Tuesday, October 4, 2011
Friday, September 30, 2011
Guess who's husband got two tickets to the Seahawks vs Falcons home game this Sunday? Can you guess? Do you need a hint?Give up? MINE!!! That's right, this Sunday Steve and I will be dropping the girls off with their Uncle Kasey and Aunt Lisa and will head to Qwest Field in Seattle to watch the Seahawks kick Atlanta's ass up and down the field. I am SOOOOO excited! Seriously, if I was any more excited there would be two of me!
I checked the extended forcast for this weekend, and it's supposed to be cold and rainy in Seattle on Sunday and you know what? I don't care! Because I will be wearing my Seahawks hat, my Seahawks fleece scarf and my super warm Seahawks winter coat with fleece-lined arms and hood. All the rain in creation will not be able to dampen my diehard fan excitement for the game this weekend. BOOYAH!!!!
Thursday, September 29, 2011
It is an early Thursday morning here in Kingston, and it looks like it's going to be a nice day today. Yesterday was nice so I loaded the girls into the double stroller after breakfast and went on a 2.5 mile walk through my neighborhood. It's quite an exercise, considering the steepness of the hills around my house and the fact that Maron + Marida + double stroller = about 70 or so pounds of weight to push up and down the place. I should probably do the same thing again this morning, but mother nature has come calling and I'm bloated and crampy and I just don't want to.
So instead I will spend the day at home, trying my best to be productive. My agenda for today (aside from regular laundry and bath tub scrubbing chores) is going to be more junk removal. Tomorrow is garbage day, so I'm going to go outside this afternoon and see if I can rip a few more pieces off the shanty to go into the trash. I'm also going to go through clothes and baby toys and see if I can get together another batch of stuff for Goodwill, since there will probably be a Costco trip this weekend, and Goodwill is right across the street.
It feels good to get rid of stuff. I feel that, with each piece of detritus I am able to clear away from our lives, we are taking a step forward and getting a teeny, tiny bit closer to the future. Something new and better. I feel like we're putting the past away, one little bit at a time, so that we can start living our own lives for our own happiness' sake.
So instead I will spend the day at home, trying my best to be productive. My agenda for today (aside from regular laundry and bath tub scrubbing chores) is going to be more junk removal. Tomorrow is garbage day, so I'm going to go outside this afternoon and see if I can rip a few more pieces off the shanty to go into the trash. I'm also going to go through clothes and baby toys and see if I can get together another batch of stuff for Goodwill, since there will probably be a Costco trip this weekend, and Goodwill is right across the street.
It feels good to get rid of stuff. I feel that, with each piece of detritus I am able to clear away from our lives, we are taking a step forward and getting a teeny, tiny bit closer to the future. Something new and better. I feel like we're putting the past away, one little bit at a time, so that we can start living our own lives for our own happiness' sake.
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Never Forget
10 years ago today I left home at 7:30 am to go to work. I was low on gas, so I stopped at the gas station a couple of blocks from my apartment on the South Hill of Spokane. There were speakers outside by the pumps, and instead of playing new music from the popular radio station, there were people talking. The first bit of radio conversation I registered was someone saying that the Pentagon had been bombed by terrorists. I was shocked and appalled that something like that could happen. And once I learned what actually happened on September 11, 2001, I wished that a bombing at the Pentagon was what really had happened, because the truth of the matter was just too horrifying.
I remember getting to work and finding every single person in the building functioning in a state of shock. I remember calling my boyfriend of the time, who lived in Seattle. I knew that he had an acupuncture appointment downtown that day, and I begged him not to go because I was afraid that the terrorist attacks weren't over and that a plane was going to crash into the Space Needle. I remember calling a ren faire friend who was a fire fighter and asking him if what had happened was going to affect him in any way, because I was afraid for him. I remember my boss being afraid for her husband (who was in the military and stationed at Fairchild Airforce base just a few miles from us) and her daughter (who went to daycare on said base). I remeber leaving work early that day for an eye doctor appointment, and watching news footage of what had happened on the tv in the waiting room. I remember being alone in my apartment that night and hearing an airplane fly overhead. I called my boyfriend afraid that something bad was happening, because I knew that all flights across the country had been grounded.
And I remember the next day at work when my boss brought me a large picture of the American flag, which had been printed in the newspaper, and telling me to make colored copies of it for anyone at the company who wanted one. I remember the feeling of patriotism and national unity that was so thick in the air that day you could have cut it with a knife. I remember the look in the eyes of every person I encountered in the first week following 9/11. It was the same look; a look of sorrow, anger and defiance. It's a look I haven't seen since (for which I am grateful) but will never, ever forget.
