Tokens of Thanks

On the brink of waking this morning, as I dreamt of having a Meg Ryan haircut (from When Harry Met Sally) a phone message woke me fully. I popped up from bed quickly reading that my old friend Lindsay was asking me to write a In Memoriam/Obituary for her mentor and friend who was expected to pass away in just hours from breast cancer. She said she would send information to include.

My initial thought was, "of course." Then followed up by, "I don't know how to do this!" There was a part of me that wanted to cheer Lindsay on saying, "you know her best, you can do this." But then I knew, she was asking for help and know how or not, I had to. I imagined Susan in her bed and Lindsay and other family next to her. I imagined a host of angels in the room too. Then, because I knew I couldn't alone, I asked to borrow her angels. I asked them to help me write something that paid homage to her incredible spirit, that even not meeting her, I sensed.

Lindsay is my oldest friend. In second grade, we were best friends in Ms. Zemba's class. Our greatest glory together that we still talk about is winning the 3-legged race at the end of the year field day.We practiced for weeks after school and on the weekends for that race. I moved  to Indiana after second grade and Lindsay and I lost touch until ninth grade in high school. On the first day of school back in Florida, we were sat next to each other in History class and were amazed to be reunited after so many years.


After college, we both were busy living our lives but through Facebook, I saw that Lindsay seemed to be living life to the fullest, traveling the world and always doing fun activities. I also noticed that she had co-founded a foundation called the Smiley Wiley Breast Cancer Foundation with and for a dear friend of hers, Susan.

Last year, while in Denver interviewing for a job, Lindsay and I spent the day together, rehashing and catching up on the events of our lives in the past five years. It was then that I learned first hand from Lindsay what an impact Susan has made in her life. Only she can really say all that Susan has given her, but from my point of view, she taught her how to live life fully. How to run a business, how to value the outdoors and every single breath we have here. Over the past year, I've heard of Lindsay accompanying Susan to Baltimore while she received treatment.

I guess my point in writing this is to express my admiration for Lindsay. For being the definition of a friend to Susan. For having the courage to face death, and walk a friend down that path. For having the ambition to start a foundation to do good for others in the midst of setting up her own State Farm agency. Twenty eight has hardly looked so wise.

This comes at the time of year when we give Thanks for all that we have; for all of the people in our lives that make us smile in shared joy and  for those who walk the path of tribulation next to us. A time to give Thanks for the rising and setting sun and moon to anchor our days and nights. A Thanks for life, all of it.

For more information on the foundation that Lindsay and Susan created, visit: www.smileywiley.org

Susan and Lindsay having fun

Freedom is underrated

Every person needs a fun, fearless female in their life. Or multiple. Now that I ponder it, 99% of females are fun and fearless in one way or another. Take A.Jo for example.

A.Jo- 28 years old. Denver resident. Loves to dance. Drinks no caffeine, does like bloody mary's at brunch. Recently not single. Created a life bucket list a few short months ago- which included "travel to Spain."

Where is A. Jo today? Last reported on a train from Barcelona to Spanish wine country. Companions? zero. =)

(prologue: A.Jo asked her girlfriends to join her (me included) on her Spain adventure and by from some power from beyond, I resisted, along with the others. I insisted on her going alone. I'm a real fan of a person doing at least one travel solo. Because the thing is, you are rarely alone! You meet friends- almost immediately! And you have a better chance of meeting new friends if you bring no present ones along. A.Jo went to Spain with herself, and that's all.)

On day 2, due to the connectivity of it all, I received a message from A.Jo. Me on my phone, she, on hers. (love ya technology)


A.Jo: Hola!!
Me: Hola mi bonita chica! How is it?!!
A.Jo: so amazing! traveling alone is not for the weak-willed but what a great experience!

