I was the last one to go to sleep last night, and as a result, I spent a lot of time online, researching lots of things and deciding what to do with my Christmas money. I also spent some time counting my posts, going back and remembering the past six months. I realized I skipped a week, around the middle of November. So, because it's Christmas Day, and presents have been opened and dinner has been consumed, and I've just commenced my yearly tradition of watching Pirates of the Caribbean, AND it's snowing on Christmas Day (something that hasn't happened in more than 100 years here in Georgia), I decided to post a quick message, just because.
Today is a kind of day that makes me wish our fireplace worked. The snow is falling fast and thick outside, and I'm sure there is coffee and homemade chocolate chip cookies in my near future. Santa was awesome to me this year; my family was, too. Since we're moving in less than a week, most of my gifts consisted of wonderful things for my kitchen. It makes me want to cook all sorts of things, right now, despite the fact that I'm super full from Nanna and Mom's awesome cooking. Ham, potato salad, deviled eggs, biscuits, okra. We're Southern, clearly, and I'm quite stuffed for the first time in awhile.
So now I'm sitting in my papasan chair, watching Captain Jack Sparrow commandeer things and Will Turner fall in love with Elizabeth, while I watch the snow out of the corner of my eye. Maybe it will stick and I can make a snowman. Or at least a snowball. Not a bad way to end a good day.
Saturday, December 25, 2010
Monday, December 20, 2010
29
So many topics I could write about this week. But I think I will stick with the Christmas theme, since Christmas is only five days away. At least, that's what the five-year-old I nanny keeps telling me.
Christmas Eve is my favorite time of the year, aside from my birthday. There's just something about the anticipation, and the lights, and the food, and the friends and family that suddenly populate your house that makes it magical. I'm excited for this years Eve...I'm making most of the food, and there's a special gift for mom that I'm really excited about and may give to her early.
I love giving gifts to people. Probably even more so than the gifts I get under the tree.
A short entry this week, folks, as it's time to feed the cat and go get some dinner for myself.
Next time we meet, Christmas will be over and New Years will be upon us. Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, be safe, be merry, be happy.
<3
Christmas Eve is my favorite time of the year, aside from my birthday. There's just something about the anticipation, and the lights, and the food, and the friends and family that suddenly populate your house that makes it magical. I'm excited for this years Eve...I'm making most of the food, and there's a special gift for mom that I'm really excited about and may give to her early.
I love giving gifts to people. Probably even more so than the gifts I get under the tree.
A short entry this week, folks, as it's time to feed the cat and go get some dinner for myself.
Next time we meet, Christmas will be over and New Years will be upon us. Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, be safe, be merry, be happy.
<3
Monday, December 13, 2010
28
Snow? Yes, dear readers, it did snow today. Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on how you look at it), none of the beautiful white stuff stuck to the ground, so today is back to business as usual, although the benefits of my long wool coat are clearer today. It's cold outside, bringing to mind the less than awesome Christmas song "Baby, It's Cold Outside." The weather last night and today made everyone want to stay huddled indoors, next to a fireplace with coffee and someone they love. I hung Christmas lights, which somehow make the living room both brighter and warmer. I was humming Christmas songs the entire time, and so I would like to present to you my Christmas List of Top Five Holiday Songs!
1. Silver Bells, by any older artist
When I was little, I used to sit in front of the Christmas tree and sing Christmas songs to myself. I'm not as weird as I sound. But I always loved singing Silver Bells. The images of lights and snow and busy people make Christmas time in the city an awesome perk of living in said city. I am a city girl, everyone knows that, and a song celebrating a city Christmas instead of the traditional country Christmas will always be number one in my book.
2. The Train, by Celestial Navigation's
If you have never heard this, look it up and listen to it while sitting next to the Christmas tree. It's about a man sitting on a train on Christmas Eve, reminiscing about Christmas Eve's from his childhood. It varies from the normal holiday music in that it's spoken word, with instruments behind the words providing the continual sound of the train wheels. It says Christmas to me, and since they don't play it on the radio anymore I save it for Christmas Eve, when everyone is gathered together and our favorite songs are playing in the background, right before we go to bed and Santa comes around to stomp on the roof and bring things to us.
3. The Christmas Song, any good rendition
This is Christmas. That's why it's just called The Christmas Song. Enough said.
4. Sleigh Ride
In high school, our choir performed this song for our annual Christmas concert. It was fun, like always, but it also coincided with the year our class started to all get along and be friends. We all went to a traveling Christmas party, the weekend after the performance, and the whole time, the only line that kept going through my head was "there's a happy feeling nothing in the world can buy, when they pass around the coffee and the pumpkin pie." It stands out as one of my favorite Christmases; and I still use that line as a standard to any awesome holiday event.
5. Wonderful Christmas Time, by Paul McCartney
I saved the best for last. This has been my all-time favorite holiday song since I was very young. It's not Christmas until I hear this, and when I do, it's like the lights come on. It takes me back to Christmases of my childhood, and lends it's magic to any Christmas, making it more magical. I think I listened to it a lot during my senior year of college, during finals, to get me through that final push into adulthood. It worked.
So there you go, loyal readers, the top 5 Christmas songs from someone who thinks she has authority to say so. What are your favorite holiday songs?
1. Silver Bells, by any older artist
When I was little, I used to sit in front of the Christmas tree and sing Christmas songs to myself. I'm not as weird as I sound. But I always loved singing Silver Bells. The images of lights and snow and busy people make Christmas time in the city an awesome perk of living in said city. I am a city girl, everyone knows that, and a song celebrating a city Christmas instead of the traditional country Christmas will always be number one in my book.
2. The Train, by Celestial Navigation's
If you have never heard this, look it up and listen to it while sitting next to the Christmas tree. It's about a man sitting on a train on Christmas Eve, reminiscing about Christmas Eve's from his childhood. It varies from the normal holiday music in that it's spoken word, with instruments behind the words providing the continual sound of the train wheels. It says Christmas to me, and since they don't play it on the radio anymore I save it for Christmas Eve, when everyone is gathered together and our favorite songs are playing in the background, right before we go to bed and Santa comes around to stomp on the roof and bring things to us.
3. The Christmas Song, any good rendition
This is Christmas. That's why it's just called The Christmas Song. Enough said.
4. Sleigh Ride
In high school, our choir performed this song for our annual Christmas concert. It was fun, like always, but it also coincided with the year our class started to all get along and be friends. We all went to a traveling Christmas party, the weekend after the performance, and the whole time, the only line that kept going through my head was "there's a happy feeling nothing in the world can buy, when they pass around the coffee and the pumpkin pie." It stands out as one of my favorite Christmases; and I still use that line as a standard to any awesome holiday event.
5. Wonderful Christmas Time, by Paul McCartney
I saved the best for last. This has been my all-time favorite holiday song since I was very young. It's not Christmas until I hear this, and when I do, it's like the lights come on. It takes me back to Christmases of my childhood, and lends it's magic to any Christmas, making it more magical. I think I listened to it a lot during my senior year of college, during finals, to get me through that final push into adulthood. It worked.
So there you go, loyal readers, the top 5 Christmas songs from someone who thinks she has authority to say so. What are your favorite holiday songs?
Monday, December 6, 2010
27
It's finally December, which means, invariably, that it's finally cold. And we don't have heat in our house, because, being an old and poorly insulated rental property, said house would be way out of our budget to heat properly.
As I sit here basking in the warm-ish air emitting from the space heater, I think about Christmas. The big day is three weeks away, and though I'm further along in the holiday process than I was last year, I still feel behind. We decided not to get a tree here in the tiny and cold yellow house, opting instead for white lights strung all over the living room. I hardly have any Christmas decorations; turns out all my decorations were for the Christmas tree that we currently don't have.
I still love Christmas, though. My mom's house is all decked out, with white lights in the bushes and on the railing outside, red and green and white towels in the bathrooms, a tree brightly lit downstairs. It even smells like the holidays, something I realized when I visited home tonight. That's one of my favorite parts about Christmas, Thanksgiving, the whole last part of every year. I love the smells that take me back to when I was small, or that make me feel warm and safe and at home. It's something I try to recreate wherever I am. Tie that fact into my always trying to make wherever I am into something of a home, but that's another post.
Happy Christmas, readers. More on this joyful time of year next week.
As I sit here basking in the warm-ish air emitting from the space heater, I think about Christmas. The big day is three weeks away, and though I'm further along in the holiday process than I was last year, I still feel behind. We decided not to get a tree here in the tiny and cold yellow house, opting instead for white lights strung all over the living room. I hardly have any Christmas decorations; turns out all my decorations were for the Christmas tree that we currently don't have.
I still love Christmas, though. My mom's house is all decked out, with white lights in the bushes and on the railing outside, red and green and white towels in the bathrooms, a tree brightly lit downstairs. It even smells like the holidays, something I realized when I visited home tonight. That's one of my favorite parts about Christmas, Thanksgiving, the whole last part of every year. I love the smells that take me back to when I was small, or that make me feel warm and safe and at home. It's something I try to recreate wherever I am. Tie that fact into my always trying to make wherever I am into something of a home, but that's another post.
Happy Christmas, readers. More on this joyful time of year next week.
Sunday, November 28, 2010
26
While cleaning my room today, I found something that was very dear to me, and that I thought I had lost. There I was, digging through pockets of purses, trying to find these Christmas presents that I bought three months ago (which I also lost, but that's another story), when suddenly, my fingers in a tiny side pocket felt not plastic bag, like I was wishing, but something sharp and cold. Brow furrowed, I dug deeper, trying to finagle whatever was in that pocket out into my hand. Finally, the mystery item sprung forth, into the palm of my hand - two tiny diamond earrings that have been missing for almost a year. I would have sworn I had searched every purse in that bucket, at least twice. But here they were, yielded by my favorite black bag I got from Lenox Mall just before my freshman year of college. I felt like Carrie, when she had given up for lost her Carrie necklace, only to find it in the lining of her vintage Chanel purse. My earrings, however, had last made an appearance New Years Eve, and in the following months filled with breakups, moving, and job upheavals, I had counted these tiny treasures as lost forever.
I love unexpected surprises. I also love searching for something and finding something else, something better. Especially something that I'd given up on. It's one of life's little awesome tricks, and I love waking up each morning not knowing that good thing may happen that day.
