Jamaica Reflections

The first four days provided quick, powerful rains. I wish I had savored them even more. I was in a routine of assuming this was a daily event, and spent the rest of the vacation hoping for more. The rains in Washington, DC are ever lacking, so I relish when a good rain presents itself--no matter where in the world I find myself. I still miss the Lesotho rains on the tin roof of my school, nothing will compete with those! I briefly mentioned the Jamaican rains resulting in rainbows. I'm unsure if this was just the coincidence in the rains I saw, but how's that for every rain providing a follow up rainbow. I certainly won't forget the spectacular-ity of such events.

There are crabs all over Jamaica. I've never visited a place where the crabs roam as freely. In Jamaica, I had to watch where I stepped to avoid crushing them. The land is their land, clearly And boy are the crabs shy! They're not apt to photography; I tried my level best, but routinely came up shy.

Typical of most foreign nations, the signage is intriguing. There is not a sign in Jamaica I wouldn't stop to read. I shot more than 100 photographs of various signs along the way. While I recognize I could use some schooling in grammar and punctuation, there is certainly a lack of editing prior to printing throughout Jamaica.

There are feral and stray dogs galore. While those mutts were harmless, there were unfriendly guard dogs everywhere. I did manage three runs in Treasure Beach, though I often felt unsafe. The dogs lining property fences pop out of nowhere. There were several "guard" dogs (along with strays) that seemingly just wanted to follow me, whether walking or running, but the unpredictable snarls were enough to keep me at unease and allow my mind to wander. What would I do if I was attacked while venturing around? I've never really been a risk taker, I'm less so in my late 20s.

The Jamaican tide is unchanging. There is no low or high tide. There is a shoreline (or retaining wall) that remains constant throughout the day and night. This was a first to me. I'm curious as to why the tide doesn't change, or if there are places in Jamaica where it does.

The colors - both painted and natural - made the entire country radiate energy.

There were abandoned house everywhere. If you're looking for a water-front, fixer-upper, Jamaica is the place for you and yours. While some of these houses look as though they were loved and cherished at one point, others look at those the builder/developer was distracted mid-task. The whole of it is quite bizarre.

The fish of is so, so bony. And while yummy, it's a whole lot of work, unless you're local and you know exactly what you're doing. For those of us travelers, it's a welcomed slower pace.

And despite starting the trip by vomiting my guts out after a treacherous ride and beginning the second day by ruining the sheets with a bloody nose, I hope that won't be the last of my travels with the B family.

Jamaica: No Lotion Friday (Day 7)

Is it the last day of vacation that makes one fully appreciate all the days before? On Day 7, we all agreed we could use more days like the one we were living--time together, minimal planned activities, and good eats.

Following another sluggish run, I had the best breakfast yet: ackee and saltfish, a traditional Caribbean dish. And later, way later as the sun set before me one last time from our pool deck at Treasure Beach, a fabulous lobster dinner. In between I filled the time by the pool reading and swimming in the ocean. Boyfriend and I also made fancy cocktails with fruit we froze earlier in the week. I tried to relish in our last day together. As I'm writing this with a cup of coffee on Day 8, I can say I already miss our company. The time we had together was a such special occasion, one I will look back on for many years to come. I'm having trouble wrapping my thoughts around this week, not that I need to. The best I can provide is a sunset comparison. When skin is sun-kissed, spirits are playful, the breeze is warm, the water glistens, there is not a care in this world but to be present in that moment.

Sunsets are a time of perspective and reflection--two things I love--but I think there is more to it. The main reason I love sunsets is because the harsh, intense, rush of the day is over and a warm glow settles in that puts everything in a softer, more forgiving light.The pressure to perform wears away--what's done is done--it is time to reign things in and put the day to bed.

Fall TV Line-Up

To the dismay of several, the only show on television I'm entirely loyal to is Dance Moms. I do not miss an episode, even when I'm four episodes behind, as is the current case. Abby Lee Miller infuriates me, but I adore Chloe so much I'm unable to remove myself from the dysfunction that is Dance Moms. I have also been watching this show from the start. And most everything I start, I finish. Because I don't quit, even what's unhealthy. To the best of my ability, I try to watch Dance Moms when Boyfriend is not around. We share one TV, and while he's more than willing to watch and discuss, I can tell he's only being nice; Dance Moms is not his favorite show.

When I got home from work on Friday, I had an hour to myself before Boyfriend walked in the door. I threw in a load of laundry--hello, productivity--and immediately selected Dance Moms from the On Demand menu. As mentioned, Dance Moms has deteriorated in quality. While I used to watch solely for the dancing--hello, eight-year-old talent--I watch now as a way to remove myself from reality; this show clears my head like nothing else. I'm still mesmerized by the dancing, however, not as enthralled by the inevitable amount of drama to arrive at each performance.