• I met some awesome people today at a park, they invited me over for cava and homemade paella at their place....sooo yummy! I'll have to make it for us. Now I am changing my plans on the fly and going to wine country for the next couple of days
• freedom is really underrated
• :)
  it's amazing....you just ask a stranger to take your picture and the next thing you know you are friends :) 
  
  
  The rest of the conversation was equally exciting ( at least on her end) I did my best to hold up my end of the convo, speaking of exciting things like...the snow is falling and I'm getting ready to go carve pumpkins. It's funny, I wonder if A.Jo even remembered a thing called Halloween- probably (and hopefully) not, because she has been transferred to another time, to another place, where perhaps little exists but the moment (ok, and her boyfriend waiting for her in Denver.) A.Jo knows freedom. There's something about going to another country, where things are done so differently, where the things that matter here don't mean a thing there. Where the worries we worry don't exist.... at all. When you return home, you bring a bit of that with you. You realize that many things we do and think, are a choice. Some are choices made by the culture, the society (how many hours a day people work, what is served for breakfast) and some are very personalized choices. But, in some form, we are all travelers each day, sometimes alone, other times with companions...learning and exploring.
  
  
  Which brings me to my favorite quote these days (like I want to paint it on my wall...)
  
  
  "Life is pure adventure and the sooner we realize that, the quicker we will be able to treat life as Art." -Maya Angelou
  
  
  

  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  

keds: a self reclaimed

at some moments, it feels necessary to materialize an inner finding.
at new seasons, it becomes necessary to shop for foot coverings that keep toes toasty.

this day of cold and gloom was fitting. the past few days have been a melancholy kind of spree. these fall leaves falling, it seems a part of myself also expired and fell away. and while some things are necessary- we really don't always choose. it seems sometimes we are a prisoner to our moods- at least it is my fate somedays.

this melancholy spree has been the mainstay and I really wondered if perhaps this mood was to stay, was to move right in and set up shop. And surrenderingly so, I dragged my melancholy self down to the store to find a decent foot covering, namely shoes for the cooler months.

i eyed some converse- i've always fancied those starry sneakers. i wondered about them... they even had plaid ones. which made me consider...but in the end, when the facts are faced, no, they aren't me- melancholy or not. there were also 'simples.' seeing those sneakers brought me right back to middle school. jessica horal wore simples. jessica was the coolest girl in the whole school and probably the whole world in 1994. i faced it back then and i squarely faced it today- i am not a 'simple' sneaker gal, i am no jessica horal, i.......

wear keds.

i was a ked girl. straight up keds. the fact is... i am still a ked girl. maybe i've always been a ked girl. if fetuses came out wearing shoes, we can put 20 on red that i would have been wearing me some nice clean keds with my birthday suit.

and there they were. in the very back of the store, very back. which suits me just find because me and my keds could become reacquainted in private. seeing them on the shelf, my heart skipped a beat, but my mind followed up my heart with a naggy- 'you wore those in middle school, you've outgrown them.' for a second I agreed with my mind, but my heart still wanted me to try them on at least. and, just like the olden days, they fit.
to a T.

and in that moment, a large chunk of my melancholy dissolved as a part of my self was reclaimed. those keds reminded me of a simple part of me that i left in 8th grade. my old is new again. a ked self reclaimed.

until today i thought that i hated middle school, which i pretty much did. i survived those years. merely survived. i never fell into the fads. they were so not me i couldn't even fake it. i wasn't a surfer girl, or a skater girl. i had NO boobs. my hair was dishwater blonde and terribly wavy. i wore straight jeans and striped v-neck shirts....everyday i'm mostly sure. jason hoyos sat behind me in advanced science class and had no clue i existed, despite my undying love for him. all the cool kids rode their bikes to school or walked and smoked cigarettes under "the tree." i rode the bus, in front. i survived, making it thru the days so my real life could begin, when i could talk on the phone with LL or Barey- my 2 best friends from elementary school that, by the evil doing of it all, went to seperate middle schools. Every night we talked on the phone, eating Doritos and drinking Coke, dreaming of all things we would do when we were old- like sit at Paris cafe's at night time.

until today, middle school was 'the lost years.' but in fact, i do believe that they weren't lost years, i only left an important part of myself back there. the self that today, by virtue of memories brought about by keds foot coverings, i reclaimed. 

let the leaves fall, and with them, any pieces that no longer fit. let the cool air chip away to find the simple and true.
back to basics.

