IT'S DIFFERENT NOW: DIFFERENT GOOD

I used to travel alone all the time. Sometimes for work and sometimes for fun. Several years ago after a bad breakup I decided that I just couldn't celebrate Thanksgiving the traditional way (surrounded by family all tilting their head to one side as they asked me how I was doing...ugh) so I booked a solo trip to Oceanside, CA. The hotel pity-upgraded me (this poor thing is all alone on Thanksgiving, give her the suite). I walked to a grocery store and stocked-up on diet cokes and hot tamales and picked out a dusty Cup-O-Noodles to eat on the beach at sunset on Thanksgiving.

It was perfectly heartbreaking; all of it. I remember sitting alone and watching the sun melt into the Thanksgiving waves and I felt peace. I was at peace being alone. At peace digging my toes in the sand. At peace slurping my Cup-O-Noodles. At peace with my anonymity. Mostly the last one. You know how there are people who always needs to be with someone? Always need to call a friend and can't stand spending one night alone watching Bed of Roses for the umpteenth time? That is NOT me. Being alone and anonymous is practically the best thing ever because you can feel how you want to feel and act how you want to act and NOBODY notices.

Now when I travel I'm part of this big caravan. I'm not the girl in the window seat on the plane who puts on her headphones and sleeps the entire flight. I'm the mom with toys and bottles and a poopy diaper in my purse who has an entire game plan for a smooth flight. I'm the woman that girl with the headphones is trying to avoid. Goodbye anonymity.

The first few days in Santa Monica were just for me and Clem to enjoy. Nate had meetings and work to do so I'd put Clemmy in the stroller or baby bjorn and we'd just go on mini adventures. And the thing is, I wasn't anonymous for even a moment. I always got noticed with Clementine. I know people love babies; people LOVE Clementine. A lot. To the point where I couldn't go anywhere without someone tickling her or playing peek-a-boo with her or biting her toes. Yes, I said biting her toes. And it's not their fault, really. It's Clementine's fault. Because she has these eyes that cast a spell on you. She's got eye of newt and dragonfly wings and all sorts of spellbinding concoctions behind those baby-blues and once you look into them you cannot be held responsible for your actions.

See. I told you.

So now I'm basically Clementine's wingman. We walk into a room, she sniffs out the nice ones and then they are magically summoned by her eyes to come and talk to us and tell us how cute she is. How is that for a commanding presence? She forces me out of my quiet; out of my shell; out of my head. And I have to interact and make eye contact and share my Cup-O-Noodles and sunset with handfuls of strangers who I never knew could make life so much more interesting.

ONE OF THOSE DAYS

Have you ever had one of those days where, though you get out of bed, you never really wake up? Or one of the days where everyone else seems to look put together and happy with smiles and shiny stuff around their eyes, and your eyes are saggy and all you can manage to see is that hideous patch of gray hair that is growing undeterred over your right temple? How about one of those days where your blackberry keeps buzzing so continuously that you lose your patients and maybe pick it up and throw it against the wall in your office? And lastly, had one of those days lately where you know you've gained weight, and you know the only way to break the cycle and reclaim your former body is to get off your couch-loving hiney and work out. But you don't. Because of all the stuff about being tired and living in a fog and being disappointed with your life and accomplishments and how easy you lose your temper and just plain laziness?
I had one of those days today. Real bad. And now I see that Out of Africa is coming on encore and while I'm tempted to watch this three-hour epic and cry my eyes out, I'm not going to. Because I'm too tired. What's the date again?

REMEMBER WHEN

I used to blog regularly? I used to be interesting? I was a good friend and called you once in a while? I thought exercise was more than hypothetical? I watered my plants?

If this blog were a singer it would be called Dusty Springfield and this would be my album cover.






















I've been busy. This summer I've traveled to a bazillion different Marriott properties in cities I barely breathed in. I'm not proud of my absence. In fact, it haunts me in those hours when I should be sleeping but when my mind thinks about product launches and what a brilliant marketing professional might do in my shoes.

This post reminds me of my girlhood journals. I'd start strong; keeping my readers {all the older versions of myself that would read it someday} updated on every mundane detail of my 10-year old life. And then, around page four, I'd start to slack. Gaps would form and I'd have months of invisible days that basically never happened because I'll never remember them again.

One of those unrecorded days might have recounted the first goal I scored in co-ed soccer or how I thought my 4th grade teacher, Mr. Dunkley, was "a fox". I might have had entries about my first date, my first kiss, my first job, my first anything; but they are all lost in the empty pages between July 12, 1983 and...now!

