Also I'm Going To

I'm currently drinking hot water out of a mug and am wrapped in a red flannel heated blanket.  A red flannel heated blanket which just might be my favorite Christmas present of all time; who knew?  Who knew for someone who is always cold like me that a heated blanket is a way of saying - hey I got this for you.  You just sit back.  I got this.  

Also - I'm currently sitting here and reading.  

Reading leads me to wanting to write.  It's weird.  I suppose it's like a finished work of art quilt inspiring my mom to sew a square or two.

Mom, does that happen to you?  

For years, I have flirted around with the idea of writing a book.  Or a memoir.  Or a collection.  Or possibly a something else I haven't even thought of yet.  I just have this feeling that I'm supposed to - however the problem with that is...it won't ever get done if I keep on a thinking and not acting. 

My life right now is this quirky little existence that most likely will never repeat itself again.  I travel around the state for work.  I travel around to more than this state to see someone very important to me.  I travel to see my parents in the sunshine.  Everywhere, North Dakota to Red Lodge to Jackson to Phoenix to Salt Lake City to Nashville to back to Everywhere, North Dakota.  I travel around going on all these crazy little trips and then once I'm back, I travel for work again.  

I am a nomad.  

For the first time ever in the history of ever, I am a nomad.  Routine is not in my repertoire anymore- each day is drastically different.  

So if there ever was a time to most likely get after this itch called book, it's now. 

Being nomad challenges me in ways I've never been before and makes me deliriously happy and deliriously anxious all at the same time.  

This space will be neglected, which honestly it has been for awhile anyway.  When the itch to weave some words comes, I'm going to scratch it but keep the tapestry tucked away to see what might come of it.  Maybe something.  Maybe nothing.  

I might pop in every once in awhile to share really profound messages.  Like a little hey I'm lacking life lessons story about spilling a red smoothie all over myself right as I walked into a training on Tuesday morning.  About how I had to literally wash my clothes in the sink of the school and then walk in with them wet to stand in front of a room full of people and talk.  About how sometimes there's nothing to do but laugh at yourself.   

Please know when I say profound, I don't actually mean profound.  

Do you remember when four years ago, I wrote at the very bottom of a blog post "I'm also going to run a half marathon in May.  I figure if I actually write that down, it's real and I can't back out.  So, there you have it.  A couple of new things."  Then I did.  I ran my first half marathon after not being able to run a tenth of a mile just months before that.  Remember that?  

I'm hoping this will be similar.  

Four years from now, I want to look back at this and go - yes I did that.  I wrote a book, or a memoir, or a collection, or a something else.  

Also remember how I have been writing in this space for FIVE years?  I almost can't even look back in the archives to see where I was at the beginning and where I was in the middle and where I am now.  Through moves.  Through babies I call niece and nephew being born.  Through my mom's cancer.  Through my own complete health transformation.  Through job changes.  Through relationship craps.  Through wins.  Through losses.  Through funnies.  It's crazy.  Five years.  Remember that?  

Now let me wipe a little tear from my eye.  

Cheers to life being the best ever right now.  Cheers to professional goodness.  Cheers to family health.  Cheers to friendships remaining strong and forever.  Cheers to being with someone who makes me a better egg and who makes me throw my arms out happy. 

Cheers to the future book.  

Might Truly be the Best Ever

Last night in my reading of the current book club selection, Cutting for Stone, I came across what truly might be the best ever weaving of words. 

Let me set it up a bit...

The words of the century came in the book after a well known African children's tale was referenced.  A tale about a miserable merchant who hated the fact he had no money and hated the fact he held a lowly job and hated his life so much so that he couldn't even stand the sight of his battered and beaten slippers anymore.  He kept trying to get rid of the ghastly in his eyes slippers but every time he did, more disaster struck.  Catastrophic disaster.  The reference to this made in Cutting for Stone comes when the character named Ghosh is in an Ethiopian prison (Kerchele).  The old jailbird man who tells stories every night while they all try to sleep ends up saying right before they all drifted off - that merchant "might as well build a special room for his slippers.  Why try to lose them?  He'll never escape."  The man then died in his sleep while imprisoned.

