Well it is Friday night and I'm at home watching Forgetting Sarah Marshall on my bed while eating frozen fruit from a bag, and I figure this is as good a time as any to write a little life update. People (okay, about 3 people) have asked me if I've written anything new on my blog lately, and I had to say, No. And they say, Why? And I say, because I'm trying to take myself seriously, that's why!
Hold on, Jason Segel is stabbing a pig.
"Are you crying?"
"No, I'm not crying. You're crying."
"I'm not crying, I'm not a baby."
"Really, cause you look like a gigantic baby."
This mango is delicious.
Anyways, as I was saying, I'm trying to figure out how to be a real writer, and I need to stop wasting my good writing on a blog, because guess what, anything written on a blog is considered previously published, which means that I can't get it published anywhere else. And I don't think I'm one of those girls that can make money by simply writing a blog. So, I mean no offence to my loyal readers, because you know I love you, but if I get published you can read my stuff in a real magazine. If.
But I like writing for enjoyment too, and I know that some people have expressed enjoying reading my blog, so maybe I can find a way to do both. Sorry for deserting you there for awhile, but I'll try to find some sort of balance, as long as I am not distracted by sunshine or Mexican food or beer.
On another note, that god damn "Do You Want To Build A Snowman" song from Frozen has been stuck in my head for about a solid week, in all three voices; mostly the toddler version, and sometimes I find myself singing it out loud in public. Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on your opinion of my singing voice), I don't know any other words than the title, so I end up singing that part and then just stopping. Then singing it again, muttering what I think the words are, then just feeling like a fool. Luckily, I am mostly alone in my office for the majority of the day, so no one can hear my sporadic, albeit creative, rendition of a soon-to-be classic Disney princess song.
Do you want to build a snowmaaaaan
Or ride our bikes around the hallllllllll
I think I'll play a game of ping pong
But I can't find the ballllllllllll
You used to be my partner, and kind of slow
So I always kicked your aaaaaassssss
Do you want to build a snowman
Okay, I'll use the wall
Or something like that.
In other news, I'm going to have an adventure soon! In a month I'm heading off by myself to Prague to begin a trip around Eastern Europe for four weeks, a decision that I am absolutely ecstatic about, but about which my parents tried gallantly to refrain from screaming frantic words of caution.
My mom said, "That's exciting! Please, bring your cell phone. I pay for your phone bill so you have to. My orders."
My dad said, "Be careful. I don't have special skills like that guy in that one movie. There is a war in Ukraine you know, do you ever even watch the news?!"
Even my grandfather had some advice: "That would be a great time to be on an alcohol detox."
All great ideas, thanks everyone.
My biggest challenge now is to fit an adequate wardrobe into a backpack; my mission is to be cute AND versatile. But don't worry, I have pinterested strategies on packing, and as everyone knows, Pinterest has the answers to everything; if you have not joined this website, DON'T. It will suck hours of productivity from your life... but those hours will pass quickly and joyfully because you will be lost in the world of wonders that is Pinterest. Proceed with caution; that is my only advice.
Alright, there is a vague, random update for y'all! I'm going to eat the rest of this mango now. Ahhh, bliss.
Friday, April 11, 2014
Wednesday, January 8, 2014
Ideas to Action - A Little Wednesday Inspiration
People are truly inspiring to me. Last week, my boss said to me, "Let's figure out how to plan some free clinics, to provide people with free immigration consultations. Maybe on a Saturday. Go."
So I started calling around, to current clients and previous clients, people who I knew were connected with their communities and the immigrant population. And what resulted pretty much knocked me on my ass in admiration. It seems that some people only need a slight push, an inkling, a spark of an idea, for them to spiral away into full-fledged plans. One of my clients did just that.
"Hey, Anna, I know you are involved with the community, do you have any ideas about setting up some sort of free clinic for Rachel to give consults?" I asked.
"Oh my God, what a great idea! I can ask my church, I'll let you know what they say, maybe we can have a bunch of other free services that day as well, like health screenings and translations services, and maybe someone can make and sell tamales! This is brilliant!" She replied, and I could feel her plan forming around her, swirling like a storm. And suddenly, three days later, she sends me a detailed email with the times, the free services that will be available, the news that the radio will be advertising about it, and even the name of the event: Ama a tu Projimo. Love your Neighbor.
Wow. One little poke, and something wonderful was created. With one little suggestion. It's amazing where an idea thought up in someone's head can go, what that idea can become.
For instance, has anyone ever said something to you and you think, "Well, shit." As in, "Well, shit, you are absolutely right, what the hell have I been doing all this time? Why didn't I think of this before?" Last weekend, while drinking tea with Julie (we have decided to substitute tea for alcohol this month, as we both are detoxing), we were having a conversation and I said, "Live is pretty great right now. I just wish I could travel."
"Then go." Julie said simply.
I stared at her. "Go?"
"Yes, go. All you have is a job right now. No husband, no kids, no mortgage. Just a job. And a boss that's cool with you traveling. So GO."
"Well, shit."
She is absolutely right. I had even been planning something like this before, last year, before the plan sort of fizzled out and I didn't end up doing anything. Why? I don't know. I guess it wasn't the right time. But NOW is the time. Because if not now, when? I could stay in Oregon my whole life if I wanted to. I could stay at the same job, live in the same place, eat oatmeal every morning, do the same thing every day. But I could also do something completely different. It's in my hands. No one else will plan this for me. If I want something, I need to go after it.
My biggest pet peeve is when people complain about something, but then don't DO anything about it. You want a new job? Then take the steps to find one, you know what they are. But stop complaining that you don't have the job you want, then avoid the putting in the effort of actually finding a new one. Because honestly, no one else really CARES what you do. They have their own lives to live, their own goals to attain. You want to travel? Stop whining about it and plan a trip. Nothing will happen if you don't take action and FORCE the course of your life to change. It's in your hands.