It's partially true that I don't otherwise have time for TV. It's more true that I simply don't prioritize TV. I've opted out of--mind-boggling expensive--cable, in lieu of adventure. The downside being obvious: There is no ESPN--airing full-time, nor do I get to start my day with MSNBC's My Morning Joe.

That being said, I enjoy keeping up with Teen Mom and The Biggest Loser. I'm not upset when I miss an episode, though I do a fair job following these shows. The laundry has to be folded at some point, and there's no better time for that, than while either of these shows are streaming. Of note, without my beloved Jillian Michaels, The Biggest Loser--two episodes in--is not holding my interest nearly as well. We'll see if I persevere.

On a happy note, in the fall television department, Heidi Klum is back on Project Runway, lending itself to all kinds of wonderful things. While I haven't actually watched... yet, I will. I'm overcoming a battle with sentimentality. I enjoy Project Runway most when viewed with my mom. And... well... it's never that we watch TV together these days. So I'm about nine episodes behind, but whatever. If you have time to fill, sit yourself down for some Project Runway, then head over to my place--the apartment could use a major scrubbing. You can also fill me in [on Project Runway]!

Boyfriend and I are also watching House of Cards. We're nearing the end of the first season. This show is significantly heavier than everything else on my line-up and is usually reserved for 'bulk weekend watching' on the off chance we're in town and not busy. It's worth your time. Though, I'm partial to it being set here in Washington, D.C.

And, last, I stay current by watching Nightly News with Brian Williams every night of the week at 7:00 pm ET. Furthermore, I "catch" Boyfriend catching The Soup for everything pop culture at least once a month.

There you have it. What, may I ask, are you watching?    

Thinking Out Loud

There are so many unrelated thoughts floating through my head right now. Let's assume you care.

• Dan Uggla played, as a professional baseball player, for the San Francisco Giants. He went 0-8 with three errors. Dan, Dan, Dan is not your—San Francisco or otherwise—man. Poor Uggla. We—we, the Atlanta Braves, still owe him upwards of 20 million dollars. So while he may not be doing good on the field work, he’s doing alright. (In other words, I would trade shoes paychecks with him.) Please note, I am absolutely not on the bandwagon rooting for Uggla to fail; I hope he finds success again at some future point.
• Boyfriend went for a run (and then another run and one more run after that; he went for three total runs). I am not to speak of such events. He ran all by his lonesome in our apartment gym. And I am still gleaming a full week plus later. I am almost confident this was a three-time thing, though I will remain forever hopeful he will someday enjoy running alongside me (on the easy days).
• The office bathroom is never empty. I am continually peeved by this. This girl appreciates her privacy.
• I checked out I am Malala: The Girl Who Stood Up for Education and Was Shot by the Taliban by Malala Yousafzai from the library four times to finish it. The entire book is 317 pages. I could not get into the book, until the final third. The message is fabulous. I am inspired by the young activist. I am devastated for the lives of so many of the people of Pakistan, specifically the women and children. I am in awe of the courage of Malala's father, standing out "against" his own people for education. I wanted to praise the book, but found it riddled with far too much history, history complex beyond my own understanding. This unfortunately translated to choppy reading. The story did, however, make me think and challenged me to remember these issues do touch my life—not to mention my heart.

 You can all sleep peacefully at once.

Haverhill, NH

The calendar switched from February to March while Boyfriend and I were in Haverhill, New Hampshire with his entire family--gathered at his grandfather's home. The circumstances were less than ideal--a celebration of the life of his late grandmother, a woman I was not fortunate to know.

The older I grow the more difficult being together with loved ones becomes. So while this was not how I had hoped to meet Boyfriend's brother and extended family, this is real life. Funeral (and weddings alike) bring people together, most often regardless of external circumstances.

The weekend can only be described as warm and nice, comforting. There was a ceremony, where more than 250 people gathered in a church with a congregation of about 30 people, followed by a reception hosted by their church. Shortly after, family and close friends assembled at their home for dinner and drinks (and oh my heavens, dessert). On Saturday, there was a luncheon for the 'nearest and dearest' at Dowd's Country Inn, a bumpy ride down the road. The luncheon was lovely--beautiful decor, people congregated, and fabulous food. I do not think I would be alone in stating that the entire weekend was also welcoming; people traveled far and wide because this woman was loved--so genuinely--by many people. I wanted to be there to mourn this loss and celebrate her life. The weekend was not overdone. And, also, not a single iota underdone.