Flash forward to Ghosh talking to his son after he is out of prison.  He says while discussing life and its twists and turns, "The old man was right.  The slippers in the story mean that everything you see and do and touch, every seed you sow, or don't sow, becomes part of your destiny..."

And then they came.  What might truly be the best ever string of words.  

"Ghosh sighed, 'I hope one day you see this as clearly as I did in Kerchele.  The key to your happiness is to own your slippers, own who you are, own how you look, own your family, own the talents you have, and own the ones you don't.  If you keep saying your slippers aren't yours, then you'll die searching, you'll die bitter, always feeling you were promised more.  Not only our actions, but also our omissions become our destiny.'"  

Owning the slippers.  Owning the slippers on our feet.  How beautiful.  How perfect.     

What follows now has entirely nothing to do with the aforementioned other than the to say one thing I own about myself is the poor planning of slamming in last minute projects.  Case in point this one, the painting of the two end tables I've had sitting in the garage since last winter when they were on the teacher classifieds as brown 1960 veneer numbers.

I decided they had to be finished before I started my new job.  Had to!  It started like any other painting project of mine.  With an oh I know!  I'll just paint these real quick like today.  Which turned quickly into a you've got to be kidding me?!  This is taking forever and now I have paint all over hell and can this just be done already?  I did push through and finish them - all two coats and a wax job later - and I do indeed rather enjoy how they turned out.  Even if my driveway still has blue speckles of paint all around. 

Back to the slippers and owning your own pair.  I do believe that sentiment and the way it was spoken is the best I've heard to describe successfully wrapping your head around life. 

Hey Simple!

This morning, I showered at the YMCA after I ran.

Sounds very simple yes, but boy did it take some coming around to get to that simplified fix.  

Last night after running outside (insert wet dog smell here) and then tanning (insert bad bad coconut smell on top of wet dog smell here) (another insert here I know it's bad to tan and I promise it's not very often)...where was I?  After all of that smelly business and a round of packing for Arizona in which I was the most proud of myself ever for packing without internal combustion and odd issues arising, I went to shower.  Flipped the handle to hot like always to get it good and steamy before adjusting and cold was it.  Cold COLD.  

Which led to a quick discussion of crap, the hot water heater finally kicked the bucket after flirting with death for years.  Crap.  

And then I went into mild internal combustion.  

Bad timing!  This is really bad timing!  I have to be ready to get on a plane when I leave here for work in the morning.  I smell so so bad right now.  I have to like have time to make sure I have my toothbrush and blush brush packed in the morning.  I smell so so bad right now.  I have an early meeting at work. 

Mainly being the issue of I smell so so bad right now.  Followed closely by crap I suppose this is going to cost money.  

So then finally after lots of combustion (acting a fool) and after thinking I'd have to pack everything and shower at Brittany's or Karen's in the morning without my normal trip to the Y because of the time factor, it finally came to me, "Hey.  How about you just shower after your run in the morning at the Y and throw sweats on and come home and finish getting ready and pack up the last minute stuff for your trip then?  Like put a towel and your shampoo and conditioner in a bag with clean sweats and that's all you have to do."  

Hey light bulb moment.  

And here's where my humble flag is flying.  Being all proud of my non-ridiculous packing turned quickly into ridiculous behavior from a hot water heater death.  Yeah, I'm not all the way there yet.  Wherever all the way is.

I really dislike when that reaction happens to me.  Big problems.  There are big problems and big hurts and disappointments and this was definitely not one of them.  I work on reaction business all the time and apparently still need to keep on.     

All this leads to the simple fix of I showered at the Y this morning and all was just fine with the world.  A new hot water heater will make the everything steamy again and that's how that story goes.

