutes, cry, and then pay a random church $10 to park in their lot, having already missed kickoff. Obviously I went with option 3.

Walking through the campus, I felt incredibly lost. I’ve only been gone five years but it might as well have been fifty, so much has changed. There are new buildings where fields used to be, new buildings on top of where old buildings were, streets with new names, and streets with no names.

And the students! They look so young. SO. YOUNG. These girls in their Purdue sweatshirts and yoga pants with sleek, glossy hair and too much eye makeup, who laugh too loudly. These guys dressed in culturally-insensitive costumes for Breakfast Club, casually strolling by campus cops, red plastic cups in hand. WHO ARE THESE NOISY VAGRANTS? This isn’t MY Purdue!

3. Feel incredibly old.

Literally only Jordyn and Bri are cooperating right now, not even me and I'm taking the photo

The thing that struck me the most was how grown-up I suddenly felt, despite sitting at a football game with my friends. Jordyn made sure we all had on sunscreen, I shared a granola bar with Julie, and when the fireworks went off during halftime, I got a little panicky at how big the blaze was instead of being excited at the pretty display. “But won’t somebody catch fire?!” We complained about how much money things cost, how we feel about our jobs, and even discussed all the foods we can’t handle anymore. Then we laughed at how old we sounded.

Julie asked me if I would go back. I thought about it for only a moment. “I would, but only if I could go back as the person I am now.” And it’s true: I loved college more than any experience I’d had in my life up to that point, but I didn’t love myself. As cheesy as it sounds, I only had a vague idea of who I was and I had even less confidence in embracing it.  That feeling of desperately wanting to be an independent, outgoing adult while still clinging to the safety of what was familiar was an uncomfortable intersection to dwell at for four years. I’m not saying the person I am now is at the pinnacle of self-actualization, but I seem to have grown out of that deep-seated anxiety about my identity.

4. Feel an overwhelming surge of school spirit.

Basically no one is paying attention at this point. We were losing by a lot. Cheerleader group photo!

I’ll be honest with you: I barely watched the game. It’s really boring when you don’t know what’s happening. Fortunately, there’s 20 other things going on at the same time: the cheerleaders, the band, the student section, the fans from the opposing team, the little girl in the next section having a meltdown, etc. Plus, when you’re with friends, you can unashamedly be yourself and yell irrelevant things just to add to the noise:

“5th DOWN!” *chortle*
“DONALD RUMSFELD!!” *chuckle*
“BENGHAZI!” *laughing harder*
“SOCCER IS THE ONLY REAL SPORT!!!” *silence*
“...too far, Julie.”

And then it’s half time and they’re paying tribute to the “Voice of the Purdue All-American Marching Band”, who’s retiring after SIXTY YEARS and the field is full of students and alumni. There’s fireworks and music and finally the school fight song and there are actual tears in your eyes. Your voice breaks on “...of all the days we’ve spent with you, all hail, our own Purdue!” and you feel the need to hug people and kiss babies. This is it, this is the feeling I came for. Despite every imaginable difference, the thousands of people in this stadium are united in this moment by one institution.
Well, with the exception of those Illini fans...

5. Wallow in nostalgia.

Ok but like, two people are missing. Katie and Suz, where are you?

After the game, my friends and I walked through the academic part of campus and it started to feel more familiar. Ah yes, good old Heavilon. In which we took all our English classes and once, Cassandra reminds me, a Bio lecture, when something suspicious started leaking through the ceiling in Lilly Hall.  Oh and there’s Stanley Coulter, where I waded my way through French and the Classics, with the professor who looked like he’d be more at home teaching at Hogwarts. And HSSE, my favorite third floor library hide-out. It had that classic smell of old books mixed with the musk of quiet desperation, a perfect place to agonize over finals.

This was my Purdue.  It wasn’t tailgating and football games, it was class schedules and studying and lunch dates at Oasis in the Union.  My Purdue was working shifts at my residence hall front desk on Saturdays.  My Purdue was res hall life and student governing boards and free pizza at callouts for clubs I had no intention of joining. My Purdue was no better or more profitable or more worthwhile than anyone else’s, but it was mine. And the places it overlapped with other people’s made it special.

6. Leave with new memories.

Good job us. Smiling like grown-ups, finally.

