because goals are easier than resolutions

img_1566

I’m not “religious” about setting resolutions.  Not to say I haven’t done this in the past, I just don’t do it regularly and I certainly don’t follow through with them once I put them down on paper.  I believe in 2015 I had all kinds of goals for running… and then I broke my ankle… so we all know where that lead!

Resolutions seem so big… so out of reach.  I’ll lose 50 pounds (yeah, not happening).  I’ll never be late to another meeting at work (yeah, someone tell the meeting before the meeting I’m running late to that).  I’ll only drink wine on the weekend (hahahah… HAHAHAHAHAHAH… HAHAHAHAHAHAH).  See, not very achievable.

A goal, however, is something I can plan out and put my mind to.  Yeah yeah, I could treat a resolution like a goal but then it’s just one more thing I’m doing rather than “here’s my list of goals for work/home/life and I WILL get through these”.

While on a hike with Rocky a few weeks ago, we watched trail runner after trail runner whiz by us.  Leaping over roots like gazelles, skidding down hills with a controlled fall that would impress even Bear Grillz (is he still relevant enough to drop into a blog post?), and barely wearing anything even though the temperature was close to freezing.  That desire I had almost 4 years prior to move from the road to the trail when running started to creep back in.

Then it hit me – I turned to Rocky and said “I want to start trail running… and my first goal will be running up an incline without having to stop at the top… I want to push through the exhaustion… I want to go into my 40s healthier than I’ve been in ages”.

And so it was set.

My goal for 2019.

Run up a hill… don’t stop… don’t die… keep going.

Sure – there may be spills.  I’ll probably skin my knee once… or twice… or more.  I’ll have to overcome my newly formed irrational fear of walking/hiking/running downhill on a hiking path.  All of these things are fine though.  I’m not looking at an ultra marathon.  Just looking at that hill.  And counting down the days until I conquer it.

Thankfully I’m married to the best cheerleader I could possibly find.  He high fives me when I make it down steep hiking paths, or when I scramble over slippery rocks to get a closer view of a water fall.  I know any accomplishment will be celebrated along the way.  That makes it much easier to get to those goals, don’t you think?

So… are you with me?

The Right Thing To Say

img_1303

The view from our hotel in Pacific City (Cape Kiwanda) for my husband and my 5th wedding anniversary trip to the Oregon Coast.  I always feel most at peace at the edge of the ocean, hand and hand with my favorite guy.

Finding the right words used to be simple for me.

I’d open my mouth and somehow exactly what I wanted to say would fall out.

It’s harder these days.

Opening my mouth is more like allowing access to a dry attic up a long forgotten ladder.  What used to be there isn’t there anymore.  I mentioned this to my husband the other day after my post on Monday.  I’m thrilled I took the time to write it but I’m not in love with what I had to say.  Actually, I’d be hard pressed to even invite that post along to dinner.  I’m just not that into it.  He assures me the words I used to love so much will come back – they are there just not jumping into the scene (okay – so he said something like “they will come back, don’t worry” but I threw some spice into that for the purposes of my blog).

So what happened?  If words are a part of who I am than what does it mean when you lose them?  More importantly, where do I go to retrieve them?

Perhaps this comes from the sense of loss I’ve been feeling around my departure from certain social media platforms.  On those I would post something funny, creative, pretty, inspirational, or at least entertaining almost daily.  Removing your feelings about social media, it did provide that outlet.  I’ve been without that for almost 3 months, so maybe I’m out of practice.  Actually, retract the maybe from that last sentence, when I really think about it, that’s the only explanation that makes sense.

Out of practice.

I wish I could blame someone or something for that.  It would be  easier to accept and perhaps easier to fix, but I’m to blame.  My sister warned me to make sure and find a creative outlet to replace those – something easy to participate in – I didn’t.  I’ve knit some things, I decorated the house for Christmas, my husband and I went to a couple of concerts, we decorated our bedroom but I didn’t find a way to easily jump in, impart some wisdom or clever quip, and abandon the scene before things got too real.