For instance. Every holiday, I have this image in my head of the family getting together and getting along, making whatever day one of those perfect, exciting holidays much like the ones I remember from my childhood. However, that's silly, and I think this family of whom I speak stopped pretending to get along for my sake the older I got. And it hit me, after this Thanksgiving - why do I keep looking back, trying to recreate something that wasn't even real to begin with? Why rely on others to make holidays happy? I'm looking around this world, trying to make something mine, trying to carve out my own little niche to make my own little home, and there is no reason why I can't be in control of my own holiday happiness. So, next year, I am hosting Thanksgiving at my house, wherever I am. I am cooking. I am doing things according to my idea of what would make me happy and what Thanksgiving should be. And, hopefully, that would reduce the stress and resulting apathy of said family, making everyone's holiday better. And though it won't look like what I always thought it was supposed to look like, that doesn't mean it won't turn into something even better. Maybe, while looking for something else, we will find something even better.
Keep searching, loyal readers. Don't rest until you find what makes you happy.
Until.
I love unexpected surprises. I also love searching for something and finding something else, something better. Especially something that I'd given up on. It's one of life's little awesome tricks, and I love waking up each morning not knowing that good thing may happen that day.
For instance. Every holiday, I have this image in my head of the family getting together and getting along, making whatever day one of those perfect, exciting holidays much like the ones I remember from my childhood. However, that's silly, and I think this family of whom I speak stopped pretending to get along for my sake the older I got. And it hit me, after this Thanksgiving - why do I keep looking back, trying to recreate something that wasn't even real to begin with? Why rely on others to make holidays happy? I'm looking around this world, trying to make something mine, trying to carve out my own little niche to make my own little home, and there is no reason why I can't be in control of my own holiday happiness. So, next year, I am hosting Thanksgiving at my house, wherever I am. I am cooking. I am doing things according to my idea of what would make me happy and what Thanksgiving should be. And, hopefully, that would reduce the stress and resulting apathy of said family, making everyone's holiday better. And though it won't look like what I always thought it was supposed to look like, that doesn't mean it won't turn into something even better. Maybe, while looking for something else, we will find something even better.
Keep searching, loyal readers. Don't rest until you find what makes you happy.
Until.
Sunday, November 21, 2010
25
The season of thankfulness is upon us; Thanksgiving is in a short four days. It's one of my favorite holidays - the smell of turkey and dressing, the sounds of football from the downstairs TV, and the way the trees have mostly fallen bare combine in my memory and create one of the best days of the year. I wake up early, and spend the morning smelling the turkey cook while watching Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. At noon, the women of the house converge on the kitchen, and there is hardly counter space for all the bowls and pans. Then, of course, there is food, an abundance of which we have, as we are a southern family. The sun goes down to leftovers and sleepy people, and there is always a Charlie Brown Thanksgiving in there, as well as the Lighting of Macy's Great Tree, and sometimes the lighting of our own Christmas tree. It's a good day.
I am thankful for much; it's good to remember all year long, but sometimes we forget. It's only human, as are we.
I am thankful for family, and for my boy, the latter of whom will become the first boy brought home for a holiday (I hope he's up for the challenge). I am thankful for my friends, and for my little yellow house, and for Daisy and Walden. I'm thankful for my job, for my car, for the million little conveniences that I take for granted every day. I'm thankful I live in Atlanta, but also that I've traveled everywhere, in each direction of the world. I'm thankful that my real home is just down the road, and I can go there whenever I feel lonely or in need of a nice bath and some TV, along with some of mom's cooking.
I'm also thankful that I also, as well as the boy, have the ability to cook. This evades some if not most people. I don't understand; there are few things more gratifying and relaxing than making your own nutritious and delicious meal in your kitchen. My granite counter tops only make the deal sweeter, but I digress. I love chopping, and mixing things in bowls, so that is my job, always, when both the boy and I cook dinner together. Maybe this love of cooking is another reason I love Thanksgiving. Nanna, Mom, and I all have our dishes that we make; I love being in the bright kitchen, the smells and ingredients blurring together on the counter tops, laughing and drinking wine and taking pictures. Ah, family. Ah, wine.
So here's the challenge this week, loyal readers. Find something unusual that you're thankful for. What do you love? What do you maybe not love so much, but still feel incomplete without? Leave a comment!
Happy Thanksgiving, readers. I'm thankful for you every week, not just the last one of November.
I am thankful for much; it's good to remember all year long, but sometimes we forget. It's only human, as are we.
I am thankful for family, and for my boy, the latter of whom will become the first boy brought home for a holiday (I hope he's up for the challenge). I am thankful for my friends, and for my little yellow house, and for Daisy and Walden. I'm thankful for my job, for my car, for the million little conveniences that I take for granted every day. I'm thankful I live in Atlanta, but also that I've traveled everywhere, in each direction of the world. I'm thankful that my real home is just down the road, and I can go there whenever I feel lonely or in need of a nice bath and some TV, along with some of mom's cooking.
I'm also thankful that I also, as well as the boy, have the ability to cook. This evades some if not most people. I don't understand; there are few things more gratifying and relaxing than making your own nutritious and delicious meal in your kitchen. My granite counter tops only make the deal sweeter, but I digress. I love chopping, and mixing things in bowls, so that is my job, always, when both the boy and I cook dinner together. Maybe this love of cooking is another reason I love Thanksgiving. Nanna, Mom, and I all have our dishes that we make; I love being in the bright kitchen, the smells and ingredients blurring together on the counter tops, laughing and drinking wine and taking pictures. Ah, family. Ah, wine.
So here's the challenge this week, loyal readers. Find something unusual that you're thankful for. What do you love? What do you maybe not love so much, but still feel incomplete without? Leave a comment!
Happy Thanksgiving, readers. I'm thankful for you every week, not just the last one of November.
Friday, November 12, 2010
24
So many times I just log on here and write whatever is in my head. It can't be very interesting; my life is not the exciting kind, where something fun happens every day. I'm actually pretty boring. Right now, it's Friday night, 8:00pm and I'm already in my pajamas in the bed. The dog is sitting beside me, watching the screen as if he's reading everything I say. I have no big plans, I'm just doing research on cars and houses and other boring, adult things. The thing is, I really like these boring adult things. I don't want to be out at bars, getting drunk, meeting new people. I'm fine with the people I already have. I hate getting drunk. It was something I did in college, and that seems as far away as China now. That's not my life anymore. I don't want it to be my life anymore. I have moved on, to real things.
So here I am, Friday night, the little yellow house in Chamblee with the dog and my laptop and possibly some tea and Nutella. I may be boring to some people, but I'm damn happy with myself and my life. And really, that's all that matters.
"Be who you are and say what you feel, because those who mind don't matter and those who matter don't mind."
So here I am, Friday night, the little yellow house in Chamblee with the dog and my laptop and possibly some tea and Nutella. I may be boring to some people, but I'm damn happy with myself and my life. And really, that's all that matters.
"Be who you are and say what you feel, because those who mind don't matter and those who matter don't mind."
Friday, November 5, 2010
23
Today, it is very cold and I'm wearing my new white fleece jacket and my favorite, old turquoise scarf. I've been running around this morning, and this weather gives me even more energy than even coffee does. November is, I believe, my favorite month, with all the leaves and jackets and scarves and being so close to Thanksgiving and Christmas.
I've also been craving pizza, some of which I believe I will indulge in this weekend.
Also this weekend, I will be writing. November, aside from being the best month of the year, is also National Novel Writing Month. One has 30 days to write a 50,000 word novel. I have 600 or so words, and I just started yesterday. I can see my Friday and Saturday evenings consisting of some hot beverage, warm pajama bottoms and an open Word document. Hopefully, this month will result in not only yummy Thanksgiving food with both family and a boy I love, but also autumn pictures and a completed novel. I encourage you all to write a little, even if it's not 50,000 words. Writing is good for the soul.
Happy November!
I've also been craving pizza, some of which I believe I will indulge in this weekend.
Also this weekend, I will be writing. November, aside from being the best month of the year, is also National Novel Writing Month. One has 30 days to write a 50,000 word novel. I have 600 or so words, and I just started yesterday. I can see my Friday and Saturday evenings consisting of some hot beverage, warm pajama bottoms and an open Word document. Hopefully, this month will result in not only yummy Thanksgiving food with both family and a boy I love, but also autumn pictures and a completed novel. I encourage you all to write a little, even if it's not 50,000 words. Writing is good for the soul.
Happy November!
Saturday, October 30, 2010
22
I've been thinking. When you visit a city, you can either see all the touristy things, which will all be crowded and busy, though it is nice to see in person the places you've seen on TV and read about in books.
That's not the way I want to travel, though. I want to meet the locals, talk to them, and see what they consider the best parts of their city. I want to hear and see and experience what they love about where they live.
So, as a result, I've comprised a list of five things every Atlantan or Atlanta visitor should do.
1. See The Nutcracker at the Fox Theatre
When I was small, Christmas wasn't really Christmas until my mom and I dressed up, drove all the way down Peachtree Street, and saw the Atlanta Ballet dance The Nutcracker at The Fox Theatre. We slacked off for a few years when I got older, for one reason or another, but recently, we've started the tradition again full force. We dress up. We go to dinner somewhere in midtown or Buckhead. And then we start down the road, Christmas music playing, the sun slowly setting over my city and the Christmas lights making Peachtree Street positively glow. That in itself is perfection, but then we get to the Fox and the marquee lights are reflecting off passing cars and the air is cold and I'm wearing heels and a nice coat...the theatre is crowded with happy patrons, and everyone is dressed in their holiday best. The smells grab you from one side - popcorn, coffee spiced nuts - and old theatre from the other - dance shoes, wooden floors, carpets, hopes, dreams. We buy tickets so that we're close enough to see the dancers' faces, hear their pointe shoes as they hit the stage. And when the lights go down and the first notes start, it's more magic; when the foamy snow starts to fall from the ceiling and the Atlanta Boys Choir breaks into song, it's finally Christmas.
2. Piedmont Park
Originally farmland and then prime location for expositions, this 189-acre jewel is certain to provide everyone with something to do. From the dog park, swimming pool and playground to the track, two lakes and tennis courts, Piedmont Park should be and is the destination for anyone in their right mind, especially on warm spring or cool fall days. You can satiate your hunger, either by patronizing the Park Tavern or grabbing a burrito at Willys. You can attend festivals, like the Dogwood Festival every spring, or the Jazz Festival in the summer, or attend a movie with hundreds of your neighbors at Screen on the Green. You can hang out on the lawn and welcome runners of the PEachtree Road Race, which ends its annual 10k race on the great lawn. You can dance at concerts, as many did this year when the Eagles came to play the Green Concert. Or, if you're quieter, like me, you can take a blanket and lie in the grass, or swing life away on one of the swings that are situated beside the lakes. Piedmont Park is one of my favorite places in Atlanta, and a place that everyone should visit at least once, if not more.