After an understandably emotional weekend, Boyfriend and I received a blessing in disguise--our Sunday flight was canceled due to an impending snow storm in Washington, D.C. and the earliest we were able to reschedule for was Tuesday. We made our way to Boston, where we spent the next two days lounging. There was enough food and trashy television and magazines to go around. And we certainly indulged.

These few extra days were healing, easing and already difficult departure.

Note: These pictures were taken on Boyfriend's grandfather's property and are the best I can do at describing my love for this place. His land is dream-like in nature. I could have stayed forever. His house sits on top of this hill overlooking the Connecticut River. The property continues all the way down to the river, with planted corn fields running along the bank. There are also gardens--contents including such luxuries as fiddleheads and rhubarb--decorating the property; they are beautiful in the summer, I'm told. And the house. The house was built using Frank Llyod Wright's blueprints and is backed entirely with windows, skylights litter the ceiling throughout the house as well. It was through this house and property were designed for me.

Winter Blues

You know what I wish? That every Monday was a holiday. You know what I don't wish? That the Tuesday following the Federal Government would shutdown in anticipation of snow. I can plan a three-day weekend; I can relish in all that it is. I don't need an extra unplanned day. I thrive on routine. My ability to be spontaneous isn't what it used to be. And when the (anticipated) snow doesn't stick until late in the day, my eagerness to play sets with the sun. The three-day weekend allows for the right amount of relaxation and productivity with the added benefit that there are only four days of work following. The four-day weekend adds way too much in terms of lethargy.

(I might be the only one in the history of mankind to be thrown off, and therefore maybe a bit annoyed,  about a day off work.)

I really struggled to find my rhythm this week. Because it wasn't just Tuesday off, there was a two-hour delay on Wednesday. As work resumed, the temperatures remained evil on Thursday and Friday,  never rising above 20 degrees. It might be fair to say I lived in the South too long because I see zero reason to leave the apartment in digits that low.

After a few easy weeks, followed by even easier weekends, I jammed this past three-day weekend full. I wanted this weekend to hurdle me into each weekend for the remainder of 2014. But instead I'm here at home... still searching for this burst of motivation--the one that sends me into the plan, book, live, repeat mode. The more I go, the more I want to go. A 19-hour work week certainly doesn't leave me feeling as though I've accomplished anything.

So winter, I respect your plans. But I'm ready to reach a compromise. This year--2014--and I have plans, plans I intend to live outside the confines of my apartment, albeit warm and welcoming.

The Journey

More than four years ago, I started writing as an experiment to see if I would enjoy the ride. I have. This blog has been multipurpose throughout the years, but over time morphed into a place of healing for me. I needed to write to escape and process. For better or worse, this experiment has come head to head with my real life on several occasions. And all of a sudden my thoughts are too dark and confused to put on the blog. This has been the case most recently. So as I have before, I had to sort through these thoughts before I could put them on the internet for the world to read. It’s easy to sit down and write about the good times, say my first adult vacation. The one I took back in July. More difficult though, are the hard times, the dark times, the times I’d often rather forget.

This road I have traveled for the past four years has been flooded with moments I’d rather forget. The lessons I’ve learned have come at a price. I’m not entirely sure the full price, but I do know I’ve had to give up part of me to become who I am today. It has been painful, lonely, dizzying, and disconcerting. The times I’ve cried in sadness, anger, confusion, and weariness. Oy, the ugly cries.

I had no idea closure would be this tough. I had no idea if closure – in this form – would come at all. The rest I feel today, though preceded by many sleepless nights, is a deeper rest than I’ve ever known. Though I would not choose this journey, having come out on the other side I am stronger because of it.

Over the next few weeks I will share more about the journey I’ve been on. I hope you’ll join me.

Sometimes Not

I am in this waiting place, hoping for a lightning bolt moment where the summary statement of events from the past couple weeks come to me. I really, really like neat little packages with a lesson at the end. Increasingly, I am traveling down these paths where it just is not quite that simple.

So that’s right. I used to judge your blog. I sat smugly on my couch, looked at your blog for the second time in two weeks and you had not posted anything! I mean, what else were you doing with your life? Probably living it. In my world, that was not allowed. You owed it to this devoted follower, to post - regularly. I find that it is perfectly OK for me to judge your blog, but I do not appreciate your snippy thoughts about my blog. I have been on this journey of blog writing, sometimes writing every week, sometimes not for more than three years. Right now, it is a season of “sometimes not” documenting. I am having trouble writing about life in general because I want to share meaningful events, but I am full of a lot of loose ends right now. (I am finding this is not a horrible thing.) It is not because I do not have thoughts. Oh believe me I do! Again, I am not really sure what they all mean. I have not processed and worked through them enough to write about them on a blog. I am a bit of a perfectionist and so I am refuse to write about something until I can wrap my mind around it satisfactorily.

