Today was a snow day! It never gets old. I had to drive in it anyway, but there is just something about major, debilitating snowstorms that make you think Mother Nature just wanted you to have the day off.
Even if you do have to go to work, you don't really work, if you know what I mean. Coffee breaks are longer, some people can't make it in, meetings are canceled . . . things are kind of slow. Plus, there's the knowledge that it's a SNOW DAY. That knowledge alone adds a whole new dimension
to the day. Makes it special somehow.
Snowdays and sledding and hot chocolate and unexpected excitement. Always a good thing, even when you're not in school.
Wednesday, March 6, 2013
Monday Funday
For the first time in my life, I have found myself looking forward to Mondays.
Until very recently my time has been dictated by school schedules or the traditional work week. Even between college and Peace Corps, when I was working as a waitress, it was still a "gear up" day.
Somehow over the past few months, Monday has turned into my day off. This is ironic because it's really not a day off - I work Monday nights. The apex of my week has shifted and now my busiest days are Friday-Sunday and Thursday is my gear-up day. Also ironic because Thursday really is my day off.
And yet somehow Monday has become my weekend. I don't workout and if I accidentally read all day, well . . . who cares? Not like it's the beginning of my week. Just like maroon is the new black (this season anyway), Monday is my new Saturday.
So here's to that obnoxiously cheery, hidy-ho-there-neighbor beginning of the week that I have finally accepted and yes, come to love. Because who can hate their Saturday? Even if it's really a Monday.
Until very recently my time has been dictated by school schedules or the traditional work week. Even between college and Peace Corps, when I was working as a waitress, it was still a "gear up" day.
Somehow over the past few months, Monday has turned into my day off. This is ironic because it's really not a day off - I work Monday nights. The apex of my week has shifted and now my busiest days are Friday-Sunday and Thursday is my gear-up day. Also ironic because Thursday really is my day off.
And yet somehow Monday has become my weekend. I don't workout and if I accidentally read all day, well . . . who cares? Not like it's the beginning of my week. Just like maroon is the new black (this season anyway), Monday is my new Saturday.
So here's to that obnoxiously cheery, hidy-ho-there-neighbor beginning of the week that I have finally accepted and yes, come to love. Because who can hate their Saturday? Even if it's really a Monday.
The End of the Ending 2/28-3/3
It’s
officially over. The family has come and gone, old photos (mostly) put away and
all the funeral food eaten.
So now what
do we do? My Grandma’s declining health, death and funeral has taken so much
time and energy that I’m not sure what we’re going to worry about from now on.
I actually saw my mom sit down today. Amazing!
I should
have something more eloquent to say about the final end of this ending but I
don’t. I’m too tired. Today my good thing is simply that it’s all finally
over.
Thursday, February 28, 2013
Bones and Smoke
It's the end of the day and I'm tired. My bones are slow and heavy and my brain feels like it's waving around in space watching it's own thoughts drift by.
Being tired today is nice. Today it means that I was productive, that my body fulfilled it's purpose and my mind stretched itself into new positions. Sometimes all my exhaustion signifies is difficulty and it hangs around my neck like cheap gold medal awarded for making it through the day. Other times it's just my mind that is weary and my body follows along only because it doesn't know what else to do. On rare occasions my limbs are utterly incapable of helping my thoughts achieve their goals and my mind is forced to give in to physical exhaustion. Rarely do I experience this perfect balance of tired (that word doesn't seem right) and even more rarely do I have the time to indulge in it.
So this combination is pleasant, almost like being on a drug. Its a warm place where my daydreams take on a realistic edge, still under my control but only just. A wrong note, an errant thought and BOOM I'm back on this side of reality.
I feel like it's these times when I have the best thoughts. Things float up and only the most interesting, most vivid, most fully formed and understood thoughts make it to realization. All the daily "do laundry", "was that the door?", "oh I need to . . . " thoughts simply drift by, acknowledged and seen, but not followed. It's like meditation but better because it happens naturally, at a point when everything has conspired to create a perfect state of conscious. It's the time of deep realizations and small epiphanies that may or may not be fully remembered later, but that leave imprints and faint perfume none the less.
Today every part of me is tired, body and mind. That is my good thing.
Being tired today is nice. Today it means that I was productive, that my body fulfilled it's purpose and my mind stretched itself into new positions. Sometimes all my exhaustion signifies is difficulty and it hangs around my neck like cheap gold medal awarded for making it through the day. Other times it's just my mind that is weary and my body follows along only because it doesn't know what else to do. On rare occasions my limbs are utterly incapable of helping my thoughts achieve their goals and my mind is forced to give in to physical exhaustion. Rarely do I experience this perfect balance of tired (that word doesn't seem right) and even more rarely do I have the time to indulge in it.