3. Dinner at Mary Mac's
After you have your fill of nature at Piedmont Park, venture down the road a little to Mary Mac's Tea Room, an Atlanta landmark since 1945. If you've never had southern cooking (though I don't know people like that) then this is the place to come, with a menu full of fried chicken, vegetables, cornbread, and banana pudding. This food tastes like something your old southern grandmother would make, bringing to mind the Progresso soup commercials where imbibers of the soup call the factory, demanding to speak to their grandma; you would swear mee-maw is in the kitchen, whipping up those mashed potatoes in her old Pyrex mixing bowl. Don't expect to stick to your diet-they're known for their sweet tea, and if you don't get a dessert you're missing out on one of life's joys. You'll leave full, of both food and southern hospitality, as each server is kind and polite, much as any good southern momma teach their children to be. This is Atlanta. Welcome to the South.
4. Spend a holiday at Lenox Square
I lived in Atlanta for 18 years before I ever went to Lenox Square, 22 before I ever saw the great tree on top of Macy's, and 23 before I witnessed the largest fireworks display in the South. Lenox Square was the first major shopping mall in Georgia, and one of the most upscale. You can celebrity watch while you shop like a celebrity; with stores like Louis Vuitton, Fendi, 7 for All Mankind, and several others, if you have some money to spend and want to feel like somebody, shop here. If you're not into shopping, however, there are other events that might strike your fancy. Every 4th of July the sky explodes in the largest fireworks display in the Southeast. Every Thanksgiving night, at 7pm sharp, choirs and local musicians welcome the Christmas season by lighting Macy's Great Tree, a giant Georgia Christmas tree that sits on top of Macy's. These are Atlanta traditions, and it wouldn't feel like home without them. Swing by Lenox Square for a weekend, buy some Jimmy Choo shoes or sit atone of the many restaurants and just watch the people. You'll start, very soon, to feel like a real Atlantan.
5. Murder Kroger
"Down on Ponce where the call girls roam
Where homeless trannies won't leave you alone
Just a block or so past the Clermont Lounge
Sits the deadliest grocery store in town.
It's a good place to go if you wanna buy crack
But if you go there for groceries you may never come back
It's murder, Murder Kroger
It's murder, Murder Kroger
It's a grocery store with a deadly twist
You'll get shot in the head for your shopping list
Murder Kroger!"
It goes on from there. No, this isn't just a clever song - Murder Kroger is real, and living down on Ponce beside the Ford Factory Lofts. There is a Facebook group dedicated to this scary/interesting/unique establishment, and dozens of stories adorn the group wall, all about strange occurrences which took place there. The term Murder Kroger stemmed from a decomposing body found in the parking lot in the late 90's; the fear and reputation probably originated because that area of Ponce was pretty rough before the gentrification that started in 1996. Any number of odd things can happen when one visits, and it always makes for a good story, especially when one visits the store when drunk. Murder Kroger is open 24 hours a day, which means if your plane is delayed for a few hours or you have a layover, you can take a cab up and wander around, even at 3am. But remember:
"When you leave your car don't forget your mace
Unless you wanna be stabbed in the face
By an angry bum with a switchblade knife
I hope those hot pockets were worth your life!"
Welcome to Atlanta!
That's not the way I want to travel, though. I want to meet the locals, talk to them, and see what they consider the best parts of their city. I want to hear and see and experience what they love about where they live.
So, as a result, I've comprised a list of five things every Atlantan or Atlanta visitor should do.
1. See The Nutcracker at the Fox Theatre
When I was small, Christmas wasn't really Christmas until my mom and I dressed up, drove all the way down Peachtree Street, and saw the Atlanta Ballet dance The Nutcracker at The Fox Theatre. We slacked off for a few years when I got older, for one reason or another, but recently, we've started the tradition again full force. We dress up. We go to dinner somewhere in midtown or Buckhead. And then we start down the road, Christmas music playing, the sun slowly setting over my city and the Christmas lights making Peachtree Street positively glow. That in itself is perfection, but then we get to the Fox and the marquee lights are reflecting off passing cars and the air is cold and I'm wearing heels and a nice coat...the theatre is crowded with happy patrons, and everyone is dressed in their holiday best. The smells grab you from one side - popcorn, coffee spiced nuts - and old theatre from the other - dance shoes, wooden floors, carpets, hopes, dreams. We buy tickets so that we're close enough to see the dancers' faces, hear their pointe shoes as they hit the stage. And when the lights go down and the first notes start, it's more magic; when the foamy snow starts to fall from the ceiling and the Atlanta Boys Choir breaks into song, it's finally Christmas.
2. Piedmont Park
Originally farmland and then prime location for expositions, this 189-acre jewel is certain to provide everyone with something to do. From the dog park, swimming pool and playground to the track, two lakes and tennis courts, Piedmont Park should be and is the destination for anyone in their right mind, especially on warm spring or cool fall days. You can satiate your hunger, either by patronizing the Park Tavern or grabbing a burrito at Willys. You can attend festivals, like the Dogwood Festival every spring, or the Jazz Festival in the summer, or attend a movie with hundreds of your neighbors at Screen on the Green. You can hang out on the lawn and welcome runners of the PEachtree Road Race, which ends its annual 10k race on the great lawn. You can dance at concerts, as many did this year when the Eagles came to play the Green Concert. Or, if you're quieter, like me, you can take a blanket and lie in the grass, or swing life away on one of the swings that are situated beside the lakes. Piedmont Park is one of my favorite places in Atlanta, and a place that everyone should visit at least once, if not more.
3. Dinner at Mary Mac's
After you have your fill of nature at Piedmont Park, venture down the road a little to Mary Mac's Tea Room, an Atlanta landmark since 1945. If you've never had southern cooking (though I don't know people like that) then this is the place to come, with a menu full of fried chicken, vegetables, cornbread, and banana pudding. This food tastes like something your old southern grandmother would make, bringing to mind the Progresso soup commercials where imbibers of the soup call the factory, demanding to speak to their grandma; you would swear mee-maw is in the kitchen, whipping up those mashed potatoes in her old Pyrex mixing bowl. Don't expect to stick to your diet-they're known for their sweet tea, and if you don't get a dessert you're missing out on one of life's joys. You'll leave full, of both food and southern hospitality, as each server is kind and polite, much as any good southern momma teach their children to be. This is Atlanta. Welcome to the South.
4. Spend a holiday at Lenox Square
I lived in Atlanta for 18 years before I ever went to Lenox Square, 22 before I ever saw the great tree on top of Macy's, and 23 before I witnessed the largest fireworks display in the South. Lenox Square was the first major shopping mall in Georgia, and one of the most upscale. You can celebrity watch while you shop like a celebrity; with stores like Louis Vuitton, Fendi, 7 for All Mankind, and several others, if you have some money to spend and want to feel like somebody, shop here. If you're not into shopping, however, there are other events that might strike your fancy. Every 4th of July the sky explodes in the largest fireworks display in the Southeast. Every Thanksgiving night, at 7pm sharp, choirs and local musicians welcome the Christmas season by lighting Macy's Great Tree, a giant Georgia Christmas tree that sits on top of Macy's. These are Atlanta traditions, and it wouldn't feel like home without them. Swing by Lenox Square for a weekend, buy some Jimmy Choo shoes or sit atone of the many restaurants and just watch the people. You'll start, very soon, to feel like a real Atlantan.
5. Murder Kroger
"Down on Ponce where the call girls roam
Where homeless trannies won't leave you alone
Just a block or so past the Clermont Lounge
Sits the deadliest grocery store in town.
It's a good place to go if you wanna buy crack
But if you go there for groceries you may never come back
It's murder, Murder Kroger
It's murder, Murder Kroger
It's a grocery store with a deadly twist
You'll get shot in the head for your shopping list
Murder Kroger!"
It goes on from there. No, this isn't just a clever song - Murder Kroger is real, and living down on Ponce beside the Ford Factory Lofts. There is a Facebook group dedicated to this scary/interesting/unique establishment, and dozens of stories adorn the group wall, all about strange occurrences which took place there. The term Murder Kroger stemmed from a decomposing body found in the parking lot in the late 90's; the fear and reputation probably originated because that area of Ponce was pretty rough before the gentrification that started in 1996. Any number of odd things can happen when one visits, and it always makes for a good story, especially when one visits the store when drunk. Murder Kroger is open 24 hours a day, which means if your plane is delayed for a few hours or you have a layover, you can take a cab up and wander around, even at 3am. But remember:
"When you leave your car don't forget your mace
Unless you wanna be stabbed in the face
By an angry bum with a switchblade knife
I hope those hot pockets were worth your life!"
Welcome to Atlanta!
Saturday, October 23, 2010
21
Tonight, I was curious.
So I settled down in my big chair, turned on the food network, and scrolled through my Facebook wall, looking at all the status updates and things that have happened since this time last year.
Things change. Really, really quickly and a lot.
For instance. One year ago today, I dropped my first barista job at a local coffeehouse, and wrote a tidy rant about it.
This time last year, I had two internships and two jobs. I had a boyfriend. I lived at home, and was skinnier. I was tired and sick all the time. Pa-Pa was still in the hospital. I was actually writing songs, and performing them.
Life is different, this time around. My life has done a complete 180, and most of the above paragraph is not my life anymore. I finally have only one job. I have my own place. I'm getting enough sleep, and I won't get pneumonia. Pa-Pa is, as you've read in blogs past, safely at home, as healthy and wonderful as ever.
I could complain, say what a wasted year 2009 was, curse that entire year and the problems it brought me. But what's the use? That won't change anything. It happened, it's in the past, and there's no point in wasting your energy obsessing about the past when you're living in the present. Besides, all the crap that happened last year made me into the person I am right now. I wouldn't be doing what I'm doing or be with who I'm with right now if I'd made other turns, or other decisions, or if anything had happened differently. Under the Tuscan Sun (awesome movie, one to watch while in bed with your blankets and pillows) put it best:
"Any arbitrary turning along the way, and I would be elsewhere. I would be different. Unthinkably good things can happen, even late in the game. It's such a surprise."
So I settled down in my big chair, turned on the food network, and scrolled through my Facebook wall, looking at all the status updates and things that have happened since this time last year.