When Clementine came to be one night in August 2006, I had lots to say. I was anxious to recount anything that drew a pause or a second thought or a sigh. I was consistent and have a great log of almost three years of my life with photos and links and a few comments. But now it has all these gaps; gaps where forgotten stories belong.

I'm going to avoid all the details that make most memories charming and just go for the basic facts. Once I catch myself up to Sept 2, 2009, I'll tell you what color my toenails are and how I love this new t-shirt I got from jcrew.

Summer Trips: NYC {2x}, San Francisco, San Diego, Orlando, Denver {4x}, Seattle, Minneapolis, Pheonix, Chicago, Iowa...I'm forgetting places. That doesn't seem like enough.

Big Events: Family reunion at my house, my 38th birthday, I got platinum status on Delta, celebrated my 4th anniversary, Oquirrh Mountain Temple dedication

Concerts: Wilco, The Dead Weather, Depeche Mode, Lollapalooza

Adoptions: Nate and I rescued a 2-month old kitten we named Agnes. I'm fairly certain she already has abandonment issues.

Workouts: Three (3o minutes in Orlando, 30 minutes in Denver, 30 minutes in San Diego

I miss Clementine. I miss the occasional comments. I miss the ability to use the search capabilities of blogger to remember what it was like to be 36.

And now, because I promised you I'd include these details, my toes are a pearly nude color, and I love this t-shirt from jcrew.

GRAFFITI: LEAVE YOUR MARK

Salt Lake City has had some trouble with graffiti lately. I've noticed it on exit signs which can be particularly dangerous if you don't know your way around. It's so irritating to see a city employee suspended above the freeway to clean off a sign that has been covered with someone's spray painted mark.

I read about these badass knitting graffiti groups in Handmade Nation and LOVED the idea. Nothing they tag is damaged, nothing requires fixing, it looks pretty and it's hard to look at and NOT consider someone's loving hands making it. I wish this kind of group would swarm into SLC and give us some covered tree trunks, street signs, and park benches. They can start at my house.

BOO ON MONDAYS

Despite all the positive affirmations and other tricks people try to pull...Mondays suck. Full stop. This is a public service announcement going out to anyone recently victimized by a Monday. You aren't alone. And to all the Mondays past and those yet to curse us with your presence, damn you!.

HAPPY BARACK OBAMA DAY

DANCING AT A CLUB

When I'm dancing at a club I am pretty sure I look nothing like this on the dance floor. But in my mind, you can sure bet I think I do.

THE ROADS!!

Tonight my 40 minute commute turned into a 2.5 hour slog through the ice and snow covered roads. Traffic took an unbelievably slow pace and there I was, one of thousands trying to get home to a safe set of arms and a warm meal. Nate had tacos waiting when I got home.





















Image from freefoto.com

RESOLUTE

adjective
Firmly resolved and determined; set in purpose or opinion.

I didn't sit down with pencil in hand and write down my 2009 goals but I have thought about them a lot. Here is a sneak preview.

1. Live healthy. (Drink water. Sleep plenty. Wake early. Eat smart. Work out)
2. Send birthday cards.
3. Live outward.
4. Write every day.
5. Learn something creative {paint, screenprint, bookbind, upholstery}.
6. Be grateful everyday.
7. Run.
8. Be frugal.
9. Anxiety. Manage it.
10. Go unabashedly gang-busters at work.

FLU

It started with a sore throat. I woke up two weeks ago with a terrible sore throat and then immediately got a fever, body aches, and what felt like ear infection. I worked from home for three days and then forced myself back to work. More fevers. More sore throat. And then I started to cough.
The coughing really just started a few days ago. The doctor at insta-care did warn me by saying, "if your cough hasn't kept you awake at night, it will." So I cough. And cough. Last night, it did keep me awake; and it woke me if I dared drift asleep. By the end of the night, I'd coughed my voice away. My throat and vocal cords are so swollen that I can barely squeak out sounds this morning.
When the doctor said "this is a 14 day flu", he meant it. And I think what 14 days actually means is the number of days you should be laying in bed eating soup and watching old Doris Day movies. I'm putting a used tissue under my pillow as a plea to the flu fairy. I don't want her to leave me anything; I want her to take this cough and hurdle it into space where it can drift weightlessly out of the galaxy.

FULL DAY

Today I woke up tired. But I knew it was the one day I had this week to get stuff done. Stuff like pack away my summer clothes, finally get around to making that salsa before the peppers go bad, and cleaning the house. Oh, did I mention laundry? I'm exhausted.
Nate picked this flower from our back yard today; sometimes all it takes is a little flower to remind me that life is happening all around me.

