Whatever

I have nothing to write, except that's not true at all.  There are at least four post in the back of my head, which seem to be less significant as the weeks go on.  Instead, I'm huddled in bed, scrunched up Kleenex surrounding me, medicine cups sticky with strangely colored liquids, an old tennis sweatshirt with stretched sleeves on, watching horribly good pilots from the 90s on the laptop, needing to put in earplugs because I can't hear from the computer speakers, exhausted, pumping fluids into my body, and hoping that I'll have a few hours of energy during my days off. 

The last two days have been the kind of days that seep into your bones.  You don't realize how hard they are until you come to the end of the day and feel that achiness.  You pushed through, you were tough, but the hard-ache still resonates.   Work has been tough, and it seems like death is following me inside and out of it.  So, I made a decision to ask for help yesterday on my commute home.  Find a replacement for tomorrow, if you can.  They could, and it was a good thing too because my immune system was under attack and I didn't even know it yet. 

Maybe my body is letting down its guard because it knows that I need to rest.  And nothing is better for it than three doses of Airborne and Crystal light in a large Smart Water bottle, hot hot hot baths, dinosaur chicken nuggets, and a stack of magazines that makes the girl at Safeway say, "Gee, that added up fast." 

I have three days off and I might spend 2.5 of them in bed, covered in feathers from a down comforter that has a hole chewed in one of its corner. 

It's okay though, I stapled it shut.  That's all I have energy to do right now. 


I might write more tomorrow.  Doubt it though.  If I do, then we can all be surprised.  

That picture has nothing to do with this.  But, you're welcome. 

In Praise of Kelle Hampton

There are few things that I believe in anymore.  That may sound cynical and rough.  It's not really like that.  Rather, there a sacred few things that I whole heartily, fully and completely raise my hand and swear on.  I believe that everyone should chronicle their life.  So that you are remembered by those who love you, those who may stumble upon your story someday, and most of all, yourself.  I believe in the power of Labrador retrievers, because they are the epitome of love wrapped up in a not too furry, not too coarse package.  I believe in working as hard as you can, making the sacrifices, and owning every decision you make.  I believe in loving yourself and striving for improvement without putting yourself down.  I believe that love changes everything that we do.  And I believe that we have to focus on the details in life, because they're better than anything else. 


A few years ago, I joined my mom and her friends for a ridiculously early breakfast, which always turns into a three hour morning of catch up.  They asked me, around four cups of coffee in, who do you consider your hero?  Children look up to sports figures,  we often look up to friends and family members in our lifetime, but who do you consider a role model in your life? 

Several months before that, I haphazardly typed words into a template, hoping to find my niche.  Trying to express how I feel while motivate myself to find something better in the day-to-day.  I stumbled upon a link that someone tried to sell as a religious or political message.  It wasn't that.  It was a link to all of those things I just talked about, with exception to the Labrador part.  It was a link to a lesson about life.  


I didn't know the outcome.  I knew as soon as I saw her too.  I didn't know anything about the author or her family.  Nothing about her story or anything that had happened prior to this post. 

And yet.  I think she made us feel that way.  I remember Sweet Disposition was playing in the background as I read, because playlist.com use to be really easy to use back then.  It was all so refreshing, even though it was laced with heartbreak and tears.  It was refreshing because it was honest.  And that's what I liked best. 


Fast forward to April, when this online world of the color yellow, scrunchy baby leg warmers, a good cup of coffee in the perfect mug, spontaneous ocean excursions, Fall freak flags, celebrations as small as a certain magazine coming in the mail to full circle in a delivery room, sunset silhouettes, chickens and cats on streets, picnics in Central Park with maryjane clad babies, Ingrid Michaelson lip syncing, fairy parties, $100,000 raised, $200,000 raised, duel blogging in Montana (this was my hands down favorite) all came into print, I just knew, I just knew it had to be shouted from the rooftops. 

So, I rearranged the front table at B&N every chance I could get.  Bought a special copy for the girl who was my "net" this last year.  Shared on instagram, on twitter, on facebook.


And threw a Bloom party. 