Things change. Really, really quickly and a lot.
For instance. One year ago today, I dropped my first barista job at a local coffeehouse, and wrote a tidy rant about it.
This time last year, I had two internships and two jobs. I had a boyfriend. I lived at home, and was skinnier. I was tired and sick all the time. Pa-Pa was still in the hospital. I was actually writing songs, and performing them.
Life is different, this time around. My life has done a complete 180, and most of the above paragraph is not my life anymore. I finally have only one job. I have my own place. I'm getting enough sleep, and I won't get pneumonia. Pa-Pa is, as you've read in blogs past, safely at home, as healthy and wonderful as ever.
I could complain, say what a wasted year 2009 was, curse that entire year and the problems it brought me. But what's the use? That won't change anything. It happened, it's in the past, and there's no point in wasting your energy obsessing about the past when you're living in the present. Besides, all the crap that happened last year made me into the person I am right now. I wouldn't be doing what I'm doing or be with who I'm with right now if I'd made other turns, or other decisions, or if anything had happened differently. Under the Tuscan Sun (awesome movie, one to watch while in bed with your blankets and pillows) put it best:
"Any arbitrary turning along the way, and I would be elsewhere. I would be different. Unthinkably good things can happen, even late in the game. It's such a surprise."
Monday, October 18, 2010
20
Things I Love, This Week:
Watching movies in bed, with the cat sleeping beside me.
Sunny days.
Trees that are finally changing color.
New jackets from Old Navy.
Mother/daughter days.
Haircuts, which I will be getting tomorrow.
It's a good habit to get into, naming the things you appreciate. It may make you appreciate them more.
But alas, I have my first cold of the season and I have to get ready for work. Readers, what do you love? What are some of the little things you appreciate daily?
Watching movies in bed, with the cat sleeping beside me.
Sunny days.
Trees that are finally changing color.
New jackets from Old Navy.
Mother/daughter days.
Haircuts, which I will be getting tomorrow.
It's a good habit to get into, naming the things you appreciate. It may make you appreciate them more.
But alas, I have my first cold of the season and I have to get ready for work. Readers, what do you love? What are some of the little things you appreciate daily?
Saturday, October 9, 2010
19
My dear friend Amanda and I went to see the band Guster about two weeks ago. A former fellow Ogle, she now goes to Emory and it was their Homecoming weekend. Apparently, they have a rocking entertainment board, as there was a very professional looking stage, a very professional sounding band, and free pizza and beer, not to mention the Indigo Girls the next night.
Again, I wish I'd gone to Emory. But we digress.
We met at this kick-ass Starbucks on campus about an hour before show time, to chat and catch up and be general nerdy kids and talk about books, opinions, and current events. There's no one quite like Amanda; with whom else could I talk about Sex and the City in one breath and Obama in the next, all with a healthy dose of Ogle-gossip?
We made our way across campus, almost getting lost since neither of us have ever had any reason to go near the sports center (where Guster decided they wanted to perform); upon making our entrance, THERE WAS NO ONE THERE. Literally, maybe 20 people had shown up to see this awesome band. Naturally, we then smartly made our way to the front of the stage. Now, I've never been on the front row for anything, ever. I was suddenly very glad that I had brought my Nikon, even though it was super heavy and made the strap of my purse cut into my shoulder.
The crowd arrived around the same time the band did. People pressed in from all sides, jumping up and down and singing along and dancing. I was so close I could hear them talking between songs; I could hear their guitar picks hit the strings; I could see their expressions and their eyes.
And it made me think.
I know what it's like up there. I don't think many people in that audience could say that. Most people only know what it's like to stand in the crowd and look up...only a few of us can say that we've been on the stage looking out. I know what it's like to stand behind the microphone and pour your heart into it. I know what it's like in front of those stage lights, all bright and hot; you can only see the first few rows of people. After that, they're all a blur. When you're on, it's one of the best feelings in the world.
Tonight, Ryan and I went to his bandmate Drej's house, where we proceeded to spend two hours in the music room, jamming. I got behind the drums for the first time ever; I was scared at first, and a little intimidated. But by the time we were through, I was feeling good. I love being a musician, I love being able to go into a room and play any of the instruments. I love learning new things. I love being around people who love the same things I do.
It's John Lennon's birthday today, folks. Remember, "life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans." It's the best thing I can tell anyone. Don't waste your life. Appreciate your friends. Do something new. Play some music. Sing some songs.
That's all for this week.
Again, I wish I'd gone to Emory. But we digress.
We met at this kick-ass Starbucks on campus about an hour before show time, to chat and catch up and be general nerdy kids and talk about books, opinions, and current events. There's no one quite like Amanda; with whom else could I talk about Sex and the City in one breath and Obama in the next, all with a healthy dose of Ogle-gossip?
We made our way across campus, almost getting lost since neither of us have ever had any reason to go near the sports center (where Guster decided they wanted to perform); upon making our entrance, THERE WAS NO ONE THERE. Literally, maybe 20 people had shown up to see this awesome band. Naturally, we then smartly made our way to the front of the stage. Now, I've never been on the front row for anything, ever. I was suddenly very glad that I had brought my Nikon, even though it was super heavy and made the strap of my purse cut into my shoulder.
The crowd arrived around the same time the band did. People pressed in from all sides, jumping up and down and singing along and dancing. I was so close I could hear them talking between songs; I could hear their guitar picks hit the strings; I could see their expressions and their eyes.
And it made me think.
I know what it's like up there. I don't think many people in that audience could say that. Most people only know what it's like to stand in the crowd and look up...only a few of us can say that we've been on the stage looking out. I know what it's like to stand behind the microphone and pour your heart into it. I know what it's like in front of those stage lights, all bright and hot; you can only see the first few rows of people. After that, they're all a blur. When you're on, it's one of the best feelings in the world.
Tonight, Ryan and I went to his bandmate Drej's house, where we proceeded to spend two hours in the music room, jamming. I got behind the drums for the first time ever; I was scared at first, and a little intimidated. But by the time we were through, I was feeling good. I love being a musician, I love being able to go into a room and play any of the instruments. I love learning new things. I love being around people who love the same things I do.
It's John Lennon's birthday today, folks. Remember, "life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans." It's the best thing I can tell anyone. Don't waste your life. Appreciate your friends. Do something new. Play some music. Sing some songs.
That's all for this week.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
18
I'm blogging early this week; probably because I can't wait any longer to wax sentimental about the quickly changing season here in my city of Atlanta.
This time of year makes me feel alive. The temperature has been hovering around the 90 degree mark for the past three and a half months, at least. It's hard here in the summer. You start to feel like you'll never cool off, you'll never be able to step outside without instantly feeling somewhat drenched.
Then I walked outside last night, to go home from work. The rain was still falling, though I could see light behind the trees in the distance. The temperature had cooled, I think into the 60's, and for the first time all summer, I was able to stand and take a breath and feel complete; I had no desire to hurry to my car and crank the air conditioning, no. I wanted to stand there, arms open, welcoming in the season that had taken so long to arrive.
Today was even better. Sunny, 72, and Target had a bunch of Halloween things that I had to buy. This is my time of year. This is when I truly feel like myself.
The nights are getting colder...I step outside after work to a dropped temperature, a darkening sky with smears of red and pink, and a slight breeze. I drive home with the windows down, and when I get there, the smell of my next door neighbor's wood burning fireplace greets me, and I take my time getting my things from the car just so I can breathe in that wintry smell just a little longer.
I wish the trees would catch up with the air. Alas, they're still defiantly green, holding onto their color and refusing to grant me my favorite part of autumn. Ah, well. All in good time.
As an aside, Saturday marks the one year anniversary since my Pa-Pa had open heart surgery and received his pacemaker. He is doing wonderfully, completely back to normal, or back to better, if one can describe something as such. Those first fall days in 2009 were marked by hospital visits, late night intensive care meetings, and coffee runs for everyone. It was dark for a moment, but fall hasn't let me down yet, and it's as much a testimony to her glorious afternoons that he's still here with us, having lunches with me and greeting me with hugs and smiles. No, Dr. Hyman, fall does not mean death and endings. It's a chance for new life, for a fresh start, for new chapters, and for feeling alive.
(My pa-pa and my small one I nanny)
This time of year makes me feel alive. The temperature has been hovering around the 90 degree mark for the past three and a half months, at least. It's hard here in the summer. You start to feel like you'll never cool off, you'll never be able to step outside without instantly feeling somewhat drenched.
Then I walked outside last night, to go home from work. The rain was still falling, though I could see light behind the trees in the distance. The temperature had cooled, I think into the 60's, and for the first time all summer, I was able to stand and take a breath and feel complete; I had no desire to hurry to my car and crank the air conditioning, no. I wanted to stand there, arms open, welcoming in the season that had taken so long to arrive.
Today was even better. Sunny, 72, and Target had a bunch of Halloween things that I had to buy. This is my time of year. This is when I truly feel like myself.
The nights are getting colder...I step outside after work to a dropped temperature, a darkening sky with smears of red and pink, and a slight breeze. I drive home with the windows down, and when I get there, the smell of my next door neighbor's wood burning fireplace greets me, and I take my time getting my things from the car just so I can breathe in that wintry smell just a little longer.
I wish the trees would catch up with the air. Alas, they're still defiantly green, holding onto their color and refusing to grant me my favorite part of autumn. Ah, well. All in good time.
As an aside, Saturday marks the one year anniversary since my Pa-Pa had open heart surgery and received his pacemaker. He is doing wonderfully, completely back to normal, or back to better, if one can describe something as such. Those first fall days in 2009 were marked by hospital visits, late night intensive care meetings, and coffee runs for everyone. It was dark for a moment, but fall hasn't let me down yet, and it's as much a testimony to her glorious afternoons that he's still here with us, having lunches with me and greeting me with hugs and smiles. No, Dr. Hyman, fall does not mean death and endings. It's a chance for new life, for a fresh start, for new chapters, and for feeling alive.
(My pa-pa and my small one I nanny)
Saturday, September 25, 2010
17
Much is happening these days, and inspiration hasn't struck. Though Mr. Wonka and Mr. Edison were correct in the idea that genius is only 1% inspiration, the 99% perspiration part hasn't struck, either. However, I refuse to let you down, loyal readers.