All of this is to say, I’ve stopped judging you, my fellow bloggers. I now understand that not all thoughts are able to be worked out in 300 words or less and that is OK. It is actually a good thing because lets face it, life is complicated, busy, and incomprehensible at times and we need to be able to rest in spite of the chaos. I need to dispel my compulsion to know and fully understand everything immediately (and then blog about it).

I am still going to post from time to time, but more sporadically than before. Let the judging begin!

Remembering December, Week 4

December 22 -

• I did not get out of bed until 1:00 pm. I justified my laziness with the face I was nursing a cold. 

 December 23 -

• I baked seven dozen cookies.
• I watched a lot of football. 
• I patiently waited as my brother, C.D.H., made his way from his Atlanta home to the family home in Northern Virginia. 

 December 24 -

• I worked from home and had a Yankee Candle Holiday Trio candle burning all day. If you have to work on Christmas Eve, you find joy in simple things.
• Snowflakes fell most of the afternoon. No real accumulation, but it was pretty as it fell.

• Does it make everyone as sad and/or disappointed to witness all the garbage--kites, balloons, plastic bags--in the winter trees as it does me? This fleeting thought crossed my mind as I walked around with neighborhood with my parent's "puppies," Louis and Toby.

• We had our traditional fondue dinner, which was quiet this year with just our family of five. 

• The yearly unveiling of Christmas pajamas was done before 9:00 pm, leaving me with plenty of time to wrap my head in a new book--Bunch of Amateurs by Jack Hitt--before bedtime.

Christmas Day -

• The snow stuck around throughout the evening, making for my first white Christmas in a long time.
• After a 'better-than-Thanksgiving' dinner of broccoli, mashed potatoes, mushrooms, a hand-plated citrus, fried goat cheese, and pomegranate salad, rolls... and some sort of roasted meat for those so inclined, the poppers were popped to reveal cheesy jokes, crowns, and a prize.   

December 26 -

• I worked, again. Cruel world. 
• It snowed again. Awesome world.
• Our family of five ventured to Georgetown, D.C. in the snow/wintery mix/rain for at Mexican tapas at Mike Isabella's Bandolero. For those of you who, like me, do not idolize chefs and therefore have never heard the name Mike Isabella, he is a former Top Chef contestant. He might of won. Or maybe he just cooked a lot of food and was critiqued. Maybe he had this heavenly restaurant before. And maybe he did not. Bottom line: stop in at Bandolero for drinks, appetizers, dinner, and/or dessert--you will not regret it.  
• After this blue haired dinner, we went to the Kennedy Center for a showing of Million Dollar Quartet. The tickets were a surprise for the master musician in the family, but the show was enjoyed by all. 

December 27 -

• After getting home late the previous night, and with that full holiday weekend of family bonding time before me, waking up at 4:00 am, driving an hour to Baltimore, and hopping on a 6:00 am flight to Orlando, FL was really fun. Like so much fun. 
• I made it to Orlando amongst a trillion overly-excited Walt Disney World bound children, waited an hour for Bridesmaid No. 3, rented a car, and drove an hour to Howey-in-the-Hills, FL for the Royal Wedding... where my life was planned for the next 36 hours. 
• So the first 12 hours was lunch, followed by professional finger and toe nail painting, a hair washing session, a group bus ride to The Catholic Community of St. Paul church were the rehearsing (and later wedding) took place, dinner at the Angler's Club in The Villages, and a bus ride back to Mission Inn Resort where the out of town guest were welcomed with an official party. Then I found some time, albeit only a few hours, before...

December 28 -

• I got to wake-up for ROYAL WEDDING DAY(!!!). After I clothed myself, viola! my personal escort was outside my door, waiting to drive me to the S family ranch in Leesburg, FL.
• From morning to early afternoon, a make-up artist and two hair stylists transformed regular girls into glamour queens. I was unidentifiable. The things I endure for my favoritist friends. 

• There was brunch. And snacks. Do you know what a challenge eating becomes when your hair is being ripped out of your head by curlers and you face is layered in plaster?

• Picture Time. I sold this to myself as enjoying Florida sunshine time. 
• Once we were officially documented as the bridal party, we jumped onto the party bus and headed church for the exchanging of vows. 
• And, of course, the best part of every wedding is celebrating the happy couple... and we did that in grand style with dinner, cake, an open bar, and a live band. Congrats to Mr. and Mrs. M!

