tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-59948635960412922242024-03-12T18:12:07.472-07:00Almost Like Real LifeMz Mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13511429371022580687noreply@blogger.comBlogger198125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5994863596041292224.post-81551240635547603992013-12-31T19:17:00.000-08:002013-12-31T19:17:00.176-08:00Final Fruition UpdateIt's been a good year. In the last decade, the number of years I could say that about have been far outnumbered by those that I couldn't wait to see the ass end of. But this-- this was a good year.<br />
<br />
My <a href="http://almost-like-real-life.blogspot.com/2013/01/new-years-sankalpa.html">one-word focus for the year-- fruition</a>-- manifested amazing, powerful changes in my life. In our lives. I can't believe how many projects finally came to completion this year, many of which have been milling about for years without any forward motion.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://almost-like-real-life.blogspot.com/2013/06/fruition-update-part-one.html">Making a new life in a new state.</a><br />
Working from home, full-time. As a <a href="http://almost-like-real-life.blogspot.com/2013/06/fruition-update-part-five_28.html">full-time writer</a>.<br />
<a href="http://almost-like-real-life.blogspot.com/2013/06/fruition-update-part-six.html">Kicking anxiety's ass.</a> That's right, folks. I shop at CostCo now like it's <i>no big deal.</i><br />
<br />
And this month we finally sold our house, our last tie to Boulder City and our former life. FINALLY. After only 2.5 years on the market (under contract for the full two, just waiting for the bank to approve the short sale) and 1.5 years before that trying to modify the loan.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-WIwZwXAT-QE/Urj5TxE2ywI/AAAAAAAAAzU/FW9__AdmaSw/s1600/house+sold+fruition.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-WIwZwXAT-QE/Urj5TxE2ywI/AAAAAAAAAzU/FW9__AdmaSw/s1600/house+sold+fruition.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Halle-freakin-lujah.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
It was such a magical year that I debated for a while about keeping fruition on for my 2014 word too.<br />
<br />
Then I realized that "fruition" itself has been brought to fruition. Its purpose has been fulfilled. It's bloomed. It's prospered. It's ripened on the bough, nourished us, strengthened us.<br />
<br />
I've never felt more positive about heading into a new year. Not because I'm happy to leave this year behind, but because I really sucked the marrow out of this one. Of this year, and this word.<br />
<br />
See you on the flip side, over at <a href="http://www.fillingyourniche.com/">www.fillingyourniche.com</a>.<br />
<br />Mz Mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13511429371022580687noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5994863596041292224.post-22874377327050463932013-12-24T05:41:00.000-08:002013-12-24T05:41:00.612-08:00Christmas TraditionsWhen I was a kid, and through most of my adult life, Christmas was steeped in inviolable tradition:<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>Celebrations begin at 4pm sharp on Christmas Eve-- no earlier, no later. </li>
<li>At 4pm sharp (no earlier, no later), you may open a single present. </li>
<li>Remaining presents wait until after Christmas dinner.</li>
<li>Christmas dinner is not a dinner, but is in fact a conglomeration of Norwegian Christmas cookies, delicious savory meatballs and my Grandpa's sparkly Christmas punch bobbing with raw cranberries. </li>
<li>At some point in the evening, you hold hands and walk around the Christmas tree, singing a Norwegian song that some people know a few words to, but most of us mumble. (This is more charming than it sounds.)</li>
<li>At another point in the evening, we wind up the ancient piebald toy named Jolly Mouse for his single annual somersault. </li>
<li>Christmas morning, we open Santa presents, and presents from immediate family. </li>
</ul>
<div>
Of these traditions, I have carried on none. I used to feel bad about it, but now-- now our new traditions have taken on their own sanctity. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Our blended family of four celebrates together, just us, on December 30th. And we've established, <a href="http://almost-like-real-life.blogspot.com/2012/12/unchristmas.html">quite by accident</a>, our own list of inviolable traditions:</div>
<div>
<ul>
<li>Celebrations begin on December 29th with the playing of "Blue Christmas." </li>
<li>At that time, we begin hanging <a href="http://almost-like-real-life.blogspot.com/2010/12/paper-christmas.html">paper ornaments on our paper tree. </a></li>
<li>Mandatory holiday movie-watching takes place while wrapping presents, in this order: Elf, Scrooged, Charlie Brown Christmas, Rudolph, The Grinch Who Stole Christmas and Love Actually. All present wrapping must be completed before Love Actually, because it's the best movie EVER.</li>
<li>The morning of December 30th, we find that Santa made a special visit just for our kids, because blended families deserve to celebrate with just as much Christmas spirit as other families, even though it's not on the same calendar day. </li>
<li>Christmas morning, we open Santa presents. And we have lemony French toast for breakfast. </li>
</ul>
<div>
With every year that we continue these traditions, they become more deeply ingrained for our kids. Maybe even to pass down to their kids. Maybe my stepdaughter will make lemony French toast for breakfast at Christmas for her own family, or maybe my daughter will play Blue Christmas for hers. </div>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Or maybe we'll all keep celebrating our Paper Christmas together on the 30th, and keep our own traditions inviolable. Sacred. And something entirely ours. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Merry Calendar Christmas!</div>
Mz Mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13511429371022580687noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5994863596041292224.post-73888871830484497882013-12-04T06:10:00.000-08:002013-12-04T07:10:37.446-08:00Some AnnouncementsI mentioned <a href="http://almost-like-real-life.blogspot.com/2013/11/the-only-way-out-is-through.html">last week</a> that 50,000 words or not, I still felt like a winner. And I meant it. I even meant it at midnight November 30th, aka "Stomach Flu Day 3: Still 10,000 Words Behind."<br />
<br />
So I didn't win NaNo this year, the first since I've been participating. I don't feel disappointed though-- or, okay, I'm a little bummed of course. But more on principle than in reality. Because I learned a lot of very cool things this year from NaNo (and my reflective stomach flu days, during which I didn't go near the computer), and particularly one big thing:<br />
<br />
If there's one thing I don't need to be doing <i>more</i> of every day, it's writing. If I have extra time every day, I'd rather be doing something different. Something not at the computer. Something like painting or art projects. But not more writing.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-cpGUH8e7AR4/Up8r4aAekaI/AAAAAAAAAxs/fepTJTCXkdY/s1600/guy+asleep+at+desk.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="302" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-cpGUH8e7AR4/Up8r4aAekaI/AAAAAAAAAxs/fepTJTCXkdY/s320/guy+asleep+at+desk.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/pennvet/7153483803/" style="background-color: white; border-bottom-style: dotted; border-width: 0px 0px 1px; color: #434240; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 18px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Penn Vet</a><span style="background-color: white; color: #888888; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;"> / </span><a href="http://foter.com/" style="background-color: white; border-bottom-style: dotted; border-width: 0px 0px 1px; color: #434240; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 18px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Foter.com</a><span style="background-color: white; color: #888888; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;"> / </span><a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/2.0/" style="background-color: white; border-bottom-style: dotted; border-width: 0px 0px 1px; color: #434240; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 18px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">CC BY-NC</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
And another thing: I'm not all that keen on writing fiction. You know how they say you should choose your career based on how you'd spend your time if you didn't have to work for money and instead you do whatever you want for fun? Yeah. For me "writing fiction" is nowhere on the fun list. I can do it. I even like reading my own stuff; I think it's pretty good. But I don't care about it. I see writing fiction for a living as just one more corner I'd write myself into, stuck somewhere because I'm good at something even though it's not necessarily what I want to be doing.<br />
<br />
I love writing nonfiction though. Things that happened. Stuff that's in my head. Blog posts. Those things, I would write even if Dan and I were hopping into a hot tub full of money every night. And so I think if I am going to focus on more me-writing as opposed to work-writing then, as my niece used to say when she was learning to talk, "More of THAT."<br />
<br />
Which brings me to my next piece of news.<br />
<br />
As much as I love this blog, it's time for it to move along. I've gone from 2 views a day on a good day to around 40 per post on a slow day without any effort on my part (and really, a pretty severe lack of dedication, what with posting at random times and on totally disconnected subjects and all). My top posts have over a thousand views each. That sounds like a high number, but it's pretty low when you think about how big the Internet is. Low, but telling. And it makes me wonder how many views I could get if I actually focused on this.<br />
<br />
I really love writing these posts. I even love finding the stock photos, adding quotes to pictures... combining words and images: my two great loves. I feel like I'm building something, even if it's only for me and my two or three loyal readers. So, back to the doing what you love thing-- well, I love this; maybe it's time to get serious.<br />
<br />
So this blog is moving to a new home and will also be getting a facelift. I guess if I can get up early every stupid day to write more words for NaNo, I could also get up early and learn WordPress, build myself an actual website.<br />
<br />
The blog is getting a new name too. One day I was talking to my sister, back when Dan and I were just dating. And I said "You know, the kids were playing, and they were actually getting along for a change and Dan and I were sitting there holding hands, and his phone was off so there were no nasty calls from his ex, and we were happy for a minute. It was almost like we were an actual family. Almost like... like..."<br />
<br />
"Almost like real life?" she suggested.<br />
<br />
"Yeah," I said. "Exactly."<br />
<br />
And I knew when I started this blog, that was the only name it could have.<br />
<br />
Over the past year, though, I feel like I've cheapened my all-the-way-real life by describing it as only <i>almost</i> real. My life may not match what I thought it'd be like (does anyone's?) but it's definitely real. And by saying it's only <i>almost</i> real, I keep this carrot out there for myself like I'm going to get to actual life at some point. Like I'm not there yet.<br />
<br />
Except I am.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8Fa_8TJmtow/Up8xWXRrm9I/AAAAAAAAAx8/V3fNWjwCkd0/s1600/john-lennon+quote.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8Fa_8TJmtow/Up8xWXRrm9I/AAAAAAAAAx8/V3fNWjwCkd0/s400/john-lennon+quote.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
I'm sure I put way too much thought into this. But that's okay, because I'm a writer; if I didn't put too much thought into everything, what the hell would I have to write about?<br />
<br />
Anyway, I'll keep you posted on the new blog name (that's a surprise) and the new address (once I have it), but the grand plan is to make the big move for the first post of the New Year. In between then and now, stay tuned. We still need to talk about how the second half of my Year of Fruition went.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
I might also be self-pubbing a little collection of favorite posts from this blog before it's retired. If anyone's interested in that, you should let me know. Also if you have any particular posts you'd like to see included, let me know that too.Mz Mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13511429371022580687noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5994863596041292224.post-71801953280962654272013-11-26T09:44:00.000-08:002013-11-26T09:44:48.593-08:00The Only Way Out Is ThroughSince it's the last Tuesday of November, that means we're going to talk about NaNoWriMo and how far behind I am. <div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Here's a screenshot of my progress: </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-iYiN3eBi_-I/UpTQmDXfXbI/AAAAAAAAAw0/Kh1n6tqwW3o/s1600/Screen+Shot+2013-11-26+at+9.46.44+AM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="288" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-iYiN3eBi_-I/UpTQmDXfXbI/AAAAAAAAAw0/Kh1n6tqwW3o/s400/Screen+Shot+2013-11-26+at+9.46.44+AM.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is what the graph of a busy procrastinator looks like.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
I think my favorite part of the month is the four days that just go straight across the top with zero progress, not coincidentally overlapping my monthly work deadline of November 20th. Also, I took this screen shot after writing over 5,000 words today, making the graph only slightly less bleak than it was mere hours ago. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
So I should feel stressed. Yesterday I was stressed, and also super bummed because I really love NaNoWriMo, for so many reasons. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I love that an entire virtual community comes together every year to finally attempt the dream of writing a novel. Many are successful, many not, but all of them are thousands of words closer to that goal than they were on October 31st, and many of those for the first time ever. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And I love the camaraderie, the feeling of everyone finally chucking the perfectionism we all heap on ourselves and focusing instead on tapping in to whatever stream of consciousness inspirational mecca is out there, the thing that you can't mistake for anything but divinity when it hits you and grabs you by the lapels and pulls you wherever it wants you to go. There is a fabulous TED talk on this concept of <a href="http://www.ted.com/talks/elizabeth_gilbert_on_genius.html">elusive genius</a>, by the way.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I love boycotting the constant self-editing, both literal and figurative, that populates my life and so many other people's lives, writers or no, and instead just focusing on words on page. Pen to paper. (Okay, fingers to keyboard. You know what I mean.) Even if it's just for 30 days.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Because there are so many reasons not to follow through on your plans.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-CDiVyA1-HNM/UpTTQ5ZzoeI/AAAAAAAAAxI/i_VfL4WQmxM/s1600/Your+%22Plans%22.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-CDiVyA1-HNM/UpTTQ5ZzoeI/AAAAAAAAAxI/i_VfL4WQmxM/s400/Your+%22Plans%22.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://thedoghousediaries.com/5468">photo credit</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Many of them valid. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
But the thing is, even if I don't get there-- even if I don't reach my 50,000 words-- as of this moment, I have put 29,816 words toward my own goals this month. That's nearly 30,000 words slammed out toward a future of my own making, without killing myself or staying up till midnight like I did <a href="http://almost-like-real-life.blogspot.com/2012/12/after-stretch_12.html">last year</a> (yet). And that feels amazing, whether or not I make it to 50,000. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