I spent the afternoon at Ikea with my roommate, and we spent quite a long time in the kitchen section, dreaming about a possible future house where we have lots of money and can afford one of these fancy-pants kitchens. I'm a giant nerd, I love flipping through Southern Living and Real Simple, making plans for a far off dream. Some people make fun of me; but I just smile and ignore them. How can I know what I want out of life without looking at all the choices?
Tomorrow I have a coffee/business meeting with a representative of the Chamblee Farmers Market (you can find them here). They are looking for someone to join their marketing team, to write various articles for the newsletter and for other local publications. I'm excited, not only for the opportunity to write things professionally again but also for the byline and experience. This is a big thing for me.
Finally, I got up early yesterday morning and went for a nice mile and a half power walk. My legs are sore today, but it's a good sore. If I can keep getting up early, this might be the start of something very, very good. Running the Peachtree Road Race is on my list of things to do before I die, and I hope to realize that goal in the next two years.
That's all for this week, folks. I'm loving this blog, it's become a dear part of me and my week, and I will be sad when a year is up. But I'm certainly glad you are here to share this with me. Thanks for sticking with it and reading. Love!
I spent the afternoon at Ikea with my roommate, and we spent quite a long time in the kitchen section, dreaming about a possible future house where we have lots of money and can afford one of these fancy-pants kitchens. I'm a giant nerd, I love flipping through Southern Living and Real Simple, making plans for a far off dream. Some people make fun of me; but I just smile and ignore them. How can I know what I want out of life without looking at all the choices?
Tomorrow I have a coffee/business meeting with a representative of the Chamblee Farmers Market (you can find them here). They are looking for someone to join their marketing team, to write various articles for the newsletter and for other local publications. I'm excited, not only for the opportunity to write things professionally again but also for the byline and experience. This is a big thing for me.
Finally, I got up early yesterday morning and went for a nice mile and a half power walk. My legs are sore today, but it's a good sore. If I can keep getting up early, this might be the start of something very, very good. Running the Peachtree Road Race is on my list of things to do before I die, and I hope to realize that goal in the next two years.
That's all for this week, folks. I'm loving this blog, it's become a dear part of me and my week, and I will be sad when a year is up. But I'm certainly glad you are here to share this with me. Thanks for sticking with it and reading. Love!
Friday, September 17, 2010
16
Happy sweet 16! Or, in other words, it's my 16th post, which makes my dear blog one of those surly teens, who stalks about the house with its iPod buds permanently stuck in its ears, kicking at things, scowling. But I prefer to think of her as one of those slightly dorky but very nice girls, who sometimes wear glasses and reads a lot and can't wait to get to college.
In light of being 16 weeks into my 24th year, or perhaps being 36 weeks away from being able to say I'm a quarter of a century old, I've decided to write about something very basic.
This is my desk. It used to belong to my mom, until I moved out and took it / she gave it to me. I used to do my homework on it in elementary school, and I think there are some pen or marker spots in the top drawer. Nevertheless, it is mine now (I think!), and as we all know, the desk of a writer is a very important thing. It can't be too big, because then our ideas would be too spread out to be useful. But it can't be too small, either, because then we couldn't cross our legs underneath, and uncomfortable sitting just doesn't make for good writing. The ideal size is cozy, with some drawers and hiding places to put things, if only to fish them out when you're stuck in the land of writers block and are avoiding the page altogether. You can't write when your thoughts are flying everywhere; the writer's desk has to be a sort of home within the home, a place you can go to unfold your thoughts slowly, piece by piece, and lay them out out on an uncluttered, non-judgemental surface.
On my desk? My Paris box, which makes me feel all sorts of nice whenever I look at it. A picture of my family, which is, of course, the most important, as they keep me in food, entertainment, and good material. Pens, of which any good writer should be in abundant supply. There is always a spot for coffee, since there is always coffee. And finally, one of those little paper organizers stuffed with cards my girlfriends have sent me over the years, ones that always make me smile and make a note to call the sender later in the week. These things cushion me, they surround me, they make me who I am, and therefore, make my writing better.
So this is it! This is where the brilliance will hopefully one day spring from. I can't wait for fall to really start, so I can sit here, drink my coffee, and watch all the leaves cover the driveway. Maybe I'll be a real writer soon.
In light of being 16 weeks into my 24th year, or perhaps being 36 weeks away from being able to say I'm a quarter of a century old, I've decided to write about something very basic.
This is my desk. It used to belong to my mom, until I moved out and took it / she gave it to me. I used to do my homework on it in elementary school, and I think there are some pen or marker spots in the top drawer. Nevertheless, it is mine now (I think!), and as we all know, the desk of a writer is a very important thing. It can't be too big, because then our ideas would be too spread out to be useful. But it can't be too small, either, because then we couldn't cross our legs underneath, and uncomfortable sitting just doesn't make for good writing. The ideal size is cozy, with some drawers and hiding places to put things, if only to fish them out when you're stuck in the land of writers block and are avoiding the page altogether. You can't write when your thoughts are flying everywhere; the writer's desk has to be a sort of home within the home, a place you can go to unfold your thoughts slowly, piece by piece, and lay them out out on an uncluttered, non-judgemental surface.
On my desk? My Paris box, which makes me feel all sorts of nice whenever I look at it. A picture of my family, which is, of course, the most important, as they keep me in food, entertainment, and good material. Pens, of which any good writer should be in abundant supply. There is always a spot for coffee, since there is always coffee. And finally, one of those little paper organizers stuffed with cards my girlfriends have sent me over the years, ones that always make me smile and make a note to call the sender later in the week. These things cushion me, they surround me, they make me who I am, and therefore, make my writing better.
So this is it! This is where the brilliance will hopefully one day spring from. I can't wait for fall to really start, so I can sit here, drink my coffee, and watch all the leaves cover the driveway. Maybe I'll be a real writer soon.
Sunday, September 12, 2010
15
We grilled out last weekend, to celebrate it being Friday, and also a three day weekend...and all I could think the entire time I was sitting there smelling the charcoal and watching the smoke rise up into the sky was goodbye, summer. It's been real.
The sun set slowly, and with every inch the sun sank the smell of chicken and corn and charcoal grew stronger. The smell of the grill has been a staple of my summer life for as long as I can remember. When I was small, my grandparent's neighbor, Mr. Summers, spent every Saturday night on his back porch. We'd hear the screen door slam just as the sun crested the top of the trees, and before long, we could smell the smoke wafting through our open windows.
Summers passed, and I'm in my own little house now, with a cat and a dog and a boy. Mr. Summers is gone, and the house he lived in was recently sold. Still, the smell of summer is synonymous in my mind with grilling and smoke. And, as the days start to get cooler and the nights longer, and thoughts turn to Halloween and Christmas, I will still remember this first summer as mine, as the first of my real adult life, and one that I will never, ever forget.
The sun set slowly, and with every inch the sun sank the smell of chicken and corn and charcoal grew stronger. The smell of the grill has been a staple of my summer life for as long as I can remember. When I was small, my grandparent's neighbor, Mr. Summers, spent every Saturday night on his back porch. We'd hear the screen door slam just as the sun crested the top of the trees, and before long, we could smell the smoke wafting through our open windows.
Summers passed, and I'm in my own little house now, with a cat and a dog and a boy. Mr. Summers is gone, and the house he lived in was recently sold. Still, the smell of summer is synonymous in my mind with grilling and smoke. And, as the days start to get cooler and the nights longer, and thoughts turn to Halloween and Christmas, I will still remember this first summer as mine, as the first of my real adult life, and one that I will never, ever forget.
Sunday, September 5, 2010
14
There is nothing like a road trip with friends.
That said, I took a road trip this past weekend with my three best friends. We've been friends since kindergarten, and it had been a good year and a half since we'd all been together, without boyfriends or husbands. There were 19 years of memories and jokes and general craziness on the agenda, and the weekend didn't disappoint.
We got stuck halfway to South Carolina because of a horrible thunderstorm and stomach problems, so our trip started out at a Racetrack gas station at 9:00pm on Friday. I'm not sure if that set the tone for the weekend, but it was certainly very us.
We have this talent of all talking at once, about different things, but still holding a decent conversation. I'd forgotten this, until we were sitting in a circle at a Greenville coffeehouse, and I look around and realize that we're all talking over each other, but I'm following the conversation perfectly. Again, very us.
By the time we graduated from high school, we'd all read the Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants, and claimed this story as our own. Kelley bought us all tiny sterling silver pants, little charms, for graduation, a symbol that we might travel our separate ways, but would always be connected. It was true.
We looked like tourists; we all had our cameras, and took pictures every time we sat down, or were still, and sometimes when we weren't. Picture frames at home were empty, waiting for this weekend.
We talked about first love, first kisses, and marriage at our big dinner Saturday night. And I remember all the sleepovers we used to have, in elementary and junior high, staying up late discussing and imagining what love would be like. And now, one of us is married, we've all been in love (and subsequently been kissed) and talk has turned, seemingly overnight, to more serious topics, like making a marriage work, making babies, making a career, making a life.
Alison and Kristen fell asleep on the way home Sunday afternoon, and I was left with my thoughts and the music. Friends are invaluable. These three girls know me better than anyone, and they are the only ones to whom I can say just one word and they know exactly what I'm thinking and feeling, and can almost finish my thought themselves. I don't laugh with anyone the way I laugh with them. And sure, we don't see eye to eye on everything. That's life. And that's also necesary. Keeps us on our toes. They're a different breed of friend, and my life wouldn't be the same without them.
That said, I took a road trip this past weekend with my three best friends. We've been friends since kindergarten, and it had been a good year and a half since we'd all been together, without boyfriends or husbands. There were 19 years of memories and jokes and general craziness on the agenda, and the weekend didn't disappoint.
We got stuck halfway to South Carolina because of a horrible thunderstorm and stomach problems, so our trip started out at a Racetrack gas station at 9:00pm on Friday. I'm not sure if that set the tone for the weekend, but it was certainly very us.
We have this talent of all talking at once, about different things, but still holding a decent conversation. I'd forgotten this, until we were sitting in a circle at a Greenville coffeehouse, and I look around and realize that we're all talking over each other, but I'm following the conversation perfectly. Again, very us.
By the time we graduated from high school, we'd all read the Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants, and claimed this story as our own. Kelley bought us all tiny sterling silver pants, little charms, for graduation, a symbol that we might travel our separate ways, but would always be connected. It was true.
We looked like tourists; we all had our cameras, and took pictures every time we sat down, or were still, and sometimes when we weren't. Picture frames at home were empty, waiting for this weekend.
