Letting Go

It's a gradual process, this letting go of old friends. There are days when it hurts, and there are days when I don't feel anything about it all. My high school friends have drifted away over the years. I was never the easiest friend to have. I tended towards moodiness, and I liked to get my way. In fact, high school was probably the worst time to be friends with me. I'm much better at friendship now, most of the time.

After graduation, I was the one sending out the emails, harassing everyone to get together at Christmas, or to celebrate a birthday. When I got married and started yet another graduate program, I stopped sending out those emails, finally admitting to myself that I no longer wanted to be the one responsible for making sure my friends saw each other.

In June, I realized it had been almost a year since I talked to my high school best friend, and I tried to make plans to visit her. Her schedule didn't allow the visit, and I took this as the "she's just not that into you" moment. I'll still write on Facebook walls and attend weddings. I'll send Christmas cards. What I won't do is devote time and energy to planning coffee dates or potluck evenings that never happen.

When I stopped to really think about this, I realized that my life is full of friends who know me now, as the more mature person who doesn't always have to get my way (though it's still nice when I do). I have surrounded myself with people who don't share memories of me as a truly difficult person. Not that my high school friends demanded it, but I felt that I still needed to make amends for being annoying, petulant and needy and that I needed to prove I had changed. With others, who met me in college or beyond, I share happier memories. Letting go of old friends hurts, but no longer being constantly reminded of my awkward years has its gifts.

Mawwiage

I didn't think a blog post could do justice to our wedding...so I haven't written one. Instead, I think you should just take a look at the photos. They tell the whole story better than I could. Oh, who are we kidding. Y'all know I'm going to narrate this puppy.



My handsome groom. He looked wonderful in his tux, and I cried when I saw him at the end of the aisle.



I looked just as I'd imagined I would on my wedding day -- like me, just turned up a notch. The makeup didn't turn me into someone else, and the dress let me breathe AND eat :).



One of my favorite pictures of the day. Our friend, James, my groom's best friend from college and a minister, looking on with joy on his face as my groom, my husband, my Thane, watches me walk down the aisle.



My daddy walking me down the aisle. I was bawling. He held it together until the father-daughter dance, when I leaned up and whispered in his ear that I'd chosen our song, "Three Little Birds," when I was a sophomore in high school.



We did it! We walked out, with style, to Jason Mraz's "I'm Yours." (this is making me think I should do an edition of Friday Song Lyrics with the best of our wedding songs...)



Another favorite -- me with my bridesmaids after Thane and I walked down the aisle as husband and wife. They put up with so much, did so much and mean so much.



Best groom's party picture EVER.



We danced, and the song, Ben Folds' "The Luckiest," was just so true. It felt wonderful to hold my husband and be held by him in return.



Our gorgeous day. This wedding was more than I had ever imagined (never really having been a girl to imagine the day and all its particulars), and it was perfect. I am so grateful to my parents and all the friends and family who made it all come together just so.

Our marriage is off to a wicked good start.

In Which I Have a Complete Meltdown

There are too many things going on right now. As Ms. Flopkins told me the other day, the things going on right now are all good, but they are still stressful.

I'm moving, leaving a job of 5+ years, getting married and starting a new career all in a couple of months time. It's like I looked at a list of the most stressful things a person can do in her life and decided to just check off four of them all at once. Why not? Saves the stress on another day.

Except, this means that my bucket is full. I'm full to the brim and each new drop just pushes me over the edge. It's not fair to the people around me.

Then, yesterday.

My supervisor comes up to me, just about five minutes before she is set to flee the building and starts this conversation:

Her: I need to talk to you about the situation with Mr. X.
Me: Whaa? I haven't even had any interaction with Mr. X in months
Her: Exactly, he thinks you're avoiding him.

The conversation just degraded from there. So, this morning, with my bucket overflowing, I decided I needed a pick-me-up. Being at work right now, with this particular type of supervisor, is not easy for me. I called my dad, and he met me at Starbucks. I bought us each a coffee and had some quick conversation, and the world is good again.

But, that's just part of the equation. Earlier in the week, I had a meltdown and directed it at my bridesmaids. I'm owning up to it "in public" here, because I think it's important for people to know that, to borrow a phrase from my soon-to-be husband, weddings "eat your soul." Haha. Planning this wedding has, in many ways, been marvelous. I've gotten to think about my lifetime with WG and revel in the fact that my family's about to get a whole heckava lot bigger and significantly more Oklahoman. I have also had fights with my parents, crying jags to WG (he fixed me, as he tends to do when I'm broken) and now, a meltdown about my bridesmaids, via e-mail of course.

Because that's the best way to handle emotional issues...in a forum completely devoid of context. Oy.