At the same time, I haven't had to sacrifice a huge amount of family time, and I managed to please my notoriously picky client-- who was so happy with my work this month he actually sent me an email thanking me, a huge turnaround from <a href="http://almost-like-real-life.blogspot.com/2013/10/your-discomfort-zone.html">last month</a>. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Oh, and this nearly 30,000 words is of course in addition to the 65,663 words I wrote for work in November. So far. Not including lengthy emails or edits or rewrites. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
My <a href="http://almost-like-real-life.blogspot.com/2013/11/what-can-you-do-in-10-minutes.html">10 minute</a> plan is working, my back is still unhappy but not impossible to work around, and I feel like I'm through the crunch. I feel like I won. I really do. Even with 20,000 words ahead of me over the next-- oh my god, only four freaking days, I have to finish this blog IMMEDIATELY and get back to work. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Arrgh, no. I can't leave without a conclusion. DAMMIT.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Okay, so here it is. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Sometimes the only way out is through. And the interim is impossible and murky and ridiculous in every respect. But then once you're out the other side, inevitably you look back at all the thorny, brambly nonsense and think "Huh, that wasn't so bad. I don't know why I was such a baby about this back on the other side." </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
It's not because you were wrong about it being hard and sticky and scary. You were totally right. It was all of those things. But on the way through, you change. You grow. And by the time you reach the other side, you're someone who is less scared. Who is more capable. Because you know now that things that seemed impossible from one end are, in fact, possible. You know this because you just did it. And then you start to wonder what other things are possible that you always thought were impossible. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-PimLJpvdXd4/UpTc1aaldYI/AAAAAAAAAxY/TgoXsBiQPok/s1600/muhammad+ali+wallpaper.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-PimLJpvdXd4/UpTc1aaldYI/AAAAAAAAAxY/TgoXsBiQPok/s400/muhammad+ali+wallpaper.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And if anyone would know, it's Muhammad Ali.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And then life gets real amazing, real quick. Just as soon as you push through to the other side.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
Mz Mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13511429371022580687noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5994863596041292224.post-31807665705321605682013-11-22T15:01:00.002-08:002013-11-22T15:01:38.360-08:00Making Time for ThanfulnessSo, as you may remember from my last couple of posts, things have been absurdly nuts for me lately. Work was already <a href="http://almost-like-real-life.blogspot.com/2013/10/your-discomfort-zone.html">crazy stressful</a>, plus it's <a href="https://www.google.com/url?sa=t&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=web&cd=1&cad=rja&sqi=2&ved=0CCsQFjAA&url=http%3A%2F%2Fnanowrimo.org%2F&ei=v8-PUqy9FMq3rgGH8QE&usg=AFQjCNGZ7lO52lqyl7aWgSv_zvf_z1JwHg&sig2=5Ia7SkQLJnHXVJ0tnquU-Q&bvm=bv.56988011,d.aWM">NaNo</a> month, and you can see from my little word widget over there on the right that I'm way, way behind. Which sucks because NaNo is really (and totally disproportionately) important to me.<br />
<br />
Miss G is flunking a class. Miss L has some weird skin rash exactly over her lymph nodes. Dan was laid off last week. Plus, this upcoming weekend is our family's Thanksgiving celebration, so I'm cooking a big vat of French onion soup for a crowd. You know, in all my spare time.<br />
<br />
In short, much like every other day in life, there are many things happening all at the same time that all deserve priority and are all getting shortchanged.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Uuf3mnq-3Ns/Uo_Suc1-JDI/AAAAAAAAAwU/Sj0h3aO59Mc/s1600/help.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="208" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Uuf3mnq-3Ns/Uo_Suc1-JDI/AAAAAAAAAwU/Sj0h3aO59Mc/s320/help.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
As always, it is so easy to feel overwhelmed by whatever. Work. NaNo. Family. <i>Things</i>. If not these things than other things.<br />
<br />
Dan just shrugs and says "Well, honey, you've pulled bigger rabbits out of smaller hats before. I have no doubt everything will work out just fine."<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-S3mMAtXkKVo/Uo_ValNQboI/AAAAAAAAAwg/oLbra-qfoHM/s1600/7980512_s.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="260" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-S3mMAtXkKVo/Uo_ValNQboI/AAAAAAAAAwg/oLbra-qfoHM/s320/7980512_s.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
This is both exasperating and sort of complimentary.<br />
<br />
And dead on.<br />
<br />
With Thankful French Onion Soup Day just 12 hours away, I find my thoughts turning toward thankfulness, despite everything. Because really, there are so many things to feel thankful for.<br />
<ul>
<li>I'm thankful for my boss, who is all around awesome and who also hired some minions to ease up my workload. </li>
<li>I'm thankful for my job; despite the current crunch, I do love what I do and I'm thankful to work from home. </li>
<li>Dan's layoff came at the perfect time to spend the entire week at home while Miss L is here; they haven't seen each other since Labor Day. I'm thankful they can reconnect this week.</li>
</ul>
<div>
Most importantly, I'm thankful we're happy. Even if there's some graininess upon close examination, when we take a step back and look at the big picture, we're happy. And our lives are moving in the right direction, even if we feel all squished wiggling on through the current bottleneck. </div>
<br />
The stressful times are the hardest in which to be thankful. They're also the most important times in which to make thankfulness a priority.<br />
<br />
When <i>things</i> keep piling up, step away. Just for a second. <a href="http://almost-like-real-life.blogspot.com/2013/11/what-can-you-do-in-10-minutes.html">Take 10 minutes</a>. Breathe.<br />
<br />
Make time for thankfulness.<br />
<br />Mz Mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13511429371022580687noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5994863596041292224.post-50117617105545686502013-11-05T07:45:00.000-08:002013-11-22T13:27:45.523-08:00What Can You Do in 10 Minutes?In an effort to alleviate at least the physical crux portion of my <a href="http://almost-like-real-life.blogspot.com/2013/10/your-discomfort-zone.html">discomfort zone</a>, I changed up my work schedule. Before, I'd force myself through two or three hours before talking a break. Only far too often, that "break" was still spent at the computer: paying bills, checking emails and whatnot. Always the damned whatnot.<br />
<br />
And then I wonder why I'm so sore and miserable at the end of my 10-12 hour day.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vVMfESsnHAs/UnusBqMabZI/AAAAAAAAAvA/nFYyzDq_WX0/s1600/grouchy+at+computer.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="219" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vVMfESsnHAs/UnusBqMabZI/AAAAAAAAAvA/nFYyzDq_WX0/s320/grouchy+at+computer.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
My new schedule is to work for an hour, then <i>leave the computer</i> for at least 10 minutes before returning to work. In that 10 minutes, I have to find things to do. Things that are not computery things. And I set my timer so I don't get distracted; 10 minutes bloats out to an hour a lot faster than you'd expect.<br />
<br />
I started small:<br />
<ul>
<li>Dump out my clean laundry on the bed; start folding. </li>
<li>Chop potatoes and onions to cook up in a big batch for breakfasts during the week. </li>
<li>Sweep up gross dog hair. </li>
<li>Clean the bathroom. </li>
</ul>
<div>
And before I knew it, a bunch of stuff that regularly gets pushed to the back burner is actually taken care of. My kitchen is cleaner. My desk is more organized. Little nagging projects I never found time to take care of are getting completed. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Slowly. In 10-minute segments. But getting there. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tcuAwv-Vg3I/UnuvZgQU6_I/AAAAAAAAAvM/l5caI6I35L4/s1600/time+clocks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tcuAwv-Vg3I/UnuvZgQU6_I/AAAAAAAAAvM/l5caI6I35L4/s320/time+clocks.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
The most interesting thing about this (besides the fact that my neck pain is actually tolerable now, even if not entirely resolved) is learning just how much I can accomplish in 10 minute chunks.<br />
<br />
It's so easy to put stuff off until I have time for this or time for that. I keep wanting a week off to just write my own stuff and work on art projects. Catch up on movies. And I think society trains us to think this way, too-- how much more do you hear about planning for your retirement compared to making your life work for you <i>right now? </i>There's so much emphasis put on work first and other stuff later. But I don't want to wait till I'm 65 to do cool stuff. <i> </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
And I'm not getting a week off anytime soon to just indulge in the things I actually want to do. I have to make room for them right now. In among everything else. And these 10 minute breaks give me the perfect opportunity.<br />
<br />
Life is never going to go on hold so you can live your "real" life. This is it. You're already living it. If you want your right-now life to evolve into your ideal life, you'll have to carve enough room out of your day for a good foothold, then launch yourself toward that ideal. Even 10 minutes can be enough.<br />
<br />
So.<br />
<ul>
<li>First 10 minute break: Set up a canvas, some clean water, some brushes.</li>
<li>Next 10 minute break: Mix a glaze; brush a coat on.</li>
<li>10 minute break after that: Work on NaNo outline... in longhand.</li>
<li>The following 10 minute break: Find my journal. Write until my timer goes off.</li>
</ul>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-zEp-9WxhyQM/UnuyXb2jRmI/AAAAAAAAAvY/waXf9kTdW6o/s1600/writing+in+notebook.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="211" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-zEp-9WxhyQM/UnuyXb2jRmI/AAAAAAAAAvY/waXf9kTdW6o/s320/writing+in+notebook.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
In the few days I've been doing this schedule, I can't believe how much more I'm getting done-- and how many more of the things I am doing are the exact things I am always irritated at not having enough time for.<br />
<br />
Turns out, there is time. Even if it's only 10 minutes.<br />
<br />
What can you do in 10 minutes?<br />
<br />Mz Mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13511429371022580687noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5994863596041292224.post-23046740089490905362013-10-30T08:29:00.000-07:002013-10-30T14:11:22.183-07:00Your Discomfort Zone<div>
Just as we all have our comfort zone, we all have our discomfort zone. It's located between this rock and that hard place. Mine has been particularly discomfortable lately. [Yes, apparently 'discomfortable' is an actual word.]<br />
<br />
My job took a turn for the crazy stressful right around when it went full time about 3 months ago. I'm happy that it's gone full time; I've wanted this to happen <a href="http://almost-like-real-life.blogspot.com/2013/06/fruition-update-part-five_28.html">for a long time now</a>. And actually, it's kinda sorta miraculous that this job I <a href="http://almost-like-real-life.blogspot.com/2011/06/if-not-now-then-when.html">never exactly planned on applying for</a> is now supporting my family, so I have a lot to feel thankful for. At the same time, it's brought a level of pressure with it that is decidedly unpleasant.<br />
<br />
Full time shouldn't be that much different from part-time. Right? Other than more hours. Except it is so different, and so much more stressful. <br />
<br />
My client is giving me more work, which means his business is growing. Becaue I put in more time, his business is able to expand further. My boss is also giving me more work, which means our business is growing too. Because I put in more time, our company is also able to expand further. The stakes are steadily increasing from both directions; both companies are completely dependent on me, without exaggeration.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-1mbgjhlIcPY/UnEcaeru9kI/AAAAAAAAAuY/3me3HhMuurw/s1600/atlas.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="309" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-1mbgjhlIcPY/UnEcaeru9kI/AAAAAAAAAuY/3me3HhMuurw/s320/atlas.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
And as far as I can tell, neither of them realizes that this level of intensity is untenable and unsustainable for me. Probably because I've been sustaining it just fine. Until this past month. This month, the hairline stress fractures widened enough that everyone felt the shift.<br />
<br />
This month, I was exhausted. This month, for the first time, my client told me I need to up my game. This month, for the first time, I had to tell my boss that my client wasn't happy. My boss then told me that it is my job to figure out how to make the client happy again.<br />
<br />
And he's right. It is exactly my job. I just have no idea if I can do it, because I am totally mentally and physically exhausted. I cannot string two more words together. I'm positive I have written the same sentences over and over again a thousand times. I no longer know how to keep my writing fresh and engaging on the same subjects again and again. I have nothing left to say. <br />
<br />
Plus my neck is freaking killing me from sitting at a computer all day. I'm on my second desk and my third office chair with only minor physical improvements. Unlike a job I physically go to, I clock every minute when working at home. To put in 8 hours of work takes at least 10 actual hours, because I clock out to get up and grab some water or send a text message. An 8 hour day takes even longer than 10 hours when my brain is fried like it has been and I can't concentrate.<br />
<br />
I'm missing time with my family in the evenings. I regularly end up putting in a few hours on weekends, which has more than once led me to working 2 straight weeks with no days off. I am totally invested in and thrilled about the success of both of these companies, and at the same time feel trapped because I cannot see a way out of this. Their success means me continuing to sit at the computer for long hours every day. I don't think my body can handle it. I have no idea what to do to support myself instead. And it's so incredibly disheartening to find out the thing you've wanted and worked toward for years may not be the answer after all.<br />
<br />
I even debate about spending the usual hour or so I put in on this blog every week because every second at the computer needs to count; every second adds up to more back pain. But ultimately, I do my weekly posts here because I need to have just one thing that is fun to write. JUST ONE.<br />
<br />
I'm not pleased about ruining my body for another job. It's still pretty ruined from construction. If I'm spending 12+ hours further destroying my back, I want it to be working on my own stuff. And that could really pay off big-time; I'm still pulling in monthly cash off the smut I published almost 2 years ago. If I put up a few more titles, I would be making just enough that I could cut down on some work hours maybe. So then I feel committed to finishing up those three or four nearly-done books I wrote for last year's National Novel Writing Month. Except I can't. Be. At. The. Computer. Another. Second.<br />
<br />
And yet I have to push through all of this. Because I am committed to my job. And I don't just have to maintain the course. I have to up my game.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-dqI7Yczhl0U/UnEVxL9VhmI/AAAAAAAAAuM/1EoCLbaAs1M/s1600/drowing+in+pressure.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-dqI7Yczhl0U/UnEVxL9VhmI/AAAAAAAAAuM/1EoCLbaAs1M/s320/drowing+in+pressure.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">No pressure or anything.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Last spring or so I got a cold and skipped yoga for a few days. Then my shoulder was hurting and I thought I'd injured it so I skipped for a few weeks. Then summer came and I gave up on it entirely. Just this past few weeks I feel committed to my mat again-- mostly in an effort to uncrick my body from long hours at a keyboard every day.<br />