There are a million reasons to not do something. I can't travel: I have a job, I have rent to pay, I shouldn't be away that long, my parents will worry, it will be expensive, I could get lost, I could get robbed... Yes, there are a million reasons not to do something, but there are also a million reasons in opposition of that. I can travel: My boss will let me, I can afford it, I will see the world, meet new people, try new food, dance new dances, hike new mountains, be pissed off in new train stations, get sunburned on new beaches... but most of all, I will have realized that I have the power to create what I want in my life. And if the right idea is found, the path will unfold before you, as if it had been waiting for you to find it all along. A simple idea, blossoming into action, into plans, into new life and new experiences. This is the beauty of free will. This is the beauty of your life: It is yours to command.
So I started calling around, to current clients and previous clients, people who I knew were connected with their communities and the immigrant population. And what resulted pretty much knocked me on my ass in admiration. It seems that some people only need a slight push, an inkling, a spark of an idea, for them to spiral away into full-fledged plans. One of my clients did just that.
"Hey, Anna, I know you are involved with the community, do you have any ideas about setting up some sort of free clinic for Rachel to give consults?" I asked.
"Oh my God, what a great idea! I can ask my church, I'll let you know what they say, maybe we can have a bunch of other free services that day as well, like health screenings and translations services, and maybe someone can make and sell tamales! This is brilliant!" She replied, and I could feel her plan forming around her, swirling like a storm. And suddenly, three days later, she sends me a detailed email with the times, the free services that will be available, the news that the radio will be advertising about it, and even the name of the event: Ama a tu Projimo. Love your Neighbor.
Wow. One little poke, and something wonderful was created. With one little suggestion. It's amazing where an idea thought up in someone's head can go, what that idea can become.
For instance, has anyone ever said something to you and you think, "Well, shit." As in, "Well, shit, you are absolutely right, what the hell have I been doing all this time? Why didn't I think of this before?" Last weekend, while drinking tea with Julie (we have decided to substitute tea for alcohol this month, as we both are detoxing), we were having a conversation and I said, "Live is pretty great right now. I just wish I could travel."
"Then go." Julie said simply.
I stared at her. "Go?"
"Yes, go. All you have is a job right now. No husband, no kids, no mortgage. Just a job. And a boss that's cool with you traveling. So GO."
"Well, shit."
She is absolutely right. I had even been planning something like this before, last year, before the plan sort of fizzled out and I didn't end up doing anything. Why? I don't know. I guess it wasn't the right time. But NOW is the time. Because if not now, when? I could stay in Oregon my whole life if I wanted to. I could stay at the same job, live in the same place, eat oatmeal every morning, do the same thing every day. But I could also do something completely different. It's in my hands. No one else will plan this for me. If I want something, I need to go after it.
My biggest pet peeve is when people complain about something, but then don't DO anything about it. You want a new job? Then take the steps to find one, you know what they are. But stop complaining that you don't have the job you want, then avoid the putting in the effort of actually finding a new one. Because honestly, no one else really CARES what you do. They have their own lives to live, their own goals to attain. You want to travel? Stop whining about it and plan a trip. Nothing will happen if you don't take action and FORCE the course of your life to change. It's in your hands.
There are a million reasons to not do something. I can't travel: I have a job, I have rent to pay, I shouldn't be away that long, my parents will worry, it will be expensive, I could get lost, I could get robbed... Yes, there are a million reasons not to do something, but there are also a million reasons in opposition of that. I can travel: My boss will let me, I can afford it, I will see the world, meet new people, try new food, dance new dances, hike new mountains, be pissed off in new train stations, get sunburned on new beaches... but most of all, I will have realized that I have the power to create what I want in my life. And if the right idea is found, the path will unfold before you, as if it had been waiting for you to find it all along. A simple idea, blossoming into action, into plans, into new life and new experiences. This is the beauty of free will. This is the beauty of your life: It is yours to command.
Tuesday, January 7, 2014
A Brief Glimpse into the Magical World of Fable
“I’m going to make some money, buy a house, seduce a rich
man and get married, then have a child. Then kill some bandits.”
“That could be some people’s real life plans.” Claire
replies casually, focusing on her knitting.
“Oh, maybe kill bandits sooner than later. Die, DIE! I will
MURDER you, sons of whores!” I scream at the screen as my hero’s axe strikes a
downed enemy right between the legs. Who’s next?!
It’s probably a good thing that Max took the Xbox 360 away
from us, and Fable II with it. I do live with gamers, but I had never been interested
in video games myself (besides the Sims in middle school) until Claire’s
boyfriend brought this game consul over to our house circa Christmas time. It
is a dumb game, but Claire and I couldn’t resist it. Our hero’s went on quests
and battled enemies and there was a Sims-like essence to it as well, probably
to intrigue players of the female variety, in which you could have husbands
(yes, plural), children, and houses, create drama, etc. Claire, in fact,
divorced one husband and killed another, and her child was confiscated by Child
Protective Services. By the time Max took the Xbox 360 back to his house,
Claire’s hero was a badass, and mine was just at the precipice of badass-ery
because I had to actually go to work and be a productive member of society.
“You know, girls can make a lot of money streaming their
games.” Peter mentions.
“What do you mean? DAMNIT! You did NOT just hurt my dog, you
bastard!” I yell at the screen as I lop off another enemies head. My dog whimpered
in pain.
“Give it healing potion.” Claire advises.
“What?” I can’t hear her over all the taking-people-down. I
shoot a fireball in someone’s face. I have a strange desire to cultivate this
ability in real life.