And now here I am.  Crying out for help in what feels like an empty warehouse… “where’s my outlet?”

A sensible person may think this blog is my outlet.  Sure, I could jump on here daily to drop a sweet gift for all of you.  A post about an album, a review of a concert, something short I’ve been thinking about, a meaningful situation I ran across, a description of a bite of food that blew my mind – but the odds of doing that seem slim.  It took me 40 minutes just to start this post.  40 minutes of getting out my laptop (which I bought this past summer so I could sit and blog, the irony isn’t lost on me), poking around on YouTube for music videos, playing my ukulele (poorly I might add, that’s something else I’ve left out in the rain to rust), watching another video on YouTube, checking my email, looking at some shoes online (I don’t need anymore shoes, someone needs to remove my buying power) until I finally typed out a post title.

I should have typed “How Erin wastes precious ‘her’ time”.  That might have been more accurate.

In addition to just sitting down to occupy this space for a bit each night, I’m left wondering if anyone even sees it.  A big part of the loss I’ve felt around ditching Twitter, FB and Instagram is the loss of an audience.  On those platforms, I’d post a link here – people who cared could see what was up, what I had to say about something, but without, I’ve struggled to figure out how to share this small part of me.  I’ve always thrived on an audience.  Not in a narcissistic way although some may argue that it turned into that, but in a “I have something special to me that I’d like to share with you way” and I don’t know how to do that here.  I’m so sensitive to that now.  I can barely even write about it… even though I know maybe 2 people will stumble across this so why hold back?

I’m hoping that just writing helps.  I’m hoping the desire for an audience is replaced in another way.  Perhaps more people will see this… perhaps I’ll find other ways to fill the gaps.  I guess just getting these words out is a start.

And picking up my ukulele more often.

I have to pick it all back up somewhere.

 

10 albums in 10 days… no. 8 and other significant life changing things.

img_0333

And once again, there was a wagon and I fell off of it.

In more ways than just blogging.

But I’m just here for the blogging so we’ll stick to that.

A lot has changed in my world since I last posted.  I closed my Twitter account (good riddance).  I closed my Facebook account (I’m better without it but that one has been hard).  And I closed my Instagram account (this was/is the hardest – I genuinely feel a loss over this one fairly regularly but it’s getting better).  What I lost was a lot of diary type things – what I did here, what I did there, what I thought about this and that… but what I gained after hitting delete was MUCH more valuable than that, however.  I tried my hardest to live in two worlds for ages – the real world and the social media world.  It just didn’t work.

Since shutting them down, I’ve truly been living for the first time since I opened FB (whenever that was).  I’ve completed all of my projects at home, am WAY more productive at work, and the best part has been that I have connected with my favorite guy (you know the guy… this one here) on a level I thought I had lost.  Yes, I think about those accounts on occasion, in fact, I miss them often, but I wouldn’t change anything if it means taking a step back.

Take stock – go ahead and close one of those accounts down.  Which one raises your blood pressure the most?  I’m guessing Twitter.  So go ahead, shut it down!  If we’re being honest, you probably feel like the kid who showed up uninvited to that party anyways.  I certainly did.

What hasn’t changed since August is my list of 10 albums.  What has changed is how long it’s taking me to get these posted!

Before These Crowded Streets was bound to make my list.  In fact, if I were rank my top 10 favorite albums, this may sit at the no. 1 spot.  There are so many good songs within the track listings, it’s musically a fantastic album start to finish, and it also has my very favorite song on it.

I bought the CD just before I had my ACL reconstructed in 1998 so it got a lot of play during a very memorable summer.  I suffered (yes, suffered) through rehab listening to this on my head phones… and a CD walkman (fancy), took it to San Francisco to share with my brother (and found out he HATED Dave Matthews Band, my broken heart took some time to mend), crushed hard while listening to… well… “Crush” (cliche perhaps but I was LOST in a dream when listening to that song) and up until the release of Come Tomorrow it was the only DMB album I would listen to over and over in the car (with Come Tomorrow came a 2nd album I can do that with).

