Earth Day, 2013

Ya’ll –

(Yep, I’m gonna talk to ya’ll like a true Southern 'cause I'm just so excited... and I ain’t got time for (attempted) grammatical preciseness to distract me!)

(I doubt I'll be able to keep up the act, so needn't now to stop your reading.)

Today, April 22, is Earth Day. And I wanted to share some news: I planted a garden (last week). My very first garden. I have been waitin' and waitin' and waitin' to share, but it's Earth Day, so I said to heck with waitin' until I saw the first sign of life; I am posting today, in honor of our dear planet. This will inevitably lead to embarrassment when I report back here in a few weeks that everything including basil, an herb supposedly impossible to screw up, is dead. Even worse will be the pesto infused meals I envisioned—distant dreams at that point. 

This past weekend, I went to the United States Botanic Garden, and even though I'm more into sustanible farming—crops and such—than flowers, I left inspired. So I thought I should inject this relatable tangent. I saw plants from everywhere, even the Mountain Kingdom of Lesotho was represented. 

These flowers were there. And they were pretty. And all spring-y in color. 

There were tons of fancy, unique orchids to be seen. But I was too busy admirin' and smellin' and just plain livin' to bother pullin' out my phone to snap a picture. Lets be real folks... who doesn't like them self an orchid? Atlas orchids. Green dragon orchids. Kaleidoscope orchids. Princess diana orchids.  (Those are just a few of the more memorably-named orchids seen.) 

There were no sunflowers, which was vastly disappointing. Boyfriend exclaimed it was far too early for those. But after traversing through the endangered species, garden court, Hawaii, jungle, plant adaptation, and world desert exhibits... one would have thought there might have been room for Kansas. 

But again, Lesotho. That rocked. And got me thinking. This technically (is and) isn't my first (garden) rodeo. During my stint in Thaba-Tseka, I depended on my (host family’s) garden to bring variety to my diet. You see, while I picked crops from the garden, my host family did all the dirty, labor-intensive work. They terraced. They sowed. They ploughed. They watered. They weeded. If it counts for anything, I learned farming was no joke.

Far from the mountains of Lesotho, in Washington, DC, I find myself without an iota of land. Boyfriend looked into community plots… and oh circa sophomore year of college, I should have foreseen my life here and signed-up for the wait list. And even then, after waitin' and waitin' for eventually ever, I would've been generously allowed to purchase my very own one square yard test-plot. Then I would've had one-year to prove I'm worth the space. Well, you know what, county board, forget you and your community plots; I'm not deterred. I'll (help) keep the farmers in business at the Saturday markets. And I'm gonna grow the best darn herb garden on my balcony—proving my worth to every neighbor and passerby in range.

So to planting. To encouragement. And growing. To something new. And eating. To reducing my carbon footprint. To life. To the nine-mile walk to the Botanic Garden. To inspiration. Happy Earth Day friends. 

April 12 - 14

Today is Tax Day. It is also Pay Day. So I am not terribly upset. I am, however, thinking dependents are in my 2013 future. They seem a lot more fun than withholding money. But who wants to talk about taxes when we can talk about spring weather? And the life it brings to my weekends.

I crafted an ideal weekend. Then I lived it. And it was all-around excellent. My success is documented as follows.

I had the luxury of working from home on Friday. This spared me a few extra minutes in bed, relishing in the sight, sound, and smell of the first April shower. Further irrelevant from my weekend agenda, I had an appointment with the podiatrist to really jumpstart this rainy day. I have nasty feet. And, to some, that is putting it nicely. The podiatrist used bush trimming clippers to hack away at all my infected toe nails. I.Kid.You.Not. He seemed vaguely frustrated when I told him the infection on my big toe, right side dates back to summer 2005. I personally feel infection is irrelevant until physical pain is experienced. And that started oh about seven months ago. Plus, I, unlike most, love feet… so I have never been particularly scared by my own. Anyway, for those who are, I am happy to report nearly four days later my toe nails are already showing signs of improvement. Thanks be to the $36 miracle liquid I paint on twice daily in addition to the Biotin supplements I am downing. I am not thrilled about either. But at this point, I am paying a doctor to heal me. I feel inclined to heed his advice.