Perhaps my favorite part of the whole day was at the very end.  We went out to eat before parting ways but carpooled to the restaurant.  On our way back, six of us had to pile in Cassandra’s Kia Rio for the short distance to our cars.  Poor planning on my part left me stuffed in the middle of the back seat, underneath Suz, unable to reach into my pocket to retrieve my phone containing a map. I had almost completely lost my voice at that point and to make matters worse, I only had a vague idea of where the church lot was that contained my car.  In my haste to get to the game, it never occurred to me to pay attention to little details like the name of the church,  what it looked like, or even what street it was on.

We drove around for way longer than necessary, the others laughing helplessly at my feeble, squeaky shouted instructions. “Turn here! That’s it! No it’s not! Is it?”

7. Promise to not wait so long before the next time you visit.

The Boilermaker by Ross Ade Stadium

We found my car, eventually. Hugs all around, “drive safe!”, promises to meet up again soon. I smiled the whole way home. Oh Purdue, you giant, money-hungry, frustrating, wonderful, emotional, life-changing animal. I love you. I miss you. Please stop calling. Thanks for the memories. Thanks for the friends. Thanks for the education, I guess.

An Orange Wingback Armchair

I'm afraid of moving forward and terrified I'm sliding backward, and so I grow roots right where I am, inconveniently in the middle of the street, and tremble in fear and indecision as time roars by around me. The wind of passing opportunity yanks out my leaves, creating bald spots in the canopy. Loud and troublesome crows are nesting in my hair. 

I'm so so scared that ten years will pass with a quick inhale and ten more before the same breath leaves my lungs. And I'll still be right there, a bit of grass at my feet and empty branches above. 

Where will I be? What will I be doing? Will I be all alone?

I don't know anything about trees. I assume it's easiest to move them at two points in their lifespan: when they are saplings and when they are dead. Transplanting at the ages in between would require an enormous amount of effort and machinery and patience, I'd imagine. Does one dig up the entire area around the base of the tree and get it all in a ball? If you cut away at the roots, will that make it more difficult for it to thrive in a new environment?

Something must be done. I cannot possibly remain here in the road. For one thing, I'm creating potholes. But have I waited too long? Are the roots too deep?

Enough about trees. Enough with metaphors. I'm stuck in a hole and my twenties are marching on. I'm ninety-three and it's only half past eleven in the morning. 

I'm doing nothing, dreaming about everything, and the time is passing all the while. 

I'm not even writing. I'm afraid to write because it's a mirror more effective than glass, than a powerful camera lens with 300x optical zoom. In words I can see past my skin and eyes and hair, past my bones and muscles, straight into the center of my heart. 

There's a fifth chamber in there, a secret chamber that the blood flows around, but never in. The chamber is comfortably appointed, with a rug and a slightly worn orange wingback arm chair and an oak side table with a large book on it. The book contains all the reasons for who and why and what and where I am. 

But it's like the journal Harry Potter finds in the second book, blank until written in. It absorbs the ink, dissolves the words I wrote, and writes out the answers. I'm afraid to see into the chamber, put words into the book, and see what it has to say.

"You're afraid of failing so you don't even try. And by not trying, that's the greatest failure of all." 

And there it is. 

I've failed without even trying. 

And so I stay exactly where I am, doing the same exact thing, and roots shoot deep into the earth, curling like fists around the bedrock. 

I'm ready to uproot, I don't want to be here forever.  So it's time to try. Try what? Literally anything. For thirty days. Maybe one thing, maybe thirty things. Exercise? Pottery? Vegan mayonnaise? The universe is my oyster. 

(Except oysters. Because food poisoning.)

I've already failed without trying, so let's see if I can try without failing.

*softshoes off stage*

Day 1: Try writing again

Baby Love

I know it's been ages since a proper update but many new things have happened on the other side of this blog (aka the real world) which have taken my time and attention. One of them is nine months old and is nicknamed Baby A or Buggy.  While searching for a new full-time job, it has been my great pleasure to spend time with this little guy over the last couple of months.  He has single-handedly made me fall in love with tiny humans all over again.  I'm not one to rave over other people's children but this dude has my heart in his little fist.

