Last night I took the teenage girls from my church group to a free concert in the park. We got them awesome pizza, every flavor of Izze soda we could find, laid out blankets to lounge and I even had red velvet cupcakes to top off the evening.
The performers, however, were a little...well...not what your average 15 year old girl wants to listen to. It was a "band" of 3 brothers singing traditional Irish songs. None of us knew any of the songs so we just kind of listened and giggled and made fun of the lead singer's long stringy man-ponytail.
Half way through the performance one of the girls got up and started crazy hippie dancing to the songs. So we all followed along. It was hilarious, but I wanted to make sure the girls felt free to be silly. I wanted them to let their self-consciousness go and realize that no one cares how you look. So I acted a bit of a fool. I felt like I was a 16 year old girl hanging out with my friends.
The concert drew to a close and the band struck up for it's final number. Within the first few bars I knew we were in for a treat. I would walk 500 miles by The Proclaimers. A song I will always know. A song that brings me squarely to my middle school days. I remember being 13 years old and getting that song on a movie soundtrack compilation disk. I remember having my friends over to my house, putting the disk in the computer drive, turning off all the lights in the office and jumpdancing around the room with flashlights. Over and over and over again until we were sweaty and doubled over with laughter-induced stomach cramps.
And so when I looked around and realized that not a single one of the girls that was with me last night had ever heard the song before I just shook my head in awe.
And realized that, yes, I will be turning 30 next month...and it's beginning to show.
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
Muscle Memory
Last night after work I came home and needed a break.
A break from thinking and feeling and being frustrated and being anxious and being nervous.
So I put my old gross crocs, an old beat up pair of shorts and went out to harvest food out of my garden. Someone in my neighborhood must be feeding the birds like crazy because there are about 100 times more birds trying to eat my salad greens than there ever have been. As a result we draped netting over the top of my garden. So now, when I go in I have to crawl on all fours to stay under the bird netting.
At first I thought having to crawl around would be totally horrible. I thought it would hurt my back and scrape up my knees.
But guess what? I totally love it. It reminds me of the tent that my sister got for her birthday one year. It had a fitted sheet on the bottom so you could make it right on top of your mattress and always feel like you are sleeping in a cave.
It reminds me of when I was 10 and would climb into the closet under the stairs to read the Chronicles of Narnia by the light of my favorite pink flashlight.
It reminds me of climbing into my 4 year old niece Charlotte's pink princess tent while we play make believe.
Turns out that almost every memory I have of crawling into small places is warm and familiar and friendly.
A break from thinking and feeling and being frustrated and being anxious and being nervous.
So I put my old gross crocs, an old beat up pair of shorts and went out to harvest food out of my garden. Someone in my neighborhood must be feeding the birds like crazy because there are about 100 times more birds trying to eat my salad greens than there ever have been. As a result we draped netting over the top of my garden. So now, when I go in I have to crawl on all fours to stay under the bird netting.
At first I thought having to crawl around would be totally horrible. I thought it would hurt my back and scrape up my knees.
But guess what? I totally love it. It reminds me of the tent that my sister got for her birthday one year. It had a fitted sheet on the bottom so you could make it right on top of your mattress and always feel like you are sleeping in a cave.
It reminds me of when I was 10 and would climb into the closet under the stairs to read the Chronicles of Narnia by the light of my favorite pink flashlight.
It reminds me of climbing into my 4 year old niece Charlotte's pink princess tent while we play make believe.
Turns out that almost every memory I have of crawling into small places is warm and familiar and friendly.
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
Getting it right
Yesterday the ear doctor and I celebrated our 4th wedding anniversary.
Did you know that the traditional gift to give your spouse for the 4th anniversary is linen or silk? Usually we try to honor the tradition in some way, but this year I totally dropped the ball. Which is a total bummer because the ear doctor could have really used a new maroon silk smoking jacket and coordinating ascot...
This year my husband got me milk delivery from a honest-to-goodness milk man. From now on, when I wake up on Friday mornings I'll be able to go out to my porch, open up that shiny metal box and find perfect, fresh, hormone-free dairy products and eggs produced by animals that actually live in my own state.
How does this tie in with the traditional 4th year anniversary gift? Well, he got a carton of Silk (soy milk), emptied it out, cut a trap door in the back of the carton and glued the logo of the dairy that delivers to our neighborhood on the inside. I knew immediately what that meant.
Before he gave me the gift, he tried to explain it to some people. They just didn't understand what could possibly be romantic about giving someone diary delivery for their anniversary. They thought he should be getting a box of Godiva chocolates and a couple dozen long stemmed roses or something.
But Godiva chocolates once made me spend a weekend wracked with uncontrollable vomit and roses, to me, are more of a flower meant to stay in the garden.
Romance, to me, is knowing your spouse so well that you know exactly what will totally knock their socks off. Which for me? Is totally a milk man.