After I finished bonding with Dr. Feet, I finished working. Then I showered. Boyfriend showed up shortly after and joined me on the couch for a bag of Pretzel M&Ms and an episode of Lifetime’s newest masterpiece: Preacher’s Daughters. This is really the way I would like to inaugurate each 63-hour segment of freedom. The entire bag of M&Ms disappeared before it was supposed to accompany Boyfriend and me to the movie theater to see Silver Lining Playbook. Though I have been hearing about this movie for quite some time, it has not been playing at my designated theater until very recently. I might have fallen asleep. But I definitely liked the parts I saw. From the theater we proceeded to Whole Foods, like a totally normal couple, in route home. And then, well-rested, we found time for another episode of Preacher’s Daughters.

Saturday, I made Boyfriend and A.L.S. get up extra early for a hike in Prince William Forest Park. By finding our way back to our starting point, we averted crisis in the end. We might have consumed two pounds of trail mix in the process. Boyfriend and I caught a quick nap with some Atlanta Braves/Washington Nationals background noise before heading over to H Street for happy hour. We had great plans to dine at Toki Undergound… but apparently so did everyone else in D.C. And we did not have four hours to wait in line. So we had a drink at Smith Commons, followed by a drink at H Street Country Club and quick dinner at Shawafel. The later two – H Street Country Club and Shawafel – being reminiscent of my summer 2012 stomping grounds. Then we met little H and his amigos – our underage friends – at Rock N Roll Hotel to see FIDLAR and Wavves. Though only recently introduced to FIDLAR, I have enjoyed Wavves for quite some time. I could not wait to see them live; C.A.H. and I had been preparing for this night for quite awhile.

He neglected to warn me though, until far too late of course, just how old and unhip I should plan to feel. Very. I should have planned to feel very old and unhip. The second my brother and crew came out of the venue doors, bruised and dripping in sweat, it was no longer just a feeling. It was apparent. I am old. And I am very unhip. They were literally BRUISED and DRIPPING IN SWEAT, describing this as the craziest show ever. (The concert was fabulous. And wild.) To redeem a piece of my former young and hip self, Boyfriend and I joined America’s youth for an episode of cool: late-night dining/milkshakes at Checkers.

Sunday morning, I made smoothies with my new favorite berry – acai – juice. Then Boyfriend and I went to Giant to purchase peanuts. And came home with a lot more than peanuts. I made dough for calzones that would be consumed for meal three. Then we took off on bikes rented from Capital Bikeshare. We rode along the Custis Trail to Mount Vernon Trail to Anacostica Trail to Nationals Park. (That honestly was the highlight of my weekend.) There we saw the Atlanta Braves take on the Washington Nationals. I could not convince Boyfriend to bike home. (Lame!)

In route home, we stopped at the local library to pick up the 14 audio books I had on hold. I have been on a waiting list for some of these books as far back as February. They conveniently all came in at once. Now I have two weeks to listen to them. Really though, that should not be a problem as I spend more time than ever commuting lately.

From the second we walked in the door, we were at work in the kitchen. I finalized the dough and prepared the veggie insides while boyfriend cursedly made sauce. (He would have been so much happier with store bought dough and canned sauce… but who wants that when I have a new Kitchen Aid Mixer and food processor? Yippee – kitchen toys!) Even though we were both starving, having been deprived of food all day… our calzones were not ready until 7:00 pm, when we needed to be on the other side of town for a friend’s birthday party. Timing is everything. You can imagine how delighted Boyfriend was to have to eat in the car. For a girl with a no eating in the car policy, he could have been a little more thankful.

The birthday party was grand. There was fire. And I brought the ingredients for s’mores. So I might have been more popular than the birthday boy. There was also cornhole and friendship and Jenga and cool temperatures. And did I mention fire? And s’mores!

So you see, in weekend form: success.