“Here.” Max helps and pushes one of the buttons on my
controller. My dog is magically healed. Phew!
“I mean, people pay good money to watch girls play video
games.” Peter continues.
“That’s creepy.” I say, murdering the last bandit with my
magical skills. Finally, I can continue exploring this area. “Treasure!” I
exclaim gleefully, as my dog leads me to a treasure chest. “Good dog!”
“I swear, you like your Fable dog more than any real dog.” Claire
says, rolling her eyes.
“Shut up.”
“Shut up.”
“It’s not that creepy. Girls can make a lot of money
streaming, you just play and talk to your viewers.” Peter says. “And it helps
them if they wear low-cut shirts and a lot of makeup.”
“Psh, I would NOT do that… Whoa crap, more bandits! Will the
killing ever end?!” I wail. I just want to explore! “Feel the wrath of my
crossbow!” I shoot an enemy in the face, point blank. Oops. Probably should
switch to the axe.
“People would definitely pay to watch this.” Kyle chuckles
as my hero swings her axe wildly and misses.
“You need to get more Accuracy.” Claire states unhelpfully.
“Thanks, Claire.”
Tuesday, December 31, 2013
Goodbye 2013, Hello New Year!
Today is the last day of 2013, which makes it an auspicious
date to reflect on our lives from the past year. Honestly, I am still baffled
by the date of 2013, as I was pretty sure little more than a year ago that we
wouldn’t make it here, being under the slight delusion that the world would end
on December 21, 2012. All that happened that day, however, was that I received
my first speeding ticket. Sort of a let-down for the apocalypse but also a
relief because I wouldn’t have to figure out how to live in a world without
electricity or tampons.
So after the Continuation of Normal Life on December 21,
2012, eleven days later came the New Year, 2013. At that time I was working
full time in Salem, training our new legal assistant, and living in a crappy apartment
in Tualatin. One year later, on the eve of 2014, I am living in a house in North
Portland with three wonderful roommates (which turned out to be a better decision than I could have hoped for), working full time in downtown Portland, and that
legal assistant I was training is now a bad-ass at her job and is not only an
amazing co-worker, but a great friend. I have also worked hard this year at
Getting Fit, to which I can say, I HAVE SUCCEEDED, mostly. Granted, I did not hit any specific "Life Milestones" this year (aka a graduation, proposal, marriage, child, or even a particularly enjoyable date), but I DID go to Hawaii
three times… so there’s that.
This year on Christmas Eve, after we had opened presents and
consumed several glasses of red wine, my step-dad suggested we do a solstice
ritual. At first, I imagined dancing naked under a full moon and lighting sage
to sweep out ghosts and braiding our hair with pine needles, but it turns out
it was a simple reflection with a candle. We sat around our kitchen table fully
clothed, lights out, one candle lit in front of each of us. “Reflect on the
year, and when you are ready, say what you want to let go of for the New Year
and blow out your candle.” We sat in a peaceful silence, and when I was ready,
I said, “My intention is to let go of expecting too much too soon.” And I blew
out my candle. After everyone had stated their intentions, we re-lit our
candles using the fire from anothers candle, and stated what we intended to
bring into the New Year. “My intention is to Be Heard.” I said.
Be Heard. Through writing, by developing my skills in this
craft, and by finally being confident enough to send my work to publishers. But
in other aspects of my life as well. If something bothers me, I don’t want to just
ignore it anymore. I want to speak up. My thoughts and feelings are worth
something, and knowing me, if I feel I am being rude I am probably just being
honest. Though I don’t feel that conflict is something that presents itself too often in my life, I want to know that if it does arise, that I’ll be able to
deal with it appropriately. By being heard and not silencing how I really feel.
On this New Year’s Eve, I am reflecting on the past year but
looking ahead as well. What else do I want to bring into my life this year? For
one, I know that I will be working on my Discovery Journal. Doing one new thing
a week and really taking advantage of living in Portland. I am looking forward to this journey.
Additionally, I have decided to do an alcohol detox for the
first two weeks of this year, for several reasons:
1) It will be healthy for me.
2) I will save money.
3) The holidays have created a booze-consuming
monster out of me, and I need to get myself under control by practicing Self
Discipline.
4) Also, Self-Deprivation is said to be a good thing
to partake in by Buddha. Probably.
This is what I call a Challenge, and as we all know,
Challenges are good for building character. Why two weeks, you ask? A month is
entirely too long, and a week seems too easy. Last year my friend Julie
declared that she wouldn’t drink for the entire month of January, and she did
pretty well too… until we went out to one of our favorite restaurants and I
ordered the sangria, and like a devil on her shoulder, convinced her that she
wanted some sangria too. She was days away from meeting her goal, and I still
feel a little bad about that. Sorry Julie… but wasn’t that sangria good?!
So here’s to building character, to going out in STYLE
tonight – our last hours in 2013 – to wrap up an amazing year, and to bringing
in a New Year with a fresh start. Also, we can’t forget a salute to another
year without an apocalypse, and (hopefully) for many more years to come!
Happy New Year to you all, may it bring you everything you
are looking for.
Monday, December 23, 2013
Christmas Cheer and White Elephants
This morning I got my first bout of Holiday Cheer. I was SPRINTING to the bus stop, heeled boots clunking down the sidewalk, extremities flailing, when I heard the bus arrive. I was still a block away, and it couldn't see me as I was running perpendicular to it. RUN FASTER YOU PANSY! Do NOT think about how ridiculous you look! And though I somehow upped the pace, the bus began pulling away and, defeated, I stopped and just stared as it drove away. Damnit.
But as I gazed dejectedly at the retreating form of my transportation, suddenly it's brake lights came on, it slowed down, and then pulled over. My eyes widened and I again was sprinting towards it, even more self-concious now that I KNEW the driver and perhaps even some passengers had seen my heeled-boot run. But it was hard to care when I was so elated at my good fortune.
