My Obsession with Speech, Baby, Bump.

I spend a lot of time rambling through YouTube these days.  It is one of those sites that you can witness the whole spectrum of the world wide web that not only did you not know even existed, but that is extremely popular in a way that seemed unfathomable not that long ago.  I mean, did you ever think you could spend an entire evening watching hilarious cat videos? Gives a whole new meaning to "crazy cat lady" - now you don't even have your own, you can be a super secret cat fanatic of virtual felines. Scary thought.

Anyhoo...I never really knew about vloggers, or video bloggers, before stumbling across a hilarious review of something on YouTube, which made me curious about that person's other videos, which then led me to watch videos from their friends, and before I knew it, there was an entirely new time sucker-upper which I certainly do not need, but enjoy nonetheless. One of my favorite vloggers is Carrie Hope Fletcher (https://www.youtube.com/user/ItsWayPastMyBedTime) , a seemingly sweet "unknown" who liked to talk about her love of books and cakes, at least that is what I thought when I began binge watching her videos.  Part of the YouTube experience is that the sidebar has these handy "recommended" videos for you. After watching one of Carrie's videos, I noticed one of these recommendations was a video called "My Wedding Speech" in which the groom sang a delightful song to his wedding party and left me in complete awe.  Little did I know that the groom was Tom Fletcher, Carrie's big brother, and a member of a popular band from England.
It's such a strange thing to realize the smallness of the world sometimes. I went from having no idea who any of these people were, to finding delight in being able to witness their joyful life celebrations.  Now maybe this is a really long post just to say that I find this couple completely adorable, but I've been meaning to share it with others for a while now. Because that is the true joy of this small interconnected world in which we live; finding a bit of your own happiness by sharing in the happiness of others. Isn't it? And if my own recommendation doesn't cut it for you, maybe you'll listen to someone I never thought I'd have a lot in common with and yet, he manages to sum up my feelings for the Fletcher family pretty perfectly.     

September 12th.

'That was a memorable day to me, for it made great changes in me. But, it is the same with any life. Imagine one selected day struck out of it and think how different its course would have been. Pause, you who read this, and think for a long moment of the long chain of iron or gold, of thorns or flowers, that would never have bound you, but for the formation of the first link on that memorable day.' -- Charles Dickens, Great Expectations




So begins the book One Day by David Nicholls, now a feature film I still want to see. Problem is, I always want to read the book before seeing the movie, and I've been a bit busy lately. So I started reading this when the movie was already out in theaters...and not receiving the best of reviews. Still, I found it somewhat serendipitous that I started reading this today; a book looking into the relationship between two people on one given day over twenty years.

The notion intrigued me because I have always had a strange connection with random days, days that to anyone else would be forgotten dates on a calendar, but that stick with me and remind me of where I was on that day however many moons ago when the day became infamous and ingrained in my mind.

I previously wrote about my acknowledgement of May 23rd, the date I graduated high school, but there are different dates that hold private memories in my soul, dates that normally go unnoticed to others, but receive some notice from me. Usually these are dates that were not chosen by me, but by the events that occur to make it memorable. I blushingly confess that more than once I have tried to make events occur on a certain day so that I could remember an anniversary on a date I like. Yes, I like the number 13, but even I know now that postponing a relationship for it to begin on that day is just asking for failure. Afterall, as Harry told Sally, "...when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to begin as soon as possible."





The past week has found me pretty emotional, crying at the most random things at the drop of a hat. I thought maybe the stress of a busy schedule was getting to me, ignoring the obvious answer right in front of me; September 11th. I couldn't fathom why the 10th anniversary of something was harder for me to handle than the previous years, but that seems to be the case. I wanted to write about it, to maybe work out what was happening in my head, but found it heartbreaking. The whole weekend was numbing. I came to the conclusion, that while I have had some horrible things happen to me personally in my life, events that should qualify as the worst day of my life, they still didn't compare to this date when nothing happened to me specifically, but still managed to change every aspect of my life as I had previously known it.