House cleaning is best done wearing heels

A few weeks back, AMC and I visited the quirky and lovable town of Austin, Texas, to visit AMC's Uncle Phil. While there, it was sweltering hot. Sweltering. I have spent a good amount of my existence living in Florida so I know heat, or at least I thought I did. Looking back now, I understand that the land of Austin was on the brink of some weather phenomenon, and I think we all instinctually knew it, but did our best in thinking that maybe if we were polite and didn't mention it, maybe Mother Earth would just decide to rain instead of burst into flames.... but as with all of life, we must trust that at this time, flames are necessary. So, on with the story here....

The purpose of this story is to give glory to HOUSEWORK. And, most importantly, the glory that housework can be had when one wears the appropriate accessories. While in Austin, I noticed a stunning vintage pair of earrings by the sink. Being the trained and skilled antique shopper that I am- I know a good pair of vintage earrings when I see them, and well, the temptation to touch and try on is always too hot to handle and so I tried them on and wore them. Phil, being the flamboyant lover of men that he is, saw them and enthusiasticly announced that

"doing dishes is always more fun wearing jewelry. and so is paying bills. And cleaning is best done in heels!"

And isn't this true?! A friend of mine growing up had a mother who kept a beautiful house. It was always perfectly clean. Her mother made cleaning into an event, and most events call for a cheers and a toast, so her mother cleaned and drank wine. And LL's Minerva Mommy opened all of the windows in the house and blared Madonna's Immaculate Collection tape (yes, like cassette:) and all of the kids in the neighborhood thought that LL's mom was "so cool."

Every so often we check the mail and something really really exciting happens. We notice a "fun" colored envelope in the mix, with real handwriting from someone we recognize (isn't it funny how we know someone by their handwriting?) and even sometimes, we open the mailbox and see MANILA!!!! Which was me, hours ago when I received a package from my Grams, my Patricia Grammie....my dear! And we all know when we get something from Patricia Grammie, we are in for a TREAT. She knows all about the tangible world- she knows the things that will make a girl squeal and just love this physical side of life. She knows that every girl who loves to be in the kitchen, dreams of aprons!

Along with the aprons came a note, explaining that my Grandma's Grandma (Eva) wore aprons, and so did my Grandma's mom (Grandma Church) and, since I've gotten the "baking itch" from my Grandma- I should be wearing aprons too. I suppose it's in our blood, which is a really good explanation of why on God's great earth my favorite magazine as a wee little thing was Better Homes and Gardens.

My senior year of high school I took a class where we created a vision board. We were instructed to cut out pictures from a magazine of the things we wanted in life. Oh, what I would do to see that board now, because all I remember is standing in front of the class, explaining the peaceful, beautiful home that I dreamt of. Remembering this dream of my 18 year old self makes me feel as if maybe I have accomplished something dear to my heart afterall... and maybe it isn't earth changing, but it sure is soul soothing, this creating a home. It turns out, that just want we've always wanted, is sometimes right under our nose....and is sometimes donned in an apron!

gender roles and planet earth

Getting down to the ground. That's what our girls camping trip was all about this past weekend. That wasn't the intention of course, but it certainly was the effect. aaah, there is nothing like gettin your lots o' dirt under your fingernails and sleeping with your spine to the earth's floor. It dawned on me there, by the lake, next to the fire, that I live an abundance of life "up in the air." And, I mean this most literally, which is to say, my feet are very rarely on the ground. I'm not too sure if this is bad, or good, or if there is anyway such a thing as bad or good, But, I'm mostly sure that 90% of my life in the past year has been spent hovering about 2.5 stories about earth-level. We live in a loft on floor 3. I work in an office on floor 2. My legs bicycle from the loft to the office. So....my two feet bear weight and allow locomotion on the earth for sometimes, maybe 20 paces a day. The desire to increase my amount of 'get down to earth' is what I learned personally this past weekend.