I feel like I've smoothed things over, at least as best as they can be for now. My already married bridesmaid understands and is trying ever so hard to keep me grounded. Another is someone I fight with like a sister, and I have faith that we'll keep on loving each other through this. My maid of honor, however, seems to have left the planet.

I know that, come wedding day, though, everyone will be there, and the day will be beautiful.

And I am taking the advice of all the Sadie, Sadie, Married Ladies I've talked to recently and am focusing on WG and our life together, forgetting all the hullabaloo that goes into a wedding.

Things I Learned in Oklahoma

1) No matter how much a woman thinks she has hinted at getting certain types of presents, the only way a man will actually know, without a doubt, that getting things will not get him in any kind of trouble, is for a woman to TELL a man what she wants.

2) It is possible to buy a 2600 square foot home with four bedrooms, three full baths and a second floor game room for $219,000, brand new in Oklahoma. In five years, chances are the house will still be worth $219,000 and will most definitely still be in Oklahoma.

3) The coastal states have the best produce. Oklahoma is not a coastal state.

4) It's kind of nice when a minister opens an NBA game with prayer.

5) It's rather odd when Christmas isn't at my house, and, thus, all about me, but it is quite survivable.

6) I don't suck at jenga.

7) There is traffic in Oklahoma, especially on the two days before and after Christmas when people are populating the malls to excessive proportions.

8) In Oklahoma, teenagers rebel against their families by becoming Texas fans, but almost everyone roots for the Dallas Cowboys.

9) Family comes in all shapes, sizes, colors and legal varieties.

10) I can spend seven days in a row with WG and still not get sick of him :Þ.

In Which Toni Morrison Confirms Everything I Always Thought About Literature

My wonderful friend Haylz decided to treat a couple of us November babies to an interview with Toni Morrison in SF.

I was excited, but Haylz asked us about this months ago. It's like the time she bought tickets to see Gwen Stefani, and I completely forgot about the concert until like three days before...that Haylz...delayed gratification all the way around :p.

Anyway, I was excited but not entirely aware of how strongly I am in awe of Toni Morrison. That is, until I walked into the Mason Auditorium and saw her walk out on stage. Suddenly, I remembered how many times I've read Beloved, and how I loved but struggled to understand Jazz. I remembered how my grandmother was so confused over why my dad would want to read Song of Solomon so much as to request it for a Christmas present. I remembered how happy my dad was to get that book that my grandma begrudgingly bought him.

I often feel like a horrible English major. I can't quite Chaucer. I loathe the Romantics (with the possible exception of John Donne, but, really, an exception has to be made for a poet who compares orgasms to itches of fleas). I can't tell you about the lost loves of Emily Dickinson). Yet, when Ms. Morrison opened her mouth and began naming authors, I felt at home. James Baldwin! Richard Wright! Ralph Ellison! Zora Neale Hurston! Virginia Woolf! William Faulkner! Yes! I know your predecessors, Ms. Morrison. I know and understand what you're talking about! I really am an English major, just a different sort than people would expect.

Ms. Morrison speckled her conversation with humor, even cracking herself up once, and when the interviewer didn't get the joke, she paused, looked at him and said, "Well, I thought it was funny."

My favorite moment, though, came when an English major of the more typical sort asked Ms. Morrison if she had intended Sula to have so many similarities to Faulkner's Absalom, Absalom!. Ms. Morrison said, and I quote loosely here, "Not that I'm aware of...in fact, if I had been aware of it, I would have stopped writing someone else's book." I thought that her answer was perfect. She confirmed what I always suspected, that many authors don't intentionally weave in symbols...the symbols are innate in the story. She even mentioned reading an article that declared that Sula was really, secretly, a lesbian novel. She looked at the audience, gave a mysterious grin and said, "If I wanted to write a lesbian novel, I'd write a lesbian novel...and I'd do it up right."

I knew it!

I can't say that's true for every last author and poet whose work I spent hours analyzing and theorizing over and writing thesis statements about said analyzing and theorizing, but it is, at least, confirmed, that Toni Morrison writes to tell a story and not to trip her readers on hidden symbols and tricky meanings.

The conversation wrapped up, and we were released back into the crisp San Francisco air. I feel replenished as a reader, writer and degree holding English major.

So, thank you, Haylz. You gave me a gift I really needed - perhaps I should write that up in a thank you note ;).

Top Five Reasons I Am Not Attending My High School Reunion

5. It's today, and we were all told about it a whopping three weeks ago.

4. It's in the high school gym. Seriously? Ten years out of high school, and we're relegated to the "don't you dare scratch that precious floor" gym where we circulated around in P.E. clothes? Couldn't get a restaurant reservation for 165 on three weeks notice? Fancy that.