When reminiscing about life 10 years ago, I was reminded of something else, perhaps my saving grace, the event that happened after my world came tumbling down. On September 12th, 2001 I attended my first workshop for Julia Cameron's The Artist's Way.

Unsure whether class was still going to happen, my mom and I showed up in the basement of a church to find another group of people full of uncertainty. When the teacher shared her same doubts, she stated that her decision to continue the workshop as originally planned was due to the feeling that maybe now, more than ever, was when we needed to focus on living our most authentic and creative lives. We all agreed and thus began 12 weeks that changed the course of my life for the better.

I have tried to recreate the growth I felt during that first class a few times and usually start with gusto that fades before the 3 months are over. When visiting my mom in Pueblo in July, I went with her to the Friends of the Library bookstore where I found the follow-up book to The Artist's Way, Walking in This World. I happily purchased it, thinking it would be a great way to get me back into the swing of things, to jumpstart my creativity that has been stagnant for far too long. It was still sitting on the table next to my chair today, unopened and unexplored.

Shame and guilt kept me from cracking it open today, instead I googled The Artist's Way. And what did I unfold but Julia Cameron's new blog classroom! http://juliacameronlive.com/2011/09/12/and-so-we-begin/

Serendipitous, no? I felt that stirring in the very bottom of my soul that occurs when I feel like something is aligning between me and the universe, nothing I can name, but something I know I need.

This little task may be just the thing to get me back to where I need to be, to the person who held onto the discovering of my creativity like my life depended upon it. Because the truth is, it does.

2011, Part Deaux

Well, here it is, July 2nd. AKA the first day of the second half of the year. There are now less days left in the year than have already passed.

I would like to say my goals list is cruising right along, but sadly, the lazy hazy days of summer upon us have made my brain and ambition lazy hazy too.

I would chalk this up to my chosen word simplicity if I wasn't constantly *thinking* of what I have to do and just not doing it. Ah well, there is always Fall.

Simplicity

Back in January my sister-in-law, who is an amazing blogger, had a post about using a word to describe your upcoming year http://karensshortstorylong.blogspot.com/2011/01/word.html - I liked the idea, but couldn't think of what word to use. I've continued to think about it off and on the past several months but no word ever seemed just right. Until today.

Simplicity.

1: the state of being simple, uncomplicated, or uncompounded
2a : lack of subtlety or penetration : innocence, naiveté b : folly, silliness
3: freedom from pretense or guile : candor
4a : directness of expression : clarity b : restraint in ornamentation : austerity

I started out the morning the same as I have all year, taking my 30+ minute bus ride to work, reading something from the library- something on the brink of being due, so more pushing through to finish, rather than relishing in it, no matter how good it is (yay local authors!).

http://theheroinesbookshelf.com/

Today I got to the chapter on simplicity, using the books of Laura Ingalls Wilder. The Little House series was a favorite of mine growing up, it reminded me of how much I wanted to live like Laura, my bonnet flying behind me as I run across the prairie barefoot. Such a simple life sounded wonderful to me...until my mom would remind me that there was no television or inside plumbing. Eh, maybe not.

Then came lunch time. Heading out the door, my boss teased me, asking me where did I think I was going (me going anywhere is always a surprise - 99% of the time I'm glued to my desk) and when I responded that I had no idea, as I had to go get something from somewhere. I then performed my inner dilemma of decision making out loud -- "Udi's is good but expensive, so maybe Subway, but then I feel guilty for buying a sandwich when I could have made one at home, or maybe something downstairs but it's getting late so maybe they are no longer open or don't have anything good. But maybe..."

I paused, as a look of genuine concern crossed my boss's face. "It's lunch; it's supposed to be simple, a time to relax! Go enjoy it, you deserve it." Okay. Udi's it is. As I approached the counter and looked at all the great and various vegetarian options I had in front me, I once again began to panic. Do I really want to try avocado and strawberries together? What if I hate the picked ginger on the eggplant pita and 8 bucks goes down the drain?