Tomahawk Chop

I made it my goal when the 2013 MLB season opened to read an article about the Atlanta Braves from any news source every game day. The overall goal is to be in touch with the Braves throughout the season. This is going to be a good year for my Bravos. The season started and life happened… and not two days in, I was already behind. And I continue(d) to lag behind. Further and further behind. Then Boyfriend found a stellar free ticket deal via Liking American Pest on Facebook. (Yeah, I do not get it either.) And Sunday, we were off to Nationals Park; the Braves were in town for their last game in the first of six series against the Washington Nationals. The Braves whipped up on Gio Gonzales and the Nationals. Their bats were hot. But who were they? I could not tell you. Where was Brian McCann? Who is Evan Gattis? Where was Freddie Freemon? Chris Johnson plays first? Does this happen often? I thought he dueled for the hot corner in the absence of retired Chipper Jones. Andrelton Simmons at shortstop? I vaguely remember him from last year. (He played last year, right?) I carry the hefty burden of being the Braves’ one loyal fan. And here I was feeling a fool.

Since Tim Hudson ousted Stephen Strasburg (hooray!) in a pitchers’ duel Saturday, my primary focus was the Upton brothers, who I was acutely aware the Braves had picked up in the off season. They did not disappoint – B.J. had a single and two doubles while Justin homered for the seventh time this season. Among many wonderful pieces of Sunday, the Braves truly ignited my excitement. I have now studied the roster in full and nearly caught up on my game day article challenge. To the Braves. To winning. To another postseason appearance. (Preferably one that does not end in the National League Wild Card single-game elimination game (i.e., 2012) and is not determined by the St. Louis Cardinals (i.e., 2011, 2012)). (I really know how to kill a high note.)

It's here! Spring, that is.

The first weekend in April bought a definite shift in temperature, from freezing rain to crisp, fresh, spring air. It was as though overnight the Earth tilted relative to the sun, bringing longer days and that wannabe outside ambiance. A celebratory hike was in order—hooray! Boyfriend and I drove a short-ish way West on 1-66 to Bull Run Mountains Conservancy for a by no means challenging, good ‘first of the season’ venture, if you will, in Northern Virginia’s rolling hills. The essence of Northern Virginia, being one of the prettiest places I have ever lived, was captured in full at each vantage point as we ascended up to Elvis Rock Overlook. This picture does not capture the views. But it captures happiness—we in the Mid-Atlantic are free from the seemingly everlasting winter gloom!

I made my point. But now I have another: I try so very hard to offset the time I spend in the car during the week, by not spending time in the car on the weekends. I foresee this becoming an issue as the weather continually warms. For now though, time in the woods is incomparably worth travel time to the woods. On the other side of that coin, I strive take full advantage of my city time before I retreat to a Tumbleweed Tiny House in the mountains of Montana. All that to say, this delightful weekend was split with a lengthy walk around Washington, DC to see the Cherry Blossoms on Saturday, prior to Sunday’s escapade. The blossoms were not quite in full bloom, but having seen them in all their glory in 2012, I was thankful for nice weather and time outside.

This is pretty much the story of life going forward… because the spring equation allows little room for all things indoors.

Monday Morning

It is approximately 7:19 am on Monday, March 25, 2013 and I already have a story to tell. I woke two minutes before my 5:30 am alarm. (Yeah, go me, right?) In my attempt to be more 'Spring-fit', there was a run on the horizon. My weaker side was willing to hit the snooze for another quality hour of sleep. But I leaped out of bed with an ounce of motivation, bound and determined to put my 'winter mindset' to rest, and opened the curtains to reveal a nice blanket of snow. Yes. More snow. In March. Five days after the start of spring. The week of the expected Cherry Blossom budding. My running agenda would have to wait... another day (or nine). (So not hardcore.) I could (continue to) go on and on about receiving blizzard amount of snow for us below the Mason-Dixon Line without warning from the Capital Weather Gang but one-hundred words from now, you would be thinking oh my boring, enough about your pathetic inch of snow.

(For the record, the Capital Weather Gang has this uncanny ability to convince me I need to prepare for the end of the world, when snow threatens this area. It is fun. Really fun.)

