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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.

Setting our sights

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To me, “Resolutions” tends to have the same effect as “diet”–mere mention of the word develops something of a nervous twitch and just like that, I’ve set on a course destined for failure.

Yet, I’m a firm believer in taking inventory: looking back at where you’ve been and looking ahead at where you want to go; offering thanks for how far you’ve come and forgiveness for all the ways you’ve failed; plotting your course and setting your guideposts for the days and months ahead; wiping the dust of one year from your feet and continuing down the road that makes up the next.

In other words, I’m a firm believer in getting up and trying again.

With that, my goals for the year tend to differ ever so slightly from one year to the next. Sure, I need to get this whole wife thing down, but other than that, my goals haven’t changed all that much. You being my witnesses, here’s a sampling of my big plans . . .

Read more. Awhile back Dustin asked if everything but the office had been moved to the new place. Well . . . I wasn’t quite sure how to break it to him that I have about twenty more boxes of books to move over. With that, the goal to “read more” seems absurd. But it’s true! Last year was such a blur, I got out of the habit–and I barely noticed its absence (which is totally out of character). So I need to get back to it. Not only that, but I want to read for friends (hello, book club) and read for me; read to expand my mind and read to turn off my brain for a bit. And while I tend to shy away from annual reading lists, I at least want to make it through the books bought on our honeymoon.

Keep in touch. If there’s one thing we learn as we age, it’s that life is fragile. And we’re oh-so blessed to have family and friends. It would behoove us to let them know. For me, that means more notes, more cards, more letters to those I love most. But first, I’ve got to get those wedding thank-yous done.

Go on an adventure (or two, or three). The where is not as important as the what on this one: see a few new sights; snap a few photos. Relax. Explore. Eat good food; enjoy good conversation. And make grand new memories.

Make music. Pick the violin back up was on my list before I met (and married) a musician. Of all my goals, this is the most disconcerting. I mean really. Who wants to endure the screechy menace that is a rusty strings player? Do stay tuned . . .

Finish a story. I dare not contemplate how long this has been on the list. But I’m nothing if not determined. Also, be it known: I made great strides last year in bidding a regular freelance gig farewell, all because it ate up way too much of my time . . . time I could be using to write my own material. Of course, I then chose to plan a wedding in its stead. All the same, the very fact that I got married stands as proof: anything is possible.

And you?

Of course, once we’ve set our sights, the question remains: shall we prevail? No doubt it will be something akin to most years: we’ll win some and we’ll lose some. But win or lose, the important thing is moving forward. And that, my friends, we most certainly can do. Just one foot in front of the other, as long as we’ve breath . . .

Hello

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Longmire and mi madre: the remnants of a species bereft of cell phones.

And now, Longmire stands alone.

Last weekend my mom purchased her first cell phone; this week she’s learning to send texts and the fun of conversing with the Swedes, in real time.

Of course, she’s also having to remember to bring it home from work and charge the battery, as well as the drudgery of being expected to be reached at all times.

You know, that reminds me — on August 4, 1922 Alexander Graham Bell was laid to rest. In memorandum, all telephone service in the United Sates and Canada was silenced for one minute. Thirteen million phones; not a single call.

Can you imagine such tomfoolery nowadays?

Yet even the man credited with patenting the first telephone understood the importance of taking a step back. On his seventy-fifth birthday — just a few months shy of his death — he admitted to refusing a telephone in his private study.

It seems the man knew a thing or two. Perhaps we should take note.

With that, I hope you’ve the chance to disconnect this weekend, if even for a moment; to recharge in solitude; to reconnect with those you love, not through a screen, but in person. . .

xo