"Ma'am?" (yes, all this worrying has me going gray and gaining worry lines that push me into the ma'am arena at 32), "What would you like?" Panicked, I flick through the menu above the counter and blurt out "Grilled cheese". Yes, a special lunch, one that is supposed to be a luxurious treat, and I pick out the lunch I should have outgrown in preschool.

I get it to go, as I'm now lactose intolerant and I'm not sure I have pills with me (I do, of course, thrown in the bottom of my ever increasing bottomless pit of a purse) so I decide heading back to the office where an emergency stash of lactose awaits is best. My brown paper bag appears and I decide to at least take the longer way back, this is the first time I've been out in the middle of the day in a very long time.

As I get to my desk, I open my paper bag to find my grilled cheese panini on rustic bread (so see, a little more fancy than the white bread of youth) and crispy kettle chips. Udi's has Barq's root beer as a fountain drink, my number one choice in the main brand root beer war, so I take a sip, swallow an enzyme, and take a bite of ooey gooey golden cheddar goodness. Aah. I decide to watch a little of the video I've been listening to at work, the latest Best Actress in a Comedy Emmy nominees talking about their craft. The enjoyment of this simple moment is overwhelming. I am literally brimming with happiness. At least until my afternoon staff meeting.

On the bus ride home, I finish the simplicity chapter, though my afternoon ride tends to get a little sleepy for me, usually because I'm up too late the night before for no good reason. After trying to get into a new chapter and doing the embarrassing nose dive drift off into the book, I decide to put it away and look out the window. It was a beautiful day. The clouds were spectacular; so many little puffy white clouds dotting the expansive sky. Normally it is either clear blue skies or big thunderheads, at least when I bother to look up. But today's sky was like those displayed in art masterpieces; just the right arrangement of blue and white. The mountains in the distance looked amazing, so green in the front and the tallest mountains in the back capped with snow. So much beauty just waiting to be admired; so much beauty I usually ignore.

And that is when it hit me; I have spent so much of my life trying to avoid being simple. Everything always has to be more extravagant and majestic to me; I have looked at simplicity almost as a bad word in the past. But lately I have found myself trying to simplify things, clear out the clutter, let more things go. Because sometimes it just gets so overwhelming, everything begins to be too much. It doesn't have to be that way. It shouldn't have to be that way.

I stopped at the store on my way home to buy some good bread and some basil. Together with my tomatoes, olive oil, salt, and garlic I already had at home, I made my favorite meal - bruschetta. It is still mind boggling to me how much I adore this food, especially when in normal circumstances I am not that fond of tomatoes. But something in this combination just makes it so simple, but the taste is so complex - the crunch of the bread with the soft squish of the tomatoes, the richness of the garlic with the lightness of the oil, the peppery bite of the basil balanced with the enhancement of the salt. Sheer perfection.

When I decided to try to let a few things go, it was amazing what happened. I came home to create a fantastic meal, got to spend time chatting with my bestie on the phone and making plans to get together this weekend, regardless of busy schedules, the Boston Bruins won the Stanley cup...okay, maybe that last thing had nothing to do with me, but I did finally get to watch some major hockey action, something that I let fall to the wayside most of the season. And I wrote this - probably the thing I put off the most that I wish I did everyday - write, and not because I have to, or feel obligated or guilted into it -- writing because I want to.

So there it is, for all it is worth, being that the year is already halfway over. But I'm not going to worry about it. I am going to try and enjoy my word for the rest of the year, and hope that it brings some simple goodness into my life. I will not even try to worry about finding a word that describes me, like in Eat, Pray, Love.

I will try to occassionally use another word from that story, probably my mother's favorite word/saying: Il dolce far niente - the sweetness of doing nothing.

Gotta love those Italians; they certainly know how to live well. What else can you expect from a place that creates masterpieces like bruschetta?