A simple party of eight.  An afternoon of food, laughter, tears, stories, and enjoying the small things.

Ok, let me get the food part out of the way, because I rocked that.  Then, I'll get back to the point. 

If you have not had the combination of watermelon, grilled shrimp, prosciutto, grapefruit juice, red onion, and feta, you need to make that happen. 

A half an hour before the guests arrived, I hurriedly scribbled discussion questions down on yellow paper.  We passed a vase around the table and shared.  Everyone picked the question that seemed to be meant for them, I'm not sure how, but it happened that way. 

And of course, there were bucket lists. 



Can you tell that's mine?

One shared her bucket list, filled with adventures that many of us were too scared to even think of.  She spoke of the daughter she lost, who was never afraid of anything, who's hair had been every shade of the rainbow, who brought so much laughter and greatness into this world.  On her bucket list, skydiving was absent because she did that last week.  Her daughter, who was never afraid of anything, was a constant reminder to live larger, live louder, and to not be afraid of jumping. 

Another shared that her granddaughter was her inspiration.  And that she would like to meet Hugh Jackman someday.  That was followed with a collaborative amen. 

Some spoke of heartache, of losing family from illness or anger.  How they have moved on in their life, making sure not to repeat the same behaviors, and to use it as a reminder to practice love.  One mentioned how a divorce was devastating, but out of those ashes rose a new love, a new family, a new lease on life. 

Others, started and stopped when tears filled their eyes.  Tears of happiness, tears of loss, tears for the grateful moments that they couldn't express.  We all understood.  We all had a moment like that. 

Together, several shared the story of one who could not attend the party due to prior obligations.  But, this book really meant the world to her. Twenty five years ago, she had a baby prematurely after a horrible birthing experience.  They didn't know if he was going to make it, or if he was going to be healthy.  The cord wrapped around his neck three times, the doctors were sure he was going to be brain dead.  She had a 18 month at home, a husband at a brand new job, and a newborn with third degree burns around his neck from that tight cord, so deep he still has scars.  He is healthy.  He is perfect.  He is thriving.  But the experience of that birth, of those six months in the NICU, of having to hire a nanny because you were on bedrest an hour away because you started contractions at 20 weeks, so severe that a nurse put a fist inside of you to stop the baby from coming as fast as he did, all of that was still so fresh. 

She said this book was cathartic for her. 

That after 25 years, it gave her closure. 

That Nella's story, was Josh's story. 

Kelle's story was her own. 

As if she was meant to read this book. 

It healed her. 

I threw a Bloom party because I sobbed reading this book.  I threw a Bloom party because each new post is like that little piece of dark chocolate you're suppose to treat yourself to each day.  I threw a Bloom party because I was this depressed twenty something, searching for a better life, eager to learn how to connect with this world and make something of my soul. 

I threw a Bloom party because we have this one, wild and precious life. 

If you google Kelle Hampton, it takes you to her site.  And it takes you to negative blogs written by people who seem to need to write about why they wouldn't be her friend, or how her life is fabricated, or just plain annoying.  They pop up because her fans have defended her.  I was going to title this "In defense of Kelle Hampton", but that's fuelling the fire.  We shouldn't give light to that negativity.  We shouldn't acknowledge that kind of behavior, because that's not what we're about. 

Maybe they just don't understand it all.  Or maybe they don't need her inspiration yet. 

I threw a Bloom party because this life is not about religion, politics, mudslinging, gossiping, climbing the ladder, out-earning, winning, crossing things off lists, or the next best thing.  It is about the here and now.  It is about being your best self.  It is about inspiring others to be their best self.  How can I change your life and how can you change mine?  What can I help you with and how can you be there for me?  This life is about sharing our stories, focusing on the beauty around us, learning from the lessons that we will face, loving yourself and those you get to meet.  It is about turning a disappointment into a challenge, and from a challenge into a blessing. 

There are few things that I believe in. 

Kelle Hampton is one of them. 

The Busy Life

I'm meaning to write more. I really am. The last two days I visioned sitting at the desk, hot tea in hand, legs folded on a black chair covered in dog hair, while I wrote about how I feel, how I act, how I dream, what I want in life.