If you haven’t paid this little gem a visit in your collection or on Spotify in a while (or ever), I recommend dusting it off and taking it for a spin.  If you only have time for one song, go for “Pig”.

Do it for me.

Pretty please? 🙂

I’ve made it easy for you…

 

 

10 albums in 10 days… continued…

Even I’m surprised that I’m continuing this endeavor.  I mean, I should at least get a few posts in before abandoning all together… right?  No, in all seriousness, I will finish this one up.  If you’ve been following along on Facebook, I’m 8 albums in.  2 left – perhaps I’ll get a few posts in here before unveiling the last 2.

Under The Table and Dreaming is probably an obvious choice for those who know me well.  Many of you might even be surprised that these aren’t all Dave Matthews Band albums.  Here’s some truth for you, I don’t ONLY listen to DMB.

Okay, pick your jaws up off the ground.  It wasn’t that unbelievable.

Okay, okay – I mostly listen to DMB.

But I digress.  This album was introduced to me at a birthday party in 1995.  I can’t remember whose party it was but I remember the room we were in and the guy who brought the CD with him to play.  I was mostly listening to classic rock at the time, so the station I would play the most never played any of the early singles from this album so that birthday party was the very first time I laid ears on them (is laying ears a thing?  If not, I just made it one).

From the very first few drum beats to kick off the album, I was hooked.  I can vividly replay it in slo-mo in my head.  I’m pretty sure I turned quite dramatically towards the friend who brought the CD and mouthed “WHAT IS THIS?” and the rest is history.  I began to collect friends who shared a love for the band, stood in line for tickets at Blockbuster (show of hands, who remembers getting Ticketmaster tickets that way), carpooled to Dallas for shows, cried at the shows when our favorites were played, day dreamed together that we’d all meet the band and become fast friends, spent all of my money on the merch… is that a downhill spiral towards addiction?

Probably.

Every song on this album is gold to me but “#34” is my favorite.  And by favorite I mean that I can’t listen to it without tears forming in my eyes.  It was that way when I was 15 and it’s still that way now that I’m 37.  It’s beautiful, calming, and means way more to me than I care to divulge here.  At least not yet anyways.  Maybe in time.

And, because what’s a blog post without a bit of way too personal information, I lost my virginity while this album was playing… IN… A… CAR!  Cliché?  Yes.  Do I care?  No.  Oh, but I didn’t lose it to “#34”.

So, let that marinate a bit and, enjoy a live version of my favorite from the album (and perhaps my favorite song of all time).

10 albums in 10 days and how I can’t keep up with a social media endeavor to save my life.

D3CABBE2-4702-4350-9167-CB3E841C2391

A friend tagged me in a “10 albums in 10 days” post over on Facebook last week.  If you haven’t see it going around, the idea is you post an album cover from an album you’ve loved – 1 each day for 10 days.  You’re also suppose to tag a person each day to do it and so on and so forth.  I dropped the tagging right out of the gate.  That sounds exhausting.

And, also, mostly right out of the gate, I dropped the 1 a day thing.

I’m good at many, many things, staying on schedule with a social media assignment isn’t one of them (as evident by my spotty blogging).

A couple of weeks before being tagged to do this, I was talking with my husband about turning my 10 favorite songs into a series of blog posts.  When I hear a song on that list, I can very solidly say “OH, it’s a top 10… probably number 4” and I easily have 10 songs ranked.  Why my brain works like that, I don’t know, but it does.  The album selection has been a bit harder but thankfully it isn’t a top 10 album list so I have an out there.  I may get to that song thing… but for now, I think blogging about each album will do.  Since I don’t post info on FB about why it made the list, a blog post will allow for that creative release.