I stepped on the bus and looked at my savior, a large black man, my Santa Claus. "You are the best." I panted as I tried to draw breath and get out my bus pass at the same time. "Thank you."
"Merry Christmas." He said almost smugly, as if he knew he was my hero. "I saw you stop running and I though, 'What is that girl doing? Why is she just standing there?' After awhile on this job you get good at reading people."
"Thank you so much." I repeated, trying to breathe normally and not sweat on him. How nice of that man, to pull over for someone he saw out of the corner of his eye, a sad little girl in boots. Merry Christmas.
As I sat on the bus staring out at the dreary morning, reflecting on the kindess of strangers, I began thinking about my upcoming Christmas festivities. Recently on my dad's side of the family, the generation above mine have stopped taking responsibility for organizing Christmas and lapsed into lazy passengers, and the burden has fallen on my cousins and I, or, as I like to think of us, "The Wonderkids." Actually it is my oldest cousin Caitlyn, who is married and even has two beautiful children, that wears the pants this year. She is exactly three life milestones ahead of any of the rest of us, and perhaps that gives her the authority to make Christmas Decisions. And as we are all very close in age, it seems that all other family members like to compare "The Wonderkids" against her; at times you can find older family members cornering one of us and asking, "So, gonna follow in Caitlyn's footsteps any time soon?" At which point our eyes glaze over and we smile vacantly until the topic of conversation shifts to something more appropriate, like shooting gophers with 22's, the benefits of campers, or Aggie the three-legged dog.
This is the year of the White Elephant. I am a bit confused as to why it is called a White Elephant, when "Blood-thirsty Gift Exchange" would be just as appropriate, but I suppose it comes down to tradition. In years past we have always just drawn names (there are now 26 people in our family), but this year we decided to try something new. We almost didn't, but I had to put my foot down. "We need an event that is going to force all of us together." I noted thoughtfully. Without some organized gift exchange, it would be just a bunch of people eating and drinking together... which, actually, doesn't sound that bad.
But the idea of making all of us sit in the same room and duke it out for presents sounded even more appealing to me, and I really cannot wait. This is an event we have never done before, I'm pretty excited to see what happens when we mix my family members, alcohol and stealable presents all in the same room. "GO PLAY DONKEY KONG!" My grandma will yell to the younger kids when they try to come see what the noise is all about, "THIS IS WAR!" And there will be an echo of drunken war cries from the rest of us and the kids will roll their eyes and go play Just Dance like winners, because Donkey Kong is so "last generation." Whatever.
Being young and hip, we discussed the plan of the White Elephant with "The Wonderkids" over a group Facebook message (we, unlike our older generations, have the imperative skillz to all communicate at the same time using the highest level of technology, Social Media, which therefore make us the ideal generation). After several messages of, "Stop this, you are all blowing up my phone," planning a mass text to our grandfather at 3:15 on his birthday, and an unstoppable ambush of large kitten stickers, we were able to actually figure out a solid Plan for Christmas. With only one, "I do not accept, I want all the presents" from one cousin ("No one cares what you think, Caralyn," being the general response), we agreed on a White Elephant for adults and a gift exchange for children. And then... I had an idea.
"You know what would be fun?! Energetically suggesting to the younger kids that they put on a Christmas play for us, and have them act out the Grinch. And tell them that we are withholding presents until they thouroughly entertain us. GREAT idea, right?!"
"Ash, I always knew you were brilliant." Cassy replied.
"Yea. And Caralyn could be the director." Kellen added.
"Brayden can be the Grinch, Bridgette can be Cindy Loo-Hoo, and Keylee can be that dog that rides around in a sled with the Grinch." I add helpfully.
"MAX is the dogs name! Ohhhhhhh Maxxx!! This would be my first work in theater." Caralyn replied.
I can see it now. Brayden will be dressed up in an old Santa suit, his face painted green, running around as only 8-year-old boys can, pulling little toddler Keylee (aka Max the dog/reindeer) in a red wagon without so much as a backwards glance at her well-being. We will make Bridgette put her hair up on top of her head, clasp her hands, and sing "Da-Hoo-Dora" as she learned in pre-school (probably), and... I'm out of characters, but really, that would be enough. Daniel and Matthew can be back-up singers. And Caralyn will be the narrator, "And his heart grew three times that day." She will say solemnly, as Brayden misses the steps into the living room, toppling himself and Keylee on the bright orange carpet, and Bridgette will be singing so passionatley that she will not miss a note, ignoring the chaos reigning at her feet.
Damn. I'd pay to watch that. Alright, Caralyn, time to get started.
Merry Christmas!
But as I gazed dejectedly at the retreating form of my transportation, suddenly it's brake lights came on, it slowed down, and then pulled over. My eyes widened and I again was sprinting towards it, even more self-concious now that I KNEW the driver and perhaps even some passengers had seen my heeled-boot run. But it was hard to care when I was so elated at my good fortune.
I stepped on the bus and looked at my savior, a large black man, my Santa Claus. "You are the best." I panted as I tried to draw breath and get out my bus pass at the same time. "Thank you."
"Merry Christmas." He said almost smugly, as if he knew he was my hero. "I saw you stop running and I though, 'What is that girl doing? Why is she just standing there?' After awhile on this job you get good at reading people."
"Thank you so much." I repeated, trying to breathe normally and not sweat on him. How nice of that man, to pull over for someone he saw out of the corner of his eye, a sad little girl in boots. Merry Christmas.