And here is what I learned about female human nature. Well, first, that there is a serious difference between He's and She's. And He's and She's have probably really not changed that much in lots of hundreds (thousands?) of years- at the core that is. I think Americans in general are pretty well independent in society, but, you throw 6 females out in the wilderness to live for a night and within one hours time, you have yourself a full-on commune. There is no independent action- and it's delightful! There is no urination happening alone, you walk through the woods in pairs to find neighboring trees. Why pee alone, when you can pee together? And when the course of corn on the cob is ready for eatin... you wait a good 20 minutes or more for the dog walkers to get back so, "we can eat the corn together."

But here is the proof that Women are still the Women (for some reason, capital W's seem appropriate) of yesterday......the campfire conversation of 6 women out in the great outdoors, for a good long stretch was about "crafting." That is just what the women have always done, right?!! Stayed in the "village" to cook at the fire, watch after the kiddos (dogs on this trip) and make craft items (blankets, baskets, jewelry). We are just the same today as we've always been. And you know what? if there were boys with us, I would put 20 on it that they would have been off hiking around the lake or playing some kind of game.... because that is what our hunters do!

So, this is a cheers to the natural roles of She's and He's. Us ladies- we shop (gather), we craft, we commune- it's our nature. Our men, they hunt, they play sports (to enhance their skills for hunting), they build things- it's their nature. And I like being a she, and I like loving a he. And, I'm pretty darn excited to explore getting down to earth in my city livin' life... somehow. sounds like a potential project to me. (let me know if you have any ideas!)

here is how we spent 99% of our time- 1. circle 2. eat. 3. talk.

Dannie shared her childhood tradition- campfire banana with chocolate, marshmallow and peanut butter

tent time while sky rain juice fell

us ladies 4 wheel drove up to the site!

theory: when it rains, get as close to the tree trunk as possible to stay dry (?)

note to self: always bring a rotisserie chicken

Grandmas and Scuba Diving Deals

A lot of the time, I think of being somewhere other than I am, which is very much against the zen-like "Chop wood, carry water." ( I'm working on it though:) ) I mean, if I were in Egypt looking at pyramids then really I'd be experiencing something, right? Or, if I were in Morroco having mint tea out of an ornate metal pot I'd be learning something about the world.... but tonight, I know that life and I are at the same speed.... for once. And you know what? I talked to 3 of the grandmothers in my life within about an hours time. 3 of them... in one night. This has never occured, and I didn't even piece this together until my fingers hit this keyboard. On the telephone first, I talked to my mothers mother, Patricia, after whom I am named. Who is my emotional mother. She birthed my emotional self, nurtured it, and continues to do so, and forever will. She taught me how to love with my fullest heart, and we are learning together that boundaries are just as loving as open gates.

As I was on the telephone with my mother's mother, I got a call waiting beep from my Father's Mother, Bonnie, or most officially, Bonita Christine (which she has always wished her real and first name was Christine, but aren't the rest of us just loving Bonnie?) beeped in to tell me that they would be at my house in 10 minutes to pick up their doggie from his city life vacation. I mean, how many times in my life has this grandma said, "my GPS says I'll be there in 10 minutes." How lovely a sound. And, she was- they were- my grandparents, at my door. My grandma Bonnie birthed my spiritual self. She taught me about the magic of the universe- how to listen for fairies, about the power of gemstones, took me to my first astrologer and that, most importantly, when you miss someone, if you concentrate very hard you can send them a kiss  that will feel like a butterfly on their cheek.

When I came back inside from seeing off my Grandma Bonnie, I noticed that AMC's Grandma Kathy called, probably to check on our (delightful) trip to Austin, Texas this weekend, which did in fact, turn out to be the purpose of her call. But, as usual with 2 ladies- turned into much more of a conversation of well, good ol' life- then and now. Grandma Kathy, I have a feeling, is birthing my familial self. I'll let you know when I know for sure but, my hunch is that Kathy is a teacher of constance, and this is probably my most foreign, and well, newer traits life has in store for me to adopt. Kathy has lived in the same house since 1953. Which means the same town, in the same neighborhood.