The first album I posted was not surprisingly (or maybe surprisingly to some of you) an Elton John album.  Specifically, Captain Fantastic and the Brown Dirt Cowboy.  Elton was the first musician I obsessed over.  And obsessed is putting it very mildly.  Back in Jr. High – 8th grade I believe – my mom took me to see Elton John and Billy Joel on one of their Face to Face tours at Texas Stadium (may it rest in peace).  In my head I remember that it was her last ditch effort to keep me from dropping piano lessons… I may be embellishing that a bit, but I’m sure the seed was planted somewhere in that vicinity.

She also gifted to me a mixed tape she had with “Rocket Man” on it and I listened to that song over and over.  I very vividly remember laying on the floor of my bedroom rewinding that song over and over and over again.  I was hooked.  It wasn’t long until all of my allowance money went to CDs and used vinyl from Half Price Books to start building my collection (a collection of vinyl I still have to this day and am quite proud of).  I brought my Jr. High best friend along for the ride and she became just as much of a fan as I did.  We listened to records while laying on the floor of my room… or her room… as I imagine our mothers/aunts/etc doing when they were younger.  We imagined meeting the artists performing… imagined living in the 70s so we could have been groupies (we were naïve for the most part I don’t think we truly knew what groupies were all about until Almost Famous came out years later… or maybe we did and I’d like to pretend I was more innocent than I really was)… essentially we’d get lost in these albums until the needle would pick itself up at the end and settle back into the cradle.

I eventually went to a total of 5 of his concerts before graduating HS.  One in Vegas, one in Boston, a few in Dallas.  It was a wild ride in the years leading up to that point, I was publically made fun of for being a fan of a gay musician (ugh – hello?!?!) and later publically apologized too which was almost worse (also, Jr. High boys that you’d later find out had a crush on you were absolutely the WORST), I had the opportunity to get an autograph after being hoisted over 3 rows of seats to get to the front row, I learned every Elton song I could on piano, played two of them for weddings, and had teenaged Elton John fan pen pals all over the world.  Like I said, obsessed.

It wasn’t a hard choice to pick this album.  Not only is every song fantastic, but the album art is spectacular.  It’s the total package.  I find myself going back to it time and time again – on vinyl, on CD, on Spotify – if you haven’t had a listen, check it out, you won’t be sorry.

 

A Thing

501F1D65-E67B-455F-A749-307B67659DA1I started a thing this week.  This thing used to be something I did a lot.  It’s something I worked on for almost 2 years BBA (that’s before broken ankle).  I decided to start running back in 2013.  I worked my way through a couch to 5K program.  I ran in my neighborhood.  I ran at the park.  I ran on the trail at the golf course and eventually, I felt confident enough as a runner to hit the esplanade along the river.

I eventually made it to 3.1 miles and ran a few races and then up to the 10k… and then it happened.

I slid down an incline hiking in California and broke my ankle.

Running came to a halt for obvious reasons.

Running never came back to me, or rather, I didn’t find my stride again ABA (that’s after broken ankle).  I’d hit the pavement on occasion but didn’t get back into rhythm.  It was hard.  I was upset… no, pissed.  My brain convinced me there were other things to do and a few races was enough under my belt.

That was 2015.

Fast forward to 2018.  I’ve seen a bit of weight loss since February (25 pounds to be precise – so perhaps more than a bit).  I very randomly started waking up early without issue and am able to stay awake when watching tv at night.  I figured there’s no time like the present to add running back onto my plate.

So I started on Monday.  I ran.  I ran further than I thought I’d be able to do but not as far as I was hoping… if that makes sense.  It was hot.  Slightly humid (which is rare for Portland).  It was hard.  So hard.  But I ran.  And on Tuesday, I ran again.  It was hot.  More humid.  Still hard.  So very hard.  An today, I ran.  It was miserable to be honest, but still, I ran.  I concentrated on interval running again and did much better.  I’ve seen what I can do, am trying not to compare myself to where I was in 2015, and I’m okay with backing up a bit to  start again – at least not starting from scratch.

When I first started running in 2013, I could barely get a minute without throwing in the towel.  On Monday, I made it a mile before slowing down.  Not quite the 3.1 miles I’d be able to pull off 4-5 times a week when I was training up for the 8k… then 10k… but it’s nothing to laugh at really.

