That thing where one wants to be creative . . . and write . . . and contribute . . . something.
Life isn't bad. It's not hard. There's a lot of good stuff happening here.
But, there is that missing thing, and I feel like it has to start here because creativity is sort of floating around above me like a huge bunch of balloons. I know I have to pull down one of them and tether it somewhere. Since this is the only place I can access quickly, consider that balloon tethered here.
The hardest part is starting.
This has taken me 5 minutes to write. I've spent 5000x more minutes thinking about these five minutes of writing.
The hardest part is starting.
Why is it so effing hard?!!
There is nothing particularly special about this weekend, or this day, or this moment of motivation/inspiration written down here.
I'm going to spend a day at the beach.
I'm going to make brownies.
I'm going to spend a morning at the dog park with a cup of coffee and My Sweet and the sweatshirt that we share -- depends on which one of us grabs it first.
I'm going to look at my world this weekend and see if I can continue to fit it into words.
Saturday, May 24, 2014
Sunday, September 16, 2012
My Marathon Realness
My long run, with the L.A. Leggers, was 4 miles. It's a "break" after last week's 5 miles before we kick up into the higher mileage. I asked our pace group mentor how many marathons he has completed.
"25," was his confident and proud answer.
"Holy shit!" was my very eloquent response.
25.
Twenty.
Five.
How does that even work?!
If I ran two marathons a year from this point forward, I would be 45 years old by the time I reached that goal.
45.
Forty.
Five.
How does that even work?!
Then, I looked at our mentor again and figured . . . yeah, he could be early/mid forties (I'm a horrible judge of age, by the way). He doesn't have muscles bulging from a tight shirt. He's not loaded down with gadgets and gear. He's running in baggy shorts and a t-shirt, some shoes that look like their fastest miles are behind them and a funky ball cap.
As many people are, I am totally intimidated by the marathon. It's because I picture marathon runners with tight tummies and muscular legs, long strides and the newest and spiffiest running shoes. I picture the cover of Runner's World.
Uh, that's not me. I'm more Runners With Chub Rub and a Wicked Penchant for Cheese Sauce World.
This dissonance has kept from being really excited about completing a marathon, even doubtful that I could do it. I'm certain that magic is the only thing getting my ass to 26.2. However, running with the Leggers has been a huge help in starting to see myself as a marathon finisher. Some of these people have completed multiple marathons and their bellies and thighs wobble just like mine. The reason I couldn't picture myself as a finisher was because I wasn't picturing me. I was picturing some weird collage of body parts--preferably, toned and barely glistening with sweat--crossing the finish line. That's just not reality (so much more sweaty!), and a marathon is going to make some things really real, really quickly.
Must maintain MY marathon realness.
This is Alice B.'s marathon realness.
"25," was his confident and proud answer.
"Holy shit!" was my very eloquent response.
25.
Twenty.
Five.
How does that even work?!
If I ran two marathons a year from this point forward, I would be 45 years old by the time I reached that goal.
45.
Forty.
Five.
How does that even work?!
Then, I looked at our mentor again and figured . . . yeah, he could be early/mid forties (I'm a horrible judge of age, by the way). He doesn't have muscles bulging from a tight shirt. He's not loaded down with gadgets and gear. He's running in baggy shorts and a t-shirt, some shoes that look like their fastest miles are behind them and a funky ball cap.
As many people are, I am totally intimidated by the marathon. It's because I picture marathon runners with tight tummies and muscular legs, long strides and the newest and spiffiest running shoes. I picture the cover of Runner's World.
Uh, that's not me. I'm more Runners With Chub Rub and a Wicked Penchant for Cheese Sauce World.
This dissonance has kept from being really excited about completing a marathon, even doubtful that I could do it. I'm certain that magic is the only thing getting my ass to 26.2. However, running with the Leggers has been a huge help in starting to see myself as a marathon finisher. Some of these people have completed multiple marathons and their bellies and thighs wobble just like mine. The reason I couldn't picture myself as a finisher was because I wasn't picturing me. I was picturing some weird collage of body parts--preferably, toned and barely glistening with sweat--crossing the finish line. That's just not reality (so much more sweaty!), and a marathon is going to make some things really real, really quickly.
Must maintain MY marathon realness.
This is Alice B.'s marathon realness.
 |
Monday, July 23, 2012
Tabling the Matter
Here's my current view.