Did you know that the traditional gift to give your spouse for the 4th anniversary is linen or silk? Usually we try to honor the tradition in some way, but this year I totally dropped the ball. Which is a total bummer because the ear doctor could have really used a new maroon silk smoking jacket and coordinating ascot...
This year my husband got me milk delivery from a honest-to-goodness milk man. From now on, when I wake up on Friday mornings I'll be able to go out to my porch, open up that shiny metal box and find perfect, fresh, hormone-free dairy products and eggs produced by animals that actually live in my own state.
How does this tie in with the traditional 4th year anniversary gift? Well, he got a carton of Silk (soy milk), emptied it out, cut a trap door in the back of the carton and glued the logo of the dairy that delivers to our neighborhood on the inside. I knew immediately what that meant.
Before he gave me the gift, he tried to explain it to some people. They just didn't understand what could possibly be romantic about giving someone diary delivery for their anniversary. They thought he should be getting a box of Godiva chocolates and a couple dozen long stemmed roses or something.
But Godiva chocolates once made me spend a weekend wracked with uncontrollable vomit and roses, to me, are more of a flower meant to stay in the garden.
Romance, to me, is knowing your spouse so well that you know exactly what will totally knock their socks off. Which for me? Is totally a milk man.
Happy 4th!
Want to know what the ear doctor looks like when I totally suprise him with an unexpeted picnic in public to commemorate our 4th wedding anniversary?
I thought you'd never ask!
We sat on the bridge, ate cake, danced to the same song as our "first dance" (I've got a crush on you).
I love this guy like CRAZY!
I thought you'd never ask!
Last night after dinner with my man I suggested we take a leisurley stroll through downtown Denver. As we walked toward our favorite bridge he noticed a beat up box that was kind of opened a bit with light coming out. He reached down to look at it and saw his name on it. When he opened it, there was a balloon, candles and chocolate cake inside.
We sat on the bridge, ate cake, danced to the same song as our "first dance" (I've got a crush on you).
I love this guy like CRAZY!
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
Acting like Frenchies
The ear doctor and I try our very hardest not to watch TV on Monday nights. Monday nights are special for us. For talking. For laughing. For family.
Last night I got off work late because I had to stay and attend a really frustrating meeting. I stopped by the market to get some fish for dinner and a pre-made salad. It was just one of those nights.
We made the dinner and I could literally feel the stress rolling off my back. By the time I was sopping up the delicious buttery fish oil from my plate with a chewy slice of sourdough I was ready to laugh.
We spent a hour playing keep away from the dog with an old chewed up basketball. We laid in our pretty green grass that just months ago was a bare patch of dead dirt. We decided to grab the leash and walk the dog 2 blocks away to our favorite gelato place. We sat on a bench and enjoyed zabaglione (which I pronounce as zag-a-ba-lonie) and raspberry sorbet.
At which point the ear doctor turned to me and said, "let's go home and watch Harry and the Hendersons"
A perfect way to spend the evening before we celebrate our 4th wedding anniversary.
Last night I got off work late because I had to stay and attend a really frustrating meeting. I stopped by the market to get some fish for dinner and a pre-made salad. It was just one of those nights.
We made the dinner and I could literally feel the stress rolling off my back. By the time I was sopping up the delicious buttery fish oil from my plate with a chewy slice of sourdough I was ready to laugh.
We spent a hour playing keep away from the dog with an old chewed up basketball. We laid in our pretty green grass that just months ago was a bare patch of dead dirt. We decided to grab the leash and walk the dog 2 blocks away to our favorite gelato place. We sat on a bench and enjoyed zabaglione (which I pronounce as zag-a-ba-lonie) and raspberry sorbet.
At which point the ear doctor turned to me and said, "let's go home and watch Harry and the Hendersons"
A perfect way to spend the evening before we celebrate our 4th wedding anniversary.
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
adventures in pet ownership
Last night the ear doctor and I went over to a friend's house to return their grass edger and we ended up sitting around chatting for a bit.
These particular friends have the most beautiful little puppy. A vizsla. The puppy and I have almost the same color hair. They love their little puppy more than anyone I've ever met loves their dog and because she happens to be a pretty perfect specimen of the breed, they've decided to start showing her.
And I didn't know this, but when you show dogs you can't get them spayed.
Which means that sometimes your dog has her period.
Which is why last night their puppy was wearing a pink plaid flannel diaper with a jumbo maxi-pad slid inside.
Maybe you're more used to seeing a dog wearing a diaper...but I sure wasn't. All I could think of was how gross it would be to take care of a dog during her "time of the year" (which I found out only really happens every 6 months or so)
And I thought, "I'd never do something gross like that for a DOG"
That was, of course, until this morning when my dog had a long gross piece of grass coming out of his butt hole that he couldn't shake loose.