Anyone can tell by the curly blonde mop, blueberry eyes, and dimply grin that he is a charmer but it goes beyond that. He is SO GOOD, literally the happiest baby I have ever met. He loves everything that goes on, even what I would assume to be the tiresome parts of being a baby:
"Time for a diaper change? Everybody clap your hands! Nap time? No probalo, sister, I was feeling sleepy anyway. Mashed chickpeas and carrots on the menu? I will fist pump in excitement and make happy grunting noises."

Everything makes him laugh. Everything must be taste-tested: fingers, toys, furniture, Lola's ear (she's a dog). He doesn't even get mad when I take the non-edibles away from him. He just gives me a drooly grin and crawls away to find something new.

The past few months have been frustrating with so much in my personal life up in the air.  The days I get to hang out with Buggy are my favorites, though. He is pure sunshine.  Every day is a new life discovery and it's incredibly refreshing to be reminded about the simple pleasures that come from just being alive.

Most of us don't remember what it feels like to be unable to move without being picked up and carried.  The day he finally figured out how to crawl was the happiest day of his life. If he could talk, he would have been shouting with glee. "I CAN GO LITERALLY ANYWHERE I WANT. THE WORLD IS MY OYSTER AND NOTHING CAN STOP ME. Except this baby gate...but whatever, I'm not even mad! I'M JUST GOING TO GO SOMEWHERE ELSE."  

He also learned how to wave recently and does it with both hands at every opportunity.  He waves at his parents, the dogs, even the ceiling fan when I turn it on.  When I grin and wave back, he chuckles like I just learned the secret code he invented. 

While I worry and wonder about jobs and relationships and big life things, Baby A is over there going, "I JUST FIGURED OUT HOW TO OPEN AND SHUT A DRAWER, WERE YOU AWARE OF THAT? I THINK I MIGHT BE A WIZARD."

 "Hey remember that time ten minutes ago when I sneezed prunes all over myself and you? THAT WAS HILARIOUS, I HAD NO IDEA FOOD ALSO COULD COME OUT OF MY MOUTH AS WELL AS GO IN."

We played peek-a-boo the other day and for him it was the most entertaining game ever in the history of time. "OH MY GOSH DID YOU JUST DISAPPEAR? I FOR REAL THOUGHT YOU LEFT TIME AND SPACE FOR A SECOND WHEN YOUR HANDS WENT UP. AND NOW YOU'RE BACK! THIS IS THE GREATEST THING MY LITTLE EYES HAVE EVER WITNESSED. DO IT AGAIN! DO IT 400 MORE TIMES! I THINK YOU MIGHT BE A WIZARD TOO!!!"

He ends every day completely exhausted, and I go home in a great mood.  I seriously think the key to sleeping a solid ten hours every night is being amazed at everything that happens to you in a day. And mentally shouting your reaction.

Thank you so much for being you, Baby A. I've loved our time together. You remind me that there is something good in everything that happens to us. Life is exciting and weird and just like you, I can't wait to see what happens next.

xx

A Day in the Life: April 2014

Hello, friends. This post is fourth in the series hosted by Manda at Break the Sky, showcasing a day in a blogger's life. Yes I am obscenely late in posting it but here it is anyway.

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Thursday, April 10, 2014

// 6:52 a.m.

In which I awake with a start, having turned off both alarms in my sleep, and rush out of bed because I NEED TO LEAVE FOR WORK IN EXACTLY 18 MINUTES. It's my second day of working a temp job at the annual super-ultra-mega enormous outlet sale of a popular women's handbags and luggage brand that rhymes with Shmera Shmradley, maybe you've heard of them? They were founded and are still headquartered (is that a word?) in my hometown and they only do this massive sale once a year. They rent out the biggest arena in town and for a whole week, tens of thousands (not exaggerating) of women flock to the city to buy last year's extra stock/slightly imperfect product at a deep discount. With my employment situation being in the "take whatever I can get" category, I applied to work the sale.

I get ready in record time and microwave some oatmeal while I hop around the kitchen trying to shove my swollen feet into some shoes. While pulling out of the neighborhood, I stop to admire the peach and blue morning sky.

// 7:25 a.m.

In which I arrive at the Coliseum and take a picture of where I parked my car for reference when I leave.  I am the worst at remembering where I parked, especially in an enormous lot.

See that's funny because Magellan was like, "exsqueeze me while I circumnavigate the globe in a ship without a GPS" and I'm all, "Siri, can you direct me to my mailbox?"

// 7:30 a.m.