But tonight, I'm sitting in a torn booth at our favorite bar, pink tennis shoes on, hair in a pony tail, eating perfectly fried chips with green salsa, sharing a pitcher of beer with K.

The bikers are going to have a surprise birthday party tonight. Tomorrow, we're going to a friends lake house, and Sunday is the bloom party.


I've been meaning to write more. But life is too busy to leave for a bit. So a quick update in a bar on the blogger app will have to do for now. I won't make promises of when I'll check in next. It's the cusp of Summer and it's just too good to quit right now.

Happy Summer.

Year Three

I've been writing this post in my head, typed out half of it two nights ago, and purposely deleted it just now.  Maybe I'm putting too much pressure on myself to write something grand.  Maybe nothing I've ever written is that grand.  That isn't the point.  We were watching the Olympics this weekend, and I thought, to get that perfect score, you just have to block your mind out, and not think about anything you're doing.  Only wake up a little bit later and realize that you were semi-conscious.  That's with anything: music, writing, working under pressure, and most of all life.  Because, when you really think about what you're doing, you're getting rid of all that natural stuff. 


Tonight I wrestled with just reading, or blogging, or reading blogs.  I'll end up blogging in my head when I read, or drive, or work.  Then it disappears when I put it to pen, or record it outloud.  Lately, there is a disconnect with what is flowing in my mind and what shows in type.  Which makes me think that I'm probably doing a good job witnessing my own life, becoming more self-aware, and putting into practice what I'm trying to accomplish.  Or, my mind is just too busy that I'm not able to achieve that sort of back of the mind writing.  Its like playing the piano.  If I close my eyes, and not think ahead of the notes, it all comes back to me.  The fingers connect with the brain, or maybe the memory of how I use to play.  If I close my eyes and type, and not think about the mistakes that I'll make with spelling or punctuation, then I'll just write from the soul and not second guess what I'm trying to say. 


There are moments when I purposely do something so that I can write it down and share.  There are others when I think, stop taking pictures and just record this in your mind.  If its really important, you'll remember it someday.  This blog is the middle ground for all that.  Sometimes its about adventures that I commit to online, other times its about memories that I can write about and save for a later memory.  But, most of all, it is an atlas of 24 through 27.  Important, significant years, full of mostly average days, lessons, celebrations, and travels. 

Today, I witnessed one achieve a milestone in age, while another slipped far beyond this world.  Across the hall, she donned with pink balloons and flowers, and she with a wash cloth across her head and Sinatra singing her into Heaven. It wasn't something that I haven't experienced before, but I was just taken back at the comparison of the day.  I knew cake was being served any minute, and I also knew that a soul was preparing itself that same afternoon.  What a cross-road of life.    We all are responsible for our own lives and how it will be carried out.  And we are responsible to inspire others with their own.  

I started this blog because I was homesick and incredibly depressed.  And by writing mostly about my dogs, an often glamorized version of my homestate, the things I wanted for myself out of life, and the feelings that I experienced along the way, I have transformed.  Depression isn't even a consideration anymore.  It isn't seasonal.  It isn't a diagnosis that I'd consider to put down.  Instead, I know that most days, I push myself to be ever present, whether totally conscious-to-the-moon-in-love-with-life, or that semi-conscious, you're doing a perfect job without even realizing it. 

Because maybe I want the balloons and the Sinatra at the end.  It might just be that kind of life. 

Happy Anniverary Blog. 

Road More Travelled

Tonight, I walked one block over to my very first home.  We use to be able to cut through the trees and walk into the past.  The trail is long gone now. 

And of course, when you happen to walk onto a street that's connected to any kind of your past, you start thinking.  First, how everything looks the same; second how everything looks different.  That's a little bit of what we experience daily here.  The streets are the same, some wider now, some connect to others that they didn't before, but they are still familiar.  The mountains are the same mountains, but boy do they look better now after you left them for a little while.  The trees are taller; some have grown so tall that they lean.  But, in each and every leaf, you can find a memory. 