Graduation Day

Today marks the 15th anniversary of the day I graduated high school. Normally on this day I am off doing something fun - I made it a sort of rule to always try to be someplace better than I was on that day. Or maybe I should say, to feel like I was once again ending one chapter and heading off into the great (and hopefully more exciting) future.

In years past I've been in Ireland, Italy, on a solo road trip through several states - usually this day has been full of travel to places I've never been or seen, someplace to get that fear and excitement back. Because wasn't it exciting to graduate high school? To finally be finished with what had seemed to be an endless sea of classes? But it was also terrifying; heading off into a complete unknown, away from the familiarity of school and friends and a world where weekend plans were the most important thing.

River of grass in Wyoming

As I knew this day was coming, I kept trying to think of something to do this year, some way to make it memorable. That is, if the "rapture" didn't occur first (don't you just hate it when math equations don't work?) ; )

I knew I would have to work - real life is now, well, real. Weekend plans are no longer the only things I have to think about, and sadly, usually are more about running errands and doing unpleasant things I've been putting off more than having fun with friends. Still, I thought maybe a new hairstyle or small excursion somewhere would mark the occasion. Maybe do something a little daring. But I didn't. I worked. I came home. I did this. Nothing too remarkable or momentous.

Maybe I no longer need to go someplace to get that thrill of uncertainty. Life 15 years after heading into the unknown certainly has not gone the way I expected. I would never place myself where I am - not that it is necessarily a horrible place to be, just... not as far as I was hoping to go. I may have always had dreams as big as some fellow Arvadans...

The Fray opening for U2 at Invesco Field 5-21-11

But I'm starting to realize how big dreams need big ambition - something I've been lacking a lot of for, well, as long as I can remember. I've had bouts of it come along over the years, and those are the times when I can actually note something that happened during a particular year, otherwise the years start to blur. So hard work, ambition, and passion. These are my new adventures I aim to head for this year. I don't want another 15 years to pass as quickly and as uneventfully as these last 15. I still might not end up where I thought I'd be, but maybe, just maybe, I can end up someplace even better.

Mayday, May Day

If we had no winter, the spring would not be so pleasant: if we did not sometimes taste of adversity, prosperity would not be so welcome.
-- Anne Bradstreet, 'Meditations Divine and Moral,' 1655


As months often do, the past few have seemed to flown by without a moment to pause and reflect on all that has occurred. The stirrings of change have been coursing through my veins, despite the overall appearance of life as usual. I thought today would be a perfect day to change this, with it being May Day, or Beltane in my ancient Celtic roots, a time for rebirth, a fresh start to life, to have a clean slate.

May is the time of fertility and new beginnings after a long winter. The Faeries are afoot! They dance in the hills and roll in the grass, reveling in the joy of warm May breezes. Our spirits are high with the lust and heartiness of spring. New life is stirring and appetites are keen. -Laurie Cabot, Celebrate the Earth

But I'm somehow still feeling a little slow, a little hesitant to put anything down. And when I finally decided to stop procrastinating and start living, something monumental happened.

So now my stories of being in sight of the Oscar stage firsthand 12 hours after the Academy Awards took place, and being within spitting distance of Kevin Smith, and my very lame attempt at Script Frenzy, just seem, well miniscule. And while they actually were big events in my small world, they can not take precedence over something like this in the big world.

So my life musings will have to wait. The days may be getting longer but hopefully the time between writings will be shorter from here on out.

Slipping the surly bonds of Earth

This week marked the 25th anniversary of the Challenger disaster. It went by pretty quietly, not even mentioned in passing at work, where a memorial exists on the Boulder campus of the university flag and a football that were recovered from the crash site; astronaut Ellison Onizuka was a CU alum. No, more pressing news took precedence for most. But for those that did remember, one thought seemed to be unanimous -- "I can't believe it's been 25 years already, it seems like only yesterday."