In which I make the long trek around the perimeter of the arena, past the box cutting corner where I worked yesterday to the sorting area. The walls are lined with stacks of product, waiting to be unboxed and put out on the floor.

// 7:35 a.m.

In which I meet my team leader Ya Min, a lovely Burmese woman who has worked the sale for eight straight years.  She tells me her name means "King of Wednesday afternoon" because that's how Burmese people roll when it comes to names.  I am immediately in awe of her. She explains that it's our job to collect and sort through all the merchandise that has been picked up off the tables and later discarded in some other place.  Then we are to take it in shopping carts back out to the floor to be displayed once more.  It is tiring and rather futile but it makes the time pass quickly.

Before the doors open and everything is organized for the last time ever.

// 10:45 a.m.

In which there is a break in between customers and we are allowed to take 15 minutes to do our own shopping if we so choose.  I've always been rather ambivalent towards VB and their penchant for quilted paisley, but I can't deny how handy their duffle bags are for weekend trips.  With the discount of the sale and the 15% employee discount, I decide it is finally worth my money to purchase one. I found a bright and punchy spring pattern and grabbed a matching cell phone wristlet because I got caught up in the moment, don't judge me.

// 11:00 a.m.

In which my fellow sorters and I are herded to the break room for lunch.  Each meal is catered by a different restaurant, a rather nice perk to working here, but I never know in advance what it will be.  Today it is grinders and pizza from Mancino's, which is extremely unfortunate as everything is drenched in melted cheese, a food that I can no longer digest. I grab a veggie sandwich, hoping to salvage some of it from the cheese but to no avail. I mournfully eat a bag of potato chips and stare longingly at the smart lady who brought what appears to be a full Sunday roast, complete with mashed potatoes.

// 11:30 a.m.

In which we return to work and the never-ending process of sorting.

Waiting for a giant cart to be unloaded. Empty spots at the tables means roast dinner lady and her friends are late, probably laughing with abandon as they eat mashed potatoes.

// 1:30 p.m.

In which another unexpected 15-minute break is granted to us.  Cranky and starving, I head outside to sit in the grass and eat the emergency fruit snacks I had in my pocket. I kick my shoes off and my feet actually emit red cartoon lines of pain, the below photo is real and true and not digitally altered.

Ok yes I did draw those in afterwards but if my feet could talk they would have been screaming.

// 3:00 p.m.

In which I peek around the black curtain that separates the worker bees from the sales floor and assess the crowd before making my last run to deliver merchandise.  As soon as I walk through the curtain, I am surrounded by people pawing through my cart and asking me endless questions about this pattern, that handbag, and so on.  It takes a half hour to walk the couple hundred feet to the table and back.  I am sweating profusely from the exertion of moving the cart and the heat of so many bodies in the room.  Even though I know my day is almost over, I can't quell the rising anxiety in my chest from feeling trapped in this giant room with all these people, just pushing and pushing with no regard to personal space.  I focus on my breathing until I can reach the edge of the room and get behind the black curtain. When I do, I am glad I was able to avoid a full blown panic attack but know I don't have the patience or the mental energy to fend off another one.

(This photo actually taken shortly after the doors opened in the morning. Quadruple the amount of people for a closer approximation of how tightly packed it was.)

// 4:00 p.m.

In which I return home and throw my shoes with no small amount of force into the closet. Wearing my TOMS was the worst decision I made all day.  My feet swell up and I almost cry they hurt so bad. Yes, I am fully aware of how much of a spoiled brat I sound like but the struggle was real, y'all.

// 5:00 p.m.

In which I drag myself into the shower and then spend the rest of the evening lying on my bed eating way too many Trader Joe's gourmet jelly beans and falling into a Wikipedia wormhole. Did you know that there is a park in Florida where mermaids do daily underwater performances? Me neither, but you'd best believe if I ever make it to Tampa to visit Lindsey, I will be checking it out.

// 9:00 p.m.

In which I give in to the fatigue and fall fast asleep. I know tomorrow will be more of the same insanity but cartoon dollar signs in my dreams will motivate me to get up and do it all over again.

A Day in the Life: March 2014

This post is part of the series of a monthly linkup hosted by Manda at Break the Sky, where bloggers record a day in their life.