This story actually begins last night, when I decided to be the best girlfriend ever, and drive Boyfriend home so he could avoid walking to and waiting for the bus in the sleeting rain. He suggested I fill my car with gas to avoid the bi-weekly 'I-am-going-to-run-out-of-gas' meltdown. I definitely needed gas. I was not confident I could make the 2.4 miles trip his place. But I could not, should not, would not admit that. I made it to his place, and then immediately stopped-in at the gas station next store. (This had been a pathetic weekend battling a nagging cold. My pride needed this win.)

(To tell you the truth, my pride was actually doing pretty good at the end of this weekend. I am holding strong at number one in the H (plus) family pool. So feel sorry for me and my cold not. There is no greater excuse to lie vegetable-like on the couch watching 16-straight college basketball games.)

So we have already establish my greatness, in my willingness to trek out in the sleeting rain to drive Boyfriend home on a Sunday night during a close March Madness game. And we have also established the fact Boyfriend is a little high-strung in his need to prepare not only his life, but mine. To be completely honest, I never forget that my gas-meter will read empty when my car is powered up, after I am already running late on Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, or Friday morning.

The things I do for him. Because, I promise you, he does nothing of the sort for me. OK. So on top of controlling my life--re: gas--he also thought I should prepare/organize/pack for my parent's house.

(I had the best-laid plans to go to my parent's home for the next two nights because they are out of town. And nothing says P-A-R-T-Y like the folks leaving town.)

So at 8:30 pm, ON A SUNDAY NIGHT, IN THE MIDDLE OF MARCH MADNESS, I am forced to think about the laundry I need to bring home, breakfasts/lunches I need to pack for work, and the assortment of stolen goods I should return home in my parent's absence. I am mostly on top of life. But there are just some things where I am a procrastinator of the worst sort. (I am not sure of the differences between good and bad procrastinators, but I can assure you, I am the later.) I let Boyfriend have this win as his pride was not having the weekend mine was... and packed up three days of breakfasts/lunches, work and play clothes for two days, and my briefcase. Together, we carried my baggage out to my car. This would save me at least two trips and so much time, come Monday morning.

Except, that sleet turned into snow. And that snow stuck to the ground. And I needed that food and briefcase previously relocated to my car. (And even though I was prepared to go for a run this morning in the expected 37 degree atmosphere, there being snow on the ground suddenly made everything seem a whole bunch colder as I glanced out my window in pajamas.) I did what any decent working girl would do... I walked the 500 feet, uphill both ways, through the snow, in the dark to my car to grab my goods. I performed this task with my eyes closed to remain in sleep mode. Because as soon as I emailed Boss Man inform him of my work from home plans, I intended to jumping back in bed and steal those two hours of sleep I would have otherwise lost had the snow not come and spared me from a chilly run, showering, and a bajillion minutes in the car commuting.

The morale of the story is I do not think being prepared is all it is cracked up to be. But I think I was unable to convey that here. And also, I think I ruined my story by sharing the "snow part" in opening paragraph. Oh well. Happy Monday!

Visitors and Travel

I am coming up to breathe after a rowdy nine-day, late nights, friend-filled bender. The journey began with a Mexican date-night at Fuego on Friday, followed by comedy with new and old friends. Saturday brought Kansas basketball--the last game of the regular season--at The Bottom Line with friends from Kansas. And Sunday, there was a lengthy city stroll on Roosevelt Island and later through Georgetown for shoe shopping and ice cream at Thomas Sweet.

Monday was normal--a long, coffee-filled day of work.

On Tuesday, a dear friend, K.A.B., returned from a 10-month Peace Corps Response job in Hamburg, South Africa. The day was overcast--heavy-rain falling, and because I was working from home, I was barely awake when she knocked on my door circa early bird hour. The benefit of a work from home schedule allowed a little bit of catch-up time before she found the Pentagon City Mall for shopping. Post-work, I met Boyfriend and her for happy hour at The American Tap Room, and we later joined fellow Returned Peace Corps Volunteers for dinner at The Lost Dog Cafe. During a well-timed, slow Wednesday of work, I spent time in conversation over Ethiopian coffee, brought kindly by my visitor following her venture there, with K.A.B. Then there might have been some Rocklands lunch and a Dance Moms siesta. Tough life I lead, eh?