Sometimes I get these fun little gifts in the mail with notes about how the person who did the gifting enjoys reading this space.  About how they relate to my perspective or about how they laugh or cry or feel a connection to some words that have come from my fingers.  

Sometimes I think to myself that it's time to hang up this place.  But usually right about that time is when I get a sign of life out there and then it becomes much less of Hello?  Am I talking to myself?  Bueller? and more of a beautiful connection in a small world.  

Perspective from all, including hot water heaters.  

PS to the you know who you are who sent me this best ever, and I mean really best ever, travel coffee mug...thank you.  Thank you for your thoughtfulness and thank you for reading about zits and the rest of this jumble. 

Surprise Gifting Myself

A Christmas present to myself arrived on the doorstep last week.  At first, I wondered what was in the brown package because I hadn't ordered anything as of late.  But when I cracked it open there it was, the back ordered book I had purchased sometime in November finally being delivered.  

I do believe I might do this sort of thing on purpose from here on out.  Surprise gifting yourself is satisfying.  

The item from the random brown box is a book of street photography from Chicago and New York City in the 1950s and it is beautiful.  Like makes you want to literally feel the pages beautiful.  Vivian Maeir is the artist and she is unique in that she wasn't a photographer until after her death.  She was a nanny, living in a stereotypical 1950 woman's role.  In secret, she took photographs - many many pictures.  Since her passing, her work has been unearthed by the editor of this book, John Maloof.  After his careful curating and compiling, she is now a photographer with a capital P.  

Although I'd dare say she was that long before being recognized as so, a Photographer.  A see-er of the world - the tiny and the small and the everything in between.  She knew she was.  Otherwise, she wouldn't have kept shooting.  At least that's what I believe; we don't do things just because.  We don't.  For whatever reason, while she was amongst the walking and breathing, she didn't want to share her gift.  And maybe in a way, that was her way of sharing. 

I love the mystery of that nugget.  It makes me wonder what else is being hidden in this world which will one day turn into a tangible gift of talent and art.  

Like maybe the person next to me at the grocery store is a painter with a capital P.  Or maybe the person waiting in the next lane at a red light is a writer with a capital W.  

It's a rather whimsical theory, and I like it.  

A gift being shared after the person no longer can share it themselves. 

This book is a love.  It is inspiring, haunting, down right beautiful, and gets my full stamp of approval for a choice in surprise gifting to yourself.   

If for nothing else but this quote from Vivian herself, "It's a wheel - you get on, you go to the end, and someone else has the same opportunity to go to the end, and so on, and somebody else takes their place.  There's nothing new under the sun."  

Worth passing along.

Reading, Writing, and Hiney Kicking

"Readers, writers, and thinkers...we are going to learn something that you can use today and every single day for the rest of your life."

 

I had to do some presenting on nonfiction writing yesterday to our district with a wonderful coworker and ended up with marker all over my face and hands and went over time by a solid 20 minutes each session. I guess I can get a bit passionate about the difference between teaching writing and assigning writing. Either that or I really need to lay off the coffee. I think I'll just stick with that writing needs to be a part of the air breathed in every classroom. Because coffee isn't going anywhere.

 

In another life, I want to open a school.  Anyone know any big investors who'd want to help with that?  Send them my way.  I say that flippantly, but seriously.   

 

 

I finished up my day with blue marker still all over my hands but wiped off my face.  I was the first one to muscle pump and couldn't help but enjoy the sunshine streaming in.  Class was taught by the one and only Sara.  She is a hiney kicker but I love her smiling face so it makes it okay.  We work together too and we have matching sores right now.  Too many sit-ups will cause a sore at the exact hiney area I was referring to earlier.  In case you wanted to know. 

 

A Really Great Book

One of my happies...  

Pulling the old rocker over the fire.  

Making a cup of tee.  

And reading.  