The week was another full one. And here I am on January 13, 2013 catching up on all that is and was. The deeper message from this week is I appreciate my life. I have a job I am thriving in. I had time surrounded with my immediate family. There were Christmas and wedding festivities. And time with a precious friend of nearly eight years before she said, "I do." And even though Florida is my least favorite state, there was travel during this week and the ability to escape the ruts of my daily life. 

Necessary Release

My life, since college, seems to be in a constant state of transit. And so I have adopted the front passenger seat of my car as a bench for various items I may need while I am away from home. In this ‘process’ I have become, in my own way, the bag lady. Not in the sense most 20-something girls are. That girl is just not me. It is the briefcase. The over sized purse. The ratty red Lululemon ‘lunch box’. The heavy winter coat with stuffed pockets. I often juggle a cup of coffee as well. Every now and then I catch a glimpse of myself with all these random things balancing precariously on my body and giggle.

This picture is a pretty accurate of the way my life often feels… a little frazzled, a bit disheveled, but getting the job done.

For someone who likes to travel light, I do not treat my relationships and concerns the same way. It is like I have a backpack with various issues of heartache, like stones, packed inside. It is much heavier and exhausting than my actual backpack… but I cannot exactly dump these people and things, can I?

As the holiday season approaches, I am wrestling with how to selectively carry the essentials, while releasing a few smaller stones. There is a purpose for bearing these burdens. I show love by sharing the load, but productive carrying involves and endpoint to my transport.

I spend so much time analyzing the issues or simply carrying them around. I came across this quote on Pinterest… and decided even the strongest arms need rest.

I am striving to emotionally disengage a little and simply be; to accept life for what it is, taking both the good and the bad together, in stride. 

Say Something #23

In need of fresh air, I awoke Tuesday morning… and stepped on to the back porch with a cup of piping hot coffee in my hand. I am not sure what I was doing honestly. I was running behind. I had a friend that needed to be transported to the bus station and a job I had an obligation to show up on-time for. Alas I was on the deck with this cup of joy I had no intentions of drinking at its then current temperature, dreaming of the next season. Summer has become rather stagnant. Maybe that is because of my glorious 9-5 job... one that permits little time for drifting idly on large bodies of water in my kayak, hiking new terrain, lounging lazily poolside, or vacationing? Or alternatively, there is a non-dismissible serious stuff surrounding my every move, clogging my pathways in a physical and substantiated way.

All reasoning aside, what matters is I smelled fall on the porch on this early morning. And it was a great great great thing. The change will be welcomed, more this year than others. That slow transition from shorts and tees to shorts and long-sleeves to jeans and tees to jeans and sweaters; flip flops to closed-toed shoes to boots. The thought of school children clamoring at the bus stop, heading back to the classroom. Structure and stability. FOOTBALL! ...dream... dream... dream...

I snapped back into the moment, hurried through my morning routine. Then come 1:00 pm, I allowed myself to break away from the office freezer, for an afternoon stroll with Cube Neighbor Girl, in the almost fall-like atmosphere.

I am falling for fall. Come on now, hurry up.

Say Something #22

So many milestones stick out in my mind. Little has been forgotten. So much has changed. Little has remained the same. This season is a new one. The depression seems far gone… a blissfully wonderful feeling. Except lately, a cumbrous weight of a different variety keeps trying to sink my ship. It is ugly and most commonly referred to as anxiety. Throughout my many revolutions around the sun, I have carried burdens that do not belong to me and taxed stresses more heavily than necessary. That being said, I am generally stable person. In lieu of all the 'real life' bad, this problem is hindering a better me. See this is going to sound absolutely ridiculous but, let me reassure you, oh so accurate. The "greatest" part of depression is the ability to hide behind it. Even with a sound family structure and incredible friends, you can fake your way through much of life. I thought of it more as seeing life through a different lens. That choice is yours. Depression will give you grief--exorbitantly lonesome times--and you will inevitably falter. But mostly you will succeed at keeping this heavily stigmatized diagnosis from the big wide world of judgment. And that, my readers, is a glorious thing. You get to be a quiet person for a while… nobody comments… and life does eventually pick up.

Well… anxiety is an entirely different battle. Let me reiterate: Entirely. Different. The most noticeable distinction is everyone and their pets notice it. You are pretty much a walking mistake without a barrier to hide behind. You mess-up time and time and time again because you are so spun out. Then you get called out for it(!!!). And before you realize the problem(s) you have created, you are trying to collect your ideas and the unpredictability of life, which is no easier than trying to box a cyclone. There is continuous anxiety compacted on top of nervousness and angst--what will be the next blunder? As in crazy, I am mad.