As I sat on the bus staring out at the dreary morning, reflecting on the kindess of strangers, I began thinking about my upcoming Christmas festivities. Recently on my dad's side of the family, the generation above mine have stopped taking responsibility for organizing Christmas and lapsed into lazy passengers, and the burden has fallen on my cousins and I, or, as I like to think of us, "The Wonderkids." Actually it is my oldest cousin Caitlyn, who is married and even has two beautiful children, that wears the pants this year. She is exactly three life milestones ahead of any of the rest of us, and perhaps that gives her the authority to make Christmas Decisions. And as we are all very close in age, it seems that all other family members like to compare "The Wonderkids" against her; at times you can find older family members cornering one of us and asking, "So, gonna follow in Caitlyn's footsteps any time soon?" At which point our eyes glaze over and we smile vacantly until the topic of conversation shifts to something more appropriate, like shooting gophers with 22's, the benefits of campers, or Aggie the three-legged dog.
This is the year of the White Elephant. I am a bit confused as to why it is called a White Elephant, when "Blood-thirsty Gift Exchange" would be just as appropriate, but I suppose it comes down to tradition. In years past we have always just drawn names (there are now 26 people in our family), but this year we decided to try something new. We almost didn't, but I had to put my foot down. "We need an event that is going to force all of us together." I noted thoughtfully. Without some organized gift exchange, it would be just a bunch of people eating and drinking together... which, actually, doesn't sound that bad.
But the idea of making all of us sit in the same room and duke it out for presents sounded even more appealing to me, and I really cannot wait. This is an event we have never done before, I'm pretty excited to see what happens when we mix my family members, alcohol and stealable presents all in the same room. "GO PLAY DONKEY KONG!" My grandma will yell to the younger kids when they try to come see what the noise is all about, "THIS IS WAR!" And there will be an echo of drunken war cries from the rest of us and the kids will roll their eyes and go play Just Dance like winners, because Donkey Kong is so "last generation." Whatever.
Being young and hip, we discussed the plan of the White Elephant with "The Wonderkids" over a group Facebook message (we, unlike our older generations, have the imperative skillz to all communicate at the same time using the highest level of technology, Social Media, which therefore make us the ideal generation). After several messages of, "Stop this, you are all blowing up my phone," planning a mass text to our grandfather at 3:15 on his birthday, and an unstoppable ambush of large kitten stickers, we were able to actually figure out a solid Plan for Christmas. With only one, "I do not accept, I want all the presents" from one cousin ("No one cares what you think, Caralyn," being the general response), we agreed on a White Elephant for adults and a gift exchange for children. And then... I had an idea.
"You know what would be fun?! Energetically suggesting to the younger kids that they put on a Christmas play for us, and have them act out the Grinch. And tell them that we are withholding presents until they thouroughly entertain us. GREAT idea, right?!"
"Ash, I always knew you were brilliant." Cassy replied.
"Yea. And Caralyn could be the director." Kellen added.
"Brayden can be the Grinch, Bridgette can be Cindy Loo-Hoo, and Keylee can be that dog that rides around in a sled with the Grinch." I add helpfully.
"MAX is the dogs name! Ohhhhhhh Maxxx!! This would be my first work in theater." Caralyn replied.
I can see it now. Brayden will be dressed up in an old Santa suit, his face painted green, running around as only 8-year-old boys can, pulling little toddler Keylee (aka Max the dog/reindeer) in a red wagon without so much as a backwards glance at her well-being. We will make Bridgette put her hair up on top of her head, clasp her hands, and sing "Da-Hoo-Dora" as she learned in pre-school (probably), and... I'm out of characters, but really, that would be enough. Daniel and Matthew can be back-up singers. And Caralyn will be the narrator, "And his heart grew three times that day." She will say solemnly, as Brayden misses the steps into the living room, toppling himself and Keylee on the bright orange carpet, and Bridgette will be singing so passionatley that she will not miss a note, ignoring the chaos reigning at her feet.
Damn. I'd pay to watch that. Alright, Caralyn, time to get started.
Merry Christmas!
Tuesday, December 3, 2013
I Challenge You to DISCOVER
I have an idea. I want to present it to you, to see if you would like to be a part of a challenge that will make your life even more awesome... probably.
When we travel, everything is new and exciting. New places, new people, new colors and cultures and foods to try. These experiences are vivid because they stir our emotions: excitement, wonder, awe... or perhaps frustration, anger, or desperation. Whatever the experience is, it is not mediocre or apathetic. We remember the moments when the new unfurls a part of our soul that had laid dormant for so long in our comfort, in our stagnation. Looking back on these experiences, it is easy to see that the new stirs strong emotions, and because of that strength, these memories are more vivid. Memories thrive on emotion, and the stronger the emotion, the stronger the memory.
What I'm trying to say is that when we experience something new, our life is enhanced. It becomes more colorful and exciting. And though we can't all travel the world to gain experiences of that magnitude, there ARE ways we can evoke these emotions right here at home.
My challenge to you is this: Do something new, at least once a week.
This can be going to a new restaurant or trying a new activity or visiting a new place or even something as simple as cooking a new dish or ordering a drink you have never tried. Whether you like it or not, whether you have fun or experience disappointment, you will be putting yourself outside of your normal, everyday habits, adding more color to your life.
The second part of this challenge is this: Document your new experience.
I think the best way to do this would be to buy a blank sketch book or journal. Let's call this our "Discovery Journal." Write about your New Experience, or draw a picture, or tape a photo in it. If you have another way in which you would like to document your journey, go for it! This is a creative experience. In some way, record it.
This challenge starts on January 1, 2014. I'm proposing this challenge at the beginning of December, 2013, so that we have a month to prepare: a month to buy a journal, a month to reflect on where your life is now, and a month to begin thinking about what experiences you would like to have in 2014. I have already started a list of ideas that I may want to tackle in the coming year: Take a glass-blowing class, learn how to make spiced wine, ride the aerial tram at OHSU, go kayaking... the possibilities are endless and exciting to think about. What do you want to experience in your life but you haven't made the time to do yet? Now is the time!