<br />
And even yoga irritates me. What used to be a physical and mental solace now feels like weird and awkward stretches.<br />
<br />
This is the last straw; if the thing that used to ground you and bring you peace fails you, what the hell is left? </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
This moment, this moment when everything is falling on your head at once and you see zero solutions-- this is your discomfort zone. There is no visible escape route. There are no clearly marked exits. You can't move in any direction far enough to unkink your life, even though what you really need is a good long stretch.<br />
<br />
So I'm cranky and on my yoga mat, angry at my body's inability to do what was so easy just six months ago, and the teacher says "It's easy, in this pose, to get frustrated with yourself, to think 'Oh my gosh, I'm so weak.' But you're not weak. You're getting stronger. If you were weak, you wouldn't even be trying."<br />
<br />
Then my practice dissolved into tears, about the 23rd time I've been in tears this month. Only this was the good kind of cry, the kind that cleanses and centers and heals and isn't just your work-related stress running around in circles chasing its own tail.<br />
<br />
And I thought, damn straight I can up my game.<br />
<br />
After all, <a href="http://almost-like-real-life.blogspot.com/2013/03/finding-your-balance.html">wavering is not a sign of weakness</a>. It's a sign that you're finding your balance.<br />
<br />
When life is discomfortable, every instinct tells us to fight that unease. But the truth is, the discomfort is essential; as my mom said the other day when I was venting to her, "Well, we don't change positions until we're uncomfortable." And she's right. I do know that. I know that r<a href="http://almost-like-real-life.blogspot.com/2012/12/after-stretch_12.html">elease doesn't come until after the stretch</a>, I believe in the importance of <a href="http://almost-like-real-life.blogspot.com/2013/09/growing-your-goldfish-bowl_10.html">pushing your comfort zone</a>.<br />
<br />
With NaNo just a few days away, I am more determined than ever to figure out how to carve a space in my rock and/or my hard place that's large enough for me to fit comfortably. I know exactly the future I want. There will never be more hours in the day to get there. It's up to me to find a way, and sometimes the only way out is through. </div>
Mz Mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13511429371022580687noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5994863596041292224.post-56052206506462218022013-10-22T09:32:00.001-07:002013-10-22T09:32:41.918-07:00Becoming a "No Problem" PersonOne of the things I love most about my husband is that he always says yes, and never yes but.<br />
<br />
Yes, but just this once.<br />
Yes, but I can only stay until 8.<br />
Yes, but lemme check on some stuff first.<br />
<br />
Dan's eternal yes is also one of the things that irritated me the most when we first started dating. He would ask the girls what they wanted for dessert. One kid would ask for a little tiny Häagen-Dazs from the grocery store. Another wanted a Blizzard from DQ. Dan himself wanted coffee ice cream from the local candy shop. And I wanted a caramel apple empanada from Taco Bell.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-puDSyyoQ8Tc/UmabxEX_MkI/AAAAAAAAAtQ/PNodJBKgY6g/s1600/dessert+options.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="211" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-puDSyyoQ8Tc/UmabxEX_MkI/AAAAAAAAAtQ/PNodJBKgY6g/s320/dessert+options.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Ugh, there's never any CHOICES around this house!"</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I grew up in a house with 3 kids who never liked the same things, so this is nothing new to me. <a href="http://almost-like-real-life.blogspot.com/2010/06/my-dad.html">My dad </a>handled this scenario with "If you kids can't agree on something, no one's getting any dessert." Very practical. Even a dessert you don't like is still a treat, right? As such, I suffered through many a horrible vanilla milkshake as a kid. Besides, what parent in their right mind wants to drive around town for an hour getting everyone their own separate dessert?<br />
<br />
No one except Dan.<br />
<br />
It's isn't that he's an indulgent parent (although that is certainly true). He's just a no problem person. A yes person. He says yes to everything. There is never a but. There is never an attached string. His generosity is utterly unconditional.<br />
<br />
I have always hated asking anyone for anything. Until I met Dan I didn't realize that this was not just because I'm obnoxiously independent (again, certainly true), but because I dreaded the strings. The conditions. The guilt trips. The inevitable extraneous nonsense that comes with even the simplest request.<br />
<br />
"Hey, could you grab some milk on the way home?"<br />
"Weren't you just at the store yesterday? Never mind, it's fine. I guess I'll just be a little late for dinner."<br />
<br />
"Hey, can you drop me on your way past my house?"<br />
"Well, I was planning on running some errands right now but I'm sure I could make time. Hop in!"<br />
<br />
"Hey, could we reschedule our meeting next week?"<br />"Yeah, I can probably move some stuff around to make that happen."<br />
<br />
Not one of those answers sound like a real yes, even though they technically all are.<br />
<br />
Asking Dan anything-- still, even after 8 years together-- is like when you expect closed-door resistance and, finding none, stumble across the threshold in surprise.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-S6lXIExaTGw/UmamWaYIkRI/AAAAAAAAAts/C-xr4M1l-Yo/s1600/secret+garden+door.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-S6lXIExaTGw/UmamWaYIkRI/AAAAAAAAAts/C-xr4M1l-Yo/s320/secret+garden+door.jpg" width="209" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Did you guys know there's, like, awesomeness out here?"</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />I never realized how much all those non-yes yesses wore on me. From every single person. Every single day. And it's not like I just hang out with sucky people; we ALL do this. I do it myself. We want everyone to know exactly what they owe us. Exactly how much we should be worth to them. Or how much they're worth to us, as measured by the amount of effort we're willing to put forth. <br />
<br />
Dan's simple yes is a such a powerful and welcome presence in my life that I've decided to try and become a no problem person myself. I practice saying yes when people ask me things.<br />
<br />
No excuses.<br />
No temporizing.<br />
No subtle punishments hidden between words.<br />
<br />
Just yes. No problem.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bbIGbjLdd9o/UmajD6LC5wI/AAAAAAAAAtk/FDopRr_VAVk/s1600/yes!.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bbIGbjLdd9o/UmajD6LC5wI/AAAAAAAAAtk/FDopRr_VAVk/s320/yes!.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />Mz Mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13511429371022580687noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5994863596041292224.post-59714570689961586532013-10-15T08:05:00.000-07:002013-10-15T08:06:06.301-07:00Focus on What's Good InsteadA couple months ago, I found out that I have <a href="http://www.celiaccentral.org/non-celiac-gluten-sensitivity/">non-celiac gluten sensitivity</a>. At the same time, I found out I probably have a lactose or casein intolerance of some kind.<br />
<br />
"It'll be way easier for me to give up gluten than dairy," I said to my doctor. I'm <a href="http://www.mayoclinic.com/health/hypoglycemia/DS00198">hypoglycemic</a>, so I have problems maintaining my blood sugar at reasonable levels. Lots of protein helps with this; dairy is one of my major protein sources. And also because of the blood sugar thing, I'm not a huge carb eater anyway.<br />
<br />
"We can start with that," she said.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-AMYE57t7NS8/Ul1H6EcmJOI/AAAAAAAAAsc/PRjBdpgvPIQ/s1600/bread.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-AMYE57t7NS8/Ul1H6EcmJOI/AAAAAAAAAsc/PRjBdpgvPIQ/s320/bread.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Farewell, my friends. Farewell.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
It turns out that going gluten-free-- while about a million times easier today than it would have been even 5 or 10 years ago-- is way more of a pain in the ass than I realized it would be.<br />
<br />
Gluten, by its nature, is all sticky and gluey, so it hides in things like wooden cutting boards. Also, if you live with other people who are still eating gluten, there are all kinds of cross-contamination concerns. Like, bread crumbs in the butter. Dipping a knife into the mayo, spreading it on bread, dipping it in mayo again. Learning that there's gluten in soy sauce, of all places. And my grocery trips take twice as long now, because I have to read every single ingredient on every single package. Modified food starch? Usually wheat-based, and a common ingredient in things like salad dressings. Oh, and malt vinegar is out too.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jxvafIGMtbc/Ul1JvUBJ5wI/AAAAAAAAAso/m8PxjmtMx1M/s1600/ingredient+list.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jxvafIGMtbc/Ul1JvUBJ5wI/AAAAAAAAAso/m8PxjmtMx1M/s320/ingredient+list.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fun quiz: Is this safe or not?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
As involved as all this is, I will also say that it is far, far less of a pain for me than it is for many. I'm not a carb queen, I don't eat many things with long ingredient lists anyway, and I cook most things from scratch rather than using dips, mixes, or eating out. And I'm not so sensitive that just opening a bag of flour has me sick for days. Plus I don't actually have celiac disease, so that's good.<br />
<br />
That being said, it's still a pain in the ass.<br />
<br />
One of the things that every single book or website about celiac disease, non-celiac sensitivity, and eating gluten free says again and again is to think about all the great foods you ARE allowed instead of bemoaning all the stuff you can't eat.<br />
<br />
You just focus on the good instead.<br />
<br />
And it's true that the list of things that do have gluten in them is much, much shorter than the list of things that don't:<br />
<ul>
<li>Fresh fruits and veggies</li>
<li>Homemade chili</li>
<li>Split pea soup</li>
<li>Steak, baked potatoes loaded with butter and sour cream, and a green salad with tons of avocado and a nice balsamic vinaigrette on the side</li>
<li>Enchiladas, if I use corn tortillas and buy gluten-free enchilada sauce</li>
<li>Homemade granola, if I use gluten-free oats</li>
<li>15-bean soup, with a handful of sautéed apple-gouda sausage and kale tossed in</li>
<li>Roasted autumn vegetable bake-- sweet potatoes, parsnips, yukon gold potatoes, onions</li>
<li>Pasticcio made with <a href="http://www.bionaturae.com/gluten-free-pasta.html">this pasta</a>, my favorite of all the brands I've tried so far</li>
<li>Mushroom alfredo over chicken instead of fettuccini</li>
<li><a href="http://www.beaujos.com/colorado-pizza-menu/gluten-free-pizza/">Gluten-free pizza from Beau Jo's that's actually delicious</a></li>
<li>Sushi, dipped in tamari instead of soy sauce</li>
</ul>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Wmw9UerJaDI/Ul1PynDAvMI/AAAAAAAAAs4/EHdhHf9K_P0/s1600/sushi+rolls.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Wmw9UerJaDI/Ul1PynDAvMI/AAAAAAAAAs4/EHdhHf9K_P0/s320/sushi+rolls.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sushi actually freaks me out, but it's so pretty I eat it anyway.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Much like gluten, the less-ideal things in our lives feel sticky and everywhere a lot of the time. Relationship problems. Money stress. Dull cubicle jobs. The daily grind. It's easy to get hung up on these things, give them weight, dwell on what you wish they were. Mire yourself in lack.<br />
<br />
But, just like wishing my unpleasantly dry and crumbly gluten-free toast were a thick slab of delicious whole-grain goodness slathered with fresh apple butter, wishing doesn't make it so.<br />
<br />
I focus on what's good instead.<br />
<ul>
<li>A husband who puts up with my nonsense and makes me laugh every day</li>
<li>My teenage daughter who, as yet, is not doing drugs or having sex, and has decent grades to boot (except in Spanish, and I'm willing to overlook that) </li>
<li>Ever-decreasing <a href="http://almost-like-real-life.blogspot.com/2013/01/becoming-anti-arthritic.html">back pain</a>; ever-improving overall health (quirky gluten issues notwithstanding)</li>
<li>A <span id="goog_1971480432"></span><a href="http://almost-like-real-life.blogspot.com/2013/06/fruition-update-part-five_28.html">job</a><span id="goog_1971480433"></span> that has become the impossible pipe dream I would've sold my soul for two years ago</li>
<li><a href="http://almost-like-real-life.blogspot.com/2013/06/fruition-update-introduction.html">Fruition everywhere</a></li>
</ul>
<div>
Every day, my life looks a little closer to ideal.<br />
<br />
The stuff that takes you further from your ideal? <a href="http://almost-like-real-life.blogspot.com/2013/04/carving-away-everything-else.html">Get it out of there.</a> At the very least, refuse to dwell. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Focus on what's good instead.</div>
Mz Mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13511429371022580687noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5994863596041292224.post-13601679069320265182013-10-08T06:52:00.000-07:002013-10-08T06:52:00.253-07:00Finding Your NicheIn Vegas, our shop was located just off the strip in the main industrial park neighborhood. There was this great Greek place right down the road. We'd stack our breaks so we could enjoy one long break (gorging on the best spanakopita I've ever had) instead of a lunch and and two short breaks.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-9-0Iaeuvr9o/UlMSCZLx_oI/AAAAAAAAAr0/hw7KhggFX-A/s1600/spanakopita.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="276" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-9-0Iaeuvr9o/UlMSCZLx_oI/AAAAAAAAAr0/hw7KhggFX-A/s400/spanakopita.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Oh, yes.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Then our shop moved. Although we found new love at the Pizza Cafe (and an absurdly handsome barista named Pablo), it wasn't the same.<br />
<br />
Then, lo and behold, the Greek place relocated too! RIGHT BY OUR NEW SHOP! So exciting! As soon as we found out we were neighbors again, we skipped our morning break to hit the hummus over an extended lunch. We ordered without looking at the menu first.<br />
<br />
"No, no. No spanakopita. We got new things now." The guy puts a menu in my face and points a thick, furry finger at the grease-splotched paper. "See? We got subs. We got pizza."<br />
<br />
We all expressed sorrow over the loss of our beloved spanakopita, but found other things to order. And they were delicious. Just not quite as delicious as before.<br />
<br />
The next time we went back, a bunch of the Greek menu items were crossed out with a ballpoint pen, and the burly Greek guy who usually took (and cooked) our order was no longer in evidence.<br />
<br />
Pasticio? Gone. Tabbouleh? Falafel? Gone and gone. And the top-notch quality that used to be in evidence had, like Elvis, left the building.<br />
<br />
That was our last time visiting the Greek place.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JyPuBO0UJcI/UlMWG8VbPzI/AAAAAAAAAsA/fkh1Ip33a34/s1600/dead+end+sign.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JyPuBO0UJcI/UlMWG8VbPzI/AAAAAAAAAsA/fkh1Ip33a34/s320/dead+end+sign.jpg" width="239" /></a></div>
<br />
I am always baffled by businesses-- and individuals-- who have a niche all nailed up, then water it down with some dumb crap that anyone could do. ANYone.<br />
<br />
Like the disappointingly named VikingHus gift shop that had one small shelf of sorta-Scandinavian swag, and otherwise looked like a Hallmark store. Like the Pizza Cafe, our Greek restaurant replacement that started out as a fantastic high-end gourmet Italian bistro and worked its way down to a quasi-sports bar. Like the last couple seasons of just about any decent TV show where they lose their way and forget what made them stand out from the crowd in the first place.<br />