HARVARD SMART

Ivy. League.
I was on Harvard campus yesterday. The leaves were falling and it rained a little. You could almost smell the history coming from the old bricks. Something about a college campus is so romantic; all those smart minds gathered in one place.
I was walking along the pathways wondering if any of those kids could tell I didn't belong. If I actually looked out of place. They looked just like everyone else I know. But I could tell there was something more ticking inside those brains of their's. Genius happening right before my eyes.
I've thought about going back to school. Studying creative writing. Being a student again. Geographically it wouldn't work out, but I wonder if I have what it takes to get into a school like Harvard or Cambridge or Stanford. I'd like to think I'm Harvard smart.

OPRAH SAYS

I've been so busy for weeks. Maybe months. Just like exercise, blogging has been one of the first things to drop off the list of must-dos. I was flying home from Denver yesterday and I kept getting distracted at the Hudson News shop by the cover of Oprah's Magazine. It said in big purple letters across the top, "Too busy to live?" And I thought, "Oh Yes!"
I read the article and found some solace knowing I'm not alone. There are enough people feeling this way to warrant a magazine article about it. The statement that seemed to ring true and cause me to think was this: "No matter how much or how little we're doing, we're always just doing what we're doing, simply living this one moment of our lives. Business is a state of mind, not a fact."
So I'm going to start a short list of things that would be nice to do. And I'm going to do them. If business is just a state of mind then I'm determined to change my state. And I'm going to remain nice while I do it.
1. exercise every morning before work to create some peace of mind and consistency at the beginning of each day.
2. take advantage of harvest time and eat plenty of local fruits and vegetables.
3. do a short detox to flush the layers of caffeine out of my system. Drink water.
4. plan a relaxing and fun trip to Banff for our anniversary.
5. spend 2 hours in a spa and get a facial and a massage.

A-Z: G

G {pronounced JEE}

Gigantism: See elephantitis. I'm obsessed with an anomaly.

Guevara, Che: There are bits of Che's life that I truly admire; primarily the parts where we was dissatisfied with inequality and committed his life to bringing attention to the gross realities. Nate likes to think I'm a revolutionary at heart. I found a beanie in Spain with Che's face on it. I wear it when I'm in a safe, controlled environment.

Gray: I got my first gray hair when I was 23. I lived in Chicago and Curtis and I discovered it one day at work. We quickly removed it and Curtis decided to frame it in order to remind me of how quickly life was passing me by. I think he was just trying to make himself feel better because we were the same age and he was 99% bald.

Gams: Sometimes I like to refer to legs as gams. Mostly when I'm talking about chubby baby gams.

LOSS OF ZEST; TAKING TIME OUT

I've been a negligent blogger AND I've been so busy at work that I've got no time to generate interesting blogging ideas. Unless you just want to hear me go on and on about how busy I am at work. So, I'm gonna take a few days off {a few more than I've already had}. I'll be back. Hopefully fresh. Hopefully interesting.

WRITERS MAKE ME WANT TO WRITE

Saturday I dined in SLC with Shannon Hale {some of you know her as my bff authorly friend who I've known for the last 10+ years} and her authorly friend Stephenie Meyers {aka the woman who took vampire love triangles by storm with the likes of Twilight}.
If it seems like I'm name dropping, I am; I'm not above it. But sitting at the table in the restaurant, in the presence of these women with talent and determination and brilliance, has really begged me to take a step back and reassess what happened to my own writing plans. Oh wait, I think I see them. Buried underneath all the other expectations I've put on myself. Does someone have a shovel?

DEAR MARTHA,

After reading this month's "From My Home To Yours" section of Martha Stewart Living, I'm convinced I'd like to be a weekend guest at one of Martha's spectacular homes. Consider this; she greats each guest with a welcome letter. You find your room {each is numbered and assigned specifically to meet the needs of the individual guest} stocked with stationary, postcards, stamps and travel books about the area. She plans early morning dog walks, vigorous hikes or horseback riding and then everyone eats a hearty breakfast together around the big table. Oh, and each night she runs through the next morning's activities; timing of breakfast, boat departures and general scheduling.
On the flip side, if you stay at my house, I have yogurt in the fridge and it's a strict "help yourself" policy for breakfast. We stay up late playing guitar hero and you're lucky to have a clean towel without asking. Sometimes, in quiet moments, I really resent Martha's perfect world of lies.