Thursday I took the day off, and I deserved it, after all the hard-work logged on Wednesday. There was brunch at The Silver Dinner, followed by coffee at Baked and Wire. Coffee we might or might not have spiked with Baileys. Then, of course, Thursday being March 14, we celebrated National Pi Day at Pie Sisters in Georgetown. And since it was nearly time for Kansas to tip-off, I dragged our clan to McFaddens so this diehard could catch second-round play of the Big 12 tournament. Kansas whipped up on Texas Tech, which was nice to see, after the embarrassing loss to Baylor the Saturday before. After the game we migrated to the Science Club... because went you start drinking at 1:00 pm, you are really thirsty by happy hour. The Science Club is a great idea for a bar... there is just so much potential there... and if you have not already discovered the nerd in me (and my equally so friends; re: Pi Day), we really longed for drinks served in beakers. I hate to report we struck out, but know that I am not above investing.

After a drink, Boyfriend and I had to part ways with our West Coast friend to catch a bus to New York City for a(nother) reunion of sorts. I am still sort of exhausted when I think about this trip; NYC was filled to the brim with continuous activity. The 2:00 am arrival--thank you one-lane of traffic through the entire state of New Jersey--really jived with the City That Never Sleeps. We woke-up refreshed on Friday morning and refueled at H&H Bagels before heading to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. (This was a pretty painful experience for me. Meanwhile, Boyfriend could quote the name of various paintings before reading the accompanying plaque. He has a bit of an old man spirit... and I will let this photo capture his essence for you.)

From the Met, we walked through Central Park. It was f-r-e-e-z-i-n-g, so we headed down to Chelsea for another outdoor activity--a walk on The High Line. I thought the attempt at historical nature in the city was neat while Boyfriend was less impressed. This was surprisingly more frigid than Central Park, as the wind whipped off the water. Then it was time to meet friends in Chinatown--where health inspection 'grade pending' signs were posted to nearly every window--for the most unhealthy linner (lunch + dinner). (But that is just me sucking the joy out of life... or so I hear.) Then back over to Chelsea--efficiency is totally our thing--for happy hour at the Trailer Park Lounge. So many fabulous things happen when a bunch of budget travelers find five dollar margaritas in NYC... and proceed to order ridiculous amounts right before happy hour expires.

R.D.S., bless her heart, met us at "happy hour" so we could walk to the Upright Citizens Brigade Theatre for an improv show. The show was excellent. Afterwards, we headed back to the Upper East Side for Insomnia Cookies before closing day and night one.

Saturday, R.D.S. and I got up early to get rush tickets to Rodger + Hamerstein's Cinderella. For a reason unbeknownst to us, there were no rush tickets on this snowy March Saturday. This means I did not get to see Cinderella or Matilda or Book of Mormons or Peter and the Starcatchers. Next time. For certain. From there, we met Boyfriend at Ess-a Bagel for another bagel breakfast. Delicious. And during out 20-minute wait for bagels, R.D.S. managed to snag us a table. Win. As we started walking back to R.D.S.'s place, the weather took a turn for the worse. After warm showers, we decided to cancel our plans for walking the Brooklyn Bridge and pizza by the slice at Grimaldi's due to snow showers. We settled Upper East Side coffee and pizza at Numero 28... and a relaxing afternoon of catch-up time. In the late afternoon, Boyfriend and I parted from R.D.S. to head to Harlem to visit with Peace Corps friends and later see the Africa Now! concert at the Apollo. Freshlyground, a South African band we adore, was playing one of the sets in show. I also got to see Blitz the Ambassador, a name I only heard in Ghana, perform. The concert turned into the highlight of the weekend. And what could have made the night more perfect? Street food and another helping of Insomnia Cookies. Yes. Please.

Spent from the first two days, we slept in a bit on Sunday. After saying goodbye to our excellent host, I headed to Brooklyn to meet J.W.M. and his girlfriend for brunch. The food was yummy and the company was, per usual, entertaining. Afterwards, I met back up with J.P.B. and the two of us wasted time for the final hour until our bus departed.