And if you think this is a good idea, tell your friends, tell your family! Get them to do it with you, and the experience can be shared with those you love. It may inspire some new trips and activities together, and what is more fun that trying something new with someone you can laugh about it with?
After a year, you will have had at least 52 New Experiences, and have enhanced your life in 52 ways, whether big or small. This challenge is for you. Our life is passing us by every day, NOW is the time to experience it.
Let's make it beautiful, yes?
Challenge extended!
When we travel, everything is new and exciting. New places, new people, new colors and cultures and foods to try. These experiences are vivid because they stir our emotions: excitement, wonder, awe... or perhaps frustration, anger, or desperation. Whatever the experience is, it is not mediocre or apathetic. We remember the moments when the new unfurls a part of our soul that had laid dormant for so long in our comfort, in our stagnation. Looking back on these experiences, it is easy to see that the new stirs strong emotions, and because of that strength, these memories are more vivid. Memories thrive on emotion, and the stronger the emotion, the stronger the memory.
What I'm trying to say is that when we experience something new, our life is enhanced. It becomes more colorful and exciting. And though we can't all travel the world to gain experiences of that magnitude, there ARE ways we can evoke these emotions right here at home.
My challenge to you is this: Do something new, at least once a week.
This can be going to a new restaurant or trying a new activity or visiting a new place or even something as simple as cooking a new dish or ordering a drink you have never tried. Whether you like it or not, whether you have fun or experience disappointment, you will be putting yourself outside of your normal, everyday habits, adding more color to your life.
The second part of this challenge is this: Document your new experience.
I think the best way to do this would be to buy a blank sketch book or journal. Let's call this our "Discovery Journal." Write about your New Experience, or draw a picture, or tape a photo in it. If you have another way in which you would like to document your journey, go for it! This is a creative experience. In some way, record it.
This challenge starts on January 1, 2014. I'm proposing this challenge at the beginning of December, 2013, so that we have a month to prepare: a month to buy a journal, a month to reflect on where your life is now, and a month to begin thinking about what experiences you would like to have in 2014. I have already started a list of ideas that I may want to tackle in the coming year: Take a glass-blowing class, learn how to make spiced wine, ride the aerial tram at OHSU, go kayaking... the possibilities are endless and exciting to think about. What do you want to experience in your life but you haven't made the time to do yet? Now is the time!
And if you think this is a good idea, tell your friends, tell your family! Get them to do it with you, and the experience can be shared with those you love. It may inspire some new trips and activities together, and what is more fun that trying something new with someone you can laugh about it with?
After a year, you will have had at least 52 New Experiences, and have enhanced your life in 52 ways, whether big or small. This challenge is for you. Our life is passing us by every day, NOW is the time to experience it.
Let's make it beautiful, yes?
Challenge extended!
Tuesday, November 19, 2013
Yes, I Can Be Fancy, But Only Until The Clock Strikes Midnight
"Would anyone like some wine?" The waiter asks. I throw myself across the table onto him and cling to his neck desperately. "YESSSS!!!" I shriek.
Except I don't. I politely raise my eyebrows without breaking eye contact with his face, finally succeed in catching his attention, and say, "The Malbec, please." This is the third time he has rounded our table to ask who wants wine, and failing to catch his attention during his last two passes, I was determined to be successful this time. At this point, I am surprised my manners are in tact: I have needed wine since the moment we stepped into this restaurant.
Wearing our finest (in Honolulu that means a pretty, light-weight dress with sparkling flip-flops), we had followed my moms roommates in through the heavy door after we dropped the car off at the valet. At the sight of the valet driving off, my mom smirked and shrugged her shoulders as if to say, "Well, whatever we've gotten ourselves into, we're stuck here now!" We walked confidently through the front door, but the atmosphere of the place had suddenly snuffed my adventurous streak and all I wanted to do was turn around and run to the beach.
The first thing I had noticed was the piano. It was black, sleek, and utterly alone, shoved into the cramped entry as though the designer had thought, "Pianos are fancy, right? There! Now everyone will know this place is fancy." The walls were painted a steely grey, the floor a shiny black tile that looked like a frozen lake in the dead of winter. The color scheme seemed to be a pretentious mix of black, white, and slate, though there was a huge red ginger plant flowering exactly in the center of the room, adding one singular explosion of harsh color. The lights hanging above were covered in jagged white paper, screaming, "We are modern. Feel how urban we are. Don't you feel powerful?"
All in all, not my kind of place.
I look across the table at my mom as she orders a sake from the waiter. I can tell she feels as uncomfortable in this environment as I do. She notices me looking at her and makes a face that only I notice, which says, "Sorry. I know this is weird. Did you see the menu? $35 for a piece of fish. Dear GOD."
After about ten minutes, my wine finally shows up and I reach for it gratefully. And suddenly there are some appetizers on the table, and because I have been sitting in this restaurant for about 45 minutes already and haven't even been able to order my dinner yet, I dive on the proffered food as politely as possible. I am so focused on this food that I am simply nodding and making agreeable noises to the people around me who perhaps are carrying on a conversation, but to whom I am becoming more and more oblivious as my food intake increases (as slowly as I can manage, so as to not look like a tiger pouncing on the carcass of a fresh kill).
There is a moment where my hand reaches towards the pita bread and brushes against my wine glass, and suddenly the glass is teetering from side to side. My heart stops as I dive for the glass and watch in horror as some of the precious wine spills over the side. Onto my hand, onto the glass, and worst of all, onto the tablecloth. The pure WHITE tablecloth.
