Saved

Running saves me. 

It's a little life jacket that folds itself into my body. 

And waits. 

It waits for me to be anxious and unsettled.  It waits for me to be afraid and lacking focus.  It waits for me to start wondering What am I missing?  Who am I missing?  

And I feel it start to inflate slowly.  With grace and purpose.  With answers and meaning. 

It wraps itself around my body and I stop flailing and struggling. 

I settle into the run.

Into my life jacket.

Into my life.

And it saves me.

Life on the iPhone

 There are 4 photos that remain on my iPhone at all times.

A beautiful raspberry meringue cakey sandwichey thing I had at the Bellagio hotel in Las Vegas.  That is a sugared rose petal on top, and check out the sugar dew drops.  I don't have the patience or the passion to create these lovely and delicious works of art, but I am grateful there are people who do.  This always reminds me that food can bring happiness, and art can be delicious.

My niece Isla.  Tell me that is not the face of a little girl who knows how to unlock and bend the world to her will.

The favoritest Alice B.  I love smelling her paws.  They smell like mud and salt and plants and metal.

My Sweet.  He reminds me that I don't have to love someone, I get to love someone.

I like smelling him too.

Dunnshine's Resolutions, 2012

D.R. and I stayed in Los Angeles for Christmas this year.  I wasn't too keen on boarding flying incubus tubes after just having surgery (emergen-C can only do so much), and considering the year we've had, we both decided that 11 days at home sounded just about perfect.

We saw movies.  We ate food.  I discovered the Best Cinnamon Roll Recipe Ever.  We drank wine.  And vodka.  And whiskey. And peppermint hot chocolate spiked with whiskey.  We cooked and dismantled whole dungeness crabs.  We dipped that delicious crab in infarction juice butter until we all rolled onto the floor and begged for mercy.  We saw more movies.  We spent afternoons being slobbered and jumped on at dog parks.  We read books.  We napped on the couch.  We ate food.  We said what we were grateful for before we went to sleep on Christmas Eve.  We saw old friends.  We talked to family.  We missed family.  We watched football.  We ate apples and brie cheese drizzled with caramel.  We kissed each other at midnight on New Year's Eve. 

And then my bra started squeaking.

This happens when my back fat starts seeping into my tummy wobble which starts seeping into that weird little chub pocket between my armpit and my boobs.  It's all held together by a few eye hooks and sorcery.  The squeaking is a warning that everything could come tumbling out in a moment's notice if steps are not taken.  When I hear the squeaking, I know the holidays are over and I can no longer rationalize a breakfast of coffee and Oreos.

So, while my bra rested and regained some elasticity, I aligned my goals for the coming year.  If all goes to plan, 2012 could be a mighty fine trip around the sun.

1. I will do my own manicures and pedicures at home.  I can paint my own nails.  I'm just lazy and I really love having my feet and hands massaged.  But, I'd like to reign in some of my "luxury spending" and put it to better use.  Like pajama jeans.
2. I will read one book a month.  D.R. got me a Kindle Fire for Christmas and getting books is just so zippy and neat.  I really have no excuse.
3. I will blog once a week.  Yikes!  My track record with blogging has been spotty and inconsistent, at best.  I know the only way to remedy that is to write more and get used to the feeling.  My hope is that reading more will inspire more writing.  My hope is that I will be able to empty my head here when I need to.  My hope is that I can hone this as a way of expressing myself well.  Then again, I may just write the cooking directions for that random box of rice pilaf sitting in my cupboard and call it good.  
4. We will move to a new apartment.  It's time.  It is SO time.  I'm picturing a dishwasher and air conditioning.  I'm picturing a landlord that is not drunk at 2pm and unwilling to fix our plumbing.  I'm picturing walls that will contain sound instead of sending every conversation into the air like a friggin' amphitheater.  I'm picturing . . .
5. Run a marathon.  I took a break from running knowing full well that I would eventually return.  Something about new shoes, fresh air, sweat-wicking clothes and the opportunity for greatness will always keep me coming back.  I have no idea what ME . . . and 26.2 miles is going to look like.  It's a blurry, nebulous image that will take shape with each step and mile.  Hopefully my hair looks decent.
6. Put Frank's hot sauce on more food items.  'Cause that's just good sense.

Happy New Year, everyone!

Alarm

You'd think the two large Vicodin that I took would have knocked me out for a good eight hours.

At 4:57 I woke to the sound of Alice in her bed . . . slurping and licking . . . something on her back end.  I poked her with my toe.  Whatever was there is gone or drowned, so let's wrap this up, shall we?  She stopped and went back to sleep. 

I couldn't.

I laid there thinking . . . of Christmas presents . . . pathology . . . going back to work . . . money.  Suddenly, I had a lot of things to do at 5am.  I also had a very warm bed, gray light outside my window, the lingering grogginess of prescription pain killers and nowhere to be. 

Pathology: not much I can do to change that, and I will learn more about a second round of radiation at my next doctor's appointment.  Let it go.

Going back to work: not until Monday.  Three more days off, and UCLA seems to have survived just fine without me.  Let it go.

Money: not where I want to be, but I'm fine.  Contemplating Christmas presents, so it's a first-world problem.  Let it go.

*slurp, slurp, slurp*

Clearly my toe did not get its point across. 

I scooped Alice out of her bed and put her in ours.  She pawed and nudged her way between me and D.R and snorted smugly as she settled her warm nose by my neck, right next to my new incision.  (Dogs know.  Oh, they know).  She was already snoring as I draped my arm over D.R.'s chest and his feet and knees intertwined with mine. 

The chilly morning is turning pink outside and I am warm and happy.  There is some serious stank breath between the three of us and Alice's head smells musky and--geeze, is that onion?! Where this creature sticks her head, I cannot say.

And it occurs to me that perhaps it was not worry and the Unknown that woke me early this morning. 

Perhaps it was gratitude.

I'm Dreaming of a . . .

Christmas has finally come to the Dunn/Edmonds Alliance.

D.R. LOVES Christmas--like, silly-clapping-school-boy loves Christmas.  It's pretty cute.  I certainly have my ideas of how decorations should go up (organization and order, maybe?), but I have learned over 5 years of co-hab that Christmas is D.R.'s domain.  My Martha Stewart-y visions have been replaced by glitter garland, fake cotton "icicles", and random Santa figurines (Harley Santa!) placed on any empty flat surface.   I cannot control it; I can only hope that our little apartment can contain the merriment.

A few things that make our Christmas village complete.

Denver Broncos candy canes.

Our tree is jam-packed with ornaments.  Some branches have two or three, but we can't stop ourselves from buying more.  We probably should create some sort of ornament database to prevent repeat purchases (there are a lot of cake ornaments), but the end product is always a twinkly catalog of our childhoods, travels and memories.  These are our Christmas stories. 

Lord Vader and the Holiday Armadillo always make an appearance. 

We tape all of the Christmas cards we get to our front door.  We had a pretty impressive collection last year, which serves as a reminder of how loved we are even from afar.  Wonderful.

Holiday window gels.

Finally--finally!--I convinced D.R. that we had to pare down our collection (do you think Martha has window gels?) when I showed him this collection of random winter objects and creature parts that looks more like an autopsy than a winter wonderland.  He agreed under the condition that more would be purchased to replace them.  I'm fighting a losing battle here, folks.

Not just Santa's village, giant cross-country skiing Santa's village.  Santa smash!

Besides the tree, I think this is my favorite bit.  I wasn't kidding about those random Santa figurines all over everything. 

Hope you are all enjoying the season.  If you're not, come on over and D.R. will make you enjoy it.