3. Facebook. I know what's up with everyone I need to know about already.

2. My mom's best friend's daughter, a girl I've known since the fourth grade, is getting married today. The reunion starts when the reception will just be getting good.

1. I'm over high school, and, amazingly, I'm over it enough that I have no need to parade my boyfriend and my master's degree around the high school gym, introducing them both to the people who made fun of me, the ones who dropped books on my head, the popular girls who are planning the reunion (who have, in fact, planned everything that ever happened with my class at the high school), groveling for approval.

Cheers, though, to the class of 1998. We've made it to adulthood, fairly unscathed. Congratulations to us all!

Fast Forward

I have lots of changes that could potentially happen in my life in the next six to twelve months. Okay, so that's the vaguest sentence ever. There are a number of big changes that could BELIEVABLY happen in my life soon...not immediately, but soon enough to cause me worry.

There are moments, when I feel weighted down by all of the uncertainty, that I wish I could just know what would happen, that I could be through all of the rough stuff and content on the other side.

When I pause, half in and half out of the shower, or mindlessly standing in front of the fridge, thinking about this wish (because I always pause in the most awkward places when I'm caught mid-thought), though, I realize that I wouldn't actually do it if I could.

Where will I work? Where will I live? Who will I live with? Will things with WG have taken a step forward? How will I maintain relationships with my parents and my friends in California? Will I even have left the state? See. Big questions.

If someone walked up to me, with a DVD of my future life and said, "Hey, watch this. It's the story of your life, two years from now." I'd say, "First, you're a freak. Second, no thanks."

As much as I want to know what everything will look like, as much as I want to be over the big pain of moving far away from my parents and close friends (again), I know that living those moments will make the happiness all the better.

With my finger hovering over that fast forward button, I stop, and I just let my life play out as it will. The not knowing is both terrifying and exhilirating, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

The Gratitude List

Forty-two weeks into drumming up content for Real World Wednesday, there's some part of me that wants to admit defeat and just accept being a bit shallow and ignorant of the larger world around me. Then, there's a larger part of me that simply wants to keep the day as it is: Something I created, that I control, that I can use as I please.

Today's Real World Wednesday is The Gratitude List.

What's that?

Well, again, forty-two weeks into drumming up content for Real World Wednesday, I have learned that there are plenty of people in the world who do not lead lives as obviously blessed as my own. So, last night, as I was pondering how I could run around moaning and groaning about a few pimples when there was a twelve-year-old with burn scars all over her body asking for help at the reference desk, I thought about a gratitude list.

This is different than a love list or a 100 things list. No, this is a simple way to start each day. For May, each Real World Wednesday will consist of a gratitude list, a list of no less than 20 things for which I am grateful. Feel free to join in here, or on your own blog.

It's April 30. That gives everyone a week's start to get thinking.

And just to get us on a roll.

Thankful

1) For a mother who understands me and a father who protects me.
2) For a boyfriend who challenges me to stand up for my beliefs and not just roll over and let someone else win.
3) For friends who put up with whining and moping and groaning and complaining from me and then complain when they haven't heard from me in a while.
4) For a job that requires me to use my brain and keep on my toes.
5) For a roof over my head, a car to drive and food in my fridge.
6) For the unfailing love that is devotion from my cat and dogs.
7) For an income that affords me the gas I need to have the social life I crave.
8) For a healthy body that lets me run, jump, swim, climb, snowshoe and breathe.
9) For a faith in God and a curiousity about faith that keeps me learning about my religion.
10) For a private high school education that let me learn without fear.
11) For the degree from UC Berkeley that has opened countless doors.
12) For eyes that see the world from a slightly innocent perspective.
13) For fingers that type 90 words a minute, letting me express my thoughts as fast as I can think them.
14) For co-workers who listen to my tales, emphathize and work with me to come up with solutions.
15) For healthcare that allows me to get the care I need, when I need it.
16) For feet that dance and bounce and prance.
17) For supervisors who have faith in my abilities.
18) For strict but flexibile parents who made sure that the best I gave them was really the best I could do.
19) For the strength to have open, honest conversations with WG about the future.
20) For friends across the country who care about what happens in my life.

On Set

Walking around downtown Sacramento on Saturday evening, I felt like I had walked into a movie set. Blame it on the heat, the dehydration or my general sense of exhaustion after working all day, but the Second Saturday Arts Festival felt like a scripted event.

Four of us walked in the humid evening past a closed hair salon, in front of which four tight-jeans-wearing dudes played thirty second songs at full volume with lots of screaming. For some inexplicable reason, I was reminded of movie scenes in which kids in Brooklyn break open fire hydrants to release the cool water on blistering summer day.