It really has been a jovial couple of weeks.

Say Something #2

After yesterday's monsoon, the one that left hail damage on my car, the sunrise this morning was spectacular. I carved a nice spot out on the non-blind-spot side of the winding dirt road leading to my house and watched that red, red sun climb its way into the summer sky. This would be better with birds fluttering around me I thought to myself.

The Commute

Yes, another post about the oh-so-exciting life I am leading. And you have heard it before, I am a functioning piece of the corridor of 9:00 am – 5:00 pm working America. I feel the need to repeat myself; I find this helps legitimize my situation—makes it feel real. For the record, this is not the first time I have held a job, believe it or not. Aside from serving as President of Human-sitting, I was in the Peace Corps—totally real job—for that short stint. Together, those with ample travel, sum up the past three years. (I never thought I had the capability to do that in a single sentence.) Yes, in May I will celebrate three years freedom from Clemson University—my graduation into reality, which I see as technically postponed with some life choices until now.

Though my prior totally real job as a high school math and science teacher in Thaba-Tseka, Lesotho never survived long enough to become resume caliber, it impacted my living resume in a grand way. For the sake of my upcoming point, let me recap the perks in a teaching position, more specifically my teaching experience in Africa. The school day began at 7:00 am sharp, the sole timely event in Lesotho, and ended around 4:00 pm… not so sharply. Because, like any high school in America, the learning was proceeded by activities, sports, tutoring and sometimes an after-hour meeting (I never approved of). I usually dodged out around 5:00 pm, unless I could convince running club to end at my place, more than three miles from the school grounds. On average, I worked a standard 10 hour day. My classroom time while at school extended around four hours a day. So during this time period, I was on my feet standing or pacing. And then there was the commute. 

In Lesotho, I commuted 47 minutes to school, morning and night—hot or cold, rainy or barren, energized or exhausted; I made my walking way in either direction. Three days a week I was in charge of collecting the mail from the post office I passed on my way to school at lunch. This meant a 40-minute round-trip additional "commute" because of limited post office hours. The point is I had ample “on my feet time” throughout the working day. And the thing is, I loved it. Some days I would greet everyone, including animals, especially pigs, on my way… extending the commute by over 20 minutes. Some days I would zone out to my overplayed music. Some days I would run to or from or both ways, avoiding thrown rocks along the way. Some days I would walk with Middle Sister. Some days I would walk in silence, pondering my place in this world. Some days I would stop to watch a soccer match being played on an unimaginably rough surface. Some days I would test out a new route. Some days I would time myself, attempting to best the time on the way home (without running). Some days I would stop at my host mother’s restaurant for the leftovers. (I could keep going.) My commute never felt grudgingly long because of these variances. 

This brings me to today, over three weeks in to work in cubical land, where I find myself with a Lesotho-like commute and a much different means of transportation. I have music. I have podcasts. I have books on tape. And I have a neighbor to converse and share the ride with twice a week.  It is America—I can have anything I want. There are food hubs buzzing along the way. There is a Starbucks tempting me at every turn. There is a cell phone, with unlimited minutes, begging me to return calls. But what I want more than anything is to be out of that car. To be away from the congestion. To be free from poor food options. I want to be walking the streets (of Africa, but I would settle for America). 

Why the desperate need for relief? Well... I hate the required weekly trips to the gas station. Oh the environmental suicide I am committing. I hate more time sitting and less time for being outside during daylight hours. I hate the being in traffic, watching my life tick off the clock motionless. And the thought of a minimal guarantee of 10 hours sitting, commute included, five days a week... makes me restless. Each new day my commute, following the same route, traffic patterns, and nonexistent scenery develops a more ancient feeling. I am not complacent, I will seek alternative solutions until I am satisfied. Biking to work? Breaks on the hour for cubical jacks, knee lifts, and tricep kicks? Public transportation? The obvious solution: RELOCATION. I refuse to find my sitting place in this world; we humans were made to move. In the meantime, I am exceedingly grateful it took me slightly under three years to get here.

Not Today

Today was not a good day. I made the conclusion this day would be awful at 6:34 am. I got up, scurried around the house in search of my phone charger… mysteriously missing from my prepared belongings, and still managed to get out the house door by 5:09 and in the gym door by 5:25. My favorite teacher was absent, her sub was a noticeable four minutes late. The workout began at 5:34 am, yet managed to conclude at normal 6:30. I was done, absolutely spent; I could barely move. My body was screaming louder than any music I planned to run to could. To give up on an hour is unlike me; usually I proceed into the next hour with relative ease. Not today.