I don’t laugh.

Instead, I strut around work.  Admiring my new spirit.  Proud of my sore legs that are strong enough to carry me through a mile run… proud that I’ll be able to push out 2 miles, then 3 – with time.  I know nothing comes right away, but I’m excited to get back at this.  Maybe I’ll make it up to that half-marathon I started training for when I first moved to Portland.

For now, I’ll keep lacing up, hitting the pavement, and sweating through it.  One step at a time.  One interval at a time.  One day at a time.

3 years, 4 months, 22 days

D93D56DA-5BA7-44B0-A58F-F1BC5726A0A8.jpeg

I won’t start with an apology… I doubt I’ve been missed on here… not by you at least.

But a conversation this week left me missing me.

Missing the me that used to write.  The one that would open a door to her brain letting thoughts flow through her fingers and into the words that built Idyllhands.wordpress… and ehwin.wordpress before that and the 2 blogs that made up ehwin.com even further back.

So how does one pick back up on something that she’s ignored for over 3 years?  Best friends have fallen apart in less time.  What do I write about first?  So much has happened since I last signed off.  Let’s be honest, so much has happened in the last 7 days, multiply that by 170 or so and well, that’s quite a lot to catch up on.  So how about a high level recap?

I ran a 10K.

I started training up to a half marathon.

I went to the redwoods in California and broke my ankle.

I never trained up to that half marathon.

I spent Labor Day weekend at The Gorge with thousands of my new best friends.

I bought a new car.

I camped.

I went to Arkansas for Christmas.

I bought a house.

I hiked.

I hosted family and friends from all over.

I spent another Labor Day weekend at The Gorge with thousands of my new best friends… and this trip transformed me in ways I could only explain in person.

A friend moved to Portland and into my spare bedroom.

I learned to play the ukulele.

I avoided a huge snowstorm at home while sipping margaritas in the Texas Hill Country.

I traveled for work… a lot.

I re-hiked the trail that broke my ankle 2 years prior.

I saw Tom Petty in concert just a couple of months before it was too late.

I drove my sister to the tiniest ER in a coastal town in the middle of the night.

I worried harder than I’ve worried since my mom passed.

I joyfully drove my sister back to the hotel after her stay in the ER and silently thanked anything that would listen.

I interviewed for what I thought was my dream job… and thankfully didn’t get it.

I was sicker than I’ve ever been and missed a much anticipated wedding.

I had my tonsils removed.

I became an Instagram narcissist.

I lost much of my sense of taste.

I reconnected with my past.

I logged in to wordpress.

That brings us here.  Still nothing to really say but this is a start.  This blog serves as a creative outlet that I now know I so desperately need.  I don’t make jewelry like I used to.  I haven’t spun yarn since 2014.  It was long ago that I sold all of my wool dye and carding equipment.  The piano still gets played, the bassoon is tickled and my ukes are strummed on occasion, but writing brings me a different kind of peace.  One that’s been missing.

Missing for 3 years, 4 months and 22 days.

 

 

 

Quesadillas and Mix Tapes

Tonight I made cheese quesadillas instead of my usual bowl of cereal for dinner.  To at least two of you, this doesn’t seem like a major shake up from my typical “home alone” routine.  In fact, I think I talked about cheese quesadillas on Facebook quite extensively last fall.  These kicks come in phases.

I need to eat veggies.  I’m aware.  I promise, I keep it balanced.

Most of the time.

I’m fully aware that I started a blog post talking about my very  uneventful dinner.  You can judge me, just know, though, that I’m judging you in return and I’m far more judgmental that you might expect.

I had a plan for this!  I was going to go into quite the prose about what I do with my free time when Rocky is at work (he’s always at work when I’m at home for those of you keeping score).  I’ve been spending a lot of time cleaning and organizing as part of Apartment Therapy’s January Cure.  I started the month out with a bang talking about that.  I’ve been making a small list of projects that need attention, nothing too daunting.  I took some time out a week or so ago to drink wine and play games with some friends (we played a lot of games… and we drank a lot of wine).  I’ve played the bassoon and spun some yarn.