Passing the screaming rockers, we crossed the street to enter an antique store full of everything antique stores should have. Vaguely 1940's furniture, the smell of dust permiating everything, an overload of crystal-ware, packed aisles, with an item in every corner. Of course there was an old television that WG and Irene's boyfriend talked about turning into an aquarium. Why wouldn't there be?

After this, we were lured down an alley and up the stairs into a tiny, overheated apartment to look at teensy photographic prints, while a sweaty but clean guy sat on the sofa playing his guitar, with the amp not five feet away. The whole room was the size of my closet, and with a good fourteen people in the narrow room, it felt like a hot, musty, sardine can.

Down the stairs, we found an open garden area filled with the first real cast members of this art festival, those punk/country/rock kids, complete with a confused John Mayer wannabe in a red-checked shirt playing country music on his electric guitar. A girl with green hair trimmed in a pixie cut (could she have been a real pixie?), and a tight shirt and short skirt, shimmied and shook in front of him, but to a different beat than he played. The art down this alley consisted of pieces of broken mirror cemented onto tiles. The artist slithered around the brick pavement in a toga, with her red-tinted hair piled high on her head. We turned and walked out, past the bone mobile (who would hang that over their child's bed?) and the Metal "Love" sign, with its red, glowing heart in the center of the wheel-wagon "o".

A couple of blocks later, nearly panting with thirst, we were invited to view some art in a hair salon, and I barely resisted asking if this salon had air conditioning. It did. And we stayed a while in the cool, crisp air, sipping white wine from plastic cups and eating tiny little white-chocolate chip cookies.

Walking around and looking at the collages on the wall, I felt comfortable. I saw that I could make this kind of art, that, in fact, I already make something along the same lines as this art. All I was missing was a giant piece of wood as my canvas. The "cast" in the salon/gallery consisted of women with perfect, but quirky, hair - bobs with hard angles and harsh highlights - and fashionable, low-cut, empire waste tops and jeans.

Eventually, the four us meandered down the stairs and out into the now-less-oppressive heat to continue our tour of the galleries.

More people were crowding the streets, and I felt my mind begin to cloud over. As we passed through a large group staring at the fire dancers in front of a Mexican restaurant, I grabbed WG's arm and said, "I'm going all Vegas, and I need you to hold on to me." For, you see, in Vegas, I am overcome with the people, the crowds, the noises, the smells, and a part of my crawls up and goes away to a safe place, leaving the rest of me without much guidance. WG held on but also tried to talk me out of my crowd-trance.

We waited in line to get into a gallery that was so stuff I felt like I was breathing underwater. On the walls hung close-ups of cacti. We left quickly and went next door.

In the aisles of a magazine shop, we wandered for quite a while, flipping through pages, commenting on covers, laughing at the quirky magnets available for sale. I paused to gape at Paris Hilton on the cover of National Geographic but looked a little closer and saw that it was actually the Harvard Lampoon...sighs of laughter and relief all around.

Hoping to find a cozy spot for a drink or some dessert...or both, we turned back through the waning crowds to locate a restaurant with open seating. And ran into one more gallery, filled with the final group of stereotypical art gallery frequenters. Lured into a well-lit brownstone by the sight of visitors exiting with cookies in their hands, we found ourselves in a brightly lit gallery filled with metal statues of faces, splotchy but appealing paintings by pre-school students and one giant, wire goldfish. This place felt like an art gallery, and the aging hippies in Hawaiian shirts and women with carefully died blonde hair and thick-plastic framed glasses fit exactly into what I would expect to see.

I know that, of course, the City of Sacramento didn't hire stand-ins at each gallery, but I had not realized how possible it was for someone to look so much like they belonged just where they were at a given point in time. I think that stereotypes focus on extremes and rarely encounter someone who, on the outside, at least, fits right into my expectations.

I ended the evening feeling like a person who wants to both make and buy art. I was more than happy, though, to return to my own, beige apartment and revel in the fact that I'm not easy to pin down into any one stereotype.

You know, unless you're counting sexy librarian, because, clearly, I fit that one to a T.

Because There Are Days When I Forget

The past couple of weeks have been a challenge. The woman who makes me want to tear out my hair and possibly tear off my ears has returned to my workplace. It's not her fault that she drives me crazy. This month is going to be a mish-mash of not enough time with WG, and that makes each of my workdays seem even longer.

So, because there are days when I forget how lucky I am, here I am, jumping on yet another bandwagon.

