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Farewell to 2019

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“A lot of people can’t remember things because they weren’t actually there to begin with – they don’t take it all in.”
Jack Nicholson

Well, that’s a wrap.

I can’t say twenty-nineteen was a showboat, exactly, though it did provide a few moments to remember:

It was the year I said goodbye to my book blog and bid the medieval society adieu . . .

. . . the year we dropped in on an open house or two, simply to peruse the library (one of which the realtor commented that the previous owners actually filled the shelves with books. Can you imagine? Mon dieu!) . . .

. . . the year we celebrated one whole year with a goofy pup named Cooper, who continues to fill our lives with love and laughter . . .

. . . the year we collected a few more memories with those we love most of all – in San Diego, in Sweden, and in our own backyard . . .

Of course, as twenty-nineteen sets, so sets another decade as well.

And the last ten years? Well, they’re a bit more showy.

The decade began with I’ve come to refer to as my “blue period.” You see, I lost my job right as the recession kicked in. While I’m lucky in the fact that I can freelance, I’m wretched when it comes to networking (thank God for referrals and word-of-mouth). Since it took me four years to find steady employment, those last two years were tough, to say the least.

Then, just to flaunt its versatility, the decade ended with me finding the one whom my soul loves, finally–after all these years, right when I felt certain it would never be.

In between the two extremes are countless bright spots filled with friends and family, good food and good conversation, love and laughter.

Sure, there were disappointments and heartache, too. That, my friends, is life. But it’s the everyday miracles that rise to the top.

With that in mind, I’m not as quick to jump into a new year as I usually am. Perhaps it’s my age, perhaps it’s the fact we’ve become much too accustomed to finding fault in the world, but I have an overwhelming urge to pause and say ‘thank you.’

Before I make plans, before I pen my hopes and dreams, I want to offer heartfelt gratitude to the one who saw fit to give me what I have.

Who knows? That may be the greatest celebration of all. For in doing so, I just might be better able to recognize my blessings, big and small, in the days and weeks, months and years to come.

Soak it in

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A few weeks ago we hopped a plane to San Diego for a long weekend.

My honey attended a quick business trip Friday morning; I read. Then we proceeded to folic. We made memories with a few of our favorites; enjoyed dinner at a most delightful Italian restaurant; meandered The Midway; perused the San Diego Zoo; looked for the Top Gun house (recently torn down); made an In-N-Out pilgrimage; and buried our toes in the sand.

We also visited the La Jolla Cove to take in a few sea lions.

You know, it would behoove us to take a page from their playbook every now and again. Be you large or small, simply find a good spot and soak it all in. All those to-dos? They can wait.

Chances are good it will be worth it. I mean really, just look at those faces! Pure bliss . . .

xo

Future’s so bright

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The weather seems to have finally made a turn for the better. Of course, it also seems to have skipped right over spring, and planted its toes firmly in the warm grass of summer. Still, it’s glorious. And everyone seems to be taking full advantage by digging weeds and planting flowers, packing picnics and taking long walks in the park.

After months holed up in of doors, you just never know what you might see.

Take work, for instance. The windows outside our cubicles overlook the bus depot. There’s usually not much to report; but yesterday, the view afforded a plethora of free entertainment.

Our personal favorite: the lady dedicated to getting her groove on. She began right outside the depot. After tripping the light fantastic (and falling off the curb) she collected herself, sashayed her way across the street, and continued to dance in front of the funeral home. Her repertoire was vast, and she didn’t miss a beat: she bobbed and boogied, jumped and jived; she swayed and shimmied. At one point, she even grabbed hold of the bus stop marker and did a wee (yet relatively impressive) pole dance.

I’m hard pressed to think of a more entertaining fifteen minutes of my career.

With that, I hope the days ahead provide you revelry all your own: may you put on some good music and dance like no one is watching; may your heart feel light, and may you spread nothing but joy to those around you.

Happy weekend, my friends.

xo

P.S. I’m fairly certain I need these shades from Warby Parker. Supposedly, they’ve a narrow fit; yet I remain dubious.

Among the brightest of women

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No doubt we would have been preparing to celebrate Phoebe’s birthday this weekend. While the actual date of her birth fell on February 20, her calendar of festivities filled rather quickly. I imagine this year would have been especially so, being her one-hundredth celebration and all.