<br />
The world does not need more bland, safe mediocrity.<br />
<br />
When you have a thing you nail better than anyone, it's easy to doubt yourself. It's easy to think that the guy over there is seeing amazing success with his broader, less complicated vision that appeals to the public at large. Surely you should cater to the masses too, instead of your small niche market.<br />
<br />
Nope!<br />
<br />
The people who invest in your goods, your services, your presence give you the gift of their time/money/support because they like what you're offering. What YOU are. Not what everyone else is.<br />
<br />
Not despite your differences. Because of them.<br />
<br />
They say you should write the book you want to read. I say find your niche, that niche that needs filling that no one else has filled. Then fill it.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-rcwQDIjEglU/UlMatozsGsI/AAAAAAAAAsM/hiVydOEjjOo/s1600/fill+your+niche.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-rcwQDIjEglU/UlMatozsGsI/AAAAAAAAAsM/hiVydOEjjOo/s320/fill+your+niche.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This lives on my desk. It's an interesting story. I'll tell you sometime.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />Mz Mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13511429371022580687noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5994863596041292224.post-75586491495458454122013-09-24T09:19:00.000-07:002013-09-24T09:19:04.561-07:00Gregarious GregAfter living here a week or so, it became clear that my neighbors were the townhome complex drug dealers.<br />
<br />
Really nice guys though, Victor and D'Angelo. They're quiet and they keep their yard clean and always say hi to me. Yesterday D'Angelo was walking out of his front door at the same time I was headed out with a bag of smelly kitchen garbage.<br />
<br />
"Oh, you want me to take that to the dumpster for you?" he asked, hoisting the bag out of my hands before I could even answer. He wasn't even going that way.<br />
<br />
Yes, even the drug dealers are better in Colorado.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Wl3evJhO_TM/UkGfGZm_iOI/AAAAAAAAAq4/0C_oicRtUZU/s1600/pothead+parking+only.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Wl3evJhO_TM/UkGfGZm_iOI/AAAAAAAAAq4/0C_oicRtUZU/s320/pothead+parking+only.jpg" width="222" /></a></div>
<br />
On our other side, we have the heavily pregnant girl who sits outside chain-smoking, waiting for her due date to arrive. At the end of the building is the family with the 4-year-old who runs around outside in diapers with no parents in sight.<br />
<br />
In the next building over we have another chain-smoking mom with a baby on her hip plus a little boy and a young teenager who might be hers also (but I can't figure out how to make that math work) and an older lady who must be the grandma. Next to them are the 20-something construction worker potheads with the awesome big dog named Charlie Brown.<br />
<br />
Sometime around July, I came home to a previously empty unit now all tidy with snappy porch furniture and a huge American flag hanging off the corner of the building.<br />
<br />
Oh boy. They are not going to do well back in this corner of the complex, I thought.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-iCyZhkAvphw/UkGi24JaLOI/AAAAAAAAArM/XQsxGSsdiU8/s1600/the+ghetto.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="222" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-iCyZhkAvphw/UkGi24JaLOI/AAAAAAAAArM/XQsxGSsdiU8/s320/the+ghetto.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Later that night I'm headed back out again and the new neighbors-- a nice couple in their youngish 30s, just as lovely as you'd expect from their porch furniture-- are sipping local craft beers out front.<br />
<br />
We exchange greetings as I pass.<br />
<br />
The next night, they're out there again, only with mix drinks and this time one of the 20-something construction worker pothead neighbors has joined them. The night after that, Victor the drug dealer is hanging out there too, along with both construction workers and Charlie Brown the dog.<br />
<br />
After a couple weeks or so, Dan & I are the ones hanging out on the porch with all our neighbors and (all our dogs).<br />
<br />
Greg and Brittany have a baby and a toddler. She stays at home and he commutes up to Boulder. Greg is a tax attorney, and Brittany is one of those women who always looks perfect and who apologizes for her messy kitchen when there's a single dirty plate and no crumbs. In her spare time she's starting her own home decorating business.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-9atkmNTwoTA/UkGmtBN262I/AAAAAAAAArY/fCyGpjGXcuA/s1600/ward+&+june+cleaver.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-9atkmNTwoTA/UkGmtBN262I/AAAAAAAAArY/fCyGpjGXcuA/s320/ward+&+june+cleaver.JPG" width="249" /></a></div>
<br />
Despite these things, they're actually quite likable.<br />
<br />
Dan and Greg carpool up to Boulder every morning now; Dan's new job is within a mile of Greg's office. Dan is teaching Greg how to climb. Greg loves it.<br />
<br />
I'm positive if I had little kids, Brittany and I would be besties. As it is, I still stop to chit chat for a minute after dropping Miss G at school in the mornings, and our own girls are frothing at the mouth to babysit.<br />
<br />
"I'm pretty sure Greg is short for Gregarious," Dan tells me.<br />
<br />
In just a few months, Gregarious Greg has transformed our little corner of misfit toys into someplace that's practically neighborly. His wife has taken to feeding the malnourished construction workers dinner every night. We stop by their porch most evenings to spend some time catching up; we've switched to hot tea now though. The seasons are changing.<br />
<br />Mz Mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13511429371022580687noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5994863596041292224.post-7692687454661097452013-09-17T06:30:00.000-07:002013-09-17T06:30:01.100-07:00The One You FeedAn old Cherokee man is teaching his grandson the ways of the world. He says, "Within all of us, there are two wolves. One wolf is good. He does no harm. He lives at peace in your heart, and finds harmony in the world.<br />
<br />
"The other wolf-- he is full of anger, snarling, raging at everyone and everything. Yet all his anger changes nothing.<br />
<br />
"These two wolves, they are battling in you, always. Always."<br />
<br />
The boy is silent, then asks, "Which one will win?"<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Vw_kmKcrR3c/UjfHwXfMHjI/AAAAAAAAAp8/Oo6bnHKgsdQ/s1600/two+wolves.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="257" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Vw_kmKcrR3c/UjfHwXfMHjI/AAAAAAAAAp8/Oo6bnHKgsdQ/s320/two+wolves.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">His grandfather answers, "The one you feed."</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I never write about being a stepmom anymore. I can't think about the wasteland of the last several years of my life for longer than about eight seconds before I'm incoherent with anger.<br />
<br />
Eight seconds. The same amount of time you have to hang onto a wild bull at the rodeo.<br />
<br />
Last night Dan told me he is working on forgiving Miss L's mom, as if any of us needed more evidence that he is some kind of freakishly evolved, on-the-edge-of-enlightenment being.<br />
<br />
"I don't see that ever happening for me," I say. "<a href="http://almost-like-real-life.blogspot.com/2012/10/year-of-honey-badger.html">Being a honeybadger</a>, yes. Not giving a crap, not letting it ruin my life, those things I can do. Forgiveness? No. I can't do it. I don't see how I can ever think how all the shit she's done is okay. I mean... ever."<br />
<br />
He says he understands. He says he doesn't blame me. He says, "I'm still going to work toward forgiveness." Because he is a better human than anyone I know.<br />
<br />
I'm not there. And not in a grudge-holding way. I am probably the least grudge-holdy person you'll ever meet. Not that I don't have a temper; I do. But it flares up and burns out real fast, and I always apologize immediately: a genuine apology. I am capable of grace.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-d2I2UUasHCw/UjfK05b591I/AAAAAAAAAqI/8EBYW4VNxew/s1600/buddha+anger+poison.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-d2I2UUasHCw/UjfK05b591I/AAAAAAAAAqI/8EBYW4VNxew/s320/buddha+anger+poison.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
I am not actively angry. Our everyday life is very cheerful these days. Peaceful. It's fun when Miss L is here, and she even keeps in touch with us when she's not now. All of the dark days are behind us. I know this. I believe it 100%.<br />
<br />
Those dark days, though. They're molasses. They're sticky when you think you've cleaned everything up and put it all away.<br />
<br />
I have forgiven worse. I have forgiven far less forgivable things. So why not these things?<br />
<br />
Miss L is not my daughter; I should have no stake in this claim. For the love of pete, if I could forgive all the crap my actual biological daughter's other parent has dished out, I should be able to get over <i>this</i>. This woman who shouldn't even matter.<br />
<br />
And still, there is just something about all the stupid bullshit that I cannot let go of. Maybe the using her daughter as a weapon. Maybe the calculating way she sabotaged our budding family when it was still so delicate, and destroyed our foundation so thoroughly that we will always be stunted as a result. Or maybe the myriad of other hypocritical, double standard, underhanded sneaky-ass things I can't even list here except to just say sometimes <a href="http://almost-like-real-life.blogspot.com/2011/09/other-parents-suck.html">other parents just suck</a>.<br />
<br />
Every time, I expect that discussing these things will lance the infection and drain all those soupy, putrid toxins out, leave my mind light and airy the way venting so often does. But not this. It just festers.<br />
<br />
It just feeds the wolf.<br />
<br />
I think someday down the road, maybe it'll be safe to dwell. Eventually I'll find the minefield is dormant, and-- beyond the trenches-- I'll find forgiveness.<br />
<br />
Until then, I'm starving it out.<br />
<br />Mz Mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13511429371022580687noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5994863596041292224.post-32057496053656730462013-09-10T04:43:00.000-07:002013-10-30T06:38:48.986-07:00Expanding Your Goldfish BowlGoldfish, unlike humans, never stop growing physically. They grow until they die. How much they grow is dependent upon the quality of their water, how well they're cared for and the size of their bowl.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ulHOV1tRrsU/Ui3CIHS-2OI/AAAAAAAAApU/xTmY_XKbsuM/s1600/whats+that+now+goldfish.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ulHOV1tRrsU/Ui3CIHS-2OI/AAAAAAAAApU/xTmY_XKbsuM/s320/whats+that+now+goldfish.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Well hot damn!"</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Those of us who've seen <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0319061/?ref_=fn_al_tt_1">Big Fish</a> already know this. (Those of you who haven't need to watch it IMMEDIATELY.)<br />
<br />
Yet, while humans are genetically predetermined to stop growing physically at some point, we possess an infinite capacity for inward growth.<br />
<br />
Like goldfish, how much we grow is dependent upon the quality of our environment. How clean we keep our water. How well we care for ourselves. And the size of our bowl.<br />
<br />
Small bowls are cozy. Small bowls create snug little comfort zones. It's easy to feel good in smaller enclosures. Keeping everything close helps us feel safe. Protected.<br />
<br />
And small bowls are easier to control. The environment is predictable and unchallenging. You can let your guard down. Your entire world is well-defined.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-17khtH9xa3M/Ui3CHSCoziI/AAAAAAAAApI/lmqqcNzYO-0/s1600/goldfish+world.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="233" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-17khtH9xa3M/Ui3CHSCoziI/AAAAAAAAApI/lmqqcNzYO-0/s320/goldfish+world.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I've got everything I need riiiight here.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
The problem with small bowls is that predictable and controlled are just a hair away from confining and limiting. Without warning, the concept of Outside becomes scary in all its unpredictable, uncontrollable hugeness. And your bowl actually grows smaller. Then smaller still.<br />
<br />
You think you're swimming around your plastic castle in a happy routine; in reality you're stuck in a real small bowl with real dirty water.<br />
<br />
It happens so gradually it's easy to miss.<br />
<br />
Maybe one day, you wake up. The walls of your goldfish bowl suddenly feel too thick, too close, too covered in greenish slime. That's when it's time to seek out larger shores.<br />
<br />
I know it's time for a new bowl by gauging how scared I am to leave my current bowl at any given time. The more <a href="http://almost-like-real-life.blogspot.com/2013/06/fruition-update-part-six.html">anxiety</a> I feel about the unknown, the more critical it is for me to <a href="http://almost-like-real-life.blogspot.com/2013/01/becoming-anti-arthritic.html">push my comfort zone</a>. And I am always reluctant.<br />
<br />
Then reluctance evolves to willing. Not always easily, because <a href="http://almost-like-real-life.blogspot.com/2012/09/the-days-of-awe_26.html">change is hard</a>.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-xc0w_Wi044o/Ui3CHRU4QiI/AAAAAAAAApQ/o6Q6FdpxqXk/s1600/have+suitcase+will+expand+world+view.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="317" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-xc0w_Wi044o/Ui3CHRU4QiI/AAAAAAAAApQ/o6Q6FdpxqXk/s320/have+suitcase+will+expand+world+view.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Have suitcase. Will expand world view."</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Once you choose expansion, you find that fresh water feels so much better than that murk you were sludging through a minute ago. Comfort becomes less important than growth; freedom feels far less scary than the dread of going back to that small bowl.<br />
<br />
What seemed like the big bad Out There becomes just a bigger bowl. A bigger bowl with new scenery and different perspectives. A bowl so big you forget to feel constrained. A bowl so clear you can see for miles.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-WrNZ2yTXC7M/Ui3CHtS7o2I/AAAAAAAAApY/3DpOKlfAdCA/s1600/so%25E2%2580%25A6close+goldfish.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-WrNZ2yTXC7M/Ui3CHtS7o2I/AAAAAAAAApY/3DpOKlfAdCA/s320/so%25E2%2580%25A6close+goldfish.jpg" width="244" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And it's <i>right there.</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />Mz Mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13511429371022580687noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5994863596041292224.post-53562193835711029872013-09-03T11:21:00.000-07:002013-09-23T10:32:47.457-07:00Viva la Rentrée!When I took French in high school, I remember learning that France takes August off. Like, the entire nation just goes on vacation the full month. I always wondered how shops shut down for a full third of summer and manage to stay in business. Also, August is probably a bad time to visit France.<br />
<br />
Because of this long hiatus from work and school, going back to school in the fall is a big deal that carries more weight than here in the States. The first day back is called "<i>la rentrée</i>," which translates literally to "the reentrance."<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-9z4cixnMx8Y/UiYmbwF2_DI/AAAAAAAAAog/emLyVWGX4QQ/s1600/cest+la+rentree.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-9z4cixnMx8Y/UiYmbwF2_DI/AAAAAAAAAog/emLyVWGX4QQ/s320/cest+la+rentree.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
And that phrase has further evolved into the idiom "<i>à </i><i> la rentrée,</i>" which sort of means "See you when school starts up again" and is thrown around a lot in May.<br />
<br />