I climbed right on that treadmill, ignoring every signal in my body. I lasted a minute… barely… and I was walking. First the charger. Then the teacher. And finally an inability to numb my pained body. The day was shot. Never before have I craved my bed, even sweat soaked sheets from the night before—Hooray! It is 90 degrees in April, and we H’s like to conserve energy, ahem cut costs!—sounded more enticing than work. I needed an attitude adjustment in the form of a Panera multigrain bagel. Normally mood and hunger are positively correlated for me. Not today.

Today was a not shaping up. With an empty plate, I attempted to configure my multi-state taxes, those ones due today. Fail. I am worthless. My spirits dampened further, I telephoned Pops, the man responsible for filling them out, to inquire about a late penalty. He relieved me… or said we can assemble them tonight—I am not worth much, which I suppose translates lightly in the slap on the wrist department. (And in Virginia, I will not even be late!) This looming task will nevertheless irk me till completed. I got to work, excited to have an assignment boldly waiting for me in my inbox. After interpreting I was even more excited I had a tiny clue what to do with the task. But I should have known… not today.

I googled and googled and googled to no avail. Then I worried I would be fired. I used to have nightmares. Now I have daymares. At 10:00 I realized NASA's Discovery shuttle was going to be flying over my office (a photograph received from a witness below), but with most my team out, I was unsure what protocol was on spending a non-lunch hour on the office building lawn waiting for something I thought was fascinating. So like anyone paranoid of being fired, I researched right through it. Already frustrated I had almost nothing to show for this hour of time, headquarter distribution emails of the plane/shuttle combination start dinging in my inbox. And then there was pizza for lunch to celebrate. There was nothing to celebrate. Not today.

The rest of the day continued angrily and bitterly and stupidly. Nothing could salvage today. I made that clear to myself as the sun rose through the gym windows. Here I sit, wondering how I survive with my four-year-old behavior patterns. I am seriously inconsolable… unless, on days like today, I get exactly what I want, when I want it--a rarity. That could have been many things. My bed around 7:00 am. A second attempt at a mid-morning run in the 70 degree sun… instead of the stuffy gym confines circa early bird hour. An extra large black iced-coffee this afternoon—in my hand as Louis chased his friends at the dog park. Or a king-size bag of Peanut Butter M&M’s and on the couch in time for ESPN’s Pardon the Interruption. Unfinished workout, unfinished taxes, incomplete work, leftovers, and an early bedtime will instead mark today. There are no repeats in this life. There is tomorrow.

Timely Death

On a day like today I know why I am unemployed. I rose early after a restless night, I struggled to finish a routine workout, I took time to chop vegetables for a restaurant style salad, then I migrated outside with my lunch, and slowly worked my way through an over-sized plate during an extended conversation with my mom. For the rest of the afternoon, I hardly moved--Mom came and went as her chores allowed while I sat there on the wrought iron deck furniture, engrossed in a novel. In a few minutes it will be time for dinner. And on a day like today I do not care one bit.

This morning, I returned home (from the gym) to the bittersweet news, my Great-Uncle F had passed away. It seems terrible to admit that out loud, but it is true. He has spent the later half of my life thus far deteriorating--in memory, thinking, and behavior patterns. The cause of death would be pneumonia, not the Alzheimer's disease that took his mind (from him, from us) sometime ago, along with his quality of life. (And arguably the quality of Great-Aunt D's, his wife of over 60 years, own life as well.) It was time for Great-Uncle F to go. Time for him. Time for Great-Aunt D. After his mind left, we all sort of waited for his body to do the same. I have not had the unimaginable task of watching him become a skeleton of his former energetic self. My Great-Aunt D has. She has demonstrated love, in sickness and health--visiting him day-after-day for the past several years; she was loyal to the bitter end. Bitter. Death has a way of making me bitter. Sweet. It is sweet we can trudge on together in peace, knowing he--mind and body--rests in peace.  

Once I became of age for storing memories--his later lively years--grown-ups still bored me, leaving me with few personal memories of a great man. I will remember him as the best dressed man in town. This though is not even that personal, most of Greater Detroit will tell you F.C.A. was a stylish man. Then, of course, more tragically in the brunt of Great-Uncle F's disease I will remember the first time I witnessed his inability to recall his nephew--my dad. To bear first-hand witness to the devastation Alzheimer's has on families broke me. I cannot imagine how Dad felt in that moment... as time went on, or even now. It can hurt to be forgotten by someone you met only once before. To be forgotten by your own uncle--the same person who lived right next door as you grew from infant to toddler to child to teenager--is unimaginable. 