We talked about first love, first kisses, and marriage at our big dinner Saturday night. And I remember all the sleepovers we used to have, in elementary and junior high, staying up late discussing and imagining what love would be like. And now, one of us is married, we've all been in love (and subsequently been kissed) and talk has turned, seemingly overnight, to more serious topics, like making a marriage work, making babies, making a career, making a life.
Alison and Kristen fell asleep on the way home Sunday afternoon, and I was left with my thoughts and the music. Friends are invaluable. These three girls know me better than anyone, and they are the only ones to whom I can say just one word and they know exactly what I'm thinking and feeling, and can almost finish my thought themselves. I don't laugh with anyone the way I laugh with them. And sure, we don't see eye to eye on everything. That's life. And that's also necesary. Keeps us on our toes. They're a different breed of friend, and my life wouldn't be the same without them.
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
13
Begin rant.
I am proud to be from the South. I don't care what you damn yankees say, the north is not better than the south, no matter how many times you throw your meaningless examples into my face. If it is indeed so much better there, go back. Leave. No one, I assure, is begging you to stay. I love my heritage, my city, my side of the Mason-Dixon Line. I love the Great Smoky Mountains, the accents, the tiny little towns with one street light and old, historic houses lining the road. I love the farms, the rolling land and trees and rivers. I love the dogwoods and magnolias, the way Atlanta looks in the spring, new and full of light and life.
I love Easter Sunday and Christmas, and family, and friends that turn into family, and the way my nanna cooks every Sunday and major holiday, or just in the middle of the week when family come into town or friends come to visit. I love how we can trace my family back to the 1700's, and how we've been in the south since then, and by God, if anyone derogates that my southern accent is coming out and I'm gonna get mean.
I love my southern universities and southern literature, and especailly my southern music. I respect my elders, say yes ma'am and no sir, and I still wear a dress on holidays, no matter where I am or what I'm doing. My momma makes the best fried chicken, my nanna makes the best cornbread anywhere, and I've got bowls in the kitchen passed down from said nanna and recipe cards with my great-great-great grandmothers handwriting, and that is a real thing of value here.
I love my summer nights with crickets and lightning bugs, my hazy afternoons with front porches and cicadas and my early evenings with a book, a hammock, and the smell of honeysuckle floating across the yard. I love roadside vegetable stands, old pickup trucks, air conditioning. I love my spring days when the world is bursting with newness and color; I love my autumnws when I can finally walk outside without breaking a sweat. I love my country roads and my farms, my mountains and wide open fields. I love my southern beaches. I love the smell of charcoal and grilled food on summer nights. And finally, I love my history, my tradition, my stories, my people - I love my South.
I am proud to be from the South. I don't care what you damn yankees say, the north is not better than the south, no matter how many times you throw your meaningless examples into my face. If it is indeed so much better there, go back. Leave. No one, I assure, is begging you to stay. I love my heritage, my city, my side of the Mason-Dixon Line. I love the Great Smoky Mountains, the accents, the tiny little towns with one street light and old, historic houses lining the road. I love the farms, the rolling land and trees and rivers. I love the dogwoods and magnolias, the way Atlanta looks in the spring, new and full of light and life.
I love Easter Sunday and Christmas, and family, and friends that turn into family, and the way my nanna cooks every Sunday and major holiday, or just in the middle of the week when family come into town or friends come to visit. I love how we can trace my family back to the 1700's, and how we've been in the south since then, and by God, if anyone derogates that my southern accent is coming out and I'm gonna get mean.
I love my southern universities and southern literature, and especailly my southern music. I respect my elders, say yes ma'am and no sir, and I still wear a dress on holidays, no matter where I am or what I'm doing. My momma makes the best fried chicken, my nanna makes the best cornbread anywhere, and I've got bowls in the kitchen passed down from said nanna and recipe cards with my great-great-great grandmothers handwriting, and that is a real thing of value here.
I love my summer nights with crickets and lightning bugs, my hazy afternoons with front porches and cicadas and my early evenings with a book, a hammock, and the smell of honeysuckle floating across the yard. I love roadside vegetable stands, old pickup trucks, air conditioning. I love my spring days when the world is bursting with newness and color; I love my autumnws when I can finally walk outside without breaking a sweat. I love my country roads and my farms, my mountains and wide open fields. I love my southern beaches. I love the smell of charcoal and grilled food on summer nights. And finally, I love my history, my tradition, my stories, my people - I love my South.
Friday, August 20, 2010
12
It has recently come to my attention that everyone around me is making goals. From Weight Watchers meetings (where they encourage it) to senior classrooms across the state (where they encourage it even more), it seems the average Atlantan's life isn't complete or even fully realized until one has some semblance of a goal, or even a farfetched plan or half-baked idea.
And really, what would our lives be without goals? That's what got me through my college days and years, the goal of graduating and being finished with school and having a real life and that illustrious Bachelor of Arts degree. That giant diploma, the ability to jump headlong into any situation and wave people back, proclaiming in a loud voice that yes, I can handle this, I am a college graduate!
That day came and went, and I was left in the middle of the war zone that is the economy. Being an English major, I was never guaranteed a job upon graduation, and I knew and expected this. But being an English major and graduating into one of the worst economies in memory was enough to throw anyone into upheaval. I was lost without my goals. I was wandering, aimlessly, in the wilderness, trying to navigate and not doing a very good job at all.
Eventually, things settled down. My wide and varied list of goals has narrowed to something I believe is achievable. I remind myself of this list daily, and I know that one day, one way or another, I will achieve my goals. I read somewhere, recently, that you should write down a list of things you want to achieve. Read it aloud every morning and every night, and, by the power of positive thinking, at the end of six months you will have what is on your list.
I don't know about that; I'm not really one to buy into all this new age positive thinking stuff. But they're written down. I can see them, both literally and in my mind. The path is getting clearer every day. I finally have something to work toward, and that fact is what helps me rest easy at night.
And really, what would our lives be without goals? That's what got me through my college days and years, the goal of graduating and being finished with school and having a real life and that illustrious Bachelor of Arts degree. That giant diploma, the ability to jump headlong into any situation and wave people back, proclaiming in a loud voice that yes, I can handle this, I am a college graduate!
That day came and went, and I was left in the middle of the war zone that is the economy. Being an English major, I was never guaranteed a job upon graduation, and I knew and expected this. But being an English major and graduating into one of the worst economies in memory was enough to throw anyone into upheaval. I was lost without my goals. I was wandering, aimlessly, in the wilderness, trying to navigate and not doing a very good job at all.
Eventually, things settled down. My wide and varied list of goals has narrowed to something I believe is achievable. I remind myself of this list daily, and I know that one day, one way or another, I will achieve my goals. I read somewhere, recently, that you should write down a list of things you want to achieve. Read it aloud every morning and every night, and, by the power of positive thinking, at the end of six months you will have what is on your list.
I don't know about that; I'm not really one to buy into all this new age positive thinking stuff. But they're written down. I can see them, both literally and in my mind. The path is getting clearer every day. I finally have something to work toward, and that fact is what helps me rest easy at night.
Thursday, August 12, 2010
11
Happy August!
This is one of my favorite times of year. No, not because of the heat and humidity that clouds your glasses every time you walk outside. That's endured, not enjoyed. I love August because of the nifty school supplies that appear at Target. It used to remind me that my sweet summer days were numbered, almost time for early wake up calls and homework. Now, though, it makes me happy I'm a college graduate, and can sleep late pretty much all the time. I could write for pages and pages, go on five different tangents about the end of summer, new beginnings, fresh ideas, and such. However, I'd much rather focus on one particular and very important part.
When I was a young whippersnapper, the one thing I looked forward to more than anything each August were new notebooks. They're still my favorite thing to buy, and in the past years, I've watched manufacturers come up with some pretty nifty new designs. From traditional composition notebooks with fancy new covers to entirely green notebooks printed on recycled paper with soy based ink, the once traditional paper search has become more of a treasure hunt, and if you don't want to leave a carbon footprint, you don't have to, missy.
One of the best things about these new notebooks is the smell. I've always loved it, fresh paper, unwrinkled and blank...leaf through it, and you can almost feel the words waiting to be written. I've heard of the blank page terrifying some people; I just find it freeing. Always have. Because you can write anything, anything at all. There's nothing more freeing than the chance to start over, to leave your past behind you and begin again.
So every Fall, while the green leaves turn brown and the trees do some new beginning of their own, you can find me nestled in some coffeehouse, coffee beside me, new pen in hand, and my fresh notebooks, writing a whole new me.
This is one of my favorite times of year. No, not because of the heat and humidity that clouds your glasses every time you walk outside. That's endured, not enjoyed. I love August because of the nifty school supplies that appear at Target. It used to remind me that my sweet summer days were numbered, almost time for early wake up calls and homework. Now, though, it makes me happy I'm a college graduate, and can sleep late pretty much all the time. I could write for pages and pages, go on five different tangents about the end of summer, new beginnings, fresh ideas, and such. However, I'd much rather focus on one particular and very important part.
When I was a young whippersnapper, the one thing I looked forward to more than anything each August were new notebooks. They're still my favorite thing to buy, and in the past years, I've watched manufacturers come up with some pretty nifty new designs. From traditional composition notebooks with fancy new covers to entirely green notebooks printed on recycled paper with soy based ink, the once traditional paper search has become more of a treasure hunt, and if you don't want to leave a carbon footprint, you don't have to, missy.
One of the best things about these new notebooks is the smell. I've always loved it, fresh paper, unwrinkled and blank...leaf through it, and you can almost feel the words waiting to be written. I've heard of the blank page terrifying some people; I just find it freeing. Always have. Because you can write anything, anything at all. There's nothing more freeing than the chance to start over, to leave your past behind you and begin again.
So every Fall, while the green leaves turn brown and the trees do some new beginning of their own, you can find me nestled in some coffeehouse, coffee beside me, new pen in hand, and my fresh notebooks, writing a whole new me.
Saturday, August 7, 2010
10
We got lost last night. Horribly, misearbly lost.
The thing is, we were supposed to take the road left when it forked. We forgot about that, because really, the fork wasn't all that clear. And we didn't realize how off-course we were until the concrete under our wheels turned to brick and the road name turned to something we'd never seen before.
I sat there in the passenger seat, trying to be helpful but almost too tired to think. But wasn't that what had gotten us into this in the first place? Driving through on autopilot? Sometimes, it's good to trust your wheels to take you where you need to go. Sometimes they know better than you do.