On a deeper level, <i>à la rentrée </i>is much more than a calendar date. It's about moving forward with new focus come September. It's time to pull your big girl boots on, roll up your sleeves and get serious.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Y-I_Mnobfx0/UiYmcNdSCRI/AAAAAAAAAos/xXD-TeUholo/s1600/girl+with+huge+boots.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Y-I_Mnobfx0/UiYmcNdSCRI/AAAAAAAAAos/xXD-TeUholo/s320/girl+with+huge+boots.jpg" width="314" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">VERY serious.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />Playtime is over. It's time to leave long lazy summer days behind and reenter reality.<br />
<br />
Viva la rentrée!<br />
<br />Mz Mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13511429371022580687noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5994863596041292224.post-378456967665417732013-08-27T09:46:00.000-07:002013-08-28T08:02:42.788-07:00From the Badlands and Back AgainFor our super-involved family vacation this year, we drove from Denver through the <a href="https://www.google.com/url?sa=t&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=web&cd=1&cad=rja&ved=0CDkQFjAA&url=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.nps.gov%2Fbadl%2F&ei=aOAYUoywAqai2gWfwYHIBA&usg=AFQjCNH4LoWVFucBY8TiJ8Tln7QagEShPA&sig2=fcF7yHDSzR6hil5TTISvgg&bvm=bv.51156542,d.b2I">Badlands</a> over to my hometown of <a href="http://www.ci.bemidji.mn.us/">Bemidji, MN</a>, then up to tour an <a href="http://www.dnr.state.mn.us/state_parks/soudan_underground_mine/index.html">old iron ore mine in Tower-Soudan</a>, then on over to the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/North_Shore_(Lake_Superior)">North Shore of Lake Superior</a> to a <a href="http://www.vrbo.com/410693">yurt in Grand Marais</a>, then cruised up to the <a href="http://www.amethystmine.com/">amethyst mines</a> past <a href="https://www.google.com/url?sa=t&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=web&cd=2&cad=rja&ved=0CDcQFjAB&url=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.thunderbay.ca%2F&ei=BeEYUr6bGsnN2wWk4IDABg&usg=AFQjCNGoeRHy7Q3CGxBFPDhFp_3r4kSBGQ&sig2=dudiHFdNNv6BPozH0HyVFw&bvm=bv.51156542,d.b2I">Thunder Bay</a>, headed back down the North Shore to <a href="http://visitduluth.com/home.php">Duluth</a> and over to Bemidji again where we celebrated Miss G turning 15 (gah!) and eventually made our way back to Denver.<br />
<br />
It's actually just as exhausting reading the description over again as the trip itself. Well, almost.<br />
<br />
So, every time we make this drive, we don't go through the Badlands, either because we're sleepy or short on time or some other random excuse. This year was the year we finally committed. And deeply regretted having not stopped sooner.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TsdX61MsCo0/UhjY2UilL8I/AAAAAAAAAkY/__-Oe8kr5qc/s1600/IMG_2388.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TsdX61MsCo0/UhjY2UilL8I/AAAAAAAAAkY/__-Oe8kr5qc/s320/IMG_2388.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
It's so beautiful, one of those places (much like the Grand Canyon, or even Mt. Rushmore) where the majesty truly cannot be conveyed with a photograph. And it is very eerie; it feels like an alien landscape. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
In the instructional brochure we were handed at the ticket booth, I learned that the Badlands used to be the bottom of an ocean, back before the Great Plains were plains; then the place made more sense to me visually. Someday I'd like to go back and spend time hiking through there. So, so otherworldly and breathtaking.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
The rest of South Dakota, as always, was a dull and uneventful drive. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--MQmgexoB7w/UhjZR79m6qI/AAAAAAAAAm0/SetubzGTX20/s1600/IMG_0165.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--MQmgexoB7w/UhjZR79m6qI/AAAAAAAAAm0/SetubzGTX20/s320/IMG_0165.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Along the way, I kept telling Dan & the kids how Minnesota is easily the best-smelling state in the Union. They scoffed at me, so I pulled over to the Minnesota Tourist Center as soon as we crossed the border and forced them to inhale. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-V7bkDBK9XXY/UhjY34r8XTI/AAAAAAAAAkg/VygAXKDEU-M/s1600/IMG_2414.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-V7bkDBK9XXY/UhjY34r8XTI/AAAAAAAAAkg/VygAXKDEU-M/s320/IMG_2414.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">They believe me now, all right.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
We arrived in my hometown, the birthplace of Paul Bunyan and Babe the Blue Ox. (Despite Brainerd's claims to the contrary. We Bemidjians know the truth. Or is it Bemidjiites?)</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1YR8LwxxZQ0/UhjZPg2LtrI/AAAAAAAAAmg/LzHmdwG0iTs/s1600/IMG_2778.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1YR8LwxxZQ0/UhjZPg2LtrI/AAAAAAAAAmg/LzHmdwG0iTs/s320/IMG_2778.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
The kids went sailing with Miss G's parental grandparents.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2-7gpEqIq2Q/UhjZS9_N3OI/AAAAAAAAAm4/paidUXIQJqg/s1600/IMG_0174.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2-7gpEqIq2Q/UhjZS9_N3OI/AAAAAAAAAm4/paidUXIQJqg/s320/IMG_0174.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
And then we moved onto Phase 2 of the trip: the North Shore!<br />
<br />
The night before leaving, my dad off-handedly asked if we were going to tour the iron ore mines. I remembered doing this as a kid, in a vague way that had me wondering if it had just been a nightmare, because I couldn't for the life of me remember *where* I had taken an open-walled elevator down a sheer stone shaft and then riding a mine cart train. Mystery solved!<br />
<br />
The second the words "iron ore mine" came out of my dad's mouth, Dan was all over it. So we changed up our route at the last minute to drive through Tower-Soudan and tour the mine.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BdASh1vgMhI/UhjZUFwmOEI/AAAAAAAAAnA/2pTbC7-7mvw/s1600/IMG_0175.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BdASh1vgMhI/UhjZUFwmOEI/AAAAAAAAAnA/2pTbC7-7mvw/s320/IMG_0175.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-v1HJz1RBPj4/UhjZVbiCXYI/AAAAAAAAAnI/c6eXANglDoU/s1600/IMG_0186.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-v1HJz1RBPj4/UhjZVbiCXYI/AAAAAAAAAnI/c6eXANglDoU/s320/IMG_0186.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Then, onward and-- er, over-wards to the North Shore. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
This is a good time to mention that Dan hates Minnesota. It makes him feel claustrophobic, he says. Too many trees. Not enough hills. Nothing to do in Bemidji. All very valid points. When I tell Minnesotans these complaints, they always say, "But have you taken him up the North Shore?" Because the North Shore is really the solution for all of these problems. Previous years we've hit MN, we just haven't had time to make it over to Duluth. This year, though, the state was our oyster.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I found this awesome little <a href="http://www.vrbo.com/410693">yurt</a> to stay in up past Grand Marais. We would've stayed at my first pick, <a href="http://www.naniboujou.com/">Naniboujou</a>, but they foolishly do not allow dogs there. It ended up being fantastic, because the yurt was absolutely perfect. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-xUQxXVGkcAQ/UhjZZt9tOvI/AAAAAAAAAnY/QWwqbgxxtTo/s1600/IMG_0195.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-xUQxXVGkcAQ/UhjZZt9tOvI/AAAAAAAAAnY/QWwqbgxxtTo/s320/IMG_0195.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-liCw-RcSW2w/UhjZXYJwalI/AAAAAAAAAnU/p1GXArDOikc/s1600/IMG_0193.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-liCw-RcSW2w/UhjZXYJwalI/AAAAAAAAAnU/p1GXArDOikc/s320/IMG_0193.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oFBbGcq6F-A/UhjZbMZ9IxI/AAAAAAAAAng/qiQE9lfmTNc/s1600/IMG_0197.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oFBbGcq6F-A/UhjZbMZ9IxI/AAAAAAAAAng/qiQE9lfmTNc/s320/IMG_0197.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
*insert happy sigh here*<br />
<br />
Also, it was only a few minutes from Naniboujou, so we still got to enjoy their fabulous French onion soup.<br />
<br />
For the next couple days, the yurt was home base. From there, we drove up to Thunder Bay to check out the open pit amethyst mines.<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-istbSerKjx4/UhjZdIJJzvI/AAAAAAAAAno/nH0uWvBq7sk/s1600/IMG_0214.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-istbSerKjx4/UhjZdIJJzvI/AAAAAAAAAno/nH0uWvBq7sk/s320/IMG_0214.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">They're really more fun than this photo conveys.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
And hiked the Devil's Kettle trail a few minutes up the road.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ByNGC7BagPA/UhjY91HKBFI/AAAAAAAAAlI/dqRUh1EIqfk/s1600/IMG_2516.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ByNGC7BagPA/UhjY91HKBFI/AAAAAAAAAlI/dqRUh1EIqfk/s320/IMG_2516.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The first luna moth any of us have ever seen!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OrV2ceRJyEs/UhjY_5wqcFI/AAAAAAAAAlQ/8dWdOL4UG3w/s1600/IMG_2526.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OrV2ceRJyEs/UhjY_5wqcFI/AAAAAAAAAlQ/8dWdOL4UG3w/s320/IMG_2526.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-AfJFvDuAg-E/UhjZC2TfkOI/AAAAAAAAAlg/L89T_nhFx2I/s1600/IMG_2557.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-AfJFvDuAg-E/UhjZC2TfkOI/AAAAAAAAAlg/L89T_nhFx2I/s320/IMG_2557.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6Jfo0-xhr1A/UhjZEf1I0KI/AAAAAAAAAlo/1hHy4EYjH3s/s1600/IMG_2562.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6Jfo0-xhr1A/UhjZEf1I0KI/AAAAAAAAAlo/1hHy4EYjH3s/s320/IMG_2562.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It's not defacing property if *everyone* carves their names.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div>
And of course, made time to enjoy some good food.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Do0jmGUnJ2U/UhjZedinpII/AAAAAAAAAnw/zLaqQnuieEo/s1600/IMG_0217.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Do0jmGUnJ2U/UhjZedinpII/AAAAAAAAAnw/zLaqQnuieEo/s320/IMG_0217.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Then it was time to head back south. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
We stopped at Palisade Head to prove to Dan that, yes, there are indeed climbable things in Minnesota. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_-87ZTpxQWY/UhjZJeJDAXI/AAAAAAAAAmA/XcXmB5Ufz7Y/s1600/IMG_2751.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_-87ZTpxQWY/UhjZJeJDAXI/AAAAAAAAAmA/XcXmB5Ufz7Y/s320/IMG_2751.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I had to take dramamine <i>and</i> a xanax to get this photo.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-07bpk-bEu7Q/UhjZMwBDPMI/AAAAAAAAAmQ/ha-iITpDEd4/s1600/IMG_2774.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-07bpk-bEu7Q/UhjZMwBDPMI/AAAAAAAAAmQ/ha-iITpDEd4/s320/IMG_2774.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Just for scale, that tiny yellow dot down there is Dan.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
After the climb, we stopped at a random coffee place along the road to get Dan his fix. I saw a sign on the window that said Bridgeman's.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"I didn't even know they still had Bridgeman's!" I said, as we walked up to the place. "When I was a kid, we used to drive from our cabins into town to get Bridgeman's, then walk around by the college finishing our ice cream before driving back. I always got butter brickle, but they don't make that flavor anymore. I look for it whenever I'm at an ice cream shop."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
We push the door open and I peruse the ice cream while Dan checks out the coffee situation. And there, a hundred miles from Bemidji and about a million from my childhood, is Butter Brittle ice cream. Okay, so not butter <i>brickle, </i>but I am positive it's the right flavor.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Oh my god," I say, grabbing Dan's arm and pointing. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"We'll need a scoop of the butter brittle ice cream too," he tells the girl at the register.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PfpKnNXWVXU/UhjZfTNjckI/AAAAAAAAAn8/a1Pe5L7IsJo/s1600/IMG_0235.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PfpKnNXWVXU/UhjZfTNjckI/AAAAAAAAAn8/a1Pe5L7IsJo/s320/IMG_0235.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">IT TASTES EXACTLY THE SAME!!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div>
<div>
Then back to ol' Bemidge for some bday shenanigans. Although Miss G started out with a bit of a rough morning on her big day, we managed to turn the day around.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-eM52d736BLg/UhjZgL2-lDI/AAAAAAAAAoE/t9wRfIuaNfE/s1600/IMG_0249.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-eM52d736BLg/UhjZgL2-lDI/AAAAAAAAAoE/t9wRfIuaNfE/s320/IMG_0249.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">...by finding pig sprinkles at Leuken's!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-5XWfLleWpMo/UhjZhAzoX4I/AAAAAAAAAoI/002RU0z7Bgc/s1600/IMG_0262.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-5XWfLleWpMo/UhjZhAzoX4I/AAAAAAAAAoI/002RU0z7Bgc/s320/IMG_0262.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">She's not type A at all. Nope.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<br />
All in all, a super fun family vacation. One of our best. We came home with many pounds of amethyst, a sheet of birch bark the size of a small cot, gobs of mosquito bites and a ton of dirty laundry.<br />
<br />
Everything a vacation should be. </div>
</div>
Mz Mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13511429371022580687noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5994863596041292224.post-8147839510761986452013-07-01T06:12:00.000-07:002013-09-23T18:18:53.281-07:00Dilemma of the Practical HippieI took my youngest niece to baby yoga the other day. I've never been to baby yoga before, and wasn't sure what to expect. Well, other than a pile of concentrated cuteness in a single area.<br />
<br />
I felt reassured when the gal next to me deposited a cute baby with a little bead necklace on. Baby accessories are a good sign no one's too serious about this, I thought. Whew. Because some people do take this kind of thing very, very seriously and those people make me uncomfortable.<br />
<br />
Some other moms show up with cute babies of their own. We all make polite chit chat. Another mom says to the gal next to me, "Oh, look at your daughter's cute necklace! Is it amber? Is she teething?"<br />
<br />
As my brain struggled to connect those seeming non sequiturs, the other mom answered.<br />
<br />
"Yeah, the amber is supposed to absorb all the pain from the teething. I don't think it's even working," she adds in a tone that implies it is the fault of those particular beads, and not the total bullshit idea of amber absorbing pain that is responsible for her baby's ongoing teething pain.<br />
<br />
My niece and I look at each other; she grins and makes a fast crawl for the door. I appreciate her instincts.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-J9QffjF_gRI/UdJqpQ_-ctI/AAAAAAAAAjE/PkcHTI1buH0/s320/danger+hippies+spotted.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-J9QffjF_gRI/UdJqpQ_-ctI/AAAAAAAAAjE/PkcHTI1buH0/s320/danger+hippies+spotted.jpg" width="266" /></a></div>
<br />
My problem with yoga, as with most of the rest of life, is that I'm not quite part of the tribe. I am somewhere still on the fence, a fence I've dubbed "The Practical Hippie."<br />
<br />
I am hippie enough to practice yoga, but I think chanting om before class is weird and I don't want to talk about my chakras. Also, you <a href="http://www.fitnessmagazine.com/workout/tips/expert-advice/health-lies-from-fitness-trainers/?page=2">don't sweat out toxins</a>. Please stop saying that.<br />
<br />
I am hippie enough to be pretty anal about recycling and buy mostly organic fruits and veggies. I am practical enough to realize that the organic equivalents of fruit roll-ups and potato chips are a huge, stupid waste of money and that organics in general are a racket of a different kind. So the practical me keeps my organic buying pretty much to the <a href="http://www.organic.org/articles/showarticle/article-214">dirty dozen</a>, and gets sloppy about the rest.