In October I was able to travel the distance to Michigan to close the book, to celebrate the the story of Great-Uncle J. It is March now and I am in a similar place. I should go to Michigan and attend the funeral. I have prior obligations... road-blocking my attendance at this weekend's ceremony. I want to be there for my Great-Aunt D as I was for B. But I need to be here. I needed my mom this afternoon to reassure me I was indeed needed here. Even when the time is right, death has a way of being untimely, for those left behind--for me... and for my guilty conscience.  

(I could not find a place to work this in, yet feel it is worthy to note: Today, March 13, happens to be my dear friend's 25th birthday, marking this the third consecutive death of one of my people falling on the birth-date of another one of my people.)

The Result

This is what happens when I have company. The is what the aftermath of the holidays look like. This is the result of two straight weeks of socializing. This is what happens when I return from a week-long trip. This is what happens when I devote three hours a night to bowl-game season. This is what preparing for a five-week Central American vacation is like.

I have a mile long, or three-page, chicken-scratched 'to-do' list. And, quite magically, it is growing. There are tasks within each task. It is maddening.

And while I would like to accomplish the works of this list before my Wednesday morning departure, I am not fretting. I am relaxed--many praises to exercise, first-rate friends, and the clean-slate of a new year.

Tis the season of a whole lot to accomplish... and far less time to write. Sigh.

Doggone It

I want a dog. I want a dog. I want a dog. An older dog. I want a dog. I want a dog. I want a dog. I want a dog. I want a dog. I want a dog. I want a dog. A cuddle obsessed dog. I want a dog. I want a dog. I want a dog. I want a dog. I want a dog. I want a dog. I want a dog. I want a dog. I want a dog. I want a dog. I want a dog. A running companion [dog]. I want a dog. I want a dog. An obedient dog. I want a dog. I want a dog. I want a dog. I want a dog. I want a dog. I want a dog. A kennel trained dog. I want a dog. I want a dog. I want a dog. I want a dog. An outdoor loving dog. I want a dog. I want a dog. I want a dog. A sweet, other dog adoring, dog. I want a dog. I want a dog. I want a dog. I want a dog. I want a dog. I want a dog. I want a dog. I want a dog. I want a dog. I want a dog. A mutt. I want a dog. I want a dog. I want a dog. I want a dog. I want a dog. I want a dog. A medium-size dog. I want a dog. I want a dog. I want a dog. I want a dog. I want a dog. I want a dog. I want a dog. I want a dog. I want a dog. A house-broken dog. I want a dog. I want a dog. I want a dog. I want a dog. I want a dog. I want a dog. I want a dog. I want a dog. I want a dog. I want a dog. I want a dog. I want a dog. I want a dog. I want a female dog.

Morning Me Time

Most of our company is still gathered... but after a two-hour morning stroll and a hot shower, I needed 10 minutes of this. 

"I'm having a me party

A party by myself

A me party

I don't need nobody else

Having a me party

I'm the first and last to show

There's no one at this party that I don't already know." 

("Me Party" by The Muppets Original Soundtrack) 

The Time Away

C.A.H. enters my room, commenting, “You know you have not blogged in awhile.”

Me: “I know and it’s killing me!”

I encounter funks where I am sooooo over blogging, and it takes everything in my willpower to get some words down. This has not been the case during this eon away.  I have not processed exactly what the brief writing reprieve has taught me, above all, it’s been recharging. There are positive things happening in my life and all around me, but in this season, there is still a lot of junk—the negativity—weighing me down. And since I am not a strong writer, I am not sure, or always up to, challenging myself to find the purpose in each lesson. 

These past 11 days have been filled with celebration, illness, travel, and friendship. I have much to report on, but it will have to wait a few more days because I am dedicated to embracing my surrounding company for this late November holiday. (I did update the last post with the results of the cross country season.)

I arrived in Atlanta, Georgia today—the clouds were rolling in, but the temperature was steady at 75 degrees. We reached our final destination around 5 pm, and I haven’t moved much. Why would I? I am on the screened in porch. The rain, which was only a possibility a few hours ago, is falling steadily outside. And despite the Southern temperatures, there’s a fire radiating from the outdoor fireplace. The Michigan/Duke game is playing on the (outdoor) television. The holiday we’re gathered for is two days out, and I’m already in a food coma. Though a child from each family is still in route, waiting with ‘my people’ over flowing dialogue is pleasantly passing the time.

Back to embracing... or the final two minutes of The Game.