In January of 1986 I was 7 years old and in the second grade. We were not allowed to watch the shuttle flight at school; that was a privilege given only to the 6th graders. At launch time I remember being in the school library. The 6th grade classrooms were adjacent and both classes were huddled in one room, with the lights off, watching the screen in anticipation. It was time for my class to return to our room but I remember lingering, hiding among the bookshelves closest to the 6th grade class, hoping to catch a peek of the action for myself.

I can't say I remember whether my interest was due to a fondness for space exploration, the fact that a teacher was onboard, or just because it was something I was not invited to see, but I remember desperately trying to be discreet enough to stay. And then I remember how I wished I had not.

I did not see the "explosion" when it happened - my view was a very skewed angle where all I could see were colors. I remember the blue blue sky and the rust color of the fuel tank and engines blaring. The classroom was buzzing but not completely for the launch; some were just excited that they were getting out of normal classwork and getting to watch TV at school. 73 seconds in, gasps rang out; first from the teachers, then the students. All I could see was the rust color had been replaced by an expanse of white.

There was a silence then, an eery, unpeaceful silence that in the years that have passed has been a part of every disaster of that magnitude in my life, whether personal or national. It has been there with me during accidents and events such as 9/11. If you have experienced it, you know. If you haven't, you can't understand.

Confusion set in; it was unfathomable that something that had started to become routine after 25 years could go so wrong. I can't imagine what those teachers must have gone through that day. I remember not being entirely sure of what had happened, but knowing it was something bad. I walked quietly down the hall alone, aware that no one else in my room knew what happened yet. As I didn't really know myself, I told no one. As the day progressed, teachers were made aware, as were students throughout the grades, rumors spilling down from the oldest kids to youngest. I believe my teacher's explanation for the events was for us to sit down and talk with our parents. No one wants to be the bearer of bad news.

That night my family gathered around the television set. I remember the speech that President Reagan made instead of the scheduled State of the Union. In speech class in college it was still viewed as one of the most eloquent speeches in recent history. Politics aside, it still has an impact today:

This tragedy is the first that I can remember. I'm not sure I really could understand the concept of death; which now sounds strange to me that I could be that old and not know. It's also heartbreaking to me to think how much younger my nephews and nieces have experienced tragedies such as this in their lives.

I remember hearing about the loss of the shuttle Columbia in February 2003 on my way to work on a Saturday morning at a little local bank. It was sad, another tragedy on top of the one that had happened in September a year and a half before. But the loss didn't stay with me. I worried that I had been changed; that the loss of another 7 astronauts did not affect me as much as those before. Had I become jaded to catastrophes, now taking them as a regular part of life?

Perhaps it was less devastating because it happened on their way home. I have always made a morbid conversation with God that if I am to be on a plane that is going to crash, it would be great if it was on the way home instead of the way there, that way my last memories would be of a pleasant trip; a journey out of my everyday life.

I wonder if I would feel the same way if the Challenger crew had been able to make their mission first. Was the prospect of the journey enough? One of the most disturbing thoughts of the Challenger disaster is that the crew was still alive until they reached the Atlantic Ocean. Whether or not they were still conscious is not known. I hope not. I hope there was still a glimmer of hope, a tiny doubt that all was not lost, that their journey here was not complete.




The space shuttle program is ending this year. While it will hopefully be replaced with something else that will enable us to explore more than our small part of the universe, it will be a bittersweet departure. Because for me, to no longer look beyond, to leave life and it's deeper meaning to just that with which can be seen... well, that would be the biggest tragedy of all.

Real vs Reel

...sometimes you have something you need to say but you can't, because the words won't come out or you get scared or you feel stupid. So, if you could write a song and sing it, then you could say what you need to say and it would be beautiful and people would listen and you wouldn't make a complete idiot out of yourself. But all of us can't be songwriters, so some of us will never be able to say what we're thinking or what we want other people to know we're thinking, so we'll never be able to get the chance to make things right again...