<br />
<br />
I am hippie enough to support buying local meat, but not hippie enough to give up meat entirely. And I prefer buying local in general... unless I can buy it on Amazon for half the price.<br />
<br />
I wear hippie deodorant because I am not hippie enough to <i>not</i> wear deodorant. Also I use actual shampoo and toothpaste. Although they are hippie brands, at least they're a step up from baking soda. And I use real tampons instead of the Diva Cup, making me a very bad hippie indeed. But I compromise by buying all cotton tampons. (From Amazon instead of the local hippie store.)<br />
<br />
Also, I don't smoke pot, which is the hallmark of every good hippie; I can't stand the smell of the stuff. I don't like tie-dye. And I've never had dreadlocks, although sometimes I think about getting them. I like the conceptual idea behind those 'coexist' bumper stickers, but I'd never put one on my car.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-CXNtoOK_QnY/UdJoLv1371I/AAAAAAAAAi0/ef182Q_5x4Q/s602/coexist.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="132" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-CXNtoOK_QnY/UdJoLv1371I/AAAAAAAAAi0/ef182Q_5x4Q/s320/coexist.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">damned hippies.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
On the other hand, I married a hippie counterpart rather than a practical one. Turned out the practical fellows were... well, boring.<br />
<br />
I like the baseless optimism my husband brings to our marriage, much as I like the baseless optimism that hippies in general bring to the world.<br />
<br />
Why can't we all just get along? Why can't we give peace a chance? Why can't we make love not war?<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-HOWQOljdPD4/UdJs8ogExPI/AAAAAAAAAjU/prYJwrU_mj0/s300/hippie+flower+gun.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="221" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-HOWQOljdPD4/UdJs8ogExPI/AAAAAAAAAjU/prYJwrU_mj0/s320/hippie+flower+gun.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sure, she's baked to the gills. The sentiment is nice though.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I am just enough practical to realize the world doesn't work that way.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I'm just enough hippie to wish it did.<br />
<div>
<br />
<br /></div>
</div>
Mz Mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13511429371022580687noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5994863596041292224.post-51753298842418376572013-06-30T06:41:00.000-07:002013-06-30T11:11:42.864-07:00Fruition Update: Part SevenWell, we made it. Welcome to my last fruition update post. If you're just joining us, you can get caught up on the week <a href="http://almost-like-real-life.blogspot.com/2013/06/fruition-update-introduction.html">starting here</a>. <br />
<br />
This year, seeds I planted months or years ago are bursting into wild, messy germination. Everywhere. And all at once.<br />
<br />
We're only halfway through, though, so this Part Seven is not a conclusion. Just an intermission.<br />
<br />
In closing off my fruition update week, I'll leave you with two other huge goals I've met this year that have eluded me for a long time, although are probably not exciting enough outside my own head to warrant their own posts.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.evolutionvt.com/images/pose_crane.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="169" src="http://www.evolutionvt.com/images/pose_crane.gif" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">1. I got into crow pose for long enough that it wasn't a fluke. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://images.fineartamerica.com/images-medium/centering-the-clay-dt-haase.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://images.fineartamerica.com/images-medium/centering-the-clay-dt-haase.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">2. I finally learned how to center clay on the wheel. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div>
If life has taught me anything, it's to be just as t<a href="http://almost-like-real-life.blogspot.com/2011/11/thanks.html">hankful for the small things</a>. Every little snowflake added helps create an avalanche, after all. And with the force of six months' momentum behind me, I can't wait to see how the next six will cascade. </div>
Mz Mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13511429371022580687noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5994863596041292224.post-73493333894519135522013-06-29T06:35:00.000-07:002013-06-30T11:16:32.047-07:00Fruition Update: Part Six<i>Welcome to Part Six. If you missed the intro to my Fruition Update Week, you can get caught up <a href="http://almost-like-real-life.blogspot.com/2013/06/fruition-update-introduction.html">here</a>. </i><br />
<div>
<br /></div>
My first panic attack, just before my 19th birthday, caught me in bed nearly asleep, jolted me into excruciatingly awake, ran me into the bathroom and convinced me that I was going to throw up.<br />
<br />
I didn't.<br />
<br />
I sat there with heart palpitations and cold sweats and my head over the toilet wondering what the hell was going on. Eventually I fell asleep there against the cold porcelain, woke up a bit later feeling totally normal, then went back to bed and forgot about it.<br />
<br />
The panic did not, however, forget about me.<br />
<br />
The list of places I've had panic attacks and/or severe anxiety include, but are not limited to: while standing in long lines, while standing in short lines, in crowded restaurants, in not-crowded restaurants, in counseling sessions, in libraries, in bookstores, during classes, while trying to fall asleep, in movie theatres, during plays, at airports, while introducing myself, in malls, on public transportation, while attending school functions, at the dentist, during work, while driving, during sex, while sitting at home watching TV, in the middle of a very normal and chatty conversation with my neighbors, in grocery stores, during job interviews, at swimming pools, while walking dogs, during yoga class, while on the phone, in the middle of my own wedding ceremony, while eating, and when stuck at a red light, especially if waiting to turn left.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
These things are not scary to most people, but are seething and snarling and fierce to the 18.1 percent of Americans with an anxiety disorder. That's close to one out of every five, folks. Sometimes if I'm in a crowded room, I look around and try to pick out the other broken humans. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
It isn't that I don't know the panic is irrational. I know it. If I didn't, it wouldn't be so exasperating. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5BOQSu2NB8w/UcaIiA8NvOI/AAAAAAAAAhI/ImnikZkI1QM/s1600/fight-or-flight+break+glass.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5BOQSu2NB8w/UcaIiA8NvOI/AAAAAAAAAhI/ImnikZkI1QM/s1600/fight-or-flight+break+glass.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
Anxiety so limiting, so angering and awful and humiliating, you become willing to do anything to get rid of it, no matter how silly.</div>
<br />
The list of things I've tried to reduce or eliminate my panic attacks and/or severe anxiety include, but are not limited to: dropping out of college, getting out of relationships, going on Paxil, going off hormonal birth control, going back to college, changing schools, starting new relationships, switching jobs, acupuncture, living in denial, moving, counseling, yoga, Xanax, avoidance, CBT, subliminal affirmations, giving up caffeine, increasing my protein and decreasing my carbs, taking five deep breaths, ACT, bioidentical hormone replacement therapy, isolating myself, passionflower extract, curling up in a ball and crying at the futility of it all, having my chakras read, exposure therapy, positive self-talk, and drinking a cup of salt water first thing every morning to cure my probable adrenal fatigue.<br />
<br />
With varying success.<br />
<br />
Three years ago, I was close to housebound. That lasted around a year and a half. Maybe longer. I dragged myself back to some semblance of functionality through equal parts willpower and stubbornness, determined to regain my sanity without drugs. By the time I'd arrived in CO, I could leave the house again.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Of course, when your comfort zone is about the size of a walnut, you're still really nowhere good. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.swatinstitute.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/comfort-zone.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://www.swatinstitute.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/comfort-zone.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Objects in mirror may be further than they appear.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
I was running out of options. My next strategy leaned toward accepting that life was just going to be smaller than I ever wanted it to be. Permanently. I'd pretty well exhausted the list of things I could try to beat this monster after all, with only hypnosis remaining. And believe me when I tell you, hypnosis no longer sounded as ridiculous to me as it would have a few years ago; desperation makes practically anything seem sensible. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
Then I read about this type of therapy called <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/EMDR">EMDR</a> that's intended primarily for PSTD, but has been helpful for anxiety also. Supposedly. When nothing else has helped. So I think, hey. What's a few hundred more dollars thrown at this thing and one more disappointment, right? And I call an EMDR counselor and tell her my problem.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
"I do everything I'm supposed to. I do the self talk. I do the deep breathing. I don't feel panicky, then all of a sudden I am. I feel totally normal, and then it's a diaster with no warning. It's like I just can't conquer that knee-jerk anxiety reaction."</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
She says "That's exactly what EMDR is perfect for. I tell my patients that it's like losing that last five pounds after your diet has plateaued."</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://media.slice.ca/files/2012/10/How-to-Lose-Last-Five-Pounds.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="117" src="http://media.slice.ca/files/2012/10/How-to-Lose-Last-Five-Pounds.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Let's get lighter.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<br /></div>
<div>
So we do a session. It's kinda weird, but what the hell. Better than losing any more irreplaceable life to this bullshit phantom.<br />
<br />
And there's this... shift.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I've had this funny problem the last couple years where every time I sit down to write my own stuff, I end up in tears, like writer's block combined with fear of failure. Or fear of success maybe? I don't know. I do know it's crippled my attempts at self-publishing. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
That disappears after the second session. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
After the third session, I'm walking through the back of Target with Gwyn and can't put my finger on something that's off somehow, something that's missing... and I realize it's the panic. There isn't any. I'm far, far away from any exit and I'm okay. Not "I'll just grit my teeth and get through this" okay, but legitimately, actually okay. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
After the sixth session, just after New Year's, she tells me I'm cured. I really want to believe her. But then, maybe I <i>should</i> believe her; I have made more progress in 4 months than in the last 18 years put together. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-sNgT43z0-SM/Tz_H1mtkUEI/AAAAAAAAAbk/A3s4LjGwjkc/s1600/easy-button1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-sNgT43z0-SM/Tz_H1mtkUEI/AAAAAAAAAbk/A3s4LjGwjkc/s320/easy-button1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Then my boss, who is based out of Las Vegas, calls me. He wants me to attend a business dinner there. Part of my <a href="http://almost-like-real-life.blogspot.com/2013/06/fruition-update-part-five_28.html">new job description</a> will be having me work directly with clients; the primary client I'm taking over is coming through town in March. He wants to meet us. But really, he wants to meet me. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I am dry-mouthed and shaking on the other end of the phone, but I know it is time. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
This is my final exam. Going through the airport security line. Taking the shuttle bus from the parking lot to the terminal. Riding in an airplane. Attending a business dinner. Oh, and eating at a restaurant. At a restaurant that I've never been to in the far back of a casino. If you add Pennywise the Clown to that list, you've pretty much got every one of the most unnerving, anxiety-triggering things lurking in my head. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
[Warning: If you don't know who Pennywise is, do NOT google him. There's a reason I didn't include a picture here.]</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
But you know what? I'm feeling good and confident. I haven't had a major attack in months, and my last session was just after New Year's. Then the week before the dinner date, I go to a school function of Miss G's and suddenly I'm blacking out around the corners of my vision and hyperventilating. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.bodyquirks.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/06/vertigo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="http://www.bodyquirks.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/06/vertigo.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Totally freaked, I call my counselor the next day for an emergency session or something. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"No. Uh uh. You are NOT coming in here for this."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Uh-- what?"</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Nope! You got this. If you want, you can call me before the dinner but you won't need to. You <i>got </i>this." </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Feeling abandoned, I call Dan for moral support. He's no help; he says pretty much the same thing as the counselor did. I feel all naked on top of the high jump. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And then, I decide to believe them. Because sometimes <a href="http://almost-like-real-life.blogspot.com/2012/01/invisible-bridges-uncrossable-chasms.html">you have to have faith</a>. And because I know that continual pushing of my comfort zone is the only way out of this mess. And because I want to see if I am, indeed, actually cured. </div>
<br />
Because someday, I will have my last panic attack. And maybe I'll be able to say it was this year.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ssc2absbVCI/UcakneOoh8I/AAAAAAAAAhU/NjE52kvEjnw/s1600/comfort+zone+where+magic+doesn't+happen.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="313" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ssc2absbVCI/UcakneOoh8I/AAAAAAAAAhU/NjE52kvEjnw/s320/comfort+zone+where+magic+doesn't+happen.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
I make Dan fly with me. I survive, although I did have to do a little tree pose-- well, balance subtly on one leg-- while waiting in the security line to <a href="http://almost-like-real-life.blogspot.com/2013/03/finding-your-balance.html">find my balance</a>.<br />