I am horrified. "Oh shit." I mutter, and I feel like crying... this was a fucking $11 glass of wine, that is about $2 worth of wine on the table! Zamboni! I hear Claire yell in my mind, but resist the urge to swoop down and start sucking the wine out of the tablecloth. Barely. I remind myself of the need to be fancy, even in these desperate situations.
My mom is staring wide-eyed in shock at me. I stare in shock at her. I raise my hand to my mouth to lick the wine off. Mom keeps staring. "I don't belong here." I whine quietly. Her mouth twitches and I can tell she is on the verge of hysterical laughter but because she too needs to be fancy, she only chuckles politely.
The woman sitting next to me offers me her napkin and we both start dabbing at the tablecloth to get the wine out, but that works about as well as telling a dog to make a sandwich. There is a huge, accusingly red wine stain on the blindingly white tablecloth. So, as any mature and fancy person would do, I grab my plate and place it right over the top of the stain. THERE. No one will know.
I momentarily forget about my blundering act of stupidity as I review the menu, and decide it is high time we had some proper entree's in our vicinity. "We'd like to order!" I say to the waiter the next time I see him running by. He slows down enough to takes out his pencil, and, looking quite harassed, actually seems ready to write something down. "Mom," I say, pointing at her, as though I am coaching an intense semi-finals soccer game rather than ordering a stir-fry, "You first." This strategy seemed to work rather well and we begin another long wait for our food, during which time the waiter uncharacteristically pays some attention to me and asks, "Are you done with that plate?"
"Sure, yes, thank you." I say, and turn back to my conversation, but as he takes the plate away I realize that THE STAIN OF SHAME is under it and twitch horribly in my attempt to figure out what to do. Did he notice? Should I be embarrassed? Can people be kicked out of restaurants for spilling wine? As my mind whirs, I reach out and grab the next closest plate that could cover up the stain: the appetizer plate. Though it is almost empty, there is still a few pieces of food on it, and because it is now sitting directly in front of me, I look like a pig who ate all the appetizer. Fantastic.
My stir-fry arrives about a fortnight later, and though it is decent, it surely is not $22 worth of food, especially because I think I could have made this dish myself, and that is seriously saying something. I look up to hearing my mom having a conversation with the woman sitting next to her, "This isn't our normal type of place." She says, smiling apologetically.
"What do you mean?" The woman asks curiously. She is very well dressed and is wearing several pieces of jewelry that sparkle in the dim light. Though not upfront or pretentious about it, I can sense her wealth.
"I mean, we sometimes like to hang out at dive bars." Mom says looking at me. I nod in agreement but am a little off-put at my mother revealing our secrets like this. Is it safe to be talking about dive bars in this nice of place? I already feel like I am disguised as a member of the 1% by just being here, but she is quickly dissolving that illusion. "There is this place in Corvallis that we like to go to, The Peacock, and it's just really fun." She explains, and I feel that we are digging a hole that we may need to climb out later.
The woman looks vaguely amused. "Ahh... yes. But what is a dive bar?"
I can feel my eyebrows shoot up into my bangs, and my mouth drops a little. Yes, I know we are in a fancy restaurant with fancy people, but how can it be that she doesn't even KNOW what a dive bar is?! Is she mad?! Has she never played pool or video poker in a bar with fake wood paneling while listening to drunk people karaoke and drinking a PBR?! Worst of all, she hasn't even HEARD of this beautiful lifestyle?! I mean, there is a time and place for fancy restaurants, but there are more times and places for dive bars.
Again, my reaction is reflected in my moms face, but only for an instant before my mom says nonchalantly, "Oh, you know, pool tables and cheap beer, kind of hole-in-the-wall places."
"Ahhh..." The woman nods in understanding, but I don't think she does. Man, sometimes the rich really miss out on the best parts of life. Come down here to our level! The beer is shitty but the laughter comes from our stomachs! And the food... oh, the food... I would kill for a burger right now as I chew this mediocre mixture of vegetables and chicken.
By the time the meal is over my mom and I are so antsy to get out of there that we decide that instead of staying out downtown with everyone else and paying even more money, we just want to go home and drink a beer. So that is what we do. I fling my dress across the room and put on pajama shorts and a T-shirt, walk barefooted to the fridge and pull out some Newcastle Brown Ales. The sigh from the bottles when I pop the caps off makes me sigh too. I hand a beer to my mom and we cheers each other for getting through the night, for the comfortable solace we find in each other, and for being awesome.
Except I don't. I politely raise my eyebrows without breaking eye contact with his face, finally succeed in catching his attention, and say, "The Malbec, please." This is the third time he has rounded our table to ask who wants wine, and failing to catch his attention during his last two passes, I was determined to be successful this time. At this point, I am surprised my manners are in tact: I have needed wine since the moment we stepped into this restaurant.
Wearing our finest (in Honolulu that means a pretty, light-weight dress with sparkling flip-flops), we had followed my moms roommates in through the heavy door after we dropped the car off at the valet. At the sight of the valet driving off, my mom smirked and shrugged her shoulders as if to say, "Well, whatever we've gotten ourselves into, we're stuck here now!" We walked confidently through the front door, but the atmosphere of the place had suddenly snuffed my adventurous streak and all I wanted to do was turn around and run to the beach.
The first thing I had noticed was the piano. It was black, sleek, and utterly alone, shoved into the cramped entry as though the designer had thought, "Pianos are fancy, right? There! Now everyone will know this place is fancy." The walls were painted a steely grey, the floor a shiny black tile that looked like a frozen lake in the dead of winter. The color scheme seemed to be a pretentious mix of black, white, and slate, though there was a huge red ginger plant flowering exactly in the center of the room, adding one singular explosion of harsh color. The lights hanging above were covered in jagged white paper, screaming, "We are modern. Feel how urban we are. Don't you feel powerful?"