Tonight, however, I turned away from the productive and turned to something for my soul (soul care… is that what those trendy blogger types are calling it these days?).  I opened up Spotify and started listening to music.  Yes, it’s just like you are picturing it, a cheese quesadilla wedge in one hand and my laptop balanced on my lap and being managed by the hand free of a sad excuse for Mexican food.

I listened to new music.

Old music.

Music that took me back 5 years and music that took me back 15.

That seems to be my theme for the past few days, reminisce.  In case you missed the influx of the best pictures ever taken during the 90s that I posted over on Facebook, I went through a large tote that I’ve been hauling around with me since my mother passed away.  It contained a few baby dolls, some of my baby clothes, baby dishes (not sure what good those will do me – I’m not really chomping at the bit to enter the world of motherhood), papers, art projects, and photos.  I haven’t really dug through the box since bringing it home almost 5 years ago, but this weekend I went through each and every item.

Most memories were good.  Some made me want to kill all the cute precious things in the world.  But all were memories good or bad.  I was taken back to a time when I didn’t quite get along with my eyebrows as well as I do now.  Taken back to a time when I would stay out way too late with friends and hope and pray I could sneak in the side door without my mom catching me (never worked out that well).  Taken back to a time when hand holding sustained me for WEEKS at a time.  This was the time of small folded notes being passed to best friends, crushes and band buddies.  We were innocent to the world but yet, not quite as angelic as I’m hoping my parents thought we were.

I mean, my mom wasn’t on to me was she?  Just because you say you’re going to the park with friends doesn’t mean she knew I was really going with one friend to kissy face at the top of the slide?  She didn’t know that did she?  DID SHE?

It was so simple then.

It was so wonderful then.

No one had died at a too young age yet.  No one was broken up with.  Bills were non-existent and car troubles were fixed by my step-dad.

I’ve spent a lot of time thinking back on those years since going through the box.  It’s led me to think about this concept of “ghost life” again.  I believe I’ve talked about this before… at least, I think I did.  It’s basically where you’d be if you took a certain path very different than the one you took (or maybe not so different).  I’m always amazed when I think about this.  I don’t think about it longingly, but rather with fascination  We so easily change the course of our life with a simple hello.  I’m just amazed at the Choose Your Own Adventure that lies ahead of us on a daily basis.  There is no way that 18 year old in the pictures had any idea where she would be at 34.

I’m so happy things turned out as they did.

I’m so happy I moved to Fayetteville on a last minute whim and went to carve pumpkins with that tall guy that worked in the facilities department at Walton Arts Center.  I’m so very glad the box of memories I’m building now is bursting at the seams with good ones.

My Own Pace

Today has been a bit of a hilly route to the end of the waking hour.  I went to sleep last night a bit bent out of shape about a situation and I’d be fibbing if I said it didn’t cause me to wake up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.  My coworkers were very lucky I didn’t start every conversation with “OKAY I KNOW WHERE YOU’RE GOING WITH THIS JUST LEAVE ME ALONE AND COME BACK TOMORROW”.

Actually, maybe I’m lucky I didn’t go there.  I’d hate to think about that conversation with my boss later this week once he received wind that I was screaming at everyone (and GOD, what if he was the one receiving the shriek?).  I shudder to think!

Let’s back up to November of 1980 when my mom pushed a beautiful, brown eyed, strong headed and perhaps slightly sensitive girl into the world.  Yup, that’s me.  To be fair, I was the baby by 10 years so many of my growing up years were spent living like an only child if not the smallest child and I wasn’t picked on and I didn’t have to defend a decision or my position on something.  I grew up making a decision and getting support for it.  A few times my mom questioned my direction or forced me to do something I swore I didn’t want to do (band, for example – funny thing is, I ended up majoring in music so you know, moms do know best) or even flat out asking if I was sure I knew what I was getting into (signing up to sell Mary Kay Cosmetics comes to mind in that case).  My dad never questioned me… probably the result of only getting to see me every other weekend or during major life events (piano lessons, band concerts, award ceremonies).