I love hugs from my mother. I love a light breeze tickling my toes as I walk barefoot in the grass, or on my carpet. I love when I can get stubborn stains out of the carpet. I love cuddling with my cat, especially on a "sleeping-in day." I love that my cat is waiting at the door for me when I get home.

I love squishing my head against my dad's chest, knowing that he'll always make me feel little and safe. I love kissing my dog on the head. I love getting head-butted by Bailey the German Shepherd. I love that the new guy, Tosh, rolls himself over spread eagle and begs me to scratch his belly.

I love getting to talk, nearly uninterrupted, with my teen volunteers. I love that I have some wisdom to share with them. I love the color pink. I love my bed.

I love the feel of the water against my skin when I dive into a pool. I love the way my body feels on that first lap, as if I'm one with the water. I love settling in the couch, cuddled in a blanket my mom made me, and watching just about any one of my DVDs.

I love the sound of my boyfriend's laugh. I love his arms. I love his smell. I love his smile. I love that I love him so much.

I love watching my parents together. I love driving in Napa. I love crossing the bridge into San Francisco. I love the Giants. I love baseball. I love knowing just enough Polish to make for an interesting conversation. I love the stride in my walk. I love love.

I love baking. I love especially baking things I know will turn out to be absolutely wonderful. I love ice cream. I love homemade ice cream, even more. I love my friends. I love that I can say absolutely anything to Irene, and she will understand. I love dancing in my living room. I love dancing, period. I love getting dressed up and feeling like the most beautiful woman in the world.

I love John Cusack, Jeremy Piven and whoever plays Eric on Entourage. I love college football. I love Berkeley. I love my car. I love losing myself in a good book.

I love packing for vacation, deciding what I need on the airplane and settling in with my iPod and a book I probably won't finish.

I love when someone else gives me an idea for a blog posting at just the right time, and I jump all over it.

I love talking library talk with people who understand. I love talking about video games with people who understand. I love talking.

I love my mommy and daddy. I love my friends. I love all of my pets. I love my boyfriend. I love God.

I love Thursday mornings and Friday night.

I love treating myself to something yummy when I have to work early or on a weekend.

I love photography. I love my camera. I love getting just the right shot at just the right time.

I love wearing colorful clothing.

I love flip-flops.

I love bright red toenails.

I love comfort music, comfort food and comfort conversation.

I love.

We Who Change

In the past two weeks, I have had no less than three conversations with longtime friends who worry that my life has taken a turn they do not like. What's funny is that it's my life...not theirs.

I have, at times, appreciated the insight of my family and friends as I consider my future. There are times when I am certain only of the fact that I can be certain about nothing and I need someone to remind me of who I am. But the past year and a half, as I've settled into my job, my relationship and a new church, I have faced plenty of questions from those who knew me way back when.

There are others, like my parents and other, not decades old friends, who simply accept my life as it is, not without questions, but without harsh judgment. I'm very grateful for this calm acceptance.

I am also, in a way, grateful for the challenge presented by those who truly question my decisions and warn me time and again not to "compromise" myself. Their inquiries make me more sure of my choices.

In talking about the three rather difficult conversations, I have come to realize that, in part, these particular friends fear that if I change, it means they have to change as well. If I can question a religious institution they hold dear, what does that mean for them? If I can ponder leaving the Golden State, does that affect their ability to stay here for the rest of their lives?

Because if they have to change, if this will be required, they may have no idea where to start. And that's terrifying.

What I Really Want to Talk About....

and what I will talk about are two totally different things.

I want to tell you the seventeen songs on my playlist for Sunday's run. Seventeen glorious songs that will carry me straight through the race! Yay!

But, instead.

I spoke to one of my best friends from high school on the phone yesterday. The conversation was going along just fine until we got on the topic of religion. Lately, it's been harder and harder to talk about my beliefs with my Catholic friends, because they cannot phathom ever going to a non-Catholic church.

My parents and my friends of different denominations (and those who claim no one faith or claim a faith but don't actively practice it) have been immensely supportive as I've entered a different path on my spiritual journey.

But the Catholics. Well, I suppose if they accept what I'm saying, then their own worlds would come tumbling down. If my friend last night accepted that there is a path to Grace that does not involve Catholicism, his life would have no meaning. He has spent his life coming to understand the Catholic Church, in his own way, and if he admitted that there may be those who don't need the Catholic Church, well, I believe he would need to be heavily medicated in order to continue to function in the world.

I think my favorite part of the conversation was when he, breathlessly, asked me if I was considering getting baptised in another Christian faith. Uhm, no. First of all, just, no. And second of all, I'm pretty sure they don't require a RE-Baptism. The Baptism my parents organized in February of 1981 is working out pretty well for me, thanks.