Rory Gilmore

It's funny, I always think of Gilmore Girls on June 3rd. That is because it was supposed to be the wedding day of "Luke" and "Lorelai" but it was postponed indefinitely. My life tends to go that way, always a mixture of what I've seen or read and what is reality. I've been thinking about that a lot lately. Partly because I now have a roommate that is not a big fan of TV or film, something I find about as mind boggling as he does when I schedule my life around being able to watch something. I don't see his life as necessarily more fulfilling, but maybe it's a little more real.

I also have been thinking about what can be considered reality lately. Sometimes life seems as real as a reality show on TV -- the cameras may not be around, but people are certainly playing a part. I've recently been sharing stories of heartaches, both mine and others, and how when one person is not telling the truth, when they are hiding something substantial from the other, that it feels like the whole relationship was a lie. The feelings that you have for the other person are suddenly cheapened, no matter how real they were, they suddenly feel like a mistake.

Then again, most of the time when this is going on, there is a little part of us inside that knows things are not right; and we usually ignore it until it is too late. I know in my past relationships that is certainly the case.

I'm not really sure where I'm going with this -- I have so much to say but hardly know how to say it. In reality I'm scared to say it. In a movie, my words would be complimented by a swelling score and perfect lighting. Words that will probably invoke heartache and broken dreams would instead be returned and a fade out to happily ever after would await me. I'm not sure what will happen, but I'm guessing nothing out of a typical romantic comedy.

What I do know is that I have been living in a world of "reality" for far too long. I have taken the easy way out, living life sitting in the audience. I am terrifed what being an active participant in my own story will bring. I might have to do some serious acting first; but maybe life in the big picture will turn out to be pretty real afterall.

Days of Shadow, Days of Light

Today is Groundhogs Day. A day that, if remembered, usually conjures up memories about this:

I enjoy this movie (except it always takes me a while to get "I've Got You Babe" out of my head. I've probably just got it into yours. Sorry.) Though something strikes me as worrisome most times I see this: it seems no matter the year, a lot of times I feel like Bill Murray's character; stuck living the same mundane day over and over, unable to come up with the antectdote to change it.

Today is also Candlemas, a religious day that celebrates the introduction of the infant Christ to the temple and the purification of the Virgin Mary (apparently even the mother of God was considered impure until 40 days after giving birth. Hmph!)

Of course, like most Catholic holidays, it conveniently occurs around the same time as a pagan holiday before it, a celebration of the earth once again waking up from it's winter slumber, and the promise of spring coming soon.

Whatever your beliefs, today does mark the halfway mark between the Winter Solstice and Spring Solstice. It is a day that for some is all about shadows; the darkness of winter that has been upon us these many months. For others, it is a day about light; the return to a blooming world full of new life.

For me, I always like to think of this day as a day of promise that not just in nature, but in my own life, spring will bloom again. Regardless of the troubles of the past, hope still endures for a better tomorrow. Sometimes it is hard to remember that. Especially when the gray skies are ever present and the Christmas bills are coming in; jobs are hard to come by and colds are constant companions.

Still, we have made it through the rough patches and the sun is starting to break free. Change is in the air. That can be scary and worrisome. But if we are not changing, what is there to look forward to, to learn from, to move us in a direction closer to where we have always wanted to be, but were afraid to go? If we don't accept bad things breaking up, there will be no place for good things to enter. We will be forever like Phil Connors; stuck participating in a life we don't want as our own.

So if these past few months been more shadowed than brilliant, breathe deep, hold on, and remember that spring and new beginnings are just around the corner.

"So this is Christmas...

and what have you done?" John Lennon's Happy Christmas (War is Over) has been playing a lot lately...well, it is the season, so nothing really unusual about that. Though I don't normally come in on Christmas songs at the beginning, and for some reason this year I have heard the first two lines of this song over and over again. As if someone was trying to tell me something.