What did I do? I put my hand inside the poo bag, got a grip of the piece of grass and pulled the long slippery thing out of him.
I didn't even hesitate.
Who's the gross one now?
These particular friends have the most beautiful little puppy. A vizsla. The puppy and I have almost the same color hair. They love their little puppy more than anyone I've ever met loves their dog and because she happens to be a pretty perfect specimen of the breed, they've decided to start showing her.
And I didn't know this, but when you show dogs you can't get them spayed.
Which means that sometimes your dog has her period.
Which is why last night their puppy was wearing a pink plaid flannel diaper with a jumbo maxi-pad slid inside.
Maybe you're more used to seeing a dog wearing a diaper...but I sure wasn't. All I could think of was how gross it would be to take care of a dog during her "time of the year" (which I found out only really happens every 6 months or so)
And I thought, "I'd never do something gross like that for a DOG"
That was, of course, until this morning when my dog had a long gross piece of grass coming out of his butt hole that he couldn't shake loose.
What did I do? I put my hand inside the poo bag, got a grip of the piece of grass and pulled the long slippery thing out of him.
I didn't even hesitate.
Who's the gross one now?
Monday, June 13, 2011
Friday night the ear doctor and I went out to see Super 8.
The whole time I just sat there totally enthralled with the story telling. About 8 minutes into the movie the ear doctor turned to me and said, "this is like Goonies" and I said, "or the Sandlot." Both of which are probably in my top 20 movies of all time.
I literally gasped a couple of times at the beautiful camera work: the reflection in the gas, the slow closeup on the soldiers shuffling boots, the turn of the gas station sign obscuring our view of what exactly was going on.
And the music choices for the movie? Perfect. I left the theater singing My Sharona out loud, thus making the sweet abuelita standing with me in the bathroom line just a little bit nervous.
Let's not even talk about how great the costumes and hair were.
I totally nerded out over the whole thing and it made me think two thoughts. First, I MUST get myself a Super8 camera. How great are those old grainy images?!?!Second, I'm so glad I used those 3 credit hours of undergrad taking Intro to Film. I probably never would have noticed the beauty without taking that class.
The whole time I just sat there totally enthralled with the story telling. About 8 minutes into the movie the ear doctor turned to me and said, "this is like Goonies" and I said, "or the Sandlot." Both of which are probably in my top 20 movies of all time.
I literally gasped a couple of times at the beautiful camera work: the reflection in the gas, the slow closeup on the soldiers shuffling boots, the turn of the gas station sign obscuring our view of what exactly was going on.
And the music choices for the movie? Perfect. I left the theater singing My Sharona out loud, thus making the sweet abuelita standing with me in the bathroom line just a little bit nervous.
Let's not even talk about how great the costumes and hair were.
I totally nerded out over the whole thing and it made me think two thoughts. First, I MUST get myself a Super8 camera. How great are those old grainy images?!?!Second, I'm so glad I used those 3 credit hours of undergrad taking Intro to Film. I probably never would have noticed the beauty without taking that class.
Thursday, June 09, 2011
a whole new world
So turns out I should listen to my sister more often.
She said I would love falafel...but I just couldn't wrap my head around eating garbanzo beans...or chick peas as my mom taught me.
I've tried hummus in all it's myrid of forms and found it gross and grainy and completely unpalatable.
But, falafel? COMPLETELY different. Divine. Wonderful.
AMAZING!
She said I would love falafel...but I just couldn't wrap my head around eating garbanzo beans...or chick peas as my mom taught me.
I've tried hummus in all it's myrid of forms and found it gross and grainy and completely unpalatable.
But, falafel? COMPLETELY different. Divine. Wonderful.
Thursday, June 02, 2011
Moving
Right now my little sister is throwing the last few boxes into the back of a moving van and hauling her family from the sweltering heat of summer in St. Louis to the promise of sub-zero winters of Minnesota.
She's closing the door on the perfect little 100 year old row house that they shed blood sweat and tears over to renovate from top to bottom in just 3 years. She's saying goodbye to the amazing friends who loved and supported her for the last 4 years...probably the hardest 4 of her life. She's taking off and driving north without knowing if they'll have a house to live in when they get there.
And while I know she's probably excited for the next phase of her life, I can't help but be a little bit heartbroken for her today.
The day we pack up our little house and move away is going to rip my heart in two.
Neither of us were really built for change.
She's closing the door on the perfect little 100 year old row house that they shed blood sweat and tears over to renovate from top to bottom in just 3 years. She's saying goodbye to the amazing friends who loved and supported her for the last 4 years...probably the hardest 4 of her life. She's taking off and driving north without knowing if they'll have a house to live in when they get there.
And while I know she's probably excited for the next phase of her life, I can't help but be a little bit heartbroken for her today.
The day we pack up our little house and move away is going to rip my heart in two.
Neither of us were really built for change.
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