But not this time. This time we made three more wrong turns and finally got so confused that we had to find an interstate to clear our heads and orientate us. 45 minutes later, we were back where we should have been, grumpy, tired, and cold.
It made me wonder how many other times I'd missed the fork in the road and gone somewhere completely different, because I wasn't paying attention. Sometimes it's good...sometimes, not so much. It's hard work to stay on track, especailly when all you have for landmarks are mistakes behind you and learned lessons in the passenger seat. That's life, though. Make a wrong turn, get lost, find your way back, and do it again. I'll learn, though. Getting lost is what makes you learn. I'll learn to keep better watch on the signs, to keep distractions at bay, and to always have a few select landmarks and a few select friends to keep me straight. As long as you have that, you can never truly lose your way.
The thing is, we were supposed to take the road left when it forked. We forgot about that, because really, the fork wasn't all that clear. And we didn't realize how off-course we were until the concrete under our wheels turned to brick and the road name turned to something we'd never seen before.
I sat there in the passenger seat, trying to be helpful but almost too tired to think. But wasn't that what had gotten us into this in the first place? Driving through on autopilot? Sometimes, it's good to trust your wheels to take you where you need to go. Sometimes they know better than you do.
But not this time. This time we made three more wrong turns and finally got so confused that we had to find an interstate to clear our heads and orientate us. 45 minutes later, we were back where we should have been, grumpy, tired, and cold.
It made me wonder how many other times I'd missed the fork in the road and gone somewhere completely different, because I wasn't paying attention. Sometimes it's good...sometimes, not so much. It's hard work to stay on track, especailly when all you have for landmarks are mistakes behind you and learned lessons in the passenger seat. That's life, though. Make a wrong turn, get lost, find your way back, and do it again. I'll learn, though. Getting lost is what makes you learn. I'll learn to keep better watch on the signs, to keep distractions at bay, and to always have a few select landmarks and a few select friends to keep me straight. As long as you have that, you can never truly lose your way.
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
9
It's Wednesday morning, and I've been up and awake since 7:15am. There were plans of an oil change, doctor visits, a sort of rushy morning. However, there were leftovers from the paving project last night on my street, and they were blocking me into my driveway. Literally, a giant flatbed, sent to pick up and take away all the fancy paving equipment, blocking me into my abode.
So!
Instead of running errands and doing boring things, I've found myself taking it slow, sitting with my coffee, watching the sun come up over the neighborhood. I'm on my third cup, the cat and dog have been fed, I don't have anything to do until about 11am. The air conditioning has been on all night, and the house is the perfect kind of coolness, and I'm falling back in love with my house, with my neighborhood, with everything that's in between these four walls, with everything that is going to happen in the coming months. It's amazing the simple, unexpected things that make a day special.
So!
Instead of running errands and doing boring things, I've found myself taking it slow, sitting with my coffee, watching the sun come up over the neighborhood. I'm on my third cup, the cat and dog have been fed, I don't have anything to do until about 11am. The air conditioning has been on all night, and the house is the perfect kind of coolness, and I'm falling back in love with my house, with my neighborhood, with everything that's in between these four walls, with everything that is going to happen in the coming months. It's amazing the simple, unexpected things that make a day special.
Friday, July 23, 2010
8
It's been rough this week...had my first urinary tract infection, which made life joyous, and then the meds I'm on for it made life even more joyous. I lost at the Mainstage Contest last night, lost a chance to play in front of a couple thousand people at the Taste of Chamblee. In all, it's been a damn fun week. However, friends make it a little easier. All the friends who showed up last night and cheered me on and made it fun, thank you. I love you for always standing behind me and pushing me on. Short post this week, maybe a second longer one later...happy Friday.
Thursday, July 15, 2010
7
I had coffee with a friend late last night at Caribou in midtown, and she made a comment about a mutual friend of ours being in a "transitional" stage of life. Things are changing, he's coming into himself, he's realizing what needs to be appreciated and what doesn't, and coming to terms with the surprises life holds.
It's happening a lot lately.
I feel like I've talked an awful lot about jobs and interviews and ideas these past weeks. But it's something giant in my life that changes daily, and interesting insights are always at hand. I've met with two of my Ogle professors, one last week, the other this morning at Starbucks. They know me better than any career coach ever could - they've seen me as a freshman, they've seen me win the Anne River Siddons award my senior year of college. They saw me play my music in public for the first time and they watched me walk across the stage wearing my cap and gown. They taught me how to write - creatively, critically, and everything in between. And no one can tell me my chances of being successful better than they can.
I came away from both meetings with ideas, a handful of contacts and a new resolve that I haven't felt in a long, long time. I think I'm ready now. I think I'm ready to take life by the horns and yank it around to face me. It's time to take control, get off the sidelines and into the game.
It's going to work. I'm going to be a successful writer. Just you watch.
It's happening a lot lately.
I feel like I've talked an awful lot about jobs and interviews and ideas these past weeks. But it's something giant in my life that changes daily, and interesting insights are always at hand. I've met with two of my Ogle professors, one last week, the other this morning at Starbucks. They know me better than any career coach ever could - they've seen me as a freshman, they've seen me win the Anne River Siddons award my senior year of college. They saw me play my music in public for the first time and they watched me walk across the stage wearing my cap and gown. They taught me how to write - creatively, critically, and everything in between. And no one can tell me my chances of being successful better than they can.
I came away from both meetings with ideas, a handful of contacts and a new resolve that I haven't felt in a long, long time. I think I'm ready now. I think I'm ready to take life by the horns and yank it around to face me. It's time to take control, get off the sidelines and into the game.
It's going to work. I'm going to be a successful writer. Just you watch.
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
6
There is nothing more exciting to me than a blank page. I stare at one every week around this time, tossing my ideas around in my head and trying to come up with the perfect opening sentence.
I'm back where I started this week, in terms of location - there is a Starbucks down the street from campus, and while I hate their coffee and food, I used to come here every week while I was in school. I used to sit here for hours and hours, writing papers or stories or the occasional song, because I could never get access to the Internet which meant I could get stuff done without distraction.
There were lots of distractions, however, but the good kind. I always sat in this one chair, far back in the corner. My stuff was spread out all around me (much like today), and a friend once told me I resembled a tiny fort, all closed off from the world with my iPod and laptop and coffee and books and bag. I liked it that way. I could write, without interruption. I could watch people, drink my coffee, be completely anti-social and it was ok because everyone else was, too. I did my best writing at times like that. Maybe that says something about my personality, and I won't argue with a free interpretation, because I feel like myself when I'm writing and when I'm immersed in a crowd, anonymous to the rest of the world, no matter what people may say to discourage my habit.
Because there is something about coffee shops that appeal to me. There is nothing I like more than taking my laptop, getting some coffee, and chilling all afternoon, tucked away in a corner. In the summer, it's a nice break from the humidity and a chance to drink a fun summertime drink (lemonade? sweet tea?). And in the winter, it's a perfect place to be warm and cozy and have nice things like hot chocolate or cider. Especially during Christmastime, with the lights and nice smells and busy people and early nighttime and decorations and Christmas music. It makes me feel at home. But my love of seasons and holidays and the reasons for it is another blog post, one which I will perhaps write next week.
Until!
I'm back where I started this week, in terms of location - there is a Starbucks down the street from campus, and while I hate their coffee and food, I used to come here every week while I was in school. I used to sit here for hours and hours, writing papers or stories or the occasional song, because I could never get access to the Internet which meant I could get stuff done without distraction.
There were lots of distractions, however, but the good kind. I always sat in this one chair, far back in the corner. My stuff was spread out all around me (much like today), and a friend once told me I resembled a tiny fort, all closed off from the world with my iPod and laptop and coffee and books and bag. I liked it that way. I could write, without interruption. I could watch people, drink my coffee, be completely anti-social and it was ok because everyone else was, too. I did my best writing at times like that. Maybe that says something about my personality, and I won't argue with a free interpretation, because I feel like myself when I'm writing and when I'm immersed in a crowd, anonymous to the rest of the world, no matter what people may say to discourage my habit.
Because there is something about coffee shops that appeal to me. There is nothing I like more than taking my laptop, getting some coffee, and chilling all afternoon, tucked away in a corner. In the summer, it's a nice break from the humidity and a chance to drink a fun summertime drink (lemonade? sweet tea?). And in the winter, it's a perfect place to be warm and cozy and have nice things like hot chocolate or cider. Especially during Christmastime, with the lights and nice smells and busy people and early nighttime and decorations and Christmas music. It makes me feel at home. But my love of seasons and holidays and the reasons for it is another blog post, one which I will perhaps write next week.
Until!
Thursday, July 1, 2010
5
I made a list, once, of everything I wanted out of life. It didn't include the cookie cutter marriage to the cookie cutter man, or children, or a picket fence in the suburbs. I was OK with that. I had my music, my writing, my ideas and dreams and hopes.
I've always loved being different, wanting and achieving different things that most people I know. Right now, out of the 12 girls who graduated from my high school in 2004, eight are married, and as of yesterday, three of those eight have children. I can't imagine that being my life. I can't imagine being 24 and having a ring on my finger and a baby in the other room that came from my body. Like I've said before, I want different things than this. I want to go to our reunion and have something to show for myself besides a ring and a baby. Those are not the accomplishments I want under my name.
Something shifted in me last month. It was sudden, quick, sweeping in and overtaking me while my back was turned, catching me unaware and leaving me blinking in the sudden new light. I want to be a mommy one day. I want to watch my belly grow and feel the tiny kicks and make the midnight trip to the hospital and bring home a tiny little thing and make a family. I do. And while this feels right, and I will do it one day, I still feel guilty, or confused, that my new life ideas include a tiny person other than myself. I wish to God I was one of those people who are different and live an alternative lifestyle. As much as I want that, I still crave stability and normalcy, too. It's an interesting feeling, one that I grapple with sometimes every day.
Even Sex and the City told me I can't have both. I can't be a career woman and a good mommy. It doesn't work like that.
I feel like I've turned a corner, though. I'm on my way somewhere else now, the shadows retreating swiftly behind me and the light coming from a new angle. Or maybe it's just a relief at embracing the inevitable, at accepting destiny and fate and biology, whatever you want to call it. Whichever it is, it's enjoyable, this change of scenery, and I'm hanging on for as long and as far as this train runs.