So this combination is pleasant, almost like being on a drug. Its a warm place where my daydreams take on a realistic edge, still under my control but only just. A wrong note, an errant thought and BOOM I'm back on this side of reality.
I feel like it's these times when I have the best thoughts. Things float up and only the most interesting, most vivid, most fully formed and understood thoughts make it to realization. All the daily "do laundry", "was that the door?", "oh I need to . . . " thoughts simply drift by, acknowledged and seen, but not followed. It's like meditation but better because it happens naturally, at a point when everything has conspired to create a perfect state of conscious. It's the time of deep realizations and small epiphanies that may or may not be fully remembered later, but that leave imprints and faint perfume none the less.
Today every part of me is tired, body and mind. That is my good thing.
Wednesday, February 27, 2013
What's on Your Nalgene?
I remember when nalgene bottles first got popular. I was in high school and all of a sudden everyone was walking around with these indestructible, multicolored water bottles.
There were a few different ways you could rock the nalgene look. You could go sporty, with the mouth guard and some kind of team logo detailed on the side. Some kids used them to disguise various, non-water liquids that were not approved for consumption in school (or any other time you might be under 21). Once the all-star pitcher of our baseball team earned a place in sport legend by breaking one into bits against a wall after a particularly hard loss.
The coolest look though - the shining example of everything a nalgene was supposed to be - was the nicked, scratched, beat to shit bottle covered in exotic stickers. I wanted one like that. Everyone wanted one like that. That bottle had been places. That bottle had stories. That bottle belonged to someone who did those things, and that person was everything I wanted to be. Confident, traveled, fit, compelling. Enigmatic.
Today during my workout I looked at my water bottle and for the first time, I saw a nicked, scratched, beat to shit bottle that has stories. And damn, is that true! That nalgene has traveled through most of Eastern Europe with me. It has a stamp from Ukraine, a sticker from my university, the Austrian flag, a smiley face from a summer job, a hiking sticker from the Czech Republic, and stickers from most countries I've been in. It's been dunked in rivers, stayed out in the rain, used as a paperweight and served as random game pieces. It's held lots of things besides liquid and has started many a conversation.
Even though I continue to see it as the plain, green plastic water bottle from way back in the day, it's morphed into this thing hardly recognize. It's a functional document, a catalog of my life since 2004 and could be considered a book just as easily as a fashion statement.
It's nicked and scratched and beat to shit and yes, it's got some ridiculous stories attached to it. I don't know if I'm compelling and enigmatic, but I am confident, traveled and fit. I've been places, done things and damnit, I'm on my way somewhere interesting.
World, I've earned my cool factor. And I have the nalgene to prove it. That is today's good thing.
There were a few different ways you could rock the nalgene look. You could go sporty, with the mouth guard and some kind of team logo detailed on the side. Some kids used them to disguise various, non-water liquids that were not approved for consumption in school (or any other time you might be under 21). Once the all-star pitcher of our baseball team earned a place in sport legend by breaking one into bits against a wall after a particularly hard loss.
The coolest look though - the shining example of everything a nalgene was supposed to be - was the nicked, scratched, beat to shit bottle covered in exotic stickers. I wanted one like that. Everyone wanted one like that. That bottle had been places. That bottle had stories. That bottle belonged to someone who did those things, and that person was everything I wanted to be. Confident, traveled, fit, compelling. Enigmatic.
Today during my workout I looked at my water bottle and for the first time, I saw a nicked, scratched, beat to shit bottle that has stories. And damn, is that true! That nalgene has traveled through most of Eastern Europe with me. It has a stamp from Ukraine, a sticker from my university, the Austrian flag, a smiley face from a summer job, a hiking sticker from the Czech Republic, and stickers from most countries I've been in. It's been dunked in rivers, stayed out in the rain, used as a paperweight and served as random game pieces. It's held lots of things besides liquid and has started many a conversation.
Even though I continue to see it as the plain, green plastic water bottle from way back in the day, it's morphed into this thing hardly recognize. It's a functional document, a catalog of my life since 2004 and could be considered a book just as easily as a fashion statement.
It's nicked and scratched and beat to shit and yes, it's got some ridiculous stories attached to it. I don't know if I'm compelling and enigmatic, but I am confident, traveled and fit. I've been places, done things and damnit, I'm on my way somewhere interesting.
World, I've earned my cool factor. And I have the nalgene to prove it. That is today's good thing.
Tuesday, February 26, 2013
The Cemetary Lost My Grandpa
Today was a pretty good day . . . until I came home to find out that the cemetery LOST MY FREAKING GRANDPA.
Yes, that's right, the cemetery lost my Grandfather who has been dead and buried for over 10 years.
We found out because my Grandma, whose funeral is this Saturday, was cremated and wanted her ashes buried with her husband. The cemetery said this was fine and today, apparently, went to probe his grave and found it empty. It's the kind of grave with two spaces and one headstone so naturally, they probed the other space. Nothing. So they did the one to the right. And the one to the left. Nada.