My mom, on the other hand, in response to my own statement that I certainly don't remember ever hearing that those who aren't Catholic are saved only by the fact that the Catholic Church exists in the world, had this to say:

"I vaguely remember that line in my religious education, but as I didn't believe it, I just ignored it - and as your father feels the same, we certainly never passed that haughty belief onto you!!"

While I mourn what may be the passing of that friendship (I'm not sure he'll be able to stay in the same room seeing as how I not only date a non-Catholic but also <> hope to marry that non-Catholic someday), I celebrate the freedom I have to practice my own faith. I celebrate the fact that my parents encouraged me to question the world around me. I celebrate the fact that I have any faith at all.

Three Days

Oh what a difference a day makes.

My two day trip to Arizona felt hurried, with no moment to just calm down and enjoy my surroundings.

But a three day weekend trip to Oregon. Oh, just the thing I needed.

Three days and (a narrowed down list of) three beautiful things.

1) Snowshoeing! My new favorite sport! The snow was powdery and soft. The air was crisp and clean. And I never fell down. Not even once. Okay, once...but that was on purpose.

2) Enjoying a new place and adding Eugene to my list of possible living destinations. It's green and cold and an hour from the snow. It's not a definite, but it's certainly a place I would consider.

3) A peaceful drive there and back, through snow and dark and some beautiful weather, as well. I've also now officially driven WG's car. There was no way I was going to let him drive 10 hours all by his lonesome! Still, after a hectic trip involving airports a week ago, I was more than happy to hop in a car and go on a little roadtrip.

4) okay...one more...being served by the bassist for the Cherry Popping Daddies. Seriously, those dudes don't make enough money. Still and all, it was kind of a treat to get my Philly Cheese Steak from a bass guitarist holding a baby (I don't think the baby had anything to do with him being a musician...).

Real World Wednesday/Thursday

That post about me being off-kilter, yeah, well that spiraled into a fever and my first sick day in a year and a half. So, Real World Wednesday is late but here just the same.

Gratitude

As happens from time to time, I'm stealing RWW to make a point about my own life that I hope will inspire/encourage others.

After reading the comments on the last few posts in which I've talked about my job, I realize that I may be giving the wrong impression. You're only getting the bad side of things, and even the bad is colored by my general sense of displeasure with my chosen profession. Reading the comments encouraging me to get out of my awful situation as, in stead, encouraged me to think about the good things.

Don't get me wrong. I am still on a slow and careful search for another position, but I must recognize the good in my life, as well.

Think for a moment. What are you grateful for? Have you told anyone lately? Or have you, like me, been swallowed up in your own complaining, forgetting for a time that there is good in your life?

I've complained about my job since about the second week, which is rather pathetic, and which means that I am to blame. I made the wrong choice. I can't blame my bosses for not suiting my tastes. I can't blame the moody customers (well, maybe I can).

So, I'm pausing. I'm taking a moment to breathe in and simply feel grateful.

I am grateful for the fact that I survived my own birth (and that was no easy task)

I am grateful for my education

I am grateful for parents who love me and show it

I am grateful for friends who make me be true to myself and call me out during my hypocritical moments

I am grateful for a man who loves me for myself and whom I love more and more with each passing day

I am grateful for faith

I am grateful for a steady job with benefits and the opportunity to help people each and every day

I am grateful to have choices and opportunities

Look around. What are you grateful for? What do you have in your life, in spite of not having something you might think you should have?

An Open Letter to Myself in the Future

Dear Sarah,

It's 2008, and all is fairly well. You've gotten a bit more control of your life, are taking it slow with the job search and are not hyper-planning your life (well, you've been trying not to do that).

Here are some things you're learning at 27 that I hope you remember over the next few years:

1) It is not necessary to be stressed in order to be successful.
2) You can say "no" when you don't want to do something.
3) A weekend afternoon spent on the computer is not wasted; it is relaxing.
4) Your mother understands more than you realize she does about growing up, having a relationship and moving forward with your life.
5) Doing one thing at a time makes life much more enjoyable.
6) There is a job, somewhere, that does not involve people yelling at you. I hope that you have found that job by now. It is forgivable that you felt the need to leave what you once thought was your dream job (it is forgivable because you were an innocent and completely clueless about what your job would actually involve).
7) WG loves you immensely.

Sarah, I hope and pray that in the next few years, you have become even more comfortable with a peaceful existence, and, if you have, that you no longer crave anxiety.

I hope you have a few more recipes under your belt.