Alas, she bid her final farewell at ninety-nine. And for most of those ninety-nine years, we knew nary a thing of this girl from Riverside, California  . . .

We knew her not when entered this world in 1918; when she graduated from Kuna High School in 1935; or when she attended Pioneer Business College in Minneapolis, Minnesota in 1936 . . . when she worked in military communications during  World War II; or when she married the love of her life in 1948 . . . when she lived in New York; or when she returned to Boise, into that grand old house on twenty-second street . . . when she worked for the tax commission; when she raised show dogs; when she traveled about, amassing one adventure after another.

No, we knew nary a thing of her until she joined the “old girls” at “the home.” By that time she’d be quick to shoo away a camera for fear it would make her look old; and she was more than ready to accept her boarding pass to the great beyond–to be reunited with those she loved most of all.

But unlike some who tire of this world, she rarely complained; instead, she chose to make the most of each day. And despite the years that layered one upon another, she continued to have a youthful gleam in her eye.

Perhaps its one of the things that made us fast friends.

Despite our age difference, we shared a love of laughter. We shared a love of clouds and the myriad of ways they dance upon the sky. We shared an understanding that the ache of some disappointments (never holding a baby of your own, for instance) never truly goes away; that you can (and most certainly should) make the best of the hand you’ve been dealt, but a twinge of pain continues to tug at your heart.

I imagine if we had been born in the same place, at the same time, we’d have been inseparable. Instead, she paved the way; she showed me how to grow old . . .

In the few short years we knew her, she taught us the importance of looking your best–even when you can no longer wear the shoes you love, or it takes hours to prepare; that wit remains timeless; that friends and family are your anchors–that you should hug, and say “I love you,” and accept those invitations for as long as you can; that age does not have to dim your spark.

Phoebe, brightest of women–she certainly, lived up to her name.

At her memorial service, her niece read aloud one of her favorite poems:

Life owes me nothing. Let the years
Bring cloud or azure, joy or tears;
Already a full cup I’ve qualified;
Already wept and loved and laughed.
And seen, in ever-endless ways,
New beauties overwhelm the days.

Life owes me nought. No pain that waits
Can steal the wealth from memory’s gates;
No aftermath of anguish slow
Can quench the soul fire’s early glow.
I breathe, exulting every breath,
Embracing Life, ignoring Death.

Life owes me nothing. One clear morn
Is boon enough for being born;
And be ninety or ten,
No need for me to question when.
While Life is mine, I’ll find it good.
And greet each hour with gratitude.

Anonymous

Words she obviously took to heart. And if her life is any indication, it would behoove us all to do the same.

“Teenie” gifts

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This week we bid adieu to the “office manager.”

It took us aback, really. We were not at all prepared for her rapid decline. Not that we should be surprised, mind. She was notorious for doing things her way. When she wanted something, she didn’t mess around–from the moment she first opened her eyes.

You see, fifteen years ago my brother brought home a stray cat in heat. Dream gift, no doubt.

Weirder than a three dollar bill, we dubbed her Newman and put her under house arrest until she could be fixed. Alas, she succeeded in a daring escape, returning weeks later, knocked up–ultimately leaving us for good, with a passel of kittens in need of good homes.

Thankfully, kind and lovely friends came to our rescue–and the smallest of the bunch hissed at every single one. Oh dear, we’d say. She never hisses–she’s really quite sweet. But our friends would take one look at the runt of a calico hissing in the corner and opt for another.

So Teenie Longfellow became our own.

For the past fifteen years she has been a faithful companion–the one hogging the office chair, supervising housework, and lounging about whilst watching action movies (her personal favorite).

She was always near.

But Sunday, for the first time in years, she was not sitting outside my door, waiting to usher me in for coffee. Sunday afternoon, she could no longer jump up on her favorite chair. Monday, I knelt down beside her, whispered my love, and kissed her head goodbye.

As you might imagine, I’ve cried more tears than I’d care admit. But friends have shared the burden: a co-worker brought in a wee bouquet of bright, cheery flowers; friends took Teenie and buried her on their property; my love gave me a box of chocolates, with the kindest of cards + a handwritten note (a handwritten note; seriously, I love that fellow).

And you? Well, I hope you might fill the coming days with a few of Teenie’s favorite things: lounge about and nap; eat as many treats as you can possibly get away with; give kisses–lots and lots of kisses; and spend your time with those you choose to call your own.

xo