As I walked that lane tonight, past neighbors houses and a field that is taller than I ever was when I lived next door, I couldn't help but think about where we've been and where we're going.  We're not entirely sure about the latter, and we still process and reprocess the former.  While we may not have a clear cut plan in place for the next six months, other than work, work, work, we can agree on one thing.  We have come far.   In nine months, we got married, got another dog, quit a job, lost a grandparent, put a house up for sale, said good-bye for now to friends, moved across the country, got a new job, moved in with my parents, learned all we could about a new community, and everything else in between. 

Through it all, we remained rock solid.  K is intent on making this place his home, and that really makes all the difference.  He is positive, he is determined, he is patient, and he is willing to give this a try.  He's a pillar of strength.  This has given me the freedom to rediscover this land that I love.  He is much better than I ever was in Pennsylvania.  But maybe I'm happier here, and that makes it easier on him. 

When we look back on this time in our young marriage, I know that we will realize what a challenge this time may have been.  We have only the rings on our fingers and a box of wedding photos to tie us to that day.  Every other memento of our love is still on a Pod in PA.  Daily we stand in disbelief at the amount of dog hair around us, consuming our tiny living arrangement.  We still have not figured out how to store our clothing so that we can find what we need.  I still feel like I have to tell my parents what time we'll be home in the evening.  And no matter how many times mom goes to bed at 8, I know that K will never get his fill of Sports Center here. 

 

Someday, we'll walk down a similar path.  We'll reminisce and reflect on this experience.  And, much like that old, brown house that use to feel so big, it will look so small in comparison. Important, necessary for the life that we will one day grow into, but still smaller than we remember. 

The Fourth: An Instagram Post

This weekend will be spent at work, but that's okay.  Maybe its because the last two days at home were kicked off with our favorite holiday.  Or maybe its because today I dug around in the dirt, met the ice cream man at the end of our driveway (Summer list!), sat in a beauty parlour for two hours catching up with my mom's stinkin cute friends, and then came home and took a dusky stroll with the dogs.  I'm getting good at putting quality in my days off, which makes the next three days already seem like a piece of cake. 


But, back to the holiday.  As a fellow pyromaniac, I love the 4th the best.  Maybe its the Americana-ness of it all: the waving of flags in front of houses, desserts with only red white and blue decorations, and people quoting "Proud to be an American" on facebook all day.  This holiday has always stuck out in my head.  When we were younger, we'd venture to a family friend's house, eat fresh steamed clams with lots of butter, and watch our engineer fathers create makeshift firecracker dangling devices over the sound, knowing we'd have to rake them up the next morning.  In highschool, I distincly remember sitting on a canoe with two of my guy friends motioning for me to cover my ears and watch out as they launched mortars into the sky above us.  And lately, it was as simple as a caulde-sac performance of ten dollar fountains as we sat in lawn chairs in front of our house. 


That's all I wanted this year. So, I was very honored when my dad handed me money for fireworks and clear instructions. 

No spinners. No Pistol Pete's.  No Bees.  Fountains.  Dog friendly? Sparklers.  Parachutes.


This year it was my job to gather the goods. 

And let me just tell you it was good.  Until it wasn't.  We brought four chairs to the circle, I ran back and forth lighting fountains.  The parachutes went in the trees, of course.  The neighbors gathered around, eager to shoot off their own goods, which in no way compared to my haul. 

Everything was going fine and dandy.

I lined the fountains up in order, saving something called "Pink Diamond" for last.  I shot off this tall fountain, which showered blue and white sparks overhead.  It was beautiful.  It was buy one get one free.


Save that one for the finale!  My family shouted.  The neighbors continued to shoot off lousy bottle rockets.  Most of them didn't fire correctly.

So Pink Diamond was lit second to last. 

For the finale, I lit the tall one and ran back.  Camera on phone ready to capture some of those beautiful blue and white. 

Boom, shower. Boom, shower.  Boom, nothing.


It was good until it wasn't. 



The damn thing tipped over. 

Boom, neighbor to the right's garage. 

Boom, up the street, past the neighbors with the faulty bottle rockets. 

Boom, into the forrest. 

And, Boom, neighbor to the left's garage and almost their children. 