<br />
I attend the dinner, and I am charming. I tell delightful stories like a normal human who doesn't want to claw her hair out and run screaming from the table. I give heartfelt silent thanks to my mother's rigorous training in social graces, because those deep-seated instincts save me now.<br />
<br />
And then dinner is over. And I'm walking back to the car in the parking garage, where Dan waited for me the entire time because he is amazing. He climbs out of the car to pick me up in a giant Dan hug.<br />
<br />
"I did it," I tell him, laughing and crying at the same time.<br />
<br />
"Of course you did, Wife! I knew it'd be no problem. Fruition, honey. Fruition."<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-9OyaIy__RWM/UORr2tLzUrI/AAAAAAAAAU0/TY6U6b-akhk/s1600/1024px-Pomegranate.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-9OyaIy__RWM/UORr2tLzUrI/AAAAAAAAAU0/TY6U6b-akhk/s400/1024px-Pomegranate.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">1. attainment of anything desired; realization; accomplishment. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<i>Ready for an intermission? Me too. <a href="http://almost-like-real-life.blogspot.com/2013/06/fruition-update-part-seven.html">Here's Part Seven.</a></i>Mz Mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13511429371022580687noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5994863596041292224.post-49739005257384894212013-06-28T06:23:00.000-07:002013-06-28T06:23:00.037-07:00Fruition Update: Part FiveRemember that <a href="http://almost-like-real-life.blogspot.com/2011/06/if-not-now-then-when.html">writing job I applied for on a whim</a>?<br />
<br />
Right.<br />
<br />
About a minute after settling on my <a href="http://almost-like-real-life.blogspot.com/2013/01/new-years-sankalpa.html">New Year's word</a>, my boss called me up and asked me if I would be interested in going part-time for an hourly wage instead of working as an independent contractor. We've discussed this before, and it's fallen through twice already. This time there's an official starting date: February 1.<br />
<br />
Probably 16 hours a week to start, he said.<br />
<br />
A few months later, I'm averaging 25 hours a week instead.<br />
<br class="Apple-interchange-newline" />
It's fruition for him, too. I'm his first employee. With the time I'm saving him by taking on extra work, he has more resources to devote toward building up our clientele. More work comes in every week.<br />
<br />
He's updating his website. He wants me to give him a bio and include my photo; somehow I became integral.<br />
<br />
When people ask me what I do, I tell them I'm a writer.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-9OyaIy__RWM/UORr2tLzUrI/AAAAAAAAAU0/TY6U6b-akhk/s1600/1024px-Pomegranate.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-9OyaIy__RWM/UORr2tLzUrI/AAAAAAAAAU0/TY6U6b-akhk/s400/1024px-Pomegranate.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">1. attainment of anything desired; realization; accomplishment. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />Mz Mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13511429371022580687noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5994863596041292224.post-6788251050934064582013-06-27T06:50:00.000-07:002013-06-30T11:07:14.767-07:00Fruition Update: Part Four<i>Welcome to Part Four. If you missed the intro to my Fruition Update Week, you can get caught up <a href="http://almost-like-real-life.blogspot.com/2013/06/fruition-update-introduction.html">here</a>. </i><br />
<div>
<br /></div>
One of the first things I did at the start of the new year was to <a href="http://almost-like-real-life.blogspot.com/2013/01/becoming-anti-arthritic.html">begin chiropractic care</a>. Bringing my spine into alignment is not only a great life metaphor for my fruition goals for the year, but also a great way to undo some of the worst construction kinks left over from painting ceilings for most of last 7 years.<br />
<br />
I'm going to let the photographic evidence do the talking on this one.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-RcSEl8WoAS0/Ub6Teb1ShXI/AAAAAAAAAfk/_nGTOm1WGws/s1600/IMG_0021.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="267" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-RcSEl8WoAS0/Ub6Teb1ShXI/AAAAAAAAAfk/_nGTOm1WGws/s400/IMG_0021.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><-- Before. After --></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
Our necks should have a curve in them like a banana. As you can see in my Before picture, my neck was totally straight. Not just straight, but actually tilted backward at a negative angle from where it ought to have been.<br />
<br />
After 6 months of treatment, my neck is all banana-like again.<br />
<br />
Incredible. Thanks, <a href="http://www.bodyinbalancechiropractic.com/">amazing chiropractors</a>.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQbsUMdT9oR4jBqboHLv5Lc_OzRX-24kBN9c_qKkCt48xhHSpR-Dg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQbsUMdT9oR4jBqboHLv5Lc_OzRX-24kBN9c_qKkCt48xhHSpR-Dg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">2. enjoyment, as of something attained or realized.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<i><a href="http://almost-like-real-life.blogspot.com/2013/06/fruition-update-part-five_28.html">Continue on to Part Five. </a></i>Mz Mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13511429371022580687noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5994863596041292224.post-26673817067869087822013-06-26T09:42:00.000-07:002013-06-30T11:06:06.785-07:00Fruition Update: Part Three<i>Welcome</i><i> to Post Three. If you missed the intro to my Fruition Update Week, you can get caught up <a href="http://almost-like-real-life.blogspot.com/2013/06/fruition-update-introduction.html">here</a>. </i><br />
<br />
With my mind on buying a new car later this summer, I sometimes window shopped on Craigslist. One day this ad went up for a really lovely 2004 VW Jetta Wagon TDI.<br />
<br />
When I saw the listing, I thought "Dammit, that's exactly the car I want! If only this were July already!"<br />
<br />
Then about a week later, my dad called with a proposal to buy my existing car and pick it up from me in a month. Just like that, everything became very real.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://bookhaven.stanford.edu/wp-content/uploads/2013/03/paradigm-shift-cartoon.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="141" src="http://bookhaven.stanford.edu/wp-content/uploads/2013/03/paradigm-shift-cartoon.gif" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
There are not many of these cars around, at least not used. People buy them and just drive them into the ground. People LOVE these cars. And a wagon? The manual wagon at that? Yeah, they're even harder to find.<br />
<br />
In the Denver area, there were exactly two. One was at a <a href="http://almost-like-real-life.blogspot.com/2013/05/fear-based-decisions.html">shady car dealership</a>, and the other was that perfect listing. The day that car went up, I <i>knew</i> it was my car. Even though I had no way to buy it, even though I thought I wouldn't be buying a car for months. That was my car.<br />
<br />
Then my dad called. Then I got approved for an auto loan.<br />
<br />
I called the dealership, test drove the car and bought it all in the same day.<br />
<br />
For my last 3 cars, I've had this little bell dangling from my rearview mirror. The idea (according to the included card at time of purchase) is that you ring the bell to get the Universe's attention, and then you set your intention while you have the Universe's ear. I call it my wishing bell, and every time I look at it, I think of all the dreams I have.<br />
<br />
In the new car, I have a pomegranate necklace hanging from the mirror instead. It reminds me of all the wholesome growth that is bearing fruit in my life. No more reminders of what's missing or what-ifs. Instead, a focus on what is, and on all that is good.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-L_IElTwWsWU/UcHbYVNSr7I/AAAAAAAAAgQ/RjTZgiDWuyI/s1600/IMG_0014.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-L_IElTwWsWU/UcHbYVNSr7I/AAAAAAAAAgQ/RjTZgiDWuyI/s400/IMG_0014.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">2. enjoyment, as of something attained or realized.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i><br /></i></span>
<div>
<i>Continue on to Part Four <a href="http://almost-like-real-life.blogspot.com/2013/06/fruition-update-part-four.html">here</a>. </i></div>
Mz Mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13511429371022580687noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5994863596041292224.post-71917022445614738732013-06-25T06:41:00.000-07:002013-12-23T06:24:55.847-08:00Fruition Update: Part Two<i>Welcome to Part Two. If you missed the intro to my Fruition Update Week, you can get caught up <a href="http://almost-like-real-life.blogspot.com/2013/06/fruition-update-introduction.html">here</a>.</i><br />
<br />
Two years ago, when we made the decision to move to Colorado the following year, I realized I'd need to check my credit before house hunting.<br />
<br />
My score was in the high 500s, which is pretty terrible.<br />
<br />
I called the nice folks at <a href="http://www.skybluecredit.com/">Sky Blue</a> to get guidance on fixing my score.<br />
<br />
"Your payment history is great," they said, "but you don't have enough debt."<br />
<br />
"That's not a good thing?" I asked.<br />
<br />
"No, because creditors want to know that you're responsible with your credit."<br />
<br />
"The fact I'm not swimming in debt isn't evidence enough that I'm financially responsible?"<br />
<br />
"No, it doesn't really work like that." They sounded amused.<br />
<br />
I hate being in debt. Or, more accurately, I don't believe in being in debt. I canceled all my own credit cards years ago.* My name's on a shared card with Dan, and that's it.* And that sucker's been maxed out* for about forever because paying it off is way down on the list of priorities after things like 'buy groceries this week.'<br />
<br />
So, on the advice of Sky Blue, I signed up for some new credit cards. Secured credit cards reserved for those of us with truly terrible credit scores; you have to send them a deposit, and your credit line does not extend beyond the amount of your deposit.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.debtconsolidationusa.com/images/upload/debt_consolidation_fees.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://www.debtconsolidationusa.com/images/upload/debt_consolidation_fees.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
"So this will really work? These little baby credit cards?" I asked Sky Blue.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
"Yep," they said. "You should expect to gain about 100 points over the next 6 months."</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Sure. Two $200-limit credit cards will gain me 100 points. Because the credit bureaus seriously aren't smart enough to see through these shenanigans? </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
But I shrug, and put my billed-monthly YogaGlo membership on one card, and my billed-monthly Netflix membership on the other. A couple $20 payments I can pay off in full every month, even though such a clear gaming of the system feels ridiculous.<br />
<br />
Dan does always say, though, that credit is really just a giant Monopoly game.<br />
<br />
So, okay. I'll play.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xKZFy7YLfo4/UcEqLB9m0tI/AAAAAAAAAfo/QRrNxyj-NC8/s1600/gaming+the+system.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xKZFy7YLfo4/UcEqLB9m0tI/AAAAAAAAAfo/QRrNxyj-NC8/s320/gaming+the+system.jpg" width="289" /></a></div>
<br />
Before I leave Nevada, about six months after getting my stupid secured cards, I check my credit score again. And damned if it isn't up by a solid 80 points or so. Still not great, but high enough to get us a decent rental.<br />
<br />
To buy a house next year, though, I need a better score. I call Sky Blue back for some more advice:<br />
<br />
*My credit history is too short. Those canceled cards I'd had since my college years? Should've paid 'em off and kept 'em active by charging a few bucks on them every now and then and paying them off every month.<br />
<br />
*I don't have enough credit (still) and I don't have enough different kinds of credit. Variety counts.<br />
<br />
*Credit utilization counts against your score. You should, at any given time, only be using between 20-30% of your available credit. I was using like, 98%.<br />
<br />
My history can't be changed. I can't get more kinds of credit till my score is higher. And paying down that credit card is my number one financial project for the year. So, all good goals to work toward, but a house is definitely off the table.<br />
<br />
A few months later, my dad calls. He wants to buy his car back, the car he sold me a year ago so I could have reliable transportation up here. No biggie; I always knew this wasn't my forever car and had planned on selling it on Craigslist later on this summer. I already know the next car I want to buy: one of the VW diesels. Big enough for kids, dogs, camping detritus and gets an average of 40 ever-loving miles to the gallon. It's like the holy grail car we've always wanted.<br />
<br />
Except, I don't have the money I would have 3 months from now, because we're still waiting for our house to sell, Dan has some cash coming in from some sculptures, plus I'm waiting for him to arrive, contribute a second income, and give me some financial breathing room. All of these things should come together by July, my target date for car buying. None of them are even close at the moment of Dad's call, which was in April.<br />
<br />
So, maybe I could get a car loan instead of buying with cash, right? Right. Because I am now reluctantly embracing a life of Monopoly debt. The cash from the car sale could be my down payment. And I can pay the loan off when the various ships come in, thus boosting my score while avoiding further debt.<br />
<br />
Except, no. I can't get a car loan because-- although I haven't checked in a while-- I'm sure my credit has not improved significantly in the 6 months since my last conversation with Sky Blue, because nothing has changed. In fact, I could use a car loan to add to my credit variety, which would boost my score. So that I can... er, buy a car.<br />
<br />
This kind of circular shit is my exact least favorite kind of predicament, because I don't know which step to take first. Use Dad's cash purchase to pay down the credit card, which would boost my credit score, which might get me a car loan? Wait, there's no time to boost my credit score in the 30 days before he picks up the car. Or use the cash to convince the nice auto loan people to take a chance on me? GAH.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://t2.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQ-cp3D_-GMDYndhXbMmf5zaJmeieC0HGBOAVkl3gy9OroSDjOTKg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="http://t2.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQ-cp3D_-GMDYndhXbMmf5zaJmeieC0HGBOAVkl3gy9OroSDjOTKg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stupid holding patterns. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Then I decide, screw it, and I just freaking call my bank already. <a href="http://almost-like-real-life.blogspot.com/2013/06/change-and-chicken-coops.html">I always feel better when I'm doing something, even if it's the wrong thing.</a><br />
<br />
The super nice auto loan lady was all "How much do you make? How much do you pay in rent? Okay you're approved!"<br />
<br />
And I was all "Uh, what?"<br />