What have I done? Nothing out of my ordinary procrastinating world. I have been jobless for months and still was rushing to get my presents ready for Christmas. Truth be told, I still have some presents to make. Yes, not wrap or throw into a bag, but make. I always say "next year will be different!" But it never is. Maybe if I keep these song lyrics in mind, it might make me more ambitious to have an answer next Christmas. Maybe.



This year will be a first -- presents and family on Christmas Eve instead of Christmas. Everyone was somehow concerned about me handling this. As if I was really upset by the date on the calendar. Really my only concern was getting presents finished on time. Christmas was Christmas, regardless of whether it was filled with packages and bows. Hey if the Grinch can learn that lesson, how hard is it for me to as well?








And I did get to enjoy two of my favorite things on Christmas: going to the movies and sesame chicken. And having Chinese for Christmas dinner was very theatrical a la A Christmas Story, though I'm glad my dinner was not smiling at me.

Christmas was different in another way as well, in that my mind was elsewhere most of the time. My best friend Amy, a steady fixture for 20 of my 30 years, had a nephew born on the 23rd with serious issues, the biggest being that he didn't breathe for the first 13 minutes of his life. While I've had plenty of tragedies in Christmases past -- I've lost two grandparents and an uncle at this particular holiday -- I've never had one like this, where someone just beginning their life may be leaving it soon.

Suddenly the search for the perfect gift seems like the frivolity it is. Thinking of the celebration of a baby born so many years ago while praying for one born days ago brings up all sorts of emotions and thoughts that I haven't had time to fully process yet. All I know is that gratitude and hope seem to be the biggest gifts to give and receive this year, and I feel very lucky to have both.

Bare Shoulders + Sun = Love

Perhaps 30 is a little old to be discovering this, but as an eternally "plump" girl, I am not a fan of showing off my shoulders. It's not that I'm embarrassed by them exactly, but I'm rather horrified by my "hi-bye" upper arms. If you don't know what those are, they are the arm equivalent of a muffin top (and if you are unaware of a muffin top as a fashion faux pas instead of a tasty breakfast treat, well... good for you). The hi-bye arm is when you are waving one way and your arm flab is waving another. Yeah, I told you it's not pretty.

In a summer of record-breaking heat, this phobia of exposed skin can be a truly hindering and sweaty experience. But I dealt with it, chalking up another year of not having to get into a bathing suit or wearing short shorts and tank tops as a success. But then I went outside for a second in my tank top pj's.

Whoa. I literally stopped in my tracks --and my tracks were heading to the garage fridge for a desperately needed caffeine fix, so I was slightly alarmed by the reaction. The warmth hit me immediately, sending tingling sensations to an area so close to my head and heart but so often neglected (not that those areas couldn't use a little more warmth and sunshine, but that's a different story).

It reminded me of when I first went to see a massage therapist after a serious car accident. My back was all spasms and soreness so I thought that was the only area of pain. Boy was I wrong. Once she began working on my arms and shoulders a flood of built up tension started to release. Even my fingertips held onto the angst of my injured body. "You have an extremely high tolerance for pain" she exclaimed as she felt the knots within start to untangle.

I began to wonder if this was a good thing. Should pain really be something to tolerate? I couldn't remember a time when something wasn't injured; whether physically or mentally. Now areas that were "tolerable" of being mistreated and abused by me throughout the years felt like they never had before. It is amazing how much better you can feel when you are unaware of feeling anything else.

So that leads me back to my sun bathing in the backyard. I had no idea just how much my body missed spending a little bit of time in the sun rather than rushing past it to get inside to dimness and air conditioning. I don't know which is stronger in the great debate of nature vs. nurture in the grand scheme of things, but this morning I found a little bit of nature very nurturing.

Not to say I will now throw caution to the wind and wear things that expose my wobbly bits and frighten adults and small children alike. This small joy will have to be repeated a little more often; just as long as the dog and bees and flowers are my only companions.