I've always loved being different, wanting and achieving different things that most people I know. Right now, out of the 12 girls who graduated from my high school in 2004, eight are married, and as of yesterday, three of those eight have children. I can't imagine that being my life. I can't imagine being 24 and having a ring on my finger and a baby in the other room that came from my body. Like I've said before, I want different things than this. I want to go to our reunion and have something to show for myself besides a ring and a baby. Those are not the accomplishments I want under my name.
Something shifted in me last month. It was sudden, quick, sweeping in and overtaking me while my back was turned, catching me unaware and leaving me blinking in the sudden new light. I want to be a mommy one day. I want to watch my belly grow and feel the tiny kicks and make the midnight trip to the hospital and bring home a tiny little thing and make a family. I do. And while this feels right, and I will do it one day, I still feel guilty, or confused, that my new life ideas include a tiny person other than myself. I wish to God I was one of those people who are different and live an alternative lifestyle. As much as I want that, I still crave stability and normalcy, too. It's an interesting feeling, one that I grapple with sometimes every day.
Even Sex and the City told me I can't have both. I can't be a career woman and a good mommy. It doesn't work like that.
I feel like I've turned a corner, though. I'm on my way somewhere else now, the shadows retreating swiftly behind me and the light coming from a new angle. Or maybe it's just a relief at embracing the inevitable, at accepting destiny and fate and biology, whatever you want to call it. Whichever it is, it's enjoyable, this change of scenery, and I'm hanging on for as long and as far as this train runs.
Thursday, June 24, 2010
4
My work schedule has been crazy these past few weeks. I'm up at 6am, and if I get home before 7pm I'm lucky. Not that I don't love my jobs; on the contrary, I feel very lucky most days to be employed in three such varying ways.
This is also not to say I'm not tired as f*ck every night. Not to mention every morning.
I found myself more tired that normal a few days ago, that heaviness taking up permanent residence behind my eyes, head pounding because it misses my pillow, and that desperate feeling that you're never going to feel rested again haunts me daily. I thought I'd left that feeling behind when I graduated college. It seems I was mistaken.
It was 6:30am and I was pulling out of my driveway to go to work, and I looked over my shoulder and saw the most beautiful sunrise I'd seen in a long time. Giant red ball of sun, lighting all the trees on fire and sending flames of light onto the street. I should have been astounded. I should have stopped and really looked. I should have gone back inside the damn house for the damn camera. Instead, I looked for a second in my rear view mirror and thought, "Oh, ok...sure, it's pretty, but there will be another sunrise another time."
Stop. Not ok. When did I get so jaded that I stopped seeing the simple everyday beauty that this world has to offer me? I made a point three years ago to stop looking down and into myself and start looking out and around and up. It is so important to see, not just go through life blind to everything beautiful.
I've lost sight again. It's time to reign it back in and start fresh. I wonder if there will ever be a time I'm steady and consistent? I could talk more about this, but the dog needs walking and the dishwasher is leaking and my dinner is halfway cooked. Here's to finding the balance between truly living and just surviving.
This is also not to say I'm not tired as f*ck every night. Not to mention every morning.
I found myself more tired that normal a few days ago, that heaviness taking up permanent residence behind my eyes, head pounding because it misses my pillow, and that desperate feeling that you're never going to feel rested again haunts me daily. I thought I'd left that feeling behind when I graduated college. It seems I was mistaken.
It was 6:30am and I was pulling out of my driveway to go to work, and I looked over my shoulder and saw the most beautiful sunrise I'd seen in a long time. Giant red ball of sun, lighting all the trees on fire and sending flames of light onto the street. I should have been astounded. I should have stopped and really looked. I should have gone back inside the damn house for the damn camera. Instead, I looked for a second in my rear view mirror and thought, "Oh, ok...sure, it's pretty, but there will be another sunrise another time."
Stop. Not ok. When did I get so jaded that I stopped seeing the simple everyday beauty that this world has to offer me? I made a point three years ago to stop looking down and into myself and start looking out and around and up. It is so important to see, not just go through life blind to everything beautiful.
I've lost sight again. It's time to reign it back in and start fresh. I wonder if there will ever be a time I'm steady and consistent? I could talk more about this, but the dog needs walking and the dishwasher is leaking and my dinner is halfway cooked. Here's to finding the balance between truly living and just surviving.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
3
Since I graduated from college, big decisions have never come easily to me. There used to be a thousand things I wanted to do - all sounding either fun, or easy, or profitable, or perhaps an idea that let me get long vacations or summers off. It got so bad, recently, that I switched career ideas ever week, dozens of post-its littering my desk with half-baked ideas scribbled on them.
To give myself some credit, though, my usual snappy decision making probably shouldn't be applied to something as big as a career choice - it's not like I'm buying a pair of shoes that I can return if they're too tight in the toes. this is real, real life even, and make the wrong move and you can be taken back to the beginning, do not pass Go, do not collect $200, even if it gives you blisters on your heels.
No pressure or anything.
But, finally, it's settled. Grad school, lots of babysitting, and of course, lots of writing are combining to form my future. Hopefully one day after that there will be gainful employment of the writing variety. I'm confident. It's going to work out, in some way or another, and I'm just glad I have a plan and an idea and something to work towards after a year and a half of waiting around. The world looked a little brighter today, and I felt like something heavy had been lifted off my shoulders.
Now, it's time for more lists, permanent ones, and the GRE and letters from those who know me well and can sing my praises. Let's hope this is the shoe that fits.
To give myself some credit, though, my usual snappy decision making probably shouldn't be applied to something as big as a career choice - it's not like I'm buying a pair of shoes that I can return if they're too tight in the toes. this is real, real life even, and make the wrong move and you can be taken back to the beginning, do not pass Go, do not collect $200, even if it gives you blisters on your heels.
No pressure or anything.
But, finally, it's settled. Grad school, lots of babysitting, and of course, lots of writing are combining to form my future. Hopefully one day after that there will be gainful employment of the writing variety. I'm confident. It's going to work out, in some way or another, and I'm just glad I have a plan and an idea and something to work towards after a year and a half of waiting around. The world looked a little brighter today, and I felt like something heavy had been lifted off my shoulders.
Now, it's time for more lists, permanent ones, and the GRE and letters from those who know me well and can sing my praises. Let's hope this is the shoe that fits.
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
2
I started a new job this past Saturday. Seems like most of the posts in this blog have been about me starting or ending a job. I’m hoping this one will stick around for awhile, though. Yet another coffee shop, just like everyone says an English major should do. That doesn’t bother me too much, though, because as long as I’m happy and can pay the bills, I’m fine.
I spent three hours today at the neighborhood pool with my other job. Jackson – my four-year-old I watch – had swim lessons, and then four of his little friends showed up and we spend a glorious afternoon in the sunshine. My chest is a little red, as I always forget to put sun block there, but it’s ok. I’m sitting on the couch reveling in the happy tiredness that always comes from a good pool afternoon. I like it there – I’ve never really been a part of that kind of community, only seen it on occasional visits with friends and Facebook pictures. But today, for the first time, I was there, and I knew people, and I felt at home and included and comfortable with a group of people I never thought I’d feel ok with. Something has changed in me, some part of me is comfortable with the family idea and living that life. I’m seeing things clearly, now, and the future that was so fuzzy for so long is slowly coming into focus. I can make out lines and edges, likes and dislikes, decisions that will be made soon. It’s coming closer, and that feels better than anything ever could.
This isn’t my best blog post, or the one where I explain everything correctly so everyone feels it. But that’s ok. It’s the one where something changes, and I recognize it, and that’s what counts.
Until next week.
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
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The original name of this blog was A Year in the Life, a not so cleverly disguised copy of my favorite song from Rent. That year ended almost six months ago. I've reached a stalemate in my mind. I don't write enough; I feel a little guilty about that every day. But lately these guilty feelings have actually begun to inspire me to do things, instead of just sitting there sulking in my brain. I want to get out and do something, not just sit around and dream and make plans. I want to take control, make a difference, say I'm doing something worthwhile and real. Something tangible. Something that I can point to and say, "Yes. That's mine. I did that."
So today is my 24th birthday. Birthdays are important in this family - from the time I was born, great planning went into every June 2nd and it always turned out beautifully. Mom always went out of her way to make my birthday special. There was the time she surprised my friends and me with a limo ride around Atlanta, I think when I was 10 or 11. She turned the living room into Paris for my 20th birthday. And for my 22nd, I helped her convert the back patio into our own little restaurant, complete with little cafe lights and bottled soda in tin buckets.
We videotaped all of my birthday activities from the time I was born until I was seven. I watch them every year; it's become tradition, and June 2nd wouldn't feel quite right if I didn't sit in my favorite comfy chair and watch my little self running around on the screen in front of me. It's amazing how these days intertwine and all feel the same.
Mom and I just got back from lunch; tonight, we will hit Pozole, this amazing margarita bar in the Highlands, for drinks and dinner. I thought I'd finish this post now, before the warm buzz I always get from tequila kicks in. Another year down, this one much different from all the rest. School is over (for now), I'm working every day, I moved into my first place, I broke up with my first boyfriend. There's so much material here, waiting for me to sort it all out into piles and start writing...waiting for me to find the common threads, to learn the lessons, to gain experience and knowledge. I think it's finally time. Time...to stand up, or grow up, to step faithfully into the future and carpe the shit out of the diem. So here we go.
So today is my 24th birthday. Birthdays are important in this family - from the time I was born, great planning went into every June 2nd and it always turned out beautifully. Mom always went out of her way to make my birthday special. There was the time she surprised my friends and me with a limo ride around Atlanta, I think when I was 10 or 11. She turned the living room into Paris for my 20th birthday. And for my 22nd, I helped her convert the back patio into our own little restaurant, complete with little cafe lights and bottled soda in tin buckets.
We videotaped all of my birthday activities from the time I was born until I was seven. I watch them every year; it's become tradition, and June 2nd wouldn't feel quite right if I didn't sit in my favorite comfy chair and watch my little self running around on the screen in front of me. It's amazing how these days intertwine and all feel the same.
Mom and I just got back from lunch; tonight, we will hit Pozole, this amazing margarita bar in the Highlands, for drinks and dinner. I thought I'd finish this post now, before the warm buzz I always get from tequila kicks in. Another year down, this one much different from all the rest. School is over (for now), I'm working every day, I moved into my first place, I broke up with my first boyfriend. There's so much material here, waiting for me to sort it all out into piles and start writing...waiting for me to find the common threads, to learn the lessons, to gain experience and knowledge. I think it's finally time. Time...to stand up, or grow up, to step faithfully into the future and carpe the shit out of the diem. So here we go.
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