I remember 9/11. I will never forget it. I will never forget the sacrifices that were made on that day, and all the days following it, and I will never stop being grateful for everything I have.
I remember getting to work and finding every single person in the building functioning in a state of shock. I remember calling my boyfriend of the time, who lived in Seattle. I knew that he had an acupuncture appointment downtown that day, and I begged him not to go because I was afraid that the terrorist attacks weren't over and that a plane was going to crash into the Space Needle. I remember calling a ren faire friend who was a fire fighter and asking him if what had happened was going to affect him in any way, because I was afraid for him. I remember my boss being afraid for her husband (who was in the military and stationed at Fairchild Airforce base just a few miles from us) and her daughter (who went to daycare on said base). I remeber leaving work early that day for an eye doctor appointment, and watching news footage of what had happened on the tv in the waiting room. I remember being alone in my apartment that night and hearing an airplane fly overhead. I called my boyfriend afraid that something bad was happening, because I knew that all flights across the country had been grounded.
And I remember the next day at work when my boss brought me a large picture of the American flag, which had been printed in the newspaper, and telling me to make colored copies of it for anyone at the company who wanted one. I remember the feeling of patriotism and national unity that was so thick in the air that day you could have cut it with a knife. I remember the look in the eyes of every person I encountered in the first week following 9/11. It was the same look; a look of sorrow, anger and defiance. It's a look I haven't seen since (for which I am grateful) but will never, ever forget.
I remember 9/11. I will never forget it. I will never forget the sacrifices that were made on that day, and all the days following it, and I will never stop being grateful for everything I have.
Friday, September 9, 2011
Happy birthday to me, happy birthday to me, happy birthday to meeeeeee, happy birthday to me.
I am 30 years old today. So far is doesn't feel any different than 29, which the exception that I treated myself to teriyaki for lunch today, which I never did when I was 29. But I did today, because it's my 30th birthday. And if you can't treat yourself to teriyaki for lunch on your 30th birthday, when the hell can you?
So far I have received 1 happy birthday wish in person (from Steve, obviously), 1 over the phone, 2 emails, 2 texts and 35 Facebook wall posts. That's a lot of love, for which I am greateful.
The birthday wishes I have not received so far today (by any method)? My mother, my father, one of my brothers, both of my sister-in-laws and a few very dear friends. I know the day's not over yet; it's on 3:08 pm, afterall. But considering we are 13 hours into the 24 hours of my actual birthday... well, let's just say I expected at least half of my family to have acknowledged me by now. And I understand that everyone is busy with lives of their own, but there is 1 day, 1 DAY out of the entire year where I get to be special, ALL DAY LONG. Today is MY day, and busy or not, I really expected better. I call every one of my immediate family members on their birthdays, as early as can possibly be considered appropriate. And I do that so that they will know that they are important to me, and that they were one of the first thoughts that went through my mind that day.
Everyone deserves to feel special on their birthday. Everyone should feel special on their birthday.
I am 30 years old today. So far is doesn't feel any different than 29, which the exception that I treated myself to teriyaki for lunch today, which I never did when I was 29. But I did today, because it's my 30th birthday. And if you can't treat yourself to teriyaki for lunch on your 30th birthday, when the hell can you?
So far I have received 1 happy birthday wish in person (from Steve, obviously), 1 over the phone, 2 emails, 2 texts and 35 Facebook wall posts. That's a lot of love, for which I am greateful.
The birthday wishes I have not received so far today (by any method)? My mother, my father, one of my brothers, both of my sister-in-laws and a few very dear friends. I know the day's not over yet; it's on 3:08 pm, afterall. But considering we are 13 hours into the 24 hours of my actual birthday... well, let's just say I expected at least half of my family to have acknowledged me by now. And I understand that everyone is busy with lives of their own, but there is 1 day, 1 DAY out of the entire year where I get to be special, ALL DAY LONG. Today is MY day, and busy or not, I really expected better. I call every one of my immediate family members on their birthdays, as early as can possibly be considered appropriate. And I do that so that they will know that they are important to me, and that they were one of the first thoughts that went through my mind that day.
Everyone deserves to feel special on their birthday. Everyone should feel special on their birthday.
Monday, September 5, 2011
How long do you have to keep something before it loses its meaning? How long do you have to hold on to and care for an object before the reason you kept it in the first place stops being important?