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Monday, March 17, 2014

(aka St. Patrick's Day)

// 7:30 am

In which I began the day in a TERRIBLE NO GOOD VERY BAD mood.  Just like last month's post, I woke up to a surprise sinus infection.  I seriously hope this doesn't become a theme. "Happy St. Patrick's Day! Don't forget to record your day for the linkup!" read my alarm, unaware of the state of events. "You want to see my day? Here you go, world! Happy nothing to NO ONE!" I said to myself as I took the world's grumpiest selfie:

And then I did nothing. Seriously, NOTHING. 

I even contemplated skipping this post altogether, but Manda reminded me of the importance of sharing "accurate real life but no actually I mean THIS IS MY REAL LIFE, SOMETIMES IT'S BORING" with the world. She's right. I mean, this is it. Sometimes I'm sick and I don't have it in me to get up and soldier on. Sometimes I give into the aches, pains, and melancholia and pull the covers back over my head.

So that's what I did. I took stock of my sore, swollen throat, my pounding head, and the buzzing in my ears. "Fine. Do what you must." And I gave in to the fatigue that seemed heavier by the minute.

// most of the day

I slept. When I woke up occasionally, this was my view.

// 5:00 pm

After what was either the world's longest nap with short breaks, or like 5 mini naps, I rallied enough to readjust my attitude.

"How fortunate am I that I don't have kids to take care of, or responsibilities that can't wait til another day? How lucky am I that I have a warm bed, a view of the sky, and people who love me? HOW UNGRATEFUL AM I BEING RIGHT NOW, ON A SCALE OF ONE TO JUSTIN BIEBER?"

Disgusting, self. Be happy about the big things. And the little things. And the medium things.  Be happy for all the things that were in this day to bring you joy. 

For example, evidence of life in my container garden. There are tiny sprouts in the lavender and rosemary pots, and my little succulent transplants are holding on. The Winter That Will Never End can't hold us down.

And look, perfect time to crack into a new book. It's quite good, one of those odes to Jane Austen (this one loosely based on Sense and Sensibility), but with a biting modern tone.

Also, one of my favorite things: snail mail. It's a save the date postcard. So lovely, I'm displaying it on my desk instead of tucking it into my datebook.  Obviously, I'm more excited about the impending nuptials than the card itself. I've known J & S since high school and it fills me with glee to think of two such awesome people getting ready to spend the rest of their lives together. And that they want me to attend! I always feel so honored when people invite me to their wedding. I know it's a huge deal deciding on the guest list, not wanting to leave people out, but also not wanting a massive circus.  That's not to say I feel slighted when I'm not included, I completely understand, but I always get a thrill when I am.

And finally, a chance to watch a film I've had on my list for awhile now. The Well-Digger's Daughter, directed by Daniel Auteuil, starring himself as the well-digger and Àstrid Bergès-Frisbey as, well, his daughter.  Set in pre-war rural France, it's a sweet, simply told story about a man, Pascal, struggling to come to terms with the complicated choices of his oldest daughter, Patricia.  There are plenty of emotional conversations in living rooms and picturesque wheat fields, hapless but charming supporting characters, and scenes involving the train station. Basically everything I need in a French film.

There are loads of other things that cheered me up yesterday, like a sandwich on pretzel bread (SO DELICIOUS), a hug from my little brother, a glimpse of sunshine, indulging in a lovely bubble bath with part of a Christmas Eve bubble bar from LUSH, and lots of quiet time.  I didn't take any more pictures after that, but I went to bed with a grateful heart.

And even though the war in my sinuses rages on, I woke up today with a much better attitude.

How was your day, friends?

A Day in the Life: February 2014

This post is part of the series of a monthly linkup hosted by Manda at Break the Sky, where bloggers record a day in their life.

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Friday, February 7, 2014

(aka Spencer's 11th Birthday)

// 7:30 am 

In which I woke up after a terrible night to day three of a bad cold/the plague, feeling worse instead of better. So grumpy.

This is a new thing I just started called the 20% selfie. 20% is all you get to see of me on a sick day.

// 8:00 am

In which I dragged myself downstairs but stopped in the living room to admire the sun coming up in the backyard.

10 Questions I Asked My Mother

Anne Victoria

Last week, Cupcakes and Cashmere shared a link to this blog post on Clementine Daily, which contains ten thoughtful questions you should ask your mother. I thought this was a genius idea. Even though I live with her at the moment, our daily conversation revolves around the mundane details of life.  It was nice to sit down and have an honest and meaningful conversation with each other.