Until my feet become so freaking hot I can't stand it anymore.  

This time it was in the afternoon sun on a December vacation day.  

But the time doesn't matter, as long as all elements are present.

 

And may I say this.  If you haven't read The Fault in Our Stars, do it now.  Like this weekend.  It's perfect really because if you live here, we will be buried under a layer of ice and snow and butt numbing cold.     

I read the book in one day over break.  Tears ran down my face.  It's one I will read again, the words and message are hauntingly beautiful.

 

"I am," he said.  He was staring at me, and I could see the corners of his eyes crinkling.  "I'm in love with you, and I'm not in the business of denying myself the simple pleasure of saying true things.  I'm in love with you, and I know that love is just a shout into the void, and that oblivion is inevitable, and that we're all doomed and that there will come a day when all our labor has been returned to dust, and I know the sun wills wallow the only earth we'll ever have, and I am in love with you." 

'Sometimes the universe wants to be noticed.'  "That's what I believe.  I believe the universe wants to be noticed.  I think the universe is improbably biased toward consciousness, that it rewards intelligence in part because the universe enjoys its elegance being observed.  And who am I, living in the middle of history, to tell the universe that it-my observation of it-is temporary?"  "You are fairly smart," I said after awhile.  "You are fairly good at compliments," he answered. 

"You are so busy being you that you have no idea how utterly unprecedented you are."

We are Strong

As I sit here on this Saturday morning of Christmas break, with my 1980s sweatshirt quilt wrapped around me and a space heater humming at my feet, I feel like I want to write.  Probably because I just spent the last two hours reading.  Reading makes you want to write.  Or at least it does that magic for me.  Reading someone else's fantastically woven words inspires me to sit down and peck something out.  All full knowing, it won't be to the caliber of published works. 

 

But it's writing.  For me. 

 

And writing is a funny thing.  Sometimes I don't feel like I want to ever do that business again.  To sit here in this blue paisley chair and put any thoughts from my head down to this paper.  And then I go with that feeling and don't do it just for the sake of it.  But then it strikes again, the pull to make sense of an intangible train of thoughts.  And then I go with that feeling too and sit here with my space heater to say something. 

 

 

Which in this case is...

 

I love my book club. 

 

You want to talk about something that makes me feel inspired to read, write, and to live like I could jump off any risk at any moment?  Let's talk about book club then.

 

It's a sacred thing.  I don't toss that word around lightly either.  Sacred.  Sitting around a table or in a cluster of chairs or we could even sit on the floor, with that group of ladies...is magic. 

 

We had our annual Christmas party the Friday before all of the festivities started and this year proved to be as epic as all previous.  Complete with the Bison game on in the background playing to a vinyl records soundtrack of the old country of George Jones mixed in with the shatteringly beautiful Your Song by Elton John. 

This time of year is always bittersweet.  One celebration after another while the ever present nag of this the end of another year pulls at my heartstrings.  This party was the kick start to the nostalgic feeling of wrapping up the past 365 days.  All of us went around the table and reflected upon our favorite moments from 2013.  Our challenges and our triumphs and our misgivings came through, like they always do. 

 

It's a rare commodity, to be fully accepted and never judged and to put it almost unfairly simple, that is precisely what my book club is for me.  I often say things in book club or think things aloud in book club which I believed in my head would never see the light of day.  For I know those thoughts flying out of my mouth, have a safe spot to land.

 

It's a sacred thing.  Book Club.  At the end of every meeting, there is usually a mess of wine glasses and empty martinis and leftover bits of food and crumpled napkins but as we all put our coats on and shake our hair out of their collars, we are never a mess.  Quite the opposite, we are aligned and back to our core...ready to tackle the next month.  Because anytime we are given the full acceptance we all crave and so desperately need, everything else - all the little - quite frankly doesn't freaking matter.  

 

For we have been reminded we are strong.  Strong women who can and will do anything.