For Example: Somewhere in my bedroom closet is a box of trinkets. Little things that meant the world to me at some point that I've always kept. One of these items is a (very) small fake rose. You know the type - the one with a fake leaf attached, wrapped in plastic that you might find at a gas station or a dollar store. It was given to me for Valentine's Day my freshman year of high school by a senior whom I was desperately in love with. I wasn't the only one though... this guy was very sweet and brought little fake roses to give to all of his female friends that day. But even though I wasn't the only one to get a rose from him I felt special. Out of an entire high school of girls I was one of the few he considered a friend, and was special/important enough to be given a rose. So I kept the rose. I've had it stored in the same tin Oreo container since I was 15 years old. It was very special to me when I got it, see, and it remained so for a very long time.
But now, 14 years later, I look in that tin and see the rose and it's just... a rose. It's just a cheap little fake flower that a friend gave me in (what might as well be) a different lifetime, that I've held on to for almost a decade and a half. It doesn't mean anything, not anymore. I remember what it meant to me then, but in a far-off, detached way. The only reason I haven't thrown it out is because there are enought little trinkets in the tin that still do mean something, and the rose isn't taking up any needed space at this time.
The reason I'm thinking about the rose is because my goal for today has been to start going through the vast myriad of items in our house, storing/packing what we want to keep and weeding out (to the best of my ability) the things that aren't really important. But who's to say what's important?
Last night I started going through the secretary desk and found an old Skillsaw belt buckle. I showed it to Steve and asked if it could go into the Goodwill box, since it's something neither of us was ever going to use. He looked at it and said, "That was my dad's." It's obviously something he must have worn in Steve's younger days, because the whole time I ever knew my late father-in-law Virgil he only ever wore standard belts. I didn't want to be insensitive, but I really wanted to ask, "At what point does it stop being yourr dad's belt buckle and start being a plain old Skillsaw belt buckle that you're never, ever going to wear?" What I came up with instead was, "Since you're never going to wear it, do you think that maybe it's time for us to donate it so that it can become someone else's belt buckle?"
So that's what got me thinking about all of this. At what point do objects lose their meaning? How long do you have to hold onto mementos before they just become 'stuff'? Beacause 'stuff' is all it is, in the end. Sometimes one man's trash is another man's treasure, but other times one man's trash is another man's trash. And if there is one thing my father-in-law's death has taught me, it's that all the little things that mean something to you today are the things that your children are going to have to go through tomorrow.
For Example: Somewhere in my bedroom closet is a box of trinkets. Little things that meant the world to me at some point that I've always kept. One of these items is a (very) small fake rose. You know the type - the one with a fake leaf attached, wrapped in plastic that you might find at a gas station or a dollar store. It was given to me for Valentine's Day my freshman year of high school by a senior whom I was desperately in love with. I wasn't the only one though... this guy was very sweet and brought little fake roses to give to all of his female friends that day. But even though I wasn't the only one to get a rose from him I felt special. Out of an entire high school of girls I was one of the few he considered a friend, and was special/important enough to be given a rose. So I kept the rose. I've had it stored in the same tin Oreo container since I was 15 years old. It was very special to me when I got it, see, and it remained so for a very long time.
But now, 14 years later, I look in that tin and see the rose and it's just... a rose. It's just a cheap little fake flower that a friend gave me in (what might as well be) a different lifetime, that I've held on to for almost a decade and a half. It doesn't mean anything, not anymore. I remember what it meant to me then, but in a far-off, detached way. The only reason I haven't thrown it out is because there are enought little trinkets in the tin that still do mean something, and the rose isn't taking up any needed space at this time.
The reason I'm thinking about the rose is because my goal for today has been to start going through the vast myriad of items in our house, storing/packing what we want to keep and weeding out (to the best of my ability) the things that aren't really important. But who's to say what's important?
Last night I started going through the secretary desk and found an old Skillsaw belt buckle. I showed it to Steve and asked if it could go into the Goodwill box, since it's something neither of us was ever going to use. He looked at it and said, "That was my dad's." It's obviously something he must have worn in Steve's younger days, because the whole time I ever knew my late father-in-law Virgil he only ever wore standard belts. I didn't want to be insensitive, but I really wanted to ask, "At what point does it stop being yourr dad's belt buckle and start being a plain old Skillsaw belt buckle that you're never, ever going to wear?" What I came up with instead was, "Since you're never going to wear it, do you think that maybe it's time for us to donate it so that it can become someone else's belt buckle?"