If you are reading this after you've had children, I firmly believe that you are loving them the best you can while remembering that your relationship with your husband should still be number one. There are those who may disagree about this, and this doesn't mean that you won't love and nurture your children, but don't lose your relationship in the pandemonium of child rearing. Or better yet, don't let your childrearing descend into the chaos currently de rigeur in California (soccer! ballet! theatah!).

I hope you have settled in a place outside of the Golden State.

I hope you are happy and appreciate that happiness as much as I've come to appreciate my current happiness.

Now, go, stop reading, go spend time with someone you love.

Love,
Sarah circa January 14, 2008

Scared Silly

I woke up yesterday morning nearly paralyzed by fear.

What had I started? I had begun looking seriously for a new job, found at least one that I'm excited about and had started telling people that I was in the market.

I had told people.

I tend to be the type of person who mulls and fumes and sits and stews until coming to a conclusion that often catches those I love off-guard. They tease me about it in a gentle, loving manner (she said with the utmost sarcasm that typed words can convey), and I know that I can do something to change this.

So, before the first application has gone out of my hot little computer, I am officially telling the chosen few, "Hey, I'm looking for a new job, and that might mean I leave California." This means that in six weeks or six months if I pack up and move away, no one will stand there looking stressed and stunned.

Consider yourselves warned.

But telling people also means that I have to actually do something about my quest. I can't just tell people I'm looking for a new job and then sit here and do nothing. Telling people forces me to look, leap, apply.

The states with jobs I like (Tennessee, North Carolina, Pennsylvania, Colorado, Oregon) float around in my head, and yesterday, I woke up thinking, "I know nothing about those places! How can I possibly leave?"

Though I've lived in a city, lived in Boston, lived in L.A., I never really left home for more than a few months. In sum? I've lived in the same town FOR. MY. ENTIRE. LIFE.

Knowing that, does it make more sense why this is all so simultaneously exciting and terrifying?

I work at the library I used as a child.

I work where I volunteered as a teenager.

My parents'and grandparents' former co-workers come in the library and recognize me. It's a small town as you can get in a city of 100,000.

I have to get out of here.

But there are moments when I don't see how I ever will.

I admitted my fears to my mom. She hugged me, with a glisten in her eye, and assured me it would all be alright.

Then I realized, if I wasn't scared, then I would be completely insane. And I'm not that far gone.

There is some comfort in being afraid.

Reflections and Resolutions...Revised

It's that time...

Eh, I've reflected plenty over the last few weeks, and now, it's time to think about what I intend to do with myself over the next year.

Well, alright, one little reflection.

My resolution last year was to "calm the hell down".

Let's see how that went.

Here's last year, with WG gone to Oklahoma: Whining.

Here's this year:...

That's right, not one single whining post about WG being away...and that's not just so I could say that here. It's because I haven't been whining about it. I've tremendously enjoyed the last week - time with my family, Wii playing with high school friends, movie watching and grand conversation with Renie, tea drinking with Jessica, art museum-ing with friends from work....ahhh...good stuff. Nothing to calm down about :).

So, based on that example alone, I think I can say that "calming the hell down" was a great success.

Now, onto 2008. I have a bit more than one resolution, and after a good night's sleep, I've got these worded just a bit better.

1) Do something or go somewhere new once a month.
2) Be creative.
3) Stop giving myself guilt trips.
4) Pursue a new job.
5) Don't try to hurry life along.

I'm most excited (and scared) about the job search...and I'll write more about each of these resolutions as I come to understand them better myself.

So, goodbye to 2007 (a good year, overall). Welcome 2008...just around the corner.

12 Days of Christmas

I'm not sure I get 12 full days of Christmas, but I do get several "Christmas" sort of days.

1) A pre-Christmas with WG before he heads off the icy weather in the corral. The pre-Christmas was quite fun. We exchanged gifts, had yummy steak dinner...and now...well, though I'll miss him, it'll be a bit easier for me to handle it, now that I have one these. I do have the best boyfriend ever. And I told him so. Yes, I am exceedingly excited about this present. Yes, I am 27. Ah well, such is life.

2) Three full days of Christmas wonder with Mama and Daddy. Movie watching, game playing, a little bowling, a fine meal. I'm excited.

3) Monica and Sean arriving for our eleventh annual Christmas extravaganza. There will be a potluck. We will "do presents." And we will talk fondly about the past and with curiosity about the future.

I love the holidays. I love being surrounded by the ones I love, filling my days with tradition...oh...and singing Christmas carols at the top of my lungs.

Merry Christmas! May you spend time with the ones you love, not have to go to work and, quite simply, be happy.

Real World Wednesday

Ten Inches.

Ten Inches is the required minimum length to donate to Locks of Love.

Ten Inches looks like this:


Ten inches have been scissored off of my hair.