First, here's a little background information on my mother.  Her father Linwood (known also as Fred) was a principled go-getter who left his native Canada after a short courtship to marry Ethel her mother, a vibrant and fun-loving Bostonian.  They made quite a pair, Fred and Ethel.  They settled in the suburbs of Boston, Massachusetts and by 1959 had two dark-haired bright-eyed children born on the same date, exactly three years apart. Then in 1964 along came Anne, my mother. Mom was a quiet and bookish child, a shy and sweet soul with strawberry blond hair. She loved to read and play the piano and after high school went to Katherine Gibbs Secretarial School in Boston.  She married my Dad in 1985.

(Top) Chubby cheeks. Aside from the red hair, my sister looked just like this in her baby pictures.

(Bottom) Wasn't my mom such a cutie? (Please excuse the vaguely disapproving doll next to her. Toys in the '60s were a bit creepy.)

Now on to the questions!

A Day in the Life: January 2014

Hello friends!! Today's post was prompted by Manda over at the Break the Sky.  She's hosting a monthly link-up, where bloggers can share a peek into their everyday lives. I had fun documenting my day!
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Tuesday, January 14, 2014

 // 8:00 am - alarm

In which I opened my eyes, saw no conceivable reason for arising at that moment, rolled over and went back to sleep.

// 9:00 am - alarm #2

In which I opened my eyes again. Decided there was no conceivable reason why I should still be in bed, and got up.  Pondered life's questions in the shower.  Admired the monochrome color palette in my favorite corner of my bedroom.

(I had a sparkly gold starburst mirror hanging over my bed but it fell down one night and stabbed me in the head while I was sleeping so that mirror is in timeout until I'm done being angry with it, so possibly forever.)

// 9:30 am - breakfast

In which I consumed Raisin Bran, a clementine, a pot of earl grey tea (in my ADORABLE Anne of Green Gables teapot), and the daily crossword.

// 10:00 am - hair

In which I spent an amount of time (that normal people would ready themselves entirely in) attempting to copy a hairstyle I saw on Pinterest. 

Not bad, self.

// 10:30 am - dress

In which I admonished myself for having wasted most of the morning. 

If we're talking about fashion plates, I'm the blue plate special. I've got J. Crew tastes on a Target budget. #thestruggle

Button-down: Old Navy

Tshirt: Hanes

Jeans: Old Navy

Flats: Gap Outlet

Bag: ShoeDazzle

// 10:45 am - work-ish

In which I procrastinated by searching work exchange programs in Europe and then tweeting about it.  And then when that was done, I fiddled about with my resume, followed up on job applications, wrote some emails, and applied for more jobs. Finally gave in and updated my SitterCity nanny profile because desperate times, people. 

// 1:00 pm - lunch

In which I ate turkey, avocado, lettuce, and mustard on multigrain. I forgot to take a picture but it was just a sandwich so I trust you know what that looks like.

// 2:00 pm - crafts

In which I finished a couple of birthday cards and took some photos of a project for an upcoming DIY post. 

(Not sharing those because you'll see them on the blog on Friday.)

// 3:00 pm - errands

In which I stood in line at the post office for approximately 6 days, was treated to a rendition of "Endless Love" by a gentleman in sweatpants at the Dollar Tree, made it to the bank before realizing I left my check at home, and a stop at the grocery store where I discovered that I'm secretly 80 years old.

(Gluten free crackers, goat cheese, two boxes of tea, two cans of soup, a package of chicken, and FiberOne granola bars. All that's missing is the prune juice.)

// 6:00 pm - supper

In which I ate baked chicken in a salad with a roasted sweet potato half.

// 7:30 pm - Starbucks

In which I stopped by for a bit of hot chocolate, reading, planning, and hipster-y Instagram pictures. Also to distract my friend Kimberly while she was working. We may or may not have planned an entire party while she was on break. Yes we did.

// 10:00 pm - bedtime stories

In which I answered the day's question from Q & A a Day, reread parts of Relish: My Life In the Kitchen (super cool graphic memoir/cookbook), and studied Ezekiel 3.

// 11:30 pm - sleep

In which I turned out the light and thought about pleasant things so I would have good dreams.

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Tell me, what did January 14th look like for you? I'd love to hear!