Then they went back to look at the records and discovered that the headstone had been put in after the actual burial . . . but in the wrong spot. Yes, those are the two plots we bought and paid for, but neither of them is where my Grandpa is buried.
The cemetery freaking lost my Grandpa! And, the real kicker is that we were told it's "not uncommon". What?? Excuse me? Misplacing caskets and bodies is common?! Did I hear that right? Because I'd rather I heard it wrong.
I'm not sure what we're going to do or even what the options are. I kind of think Grandma is going to end up in my mom's garden. That's probably where she would want to be anyway, down in the dirt helping all the flowers and berries and veggies grow to nourish her family.
On the positive side, this has brought up some interesting discussions and I now know that both my parents want to be cremated and sprinkled somewhere. So does my sister, so do I and with any luck that's enough to keep me from ever hearing the phrase "we lost the body" again. And that is today's good thing.
Yes, that's right, the cemetery lost my Grandfather who has been dead and buried for over 10 years.
We found out because my Grandma, whose funeral is this Saturday, was cremated and wanted her ashes buried with her husband. The cemetery said this was fine and today, apparently, went to probe his grave and found it empty. It's the kind of grave with two spaces and one headstone so naturally, they probed the other space. Nothing. So they did the one to the right. And the one to the left. Nada.
Then they went back to look at the records and discovered that the headstone had been put in after the actual burial . . . but in the wrong spot. Yes, those are the two plots we bought and paid for, but neither of them is where my Grandpa is buried.
The cemetery freaking lost my Grandpa! And, the real kicker is that we were told it's "not uncommon". What?? Excuse me? Misplacing caskets and bodies is common?! Did I hear that right? Because I'd rather I heard it wrong.
I'm not sure what we're going to do or even what the options are. I kind of think Grandma is going to end up in my mom's garden. That's probably where she would want to be anyway, down in the dirt helping all the flowers and berries and veggies grow to nourish her family.
On the positive side, this has brought up some interesting discussions and I now know that both my parents want to be cremated and sprinkled somewhere. So does my sister, so do I and with any luck that's enough to keep me from ever hearing the phrase "we lost the body" again. And that is today's good thing.
2/25
Today, I got asked on a date!
This was in equal parts exhilarating and terrifying. This is the first time I've been asked out since returning from Ukraine and truth be told, A - the guy from the RPCV dinner last week - left me a message on Sunday but I was too scared to listen to it. I'm not above letting calls go to voicemail while holding the phone in my hand, but I only do that when I really don't want to talk and this time I was honest-to-God busy. I was working, then at out with friends, then writing a last minute news story, then doing the show . . . and I didn't get home until 7pm.
I totally could have called him back but I'm a chicken so I didn't.
Instead, I called a dear friend and word vomited all my excuses and past dating baggage to her and when I finally stopped talking she said, "So . . . you're going to call him back?" and I said "Yes."
That seems like would be pretty cut and dry right? Let me tell you, it's not. Dating is like defending a thesis you didn't write; it's all reading between the lines and trying to give the right answers while concealing the fact that you have no idea what the subject is. I am not good at that. My outside may be calm and composed, but my inside is FREAKING THE HELL OUT.
To make a long story short, there was a second phone call and a lot of frenzied texting, but I did call him back and did manage to make it through the conversation okay. There were only two moments of "oh-my-god-stop-talking-now-you're-babbling" which, all things considered, is pretty good.
So I have a date on Tuesday and I'm sure you'll hear all about it later :)
This was in equal parts exhilarating and terrifying. This is the first time I've been asked out since returning from Ukraine and truth be told, A - the guy from the RPCV dinner last week - left me a message on Sunday but I was too scared to listen to it. I'm not above letting calls go to voicemail while holding the phone in my hand, but I only do that when I really don't want to talk and this time I was honest-to-God busy. I was working, then at out with friends, then writing a last minute news story, then doing the show . . . and I didn't get home until 7pm.
I totally could have called him back but I'm a chicken so I didn't.
Instead, I called a dear friend and word vomited all my excuses and past dating baggage to her and when I finally stopped talking she said, "So . . . you're going to call him back?" and I said "Yes."
That seems like would be pretty cut and dry right? Let me tell you, it's not. Dating is like defending a thesis you didn't write; it's all reading between the lines and trying to give the right answers while concealing the fact that you have no idea what the subject is. I am not good at that. My outside may be calm and composed, but my inside is FREAKING THE HELL OUT.
To make a long story short, there was a second phone call and a lot of frenzied texting, but I did call him back and did manage to make it through the conversation okay. There were only two moments of "oh-my-god-stop-talking-now-you're-babbling" which, all things considered, is pretty good.
So I have a date on Tuesday and I'm sure you'll hear all about it later :)
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