Sigh. 

(This was Boom #3)

We can all laugh at it now.  No one got hurt.  It rains here and so the trees did not burst into flames. We cleaned the scorch marks off neighbor to the right's garage door immediately with bleach. 

And we went right inside after that. 

A little while later, we sat around a controlled fire in the backyard, listening to the fireworks in the distance.  K was amazed by the noise.  It was a bit of a culture shock. 

To me, it was comforting.  Familiar.  And, all pending lawsuits aside, so very Fourth of July. 

Bring on the Rain

July.


I mean, really, its July already? I just mean, wow, we've made it to July.  In January we packed up a house and in February we drove across the country.  In March, we started to settle into a groove; in April we started to explore; May we started working; June we started saving and planning, and now its July. 

That's unbelieveable.


Right now, it is 100 degrees where we use to live.  As I type, rain falls for the third day in a row outside.  It is no where near the Summer that I have experienced for four years.  This time last year, we were jumping in the Atlantic, dining on cannolis and soft shell crab, and generally wondering what was going to happen.  It was hot day and night, and it was so quintessential Summer.  Brightly colored umbrellas on the beach, salt water taffy, walking the boardwalk with sand caked sandals as teenagers on bikes rode by, Guidos with funnel cakes and corn dogs, the same top 40 song playing over and over, and the ocean horizon in the background.  We are certainly in a different reality right now. 


But, do not misunderstand me.  I am not complaining.  That experience will always be with us and there will be plenty of opportunities to have that back again.  Someday we will find our own version of Ocean City on the West Coast, and although I can guarantee it won't come with a B&B two inches from the boardwalk, it will have its own characteristics. 

In fact, not only am I not complaining, I have said outloud that I do not care if it rains all Summer.

Because it doesn't matter if it does.  We will work around it. 

It started raining on Friday, as I had just arranged chairs around the perfectly prepared fire.  Instead of moving the party inside, we improvised.

And as it turned out, chairs moved under a maple leaf canopy made things even better. 


It is still somewhat of an out of body experience being here.  Most of our belongings are sitting in a Pod in Pennsylvania, and I can only pray the warehouse is properly air conditioned.  We dream about how we will make our mark in this new land, but know that we have to pace ourself.  We are eager to branch out immediately, to have a place to call our own.  Its tempting to jump right in, but this economy and the uncertainties that come with life are slowing us down a bit.  Someday we will pat our old, younger selves on the back for this kind of responsiblity, but right now it can be frustrating. 

Still, we improvise again.  Clean off a couple of shelves in the makeshift room we've habitated.  Make that small space our own.  Or spend a Sunday afternoon tucked inside the room, with one dog who agreed to join us.  Rainy days make it easier to get away with this kind of behavior. 

It may not look like we expected it to in July, inside or out.  Gosh, it went by so fast.  We probably never expected it to look like this for us now when we sat in white rocking chairs, drinking god-awful Bud Light with lime, last July.  The idealistic bride in me probably figured we would have a new couch, wedding linens adoring our bed and the guest room, dinner on our new plates, and wine poured in our stemware.  We would go to concerts and travel, come home each night and talk about our day, and pop in the latest television show that we were catching up on.  We'd have dinner parties with themes, get to buy nice clothes when we wanted to, and have the careers we always dreamed of .  And for sure, we would be spending this weekend at the beach, with that elderly couple who makes a reservation a year in advanced for the ocean view room with the balcony.  For sure. 

This though, this is better. 

It makes us appreciate all of those little things more.  Like a Sunday afternoon nap, or how great it feels to wear a sweatshirt at night this time of the year.  We don't have the ocean in front of us, or sand between our toes, but seagulls are a daily sighting and I much prefer skipping rocks into the Puget Sound. 

And bigger than that, it will make us grateful when we can make a home and spend an entire weekend doing nothing.  I will love my stemware even more that I will drink orange juice in them. 


It does rain a lot here.  But here's the kicker:  we know why that's an important thing.  It makes the earth greener, it hushes the world around you and forces you to take your talents inside (or under the trees).

And above all, it makes you remember the sunny days even more.