Both of my other grandmas have that bit of gypsy in them that I certainly do too. Gypsy life is not necessarily for everyone, but it is a comfortable way to exist when that is how you breathe. But just scuba diving, in order to explore a whole new world below, sometimes we can learn how to breathe in a different way. And, I am beginning to think that this very balance is what AMC and I are bringing to one another. I'll trade you a bit of gypsy, for a bit of constance. Deal? Deal.

"quiche"spirations

The other evening, I came to a realization over my quiche. I came into knowing not only how I love it so but also the heart strings it just tugs on. This love of mine for quiche, inspires me- to live a little larger. quiche that is, nudges me on to live that first class life, literally. It's always there for you when you need it. An omelette with a crust, I mean, how universal! It can be eaten at any moment--breakfast, brunch... even linner. While inhaling my brocolli cheddar quiche for dinner the other evening, all of my quiche filled memories flooded ye old brain, and I began to understand just why this quiche takes me to a lovely land. Eating outside at the Botanic Gardens with friends one evening, I felt positively European eating quiche with wine. Those two chums go well together, but then again, what doesn't with wine then, yes? Then I remembered the day I fell in love with quiche, for all of the feelings it inspires.

In my youngin' days, all of my school breaks were spent with my dear Dad, Jim-bo, and soulmate stepmom Mary Sue. Starting at age 6 when they moved to Colorado, I'd pack up my Jansport backpack full of notebooks, markers and books, say bye to my Mom and walk on down the jetway with an escort, who would sit me in my coach class seat. For one whole day of traveling, I was free to eat my Oreo's first and skip my fruit. I could use my emergency $20 on frozen yogurt with colored sprinkles and no one but my escort would know.

Florida to Colorado always required a layover in those days, usually in Ft. Worth, Texas. And in the winter, the weather would sometimes wreck havoc and on one spectacular occasion, this havoc was my haven. Here's how it all went down, and the quiche inspiration sprang up in my heart.

I was probably ripe old 8 or 9. I landed in Texas and there was a whole lotta commotion going on when my escort and I traveled through the airport on one of those beeping vehicles that move people through the airport slower than one could walk. When we arrived at my gate, something happened, it was cancelled, or delayed by a million years.... or just my angels delivering my days destiny. As a kiddo, I imagine, those airlines want you off of their responsibility list and into the safe, loving arms of any parent they can scrounge up, ASAP. So, they get you on plane, darnit, as soon as they can. This meant, NOW on that dear day. We sprinted through the terminal, "just like in Home Alone" I thought as I raced behind my escort and right up to a peaceful, empty gate where a pretty stewardess was waiting for me in front of the open door. The two responsible adults exchanged a quick report which included something about the plane being held for me and we had to HURRY! The hand off of papers occured and thru the breezeway we scampered and that pretty lady that looked liked Glinda the good witch, sat me in the very first seat that was open, which ladies and gentlemen, was in FIRST CLASS.

The plane moved away from the gate seconds later and I looked around stunned at the men in business suits around me that we much to busy reading their newspapers without any pictures (wall street journal?) to notice me. I didn't get to comfy at first because I thought for sure that when we were up in the air they would move me back to my "real' seat in coach. But, when the flight attendant came to me next, instead she asked what I wished to drink, and delivered my ginger ale in what just had to be "crystal," for sure. I could hardly contain my excitement about sitting up there in such luxury, but, I decided that I had to be my most mature and polite self, I had to pull off my princess power, and act like this was quite natural.

Glinda came next to take my meal order. Would I like French Toast or Quiche? Are you kidding? Even today this ranks as the hardest meal decision I could face. But, any princess would order Quiche of course, and so, I did. And out it came, with a cloth napkin and "crystal" salt and pepper shakers. I looked around as if to say to the neighbors around me, "are you seeing this?!" That in-flight meal was never so savored, so delicately eaten. My manners have probably never been so polished, as those moments with my first-class quiche.

And so the love endures.....