On any other given Sunday, my bed would have been the most delightful greeting when I walked in the door of my apartment... but this was Selection Sunday. Before sleep, I needed to do an initial bracket analysis. March Madness is upon us. Time to dance. And I saw a potential for a bracket filled out with a lot of heart. So Go Blue. Until the Rock Chalk Jayhawks take over in the South. Go Sparty in the Midwest. As for the East and West, heart might be lacking, but I will take ACC in the East and Big Ten (Badgers, NOT Buckeyes) in the West.

If that was not enough excitement, Gap was having a sale on jeans. I am in dire need, so I did closed out evening with some impulse purchases as the sale expired at midnight.

Times like these might lead to emails from Mom that say, "It's like you still live in Africa." Busy, busy.

Long Distance Dating

I am going to spill out some word vomit over these next several paragraphs/bullets--whatever I decided them to be--and you best opt not to read. These words will be very raw. And quite straightforward. And horribly embarrassing.

If you have not by now equated Favorite Person to what society deems a boyfriend, my boyfriend, I will attempt to make this clear for you here:

Favorite Person = Boyfriend

Favorite Person--mystery he--can/should/will, going forward, be referred to as Boyfriend. FYI: There is zero percent of me that likes that term and/or plans to begin using it in public. The term is foreign. And finite. And encourages favoritism. Never being able to compete with the allstar suckups, I learned to vehemently dislike favoritism at a young age. But alas, I have come to accept by declaring my boyfriend as my favorite person, I am doing exactly what I dislike: favoritizing. (That is going to be a word tonight. So like it. Then find a way to apply it to your life.)

After our first 'real' quarrel Monday night, I feel obliged to write about something that has been plaguing my little soul for the past, at the very least, six months. I am a processor of all things... and I am finally able to tie-up my thoughts.

My parents maintained a long distance relationship until they were married. Until they were married. They never once lived in the same town until they were married. I am going to refrain from repeating that phrase again. And this was 30 plus years ago before cell phones, texting, email, ecards, and Skype. They wrote letters UNTIL THEY WERE MARRIED. The letter concept is not entirely alien to me, as much of my current relationship was grounded in the (lost) art of letter writing. But come on, a relationship based on letter writing and the occasional visit, no thank you.

So when I started writing this on Wednesday night, I had a lot of momentum. I felt the emotion--the pang in my soul coming to life through these words. I was satisfied with the direction this story was headed. Then abruptly, a change--suddenly my unique challenges, no longer seemed unique to this relationship, long distance or otherwise. It would appear I had created an internal master list--keys to a healthy relationship--based largely on the successes I barred witness to in my upbringing.

If I continued down the path I was headed, I would spill-out for you a wellness plan, something to judge myself against.

• Are we communicating? Check. 
• Do we maintain a good sense of humor? Check. 
• Are we compromising? Check. 

At the end, my wellness plan would spit-out a sort of relationship scorecard: B-plus.

There is much to be missed with the 'report card' method as a measurement of commitment, health, and love. This barely scratches the surface of the time and effort that goes into building a tender relationship. This wellness plan would replace authenticity, in that it would require managing and upkeep.

The dragons being slayed in the adventure we are embarking on are those of ego, selfishness, and unrealistic expectations.

It has been (and will continue to be) a major learning curve. I am realizing eye-rolling, spitefulness, and the silent treatment do not generally communicate love very well. And learning what to hold back is one of the greatest gifts I can give. He is learning texting me goodnight, hanging shelves, and cooking dinner are such powerful ways to communicate love to me. 

I had allowed myself to believe people were either dependent or independent. In doing so I missed the beautiful in-between of interdependency.

We need each other...
to care enough to pay attention.
to lovingly keep one another in check.
to admit when we could use a hand, an ear, or a shoulder.

This means a million tiny decisions to believe the best of one another and to always be part of the same team. And the only kind of fighting that works is when you are fighting for each other, not against.

It is only the beginning. The beginning of choosing love. Even when it is inconvenient.