Flowers in the foreground. Fruits, veggies and cookbooks in the background--my kind of landscape.
My my, Sam, where can one find such a gorgeous view?
I'm so glad you asked.
FROM OUR NEW DINING ROOM TABLE!!
I'm sure most of you over the age of 20 and not living in a dorm have a dining room table, so this may be a very LAME update for ya'll. But for those of us--not naming names--that may have been living the last 7+ years without one, this is a game-changer.
When I lived in Chicago, alone, in a studio apartment, a formal dining table was not exactly a priority. Friends coming over for dinner? Ummm, how about we go out. When I moved to Los Angeles, and mostly worked from home, a dining table was again not a priority because we needed the space for my office. Meals were taken on the couch or the floor--keepin' it classy. One of my favorite Thanksgiving dinners was had on that floor. Who needs tables when you can have leg cramps and the danger of putting your heel in the gravy boat?
Then we moved into our bright, lovely, ocean-breeze-filled apartment and had to rethink some things. We have more room, no need for a home office and a gaping space right off the kitchen. What to do . . . what to do? Being the budget-conscious duo we are, off to Craigslist we went to find the finest in second-hand furniture.
I found a few tables that were . . . fine, but not what I wanted. The nifty twist was, I didn't really know what I wanted, and D.R.--of the As Long As I Can See the Broncos Playing school of thought--would've been happy with anything that stood upright. It was a process of elimination: Nope, don't want that. Nope, we don't need a table that seats 12. Nope, Sonny Crockett called and he wants that smokey black glass table back. Nope, I don't want a round table. It's hard being picky while also lacking a goal.
I was walking through a furniture store to get some inspiration when I saw a dark wood, counter-height table. Ya know, the kind they have in pubs and bars? Winner!
Back to Craigslist . . .
A lovely woman, who is about two weeks away from giving birth to her second child, was selling one for a steal. We hauled it away and promised to give it a good home.
We christened it with cookbooks, lunch and grocery lists.
By the way, I'm eating a California hotdog for lunch in this picture. Get yourself some turkey dogs, nestle them into some whole wheat buns, slather them in Green Goddess dressing, and top with sprouts, carrots, cucumbers and Frank's hot sauce. Hello deliciousness!
Growing up, my family was pretty strict about only eating in the kitchen/dining room, but I prefer the freedom to nibble and nosh in every room in the house. Nachos on the balcony; dinner on the couch while I decide if I want to continue watching The Newsroom or not; donuts in bed; Coffee and bites of toast in the morning while I curl my hair in the bathroom; standing at the kitchen sink eating PB&J in a rolled tortilla with a glass of milk; wine at the desk while I watch yet another chunk of money fly out of my bank account for student loans. See, all rooms in our home must be conducive to eating. The irony does not escape me that the dining room was the last to join the party.
Wanna come over for dinner?
Flowers in the foreground. Fruits, veggies and cookbooks in the background--my kind of landscape.
My my, Sam, where can one find such a gorgeous view?
I'm so glad you asked.
FROM OUR NEW DINING ROOM TABLE!!
I'm sure most of you over the age of 20 and not living in a dorm have a dining room table, so this may be a very LAME update for ya'll. But for those of us--not naming names--that may have been living the last 7+ years without one, this is a game-changer.
When I lived in Chicago, alone, in a studio apartment, a formal dining table was not exactly a priority. Friends coming over for dinner? Ummm, how about we go out. When I moved to Los Angeles, and mostly worked from home, a dining table was again not a priority because we needed the space for my office. Meals were taken on the couch or the floor--keepin' it classy. One of my favorite Thanksgiving dinners was had on that floor. Who needs tables when you can have leg cramps and the danger of putting your heel in the gravy boat?
Then we moved into our bright, lovely, ocean-breeze-filled apartment and had to rethink some things. We have more room, no need for a home office and a gaping space right off the kitchen. What to do . . . what to do? Being the budget-conscious duo we are, off to Craigslist we went to find the finest in second-hand furniture.
I found a few tables that were . . . fine, but not what I wanted. The nifty twist was, I didn't really know what I wanted, and D.R.--of the As Long As I Can See the Broncos Playing school of thought--would've been happy with anything that stood upright. It was a process of elimination: Nope, don't want that. Nope, we don't need a table that seats 12. Nope, Sonny Crockett called and he wants that smokey black glass table back. Nope, I don't want a round table. It's hard being picky while also lacking a goal.