I grew up making the right decisions.  At least, in my head I think that.  There have been some that weren’t the BEST decision but all have lead me to the right place in the end.

That’s where my rotten day comes in.

I’ve recently taken an interest in wanting to learn how to play the ukulele.  There really is no reason to it, just kind of want to.  I received a gift card for my birthday and I thought buying a ukulele would be fun.  They don’t cost much.  It’s really no different than blowing a gift card on a new bottle of perfume or a pair of shoes you don’t really need.  It’s birthday money, KNOCK YOURSELF OUT, HONEY!

I announced my grand plan on Facebook last night because where else to you make these important announcements?

What happened is surely the result of some strange polar reversal or whatever you call that.  The one person who almost always publicly questions my almost everything was in full support of me wanting to try this out and that was about it.  Other people poked a bit of fun (I know, friendly fun, but I’m getting to it) and my sweet boy was confused as to where this came from.  No one said I shouldn’t learn, no one said I was crazy, but no one really jumped in and supported this decision.

That was absolutely the most alone I’ve felt in ages.  I went to bed with a lump in my throat trying not to cry.  Why did I react like that?  I’ve faced worse rejection before (if only I blogged in August of 1999 when I didn’t make the Longhorn Band my first year of college – geez, emotional much?).  In fact, despite my saying above that I am completely used to full support, I face rejection quite often.  It’s almost daily at work (I have some STRONG personalities on my team, I’ll leave it at that).  Also, I didn’t blog about it, but any one remember when I interviewed and interviewed and interviewed for the same company and after 5 conversations/interviews/meetings with them they still didn’t hire me?  See, completely used to rejection.

And don’t get me started about the time my dear brother went one and one for what seemed like an hour (probably just 5 minutes) about how terrible Dave Matthews Band was.  UGH.  I’ll never forget that conversation that took place in a restaurant in Philadelphia in 2000.  Scarred for life.  Seriously.

So why did last night leave me so sad?

I wanted to call my mom.  She isn’t there to call.  I think she is the one who would go buy a ukulele if she darn well pleased no matter who said what.  I would tell her of my idea and she would want to hear my first song.

But she just isn’t there to call.  I also feel like talking to air doesn’t get the message to her.  I used to feel that way, but not anymore.

I went through today longing to talk to her.  But still, she’s not there.

This will wear off… hopefully before I actually yell at someone to leave me alone tomorrow.  It always does.  This one just got blogged about whereas the others come and go and life goes on.

Today made me stop in my tracks.  I’ve been going and going and going on this Apartment Therapy January Cure.  If i missed a day for any reason, I picked up and did double duty the next day or switched days to something more manageable.  I have been completing these tasks like my life depended on it.  Was I overly distraught today because I’m emotionally tired?  I’ve been cleaning, organizing, rearranging, cleaning some more, moving things here, moving things there, but I haven’t really stopped and taken a break since this started on January 2.  I’m also missing the sweet boy like crazy (his work schedule is what it is but I wish it wasn’t).

I need a break!

So tonight I took one.  I haven’t read today’s January Cure task email (and haven’t gone to the Apartment Therapy site today for fear I’ll see the task) so I’m not even stressing that I’m not doing whatever I should be doing.  I took a beautiful run after work (with scenery like above, it’s hard not to enjoy it).  I’m enjoying my very clean and organized pantry (one of last week’s tasks) and cooking gourmet food for one.  Now I’m sitting in my PJs on my couch.

Doing nothing but writing and browsing Pinterest for recipes I love to pin but will never make.

Tomorrow is another day.