Haircuts for me are a big deal. It takes weeks to convince myself I need a trim and even longer, clearly, for a major change.

I had planned on just a trim, and then I realized that if I went for the full-on cut, maybe I could do more than just make myself feel better. And I remembered a friend who has done this a couple of times, and I thought, "Well, by golly, I wonder what the requirements are." Well, I didn't think "by golly," 'cause I don't think anyone under the age of 85 thinks that, but you get my point.

I did the research and I found these requirements:

GUIDELINES FOR ACCEPTABLE DONATIONS
* Hair that is colored or permed is acceptable.
* Hair cut years ago is usable if it has been stored in a ponytail or braid.
* Hair that has been bleached (usually this refers to highlighted hair) is not usable. If unsure, ask your stylist.
* Hair that is swept off of the floor is not usable.
* Hair that is shaved off and not in a ponytail or braid is not usable.
* We cannot accept dreadlocks. Our manufacturer is not able to use them in our children’s hairpieces. We also cannot accept wigs, falls, hair extensions or synthetic hair.
* Layered hair is acceptable if the longest layer is 10 inches.
* Layered hair may be divided into multiple ponytails.
* Curly hair may be pulled straight to measure the minimum 10 inches.
* 10 inches measured tip to tip is the minimum length needed for a hairpiece.
* Please Note: Shorter hair will be separated from the ponytails and sold to offset the manufacturing costs. Although the shorter hair cannot be used in the hairpieces, it still greatly helps to reduce costs.
* Gray hair will be accepted and sold to offset the manufacturing costs.

I don't have dreadlocks (ha!), bleach has not touched my head...I think I can do it.

I think I had a mini panic attack last night as I thought about changing my hair so greatly. This morning, my hair looked better than it has in days, all full of life and wavy and shiny. Urgh. The WRONG day to have a good hair day.

And flipping through a magazine at the hair salon this afternoon, all I saw were pictures of women with gorgeous, wavy, long hair.

I started to doubt my decision.

But, it takes six ponytails to make one wig for a child, and I could be one of those ponytails. My long hair is a part of my personality, part of my identity, but I thought about the kids with no hair, and I got over myself.

And so, if you're looking for something nice to do around the holidays (or any other time), but you don't have a lot of money to give to charity, well, why not make a different kind of donation.

Or, get together five or six of your friends (perhaps with a similar hair color) and go for a new kind of spa day.

And if you get a fantastic new hairstyle out of the situation, what's wrong with that?

Decisions, Decisions and a Monkey

Two years is a reasonable age for a computer, right?

A reasonable lifetime before being passed on to a father who has been known to crash computers simply by changing the background and thus cannot be trusted with new computers in the household?

I'm guilt tripping myself (yes, it's a verb) about whether or not I should purchase one of these (in flamingo pink, of course).

Why do I need one? Oh, because I'm a geek. Well, I'm a "thinks she's artsy" geek, because not only do I need a faster computer with a better graphics card so that I can further develop my World of Warcraft addiction (currently on hiatus as within thirty minutes of starting to play on my current laptop, I am sent to the "blue screen of death," which threatens to start deleting things at random from my hard drive if I don't behave), but I also want to do more photo editing. I've got Adobe Photoshop (not elements, photoshop...thanks WG) on my computer, but it's waaaaayyy too slow.

Why should I get one? They're ridiculously cheap at the moment, and with the coupon I found, I can get a $1700 (pre-tax) system for $1100 (including tax). And it would make my life oh so much more enjoyable to have a computer that doesn't freak out whenever I try to upload my photos to flickr. Oh, and WG's stoked about doing the research (and found me a $500 off coupon!).

Why shouldn't I get one? Uh, it's two weeks before my birthday, six weeks before Christmas. I've got a best friend's birthday before my own. And I have only *just* started thinking about a budget for Christmas gifts.

Other decisions?

Whether or not to switch this sweet blog o'mine over to wordpress and a friend hosted server. I could get my own domain name! pinkcerealandraspberries.com has a nice ring to it, right? But, contrary to some other folks, I love blogger. I love that I get to pick and choose and add random HTML code wherever I so choose. Would I need to learn CSS for wordpress? But I also want to password some posts (oh, the things I could say! haha). Oh, dilemmas.

And finally, the monkey.

Precisely a monkey of a velvet nature.

WG's little sister is a licensed cosmetologist and she works at a place called Velvet Monkey, and I may let her cut my hair when we're in OK.

This is roughly what my hair looks like now:



And this is what I might want it to look like (but the cut is basically just a slightly shorter version of what I have now)



or this (which is still basically the same but about 12 inches shorter than my current 'do)



Help, people. I need help.