I was walking through a furniture store to get some inspiration when I saw a dark wood, counter-height table. Ya know, the kind they have in pubs and bars? Winner!
Back to Craigslist . . .
A lovely woman, who is about two weeks away from giving birth to her second child, was selling one for a steal. We hauled it away and promised to give it a good home.
We christened it with cookbooks, lunch and grocery lists.
By the way, I'm eating a California hotdog for lunch in this picture. Get yourself some turkey dogs, nestle them into some whole wheat buns, slather them in Green Goddess dressing, and top with sprouts, carrots, cucumbers and Frank's hot sauce. Hello deliciousness!
Growing up, my family was pretty strict about only eating in the kitchen/dining room, but I prefer the freedom to nibble and nosh in every room in the house. Nachos on the balcony; dinner on the couch while I decide if I want to continue watching The Newsroom or not; donuts in bed; Coffee and bites of toast in the morning while I curl my hair in the bathroom; standing at the kitchen sink eating PB&J in a rolled tortilla with a glass of milk; wine at the desk while I watch yet another chunk of money fly out of my bank account for student loans. See, all rooms in our home must be conducive to eating. The irony does not escape me that the dining room was the last to join the party.
Wanna come over for dinner?
Saturday, July 7, 2012
Saturday's Child
I like to think I've grown and matured over my 32 years, but there are a few things that have just stuck since I was a kid.
The perfect Saturday morning will always include cooking shows. It started with The Frugal Gourmet (before those pesky sexual assault allegations), right up to my current favorite, Kelsey's Essentials. It used to be me sitting cross-legged on the floor in the basement not wanting to get out of my nightgown. Now, it's coffee on the couch and not wanting to put on a bra.
I also get excited when I find pretty things with my initials. It's not like our house is covered in the alphabet, and I don't carry monogrammed luggage. I like stumbling upon little surprise trinkets that quietly say hey, we belong together.
Isn't there some saying about a key to life is keeping one's childlike innocence? Am I making this up? Oh well . . . it's working for me this morning. Done and Done.
Oh, I also still really love puns of my last name. If my blog title didn't already give that away.
Go forth and indulge your inner child today!
The perfect Saturday morning will always include cooking shows. It started with The Frugal Gourmet (before those pesky sexual assault allegations), right up to my current favorite, Kelsey's Essentials. It used to be me sitting cross-legged on the floor in the basement not wanting to get out of my nightgown. Now, it's coffee on the couch and not wanting to put on a bra.
I also get excited when I find pretty things with my initials. It's not like our house is covered in the alphabet, and I don't carry monogrammed luggage. I like stumbling upon little surprise trinkets that quietly say hey, we belong together.
 |
| Couldn't pass that up. |
Oh, I also still really love puns of my last name. If my blog title didn't already give that away.
Go forth and indulge your inner child today!
Wednesday, July 4, 2012
Hidey Ho, There Is Glaze Everywhere
Well, hello there!
I apologize for the two-month radio silence, but I gotta tell ya, kids, life is pretty frickin' sweet right now.
D.R. and I moved to a new apartment closer to my work. We've been moving all our stuff in and organizing, but mostly we've been sitting on our balcony with glasses of wine and the ocean breeze marveling at how damn grateful we are for the new digs. It's amazing how much happiness comes from actually liking the apartment you live in. And don't even get me started on the dishwasher. The love I have for the GE Nautilus is real and abiding.
Getting to know our new neighborhood has been fun. Today, we we visited this fine Los Angeles institution. It's only taken us 6 years to get here.
I apologize for the two-month radio silence, but I gotta tell ya, kids, life is pretty frickin' sweet right now.
D.R. and I moved to a new apartment closer to my work. We've been moving all our stuff in and organizing, but mostly we've been sitting on our balcony with glasses of wine and the ocean breeze marveling at how damn grateful we are for the new digs. It's amazing how much happiness comes from actually liking the apartment you live in. And don't even get me started on the dishwasher. The love I have for the GE Nautilus is real and abiding.
Getting to know our new neighborhood has been fun. Today, we we visited this fine Los Angeles institution. It's only taken us 6 years to get here.
D.R.: Should we get four donuts, two each?
Me: Sure.
D.R: Oooo, I might want a cream filled one. Let's do five.
Me: Well, with that logic, we might as well get six.
Like I said, life is pretty sweet right now folks.
Take care and Happy 4th!!
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