A MONTH OF OUTFITS

I would absolutely love to have this kind of plan in place for the next 30 days. You know how much quicker I could be ready in the morning if I had it all mapped out? Most mornings I'm okay. And then there is the occasional shit morning where I spend 45 minutes locked in my little walk in closet trying on and ripping off every item that once hung there.
I'm gonna spend a little bit of time the next few days; outfitting myself with some much needed new shoes and a few other essential items. Maybe this can be a weekend project; I think it would look really great to have 30 polas hanging in a row. And what a great place to turn when the morning blues hit.
Featured: Day 7, 13, 20, 26.

IF I WERE KING OF THE FOREST

For the most part, I'm an easy going girl. I embarrass myself regularly, I've been known to watch TV all day {Charlie's Angels marathon}, and I take it upon myself to have a sense of humor with my wardrobe. But once in a while I become fanatical about something; and when I do, it's best just to nod in agreement and let sleeping dogs lie. {I'm the sleeping dog}.
Case in point: my increasing intolerance for plastic bags and the freedom of which most Americans toss them about as though they dissolve into thin air after a week.
My awareness began a few years ago when I could no longer justify saying "paper" at the grocery store. Because there was more talk about clear cutting in the media I chose plastic as the less destructive alternative. But then along came a daily observance of my second religion; one I refer to by three holy letters. NPR.
Thanks to Morning Edition, I learned that it took over 1,000 years for a plastic grocery bag to decompose and was instantly sickened. Think of all the plastic being handed out at grocery and retail stores all over the country. Think of all the double bagging!!
The plastic factor became painfully obvious when Nate and I bought bark chips for the Xeriscaping we did in our backyard. It was described as "clean" but when I found strips of plastic bag, and bits of random broken plastic stuffs, I realized just what it meant to throw plastic away. It doesn't go away. It's always there; stuck in a tree, blowing across the freeway, and shredded up in my bark.
Well, needless to say, I immediately bought reusable bags for groceries and always try to turn down unnecessary bags of any kind at retail check out.
Nate is very familiar with my "if I were king {or mayor, or senator, or president} for a day" moments. They come as a result of someone offending my fanaticism. Someone challenging the very fibers that makes up my organic moral fabric.
A few days ago Nate and I stopped at Harmons for groceries. I even made a special jog out to the car to get the bright green reusable bags, while the bagger waited for me. So she had to know that I was serious about being environmentally responsible, right? Well, I guess not. Nate and I took advantage of a five for $20 meat deal and ended up with five fine looking steaks. At check-out, after I had returned from the car with my totes, the bagger went ahead and put each of the five packs of meat into its own plastic bag and then put all five into yet another plastic bag. It was, as far as I can tell, a labyrinth of plastic so nightmarish I could do nothing but look away. I know there is some code that says meat has to be put in plastic bags, but did the entire process have to involve six bags?
Many European countries simply don't have plastic or paper bags at grocery and retail stores. If you need a bag, you buy a canvas tote at check out or bring your own. Why can't we do the same in America? As a country, why can't we admit that as long as there is a stack of indestructible plastic bags in front of us, we'll use them. If I were king for a day, I'd remove all bags from check out stands. I'd make it impossible to walk away with a gallon of milk {in a plastic jug} double bagged in plastic. If I were king for a day, I'd give everyone these.

DESERT ISLAND QUESTIONS

Let's say you were taking a vacation and as luck would have it...you're boat veers off its nautical path and becomes capsized. You swim to shore and find yourself on a desert island; this is your run-of-the-mill desert island. It's pretty, but the elements are extreme and you have to hunt and gather your food and build a lean-to out of branches and leaves.


















Assuming your iPod was in a water proof case and had a longer than life battery, and assuming certain items floated to shore in your wardrobe trunk, answer the following questions:

1. What song on you iPod would you listen to first?
2. What book would you be happy you had to read again and again?
3. What shoes would you dig through your trunk, find, and never take off?
4. What would you most dream about eating again?
5. What would your six word life story be at that moment?
6. What would you most regret not packing?
7. After you woke on the beach, water logged and disoriented, what would you do first?
8. Even though no one is with you; who would you pretend was with you?
9. Would you {be honest} ruin your tweezerman tweezers by straightening them out to use as a rudimentary fishing spear? Even if it meant your eyebrows would grow in all bushy and unruly?
10. What "stuck on a desert island" movie would you think about while you were there?

My answers:
1. The Police, Message in a Bottle
2. Crime and Punishment, Dostoyevski
3. These
4. These
5. "Why didn't I just go camping?"
6. More of this
7. Search frantically for comb. I hate how tangled my hair gets in salt water
8. I'd pretend Nate was with me. I'd probably even have pretend fights with him.
9. I'd wait to ruin my tweezers. Until I knew it was my only option. Bushy eyebrows would literally drive me insane.
10. Move Over Darling, starring Doris Day