Lists, Lists, Everywhere Are Lists

It seems blogging about this January Cure thing is working out for me… so far.  I guess I’ll try to keep it up as long as the getting is good.  Today’s task wasn’t as active as I was hoping for but necessary all the same.  I walked through the house and made a list of EVERYTHING that needed attention.  Okay, okay, most things that needed attention (I got hungry before I finished and had to make dinner and then the steam was gone).

Some spaces were easier than others.  My entry way just needs a nicer storage unit that’s short enough to stay about knee height but still provide a space to stash a collection of towels we use for just about everything (need a towel in the car?  We have that.  Need a towel for a mid-summer work out?  We have that too.)  It’s best to keep these by the front door but I’m completely over the plastic drawers they are currently stored in.  This was originally hidden away in a closet but now they aren’t… not really sure what happened there.  Maybe the project that needs attention in the entry way is figuring out how to get those drawers back in the closet instead of searching for a new pieces of furniture.  I’ll think on that.

Other rooms weren’t as easy.  My living room, for example.  At first glance, it’s fine.  It’s nice, neat, comfortable… but something about it bugs me.  I need to hang things on walls, I don’t love where the book shelves are, our couch is hanging on by a thread – see, not as easy.  I need to be realistic about this space.  Am I really going to move those book shelves?  I could, but where would they go?  I think they shall stay.  Do I have money for a new couch?  That’s and easy NO.  So I’m down to hanging things on walls.  That leads to another project – find frames!  Paint those frames!  Frame that art!  Okay, three other projects.  Who’s counting?

My other rooms were similar.  Bathrooms are fine, not a lot of projects there (need to hang a towel ring, but that’s about all I can come up with).  The bedrooms aren’t as simple but it’s easy to list the projects.  Wash the pillows, find some curtains, hang the curtains… nothing overly complicated.

I have a feeling those might be my famous last words.

To be 100% honest, it took everything I had to do tonight’s task.  I left work late, avoided the temptation to stop off at one of many Thai and Chinese take out places for a quick dinner option and headed to the store to get ingredients for lettuce wraps and egg drop soup, came home and just wanted to crash.  Granted, it’s my first day back to work after a couple of weeks but the days won’t get easier.  Some nights I’ll jog after work, some nights I’ll want a nap… how will I have the time and motivation to keep this up?  I’m just being real here, no flowers and bunnies and kittens on this blog.  Just honestly.  Sometimes it’s amazing how motivated I am to complete a task and sometimes I’m lucky I don’t stop in my tracks and not move again for hours.

It is because of this that I’m convinced many lifestyle bloggers are robots.

Okay, all, all lifestyle bloggers are robots.

Another list that I think it worthy of note is my list of 2015 resolutions.  I can’t remember a January where I made a list with the intention to keep up with it.  I also haven’t taken the time to pour over old entries on this blog to see if I’ve written about this in the past.  It’s possible I have.  It’s also entirely possible that I’ve forgotten all about it sooo… you know… shows how dedicated I was in the past.

This year will be different.  As God is my witness… I’ll never fake resolution again!

Whew, I’m glad I got that out of my system.

My resolutions this year are meant to be fun and full of win.  They are, in no particular order:

1 – Spin yarn and start selling it on Etsy… again.  I haven’t spun yarn since 2013 so this one is long overdue.
2 – Run a 15k.  I’m working up to an 8k for a race in March.  I KNOW I have this in me.
3 – Become a better baker.  I adore cooking and have recently taken up baking on a semi-regular basis.  I’m getting there, but I need some work.
4 – Start a house down payment savings account.  We keep putting this off because “we need to pay off debt first” or “we don’t have enough to make a different” or “hahahahah… buying a house… really?”.  The big girl pants are going on and time to get serious.  Every dollar makes a difference and the longer we wait, the more the house will cost in the long run.  Let’s do this!

These are all manageable resolutions.  Hopefully this list won’t scare me off.  It seems like I’m surrounded by a lot of lists right now.  Not sure how I feel about that.  I’d rather be surrounded by a soft, warm quilt taking a nap.  Not as productive but naps are a good escape.

Have I told you that naps are my favorite?

Tagged , ,