<br />
It was seriously that fast. I mean, less than 2 minutes.<br />
<br />
And she goes on to say "Looks like you're approved for a new $7000 limit credit card with us too! Should we sign you up?"<br />
<br />
Feeling like I'm on some kind of gameshow and reminding myself to stop being terrified of debt and this is my damned year of fruition after all, I say "Well, I want to buy a house in the next year or so. Will this help me or hurt me?"<br />
<br />
She says "Well, probably help you, because it decreases your total credit utilization."<br />
<br />
Of course it does.<br />
<br />
So I say yes. Yes to the Monopoly debt, yes to the car loan, yes to the new card. Yes to the new car.<br />
<br />
Yes to the new life.<br />
<br />
Later, I checked my credit score out of curiosity.<br />
<br />
It's in the 720s now.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-9OyaIy__RWM/UORr2tLzUrI/AAAAAAAAAU0/TY6U6b-akhk/s1600/1024px-Pomegranate.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-9OyaIy__RWM/UORr2tLzUrI/AAAAAAAAAU0/TY6U6b-akhk/s400/1024px-Pomegranate.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">1. attainment of anything desired; realization; accomplishment.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div>
<i>Onwards to <a href="http://almost-like-real-life.blogspot.com/2013/06/fruition-update-part-three.html">Part Three</a>. </i></div>
Mz Mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13511429371022580687noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5994863596041292224.post-36058374623482680982013-06-24T06:44:00.000-07:002013-12-23T06:20:48.630-08:00Fruition Update: Part OneI'm talking about my year of fruition this week. In case you missed it, <a href="http://almost-like-real-life.blogspot.com/2013/06/fruition-update-introduction.html">here's the intro</a>.<br />
<br />
I'm sure that in other languages, there is a word for the process of getting unstuck, of removing obstacles. In English, I need a whole blog post to talk about it instead.<br />
<br />
I moved to Vegas-- for the second time, because apparently some lessons don't stick-- in 2005. About 3 years later, I'd had it and was ready to get the hell out.<br />
<br />
In the meantime, though, I'd met Dan. So instead of leaving, I stayed. We moved in together.<br />
<br />
This did not make things any easier. Instead, life got steadily more constrictive and unhappy.<br />
<br />
About a year later, Dan's ex filed papers to move to Reno with Miss L, thus launching a brutal legal battle that's best left undiscussed further, except to say that Dan did eventually agree to the move a year later.<br />
<br />
With Miss L gone, the possibility of leaving Vegas suddenly opened. Except by then I didn't want to move Miss G again; she's changed schools far too many times already in her comparatively short time on the planet.<br />
<br />
Work lessened further. Money got slimmer. The kids at Miss G's school got meaner.<br />
<br />
Two years ago, Miss G decided she'd had it too. She wanted to move, she said, during our vacation visiting my sister. She wanted to move to Colorado.<br />
<br />
This slender lifeline came down into our collapsing, slick-walled tarpit and I used every ounce of willpower to haul my ass out and make a run for it.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-H39kQoVTk04/Uccc5n82tRI/AAAAAAAAAh0/Ump_p3eD9ZU/s1600/Escape+Lane.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-H39kQoVTk04/Uccc5n82tRI/AAAAAAAAAh0/Ump_p3eD9ZU/s320/Escape+Lane.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Dan, however, would not budge.<br />
<br />
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Just after Miss L moved to Reno, Dan's folks moved to Hawaii. We had a plan to sell our house, move into theirs and pay them rent, so we started doing some minor updating in the house. Which ended up being that loose thread on the sweater that unravels the whole thing.</div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
At the time we decided to move to Colorado, half the house was torn down to rafters while the other half remained untouched. Of course the house couldn't stay like that. Dan and I agreed that finishing the remodel was our number one priority. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Yet nothing changed. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
No matter how many discussions we had, timelines we came up with, agreements we reached, or fights we had, Dan refused to move forward with the house. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-P190uehZ_tE/UccZg6aoTrI/AAAAAAAAAhk/lefN7ffNLZQ/s1600/one+stuck+jeep.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="243" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-P190uehZ_tE/UccZg6aoTrI/AAAAAAAAAhk/lefN7ffNLZQ/s320/one+stuck+jeep.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Last spring, I told him I wasn't waiting around until he was finished, that he'd had two years to finish the damned house. He said that was fine; he'd be done in just a few months and then move up himself. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
I got here a year ago. Dan is still not here. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Around the three-months-apart mark, he said, "I think even though I said I wanted to move, maybe subconsciously I really didn't." </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
I said, "You think so?"</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
He said, "I really do want to now, though. I'm done with Vegas. I'm ready to get out of here and start our new life together."</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<object class="BLOGGER-youtube-video" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0" data-thumbnail-src="http://img.youtube.com/vi/Xkc-en0_LGY/0.jpg" height="266" width="320"><param name="movie" value="http://youtube.googleapis.com/v/Xkc-en0_LGY&source=uds" /><param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF" /><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true" /><embed width="320" height="266" src="http://youtube.googleapis.com/v/Xkc-en0_LGY&source=uds" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true"></embed></object></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
This week, the last of the drywall goes up. One half of the house is finished except for paint and flooring. The other half gets tape and mud starting tomorrow. He'll be here next week, for good. </div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Our year apart has not been super fun for either of us, but it's been really good for our marriage and really good for each of us on our internal journeys. </div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Miss G is thriving here. I'm thriving here. I have no doubt Dan will thrive here also.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
This is the year we have all finally escaped Las Vegas. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-9OyaIy__RWM/UORr2tLzUrI/AAAAAAAAAU0/TY6U6b-akhk/s1600/1024px-Pomegranate.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-9OyaIy__RWM/UORr2tLzUrI/AAAAAAAAAU0/TY6U6b-akhk/s320/1024px-Pomegranate.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">1. attainment of anything desired; realization; accomplishment.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<a href="http://almost-like-real-life.blogspot.com/2013/06/fruition-update-part-two.html">Onwards to Part Two. </a>Mz Mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13511429371022580687noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5994863596041292224.post-40575888041518255272013-06-23T06:24:00.000-07:002013-12-23T06:17:51.115-08:00Fruition Update: IntroductionSo, we're officially halfway through my Year of Fruition. Time for an update.<br />
<br />
Short version with spoiler: This is my most awesomely fantastic New Year's word yet.<br />
<br />
Longer version with teaser: So awesome, in fact, that my actual fruition update is going to be broken into several posts throughout the week week because (appropriately enough) there is just too much awesomeness to fit into a single post.<br />
<br />
First, some background.<br />
<br />
When I wrote my <a href="http://almost-like-real-life.blogspot.com/2013/01/new-years-sankalpa.html">New Year's blog post</a>, I needed an image to illustrate fruition. A pomegranate tree with harvest-heavy branches bowed to the ground was the first thing my mind called up, which seemed... random.<br />
<br />
Without researching, I knew about how six pomegranate seeds keep Persephone in Hades for six months every year, and I've also heard that some scholars say that it was a pomegranate Eve offered to Adam, not an apple. Since I'm a research junkie, I dug deeper and found that pomegranates are laden with symbolism. No pun intended.<br />
<br />
Jewish pomegranate legends teach that pomegranates have 613 seeds, one for each mitzvot, or commandment, of the Torah. It's traditional to eat pomegranates on Rosh Hashanah. In Judaism, the pomegranate represents knowledge, learning and wisdom. And fruitfulness.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.yalyjudaica.com/wholesale/pictures/charms_250/100_4854.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="301" src="http://www.yalyjudaica.com/wholesale/pictures/charms_250/100_4854.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
The pomegranate is native to Persia (what is now Iran). The Qur'an, in three separate references, lists pomegranates specifically as an example of the good things Allah creates. Pomegranates are also mentioned as one of the bounties growing in the gardens of paradise.<br />
<br />
In Hinduism, Bhumi Devi, the fertility aspect of Lakshmi (goddess of prosperity and fortune) is depicted holding a pomegranate. And one of the names for the god Ganesha, the Remover of Obstacles, the Lord of Success, translates to "The One Fond of Pomegranates" [literally, 'the many-seeded fruit']<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-U5lpNZpozCA/UOIFuJjR1xI/AAAAAAAAAiY/iO4hxZ4nFlk/s640/Lord+Ganesh+005.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-U5lpNZpozCA/UOIFuJjR1xI/AAAAAAAAAiY/iO4hxZ4nFlk/s400/Lord+Ganesh+005.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"I really just like them for the anti-oxidants."</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
In Armenian culture, the bride threw a pomegranate at the wall on her wedding day, and the number of scattered seeds told how many children she'd have. Then, together with her groom, the newlyweds enjoyed pomegranate wine on their wedding night.<br />
<br />
Images of pomegranates bursting with seeds are hung in Chinese homes to bring fertility.<br />
<br />
Ancient Egyptians revered the pomegranate as a symbol of prosperity.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.touregypt.net/images/touregypt/pic09152006.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://www.touregypt.net/images/touregypt/pic09152006.jpg" width="378" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A silver pomegranate vase from King Tut's tomb.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
In Greece, it's customary to bring pomegranates as the first gift to a new home to attract abundance. The fruits are placed by the religious icons in the home as an offering to invoke blessings from the Divine. Pomegranates are also a traditional food at any Greek wedding feast.<br />
<br />
And in Christianity, the earliest found mosaic depicting the Christ child shows him flanked by pomegranates. Pomegranates are woven into liturgical hangings and vestment embroidery. Both Botticelli and da Vinci incorporated pomegranates into their religious paintings, cradled in the hands of the infant Jesus or the Virgin Mary. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.backtoclassics.com/images/pics/sandrobotticelli/sandrobotticelli_madonnaofthepomegranatedetail.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://www.backtoclassics.com/images/pics/sandrobotticelli/sandrobotticelli_madonnaofthepomegranatedetail.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Detail from Botticelli's "Madonna of the Pomegranate" - ca 1487</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Fruitfulness.<br />
Bounty.<br />
Obstacles removed.<br />
Fertility.<br />
Prosperity.<br />
Abundance.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
So, maybe not completely crazy that my mind equated pomegranates with fruition, which is itself the full realization of all those things.<br />
<div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Except that I knew none of this symbolism before that post. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
On that mystical note, I decided a pomegranate would be a good mascot for the year. Much like the dry erase boards I kept in <a href="http://almost-like-real-life.blogspot.com/2012/01/one-word.html">previous years</a> for my New Year's word, having a single focal point helps me stay on track. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
So I bought this little bracelet:</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://img2.etsystatic.com/005/0/6249236/il_570xN.401762946_dux6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="http://img2.etsystatic.com/005/0/6249236/il_570xN.401762946_dux6.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">From the etsy shop of <a href="http://www.etsy.com/shop/CLAYandSTRINGS?ref=seller_info">Clay & Strings</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div>
And I wear it every day to remind myself: Fruition. Fruition. Fruition. </div>
<div>
<br />
<a href="http://almost-like-real-life.blogspot.com/2013/06/fruition-update-part-one.html"><i>Click here for Fruition Update: Part One.</i></a></div>
</div>
</div>
Mz Mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13511429371022580687noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5994863596041292224.post-26490352119498557762013-06-16T06:18:00.000-07:002013-06-19T12:02:48.558-07:00Fathering from the HeartMiss G is with her dad in Vegas for a chunk of the summer, and Dan is still down in Boulder City fixing up his folks' house, about a half hour from Miss G's dad.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Miss G's dad & I talked about summer plans and worked out her travel schedule back in early May to depart immediately after Memorial Day weekend. A week or two later, he called up and asked if I could change her tickets. </div>
<br />
<div>
"I got a work call. I'm scheduled for the entire first week she's supposed to be here," he explained.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I said, "What if I keep the flight the same but she just stays with Dan for that week? Then you can pick her up when you're finished with your call." </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
It didn't even occur to me to check with Dan first to see if he'd be okay having Miss G for the week. I knew he'd be super excited.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Dan was super excited again today because Miss G's dad got another work call for next week, and had asked if Dan could take Miss G again. Of course Dan didn't hesitate. Even better because Miss L is with us for the remainder of the summer now, so he'll have both kids under his wing. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Nothing makes my husband happier than being a dad. <br />
<br />
I am thankful every, every day for his presence in our lives.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-nvJVqRr2KW4/Ub3IF9JK3OI/AAAAAAAAAdo/lxmRXHT9jVM/s1600/G+&+DB+&+me+xmas.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-nvJVqRr2KW4/Ub3IF9JK3OI/AAAAAAAAAdo/lxmRXHT9jVM/s400/G+&+DB+&+me+xmas.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
Mz Mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13511429371022580687noreply@blogger.com0