So that's what got me thinking about all of this. At what point do objects lose their meaning? How long do you have to hold onto mementos before they just become 'stuff'? Beacause 'stuff' is all it is, in the end. Sometimes one man's trash is another man's treasure, but other times one man's trash is another man's trash. And if there is one thing my father-in-law's death has taught me, it's that all the little things that mean something to you today are the things that your children are going to have to go through tomorrow.
Friday, September 2, 2011
Well, this is it...
That is to say, this is it for my 20's. There are now less than 7 days left before I turn 30. At 8:49 am on Friday, September 9th I will become a 30 Something.
All in all I have to say I have mixed feelings about it. I'm not afraid of age numbers that have a 3 in front of them or anything like that... I just find myself now, looking back at the last 10 years of my life and myself if I did enough with them? I feel like I did, but the reason for that is that, as a child/teenager/young adult I never set any clear life goals for myself. Around about the time I turned 18 I decided that all I wanted in life to be happy. I didn't have any kind of education and/or career and/or marriage/family goals; it didn't matter what I ended up doing in life so long as I was happy doing it. I figured that, as long as I could call myself honestly happy with the overall picture, I was successful.
And you know what? I am happy, so I guess that means I win.
I'm not saying that life doesn't get hard at times or that I don't have dark days every once in a while, but dark days are part of the cycle. And I know that, however bad or hard my life may seem at time, worse things have happened to sheep.
But again, in the general scheme of the things, I am happy. Very happy, in fact. I have a wonderful husband, two beautiful, happy children, a good house and I'm healthy. What more can you ask for out of life, really?
I guess the only sadness I feel right now about turning 30 is that, to me 30 is a big deal. It's a huge milestone that I've been looking forward to for some time, and I always thought in my mind that whatever I did to celebrate turning 30 should/would be epic. I really, really wanted it to be amazing. A huge party or a grand adventure or something along those lines. Unfortunately life and money and economic issues are going to prevent anything of the sort. Instead my 30th birthday is going to find me at home with the kids, just like any other day. Steve will have to work and won't get home until late. Sometime next Friday night I'm going to head to a local bar to have some drinks with a couple of local friends, which will be fun, but that's going to be the extent of recognition and celebration of me surviving 30 years of life.
And that's fine, really. It's not like I need a big flashy show or a parade in my honor to get on with my life. It's just been a sobering thought to realize that I'm really not special at all. I used to feel special, and I've always been a firm believer that everyone deserves to feel special on their birthday. But really, when you get right down to the brass tacks of it, I'm not special at all. And that's fine too. It's just hard to have the last little ego bubble of your youth popped. But in 100 years, who will care about my petty problems anyway?
All in all I have to say I have mixed feelings about it. I'm not afraid of age numbers that have a 3 in front of them or anything like that... I just find myself now, looking back at the last 10 years of my life and myself if I did enough with them? I feel like I did, but the reason for that is that, as a child/teenager/young adult I never set any clear life goals for myself. Around about the time I turned 18 I decided that all I wanted in life to be happy. I didn't have any kind of education and/or career and/or marriage/family goals; it didn't matter what I ended up doing in life so long as I was happy doing it. I figured that, as long as I could call myself honestly happy with the overall picture, I was successful.
And you know what? I am happy, so I guess that means I win.
I'm not saying that life doesn't get hard at times or that I don't have dark days every once in a while, but dark days are part of the cycle. And I know that, however bad or hard my life may seem at time, worse things have happened to sheep.
But again, in the general scheme of the things, I am happy. Very happy, in fact. I have a wonderful husband, two beautiful, happy children, a good house and I'm healthy. What more can you ask for out of life, really?
I guess the only sadness I feel right now about turning 30 is that, to me 30 is a big deal. It's a huge milestone that I've been looking forward to for some time, and I always thought in my mind that whatever I did to celebrate turning 30 should/would be epic. I really, really wanted it to be amazing. A huge party or a grand adventure or something along those lines. Unfortunately life and money and economic issues are going to prevent anything of the sort. Instead my 30th birthday is going to find me at home with the kids, just like any other day. Steve will have to work and won't get home until late. Sometime next Friday night I'm going to head to a local bar to have some drinks with a couple of local friends, which will be fun, but that's going to be the extent of recognition and celebration of me surviving 30 years of life.
And that's fine, really. It's not like I need a big flashy show or a parade in my honor to get on with my life. It's just been a sobering thought to realize that I'm really not special at all. I used to feel special, and I've always been a firm believer that everyone deserves to feel special on their birthday. But really, when you get right down to the brass tacks of it, I'm not special at all. And that's fine too. It's just hard to have the last little ego bubble of your youth popped. But in 100 years, who will care about my petty problems anyway?
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