All in all, not my kind of place.
I look across the table at my mom as she orders a sake from the waiter. I can tell she feels as uncomfortable in this environment as I do. She notices me looking at her and makes a face that only I notice, which says, "Sorry. I know this is weird. Did you see the menu? $35 for a piece of fish. Dear GOD."
After about ten minutes, my wine finally shows up and I reach for it gratefully. And suddenly there are some appetizers on the table, and because I have been sitting in this restaurant for about 45 minutes already and haven't even been able to order my dinner yet, I dive on the proffered food as politely as possible. I am so focused on this food that I am simply nodding and making agreeable noises to the people around me who perhaps are carrying on a conversation, but to whom I am becoming more and more oblivious as my food intake increases (as slowly as I can manage, so as to not look like a tiger pouncing on the carcass of a fresh kill).
There is a moment where my hand reaches towards the pita bread and brushes against my wine glass, and suddenly the glass is teetering from side to side. My heart stops as I dive for the glass and watch in horror as some of the precious wine spills over the side. Onto my hand, onto the glass, and worst of all, onto the tablecloth. The pure WHITE tablecloth.
I am horrified. "Oh shit." I mutter, and I feel like crying... this was a fucking $11 glass of wine, that is about $2 worth of wine on the table! Zamboni! I hear Claire yell in my mind, but resist the urge to swoop down and start sucking the wine out of the tablecloth. Barely. I remind myself of the need to be fancy, even in these desperate situations.
My mom is staring wide-eyed in shock at me. I stare in shock at her. I raise my hand to my mouth to lick the wine off. Mom keeps staring. "I don't belong here." I whine quietly. Her mouth twitches and I can tell she is on the verge of hysterical laughter but because she too needs to be fancy, she only chuckles politely.
The woman sitting next to me offers me her napkin and we both start dabbing at the tablecloth to get the wine out, but that works about as well as telling a dog to make a sandwich. There is a huge, accusingly red wine stain on the blindingly white tablecloth. So, as any mature and fancy person would do, I grab my plate and place it right over the top of the stain. THERE. No one will know.
I momentarily forget about my blundering act of stupidity as I review the menu, and decide it is high time we had some proper entree's in our vicinity. "We'd like to order!" I say to the waiter the next time I see him running by. He slows down enough to takes out his pencil, and, looking quite harassed, actually seems ready to write something down. "Mom," I say, pointing at her, as though I am coaching an intense semi-finals soccer game rather than ordering a stir-fry, "You first." This strategy seemed to work rather well and we begin another long wait for our food, during which time the waiter uncharacteristically pays some attention to me and asks, "Are you done with that plate?"
"Sure, yes, thank you." I say, and turn back to my conversation, but as he takes the plate away I realize that THE STAIN OF SHAME is under it and twitch horribly in my attempt to figure out what to do. Did he notice? Should I be embarrassed? Can people be kicked out of restaurants for spilling wine? As my mind whirs, I reach out and grab the next closest plate that could cover up the stain: the appetizer plate. Though it is almost empty, there is still a few pieces of food on it, and because it is now sitting directly in front of me, I look like a pig who ate all the appetizer. Fantastic.
My stir-fry arrives about a fortnight later, and though it is decent, it surely is not $22 worth of food, especially because I think I could have made this dish myself, and that is seriously saying something. I look up to hearing my mom having a conversation with the woman sitting next to her, "This isn't our normal type of place." She says, smiling apologetically.
"What do you mean?" The woman asks curiously. She is very well dressed and is wearing several pieces of jewelry that sparkle in the dim light. Though not upfront or pretentious about it, I can sense her wealth.
"I mean, we sometimes like to hang out at dive bars." Mom says looking at me. I nod in agreement but am a little off-put at my mother revealing our secrets like this. Is it safe to be talking about dive bars in this nice of place? I already feel like I am disguised as a member of the 1% by just being here, but she is quickly dissolving that illusion. "There is this place in Corvallis that we like to go to, The Peacock, and it's just really fun." She explains, and I feel that we are digging a hole that we may need to climb out later.
The woman looks vaguely amused. "Ahh... yes. But what is a dive bar?"
I can feel my eyebrows shoot up into my bangs, and my mouth drops a little. Yes, I know we are in a fancy restaurant with fancy people, but how can it be that she doesn't even KNOW what a dive bar is?! Is she mad?! Has she never played pool or video poker in a bar with fake wood paneling while listening to drunk people karaoke and drinking a PBR?! Worst of all, she hasn't even HEARD of this beautiful lifestyle?! I mean, there is a time and place for fancy restaurants, but there are more times and places for dive bars.
Again, my reaction is reflected in my moms face, but only for an instant before my mom says nonchalantly, "Oh, you know, pool tables and cheap beer, kind of hole-in-the-wall places."
"Ahhh..." The woman nods in understanding, but I don't think she does. Man, sometimes the rich really miss out on the best parts of life. Come down here to our level! The beer is shitty but the laughter comes from our stomachs! And the food... oh, the food... I would kill for a burger right now as I chew this mediocre mixture of vegetables and chicken.
By the time the meal is over my mom and I are so antsy to get out of there that we decide that instead of staying out downtown with everyone else and paying even more money, we just want to go home and drink a beer. So that is what we do. I fling my dress across the room and put on pajama shorts and a T-shirt, walk barefooted to the fridge and pull out some Newcastle Brown Ales. The sigh from the bottles when I pop the caps off makes me sigh too. I hand a beer to my mom and we cheers each other for getting through the night, for the comfortable solace we find in each other, and for being awesome.
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