headlamps & [almost] secret assignments

Headlamps; good for finding things, like a 1/1000 puzzle piece under the pub table (almost left it behind. disaster averted.). It only slightly tousles the hair, and really only enough to give it a bit more body, which is always a plus in my book. Big = better. It seems to fit my style in a way it doesn't fit the styles of those who are expected to have big hair (hello, Texans). "Big" means "wild" when it comes to hair, and I think that description is proper for me.

Headlamps are also good for reading on nightly road trips, when one is reading and wishes not to disturb sleeping travelling buddies. They're so much more mobile than those flimsy book light clips that one must tediously readjust with every page turned. Not the case with a headlamp. Your light moves with your head, so your line of vision is consistently illuminated. I'm all about efficiency.

I've given myself a secret [for now] task in lieu of New Year's Resolutions. It requires broadening my horizons and expanding my knowledge base in general (and specific) things. Taking the moments I would have otherwise discarded and turning them to coffee shop confessions and late-night world-changing. It is called The Considerable Assignment, and there will be more on that later.

The main thing on my mind lately is being in a snow-covered cabin with a wood-burning stove and hot toddies and deerskins and drafty windows and more brandy and the people I love and a lot of scones. Bookshelves a-plenty, too, and loaded. And definitely no internet connection, please. There are cabins where mountain rangers stop in for temporary shelter, and the state economizes by renting the places out by the night for unbelievable rates to solitude-seekers who aren't fazed by electricity- and water-free housing. This one used to be a blacksmith shop somewhere around the 1880s. It's the first on my list of potentialities, cabin-wise.

A parting thought that may prove useful in a pinch - empty elevator cars are quite useful for practicing twirls, pirouettes, and jazz hands. They are also a swell solution for stiff muscles that cry out, "We want blood! Give us blood now!" Just do a couple of jumping jacks (or wacky jacks, if you're feeling froggy) and you'll feel right as rain. Your muscles (and blood) will thank you. Also, your exuberant, panting, heart-racing appearance will create a mystery for every bug-eyed wonderer who has the good fortune of being the first one to see you as those elevator doors open. Just imagine what fun could be had... they won't be able to sleep tonight, kept awake by this question: "What would cause a girl to breathe so heavily after a simple ride on the lift? How very odd that was..."

What fun, indeed.


the problem of feeling things

The places you never thought you'd go. The thoughts you never thought you'd think.

You might go there. You might think something strange and illuminating.

I have a habit of examining the ends of my hair with harsh scrutiny whenever I feel mentally and/or emotionally and/or creatively overwhelmed. "Is that a split end? Not anymore. Because I am boss at removing split ends. I am a split-end master." If there's only one thing I understand about my life, it is how to deal with my hair. And then I feel in control.

The beauty of being aware of one's perma-embedded artistry is the ability to see and feel and hear so many things at one time. Even in a silent room, in your apartment, by yourself. The dilemma with this quality is that things rarely get sufficient attention individually, thus disabling them from reaching completion. This happens in an alarming percentage of my endeavors. For instance, currently:

   4. The song playing overhead is intriguing me. It's about life being too short for spending so much time fussing and fighting. And there's a carousel-type riff. This song has my attention.
   7. There is a tall, young gentleman nearby that I feel may be trying to catch my attention. I want him to fail, but as I am aware of him this keenly, I am afraid he has succeeded.
   2. A humble, slender vegan lad is nearby, and I am wondering if he has noticed that my belt is quite made out of leather. I'd hate to offend him.
   9. The girls studying across from me probably think I am strange with all of my looking up at the ceiling, looking at everyone around me, looking at the ends of my hair. This shouldn't be occupying my thoughts, but alas.
   5. There are too many sticky notes on my laptop that need my attention, and are leeching it out of me without my consent.
   1. A close relative is going through some major life circumstances, and I am processing how I can best be there for the person.
   8. The Man Who Was Thursday: A Nightmare is falling into the cushions of my chair and yelling to be read.
   3. The bagel dog I got at this coffee shop was far too small for my liking. I am distracted by my desire for another.
   6. An article about creative work and finding value in what you do (as well as doing something you find value in) is so intriguing and causing my feelings to practically pop with yes-ness. I know there's some kind of action it should spark, but I haven't figured out what that action is. My attention is devoted to discovering the application this article has for my life.

It's obvious that I am conflicted in determining which of these items deserve my attention at what time, and in what quantity they deserve it. I sigh involuntarily. (No, that is not a cliche. I actually and literally do not know that the sigh is coming. It comes, and then I notice it. This is not a pitiful attempt at sounding wistful and artsy.)

The writing of this post has apparently made it to the top of my priority list for the time being, but even that is only partially true, because I am also chatting with my close relative and reading the instigatory article about creative work. But I feel like the writing here has just happened all on its own, which typically means that it is perfect for the time being.

Here's to feelings.


how to be an invalid [successfully].

-- Rules of Invalidity --

i) Immediately upon determining that something foul has entered your system, lie down. You will not regret taking it easy at the onset of your illness. Exertion of energy can prolong your predicament by a great deal.

ii) As soon as possible, enlist the assistance of someone you trust with your life in order to obtain all necessary remedies and aids, as you will not want to be driving all over town trying to pick them up yourself, hurrying so as to make it home in the shortest amount of time possible, to allow for the most amount of time to rest, which only ends up requiring you to run or walk hastily through aisles and parking lots, thereby exerting more energy than is prudent for one in your condition, and possibly even making your symptoms worse. 

iii) Guilt and shame (alternately, or simultaneously) the above individual to remain with you for the duration of your illness because you might die, after all, and we wouldn't want you dying alone, or at least not without someone to put on your favorite record to cross the blessed river to. This is sure to be effective in securing his or her unwavering commitment.

iv) Sleep. A lot.

v) Eat in small amounts, and then only foods which contain a minimal degree of flavourful power. Upset stomachs can be a good thing, if they end in the dispensation of your illness in one fell swoop of an upchucking, but this is not always the case, and even when it is, it is best when provoked by the body naturally, rather than being induced by the body's weakened state, incapable of tolerating such massive assaults one one's digestive capacity. Plain soups, crackers, light produce, and water are perfectly acceptable.

vi) When rising from your bed or cot (and I will say you should have rare use for this rule, as it is best to keep still for as long as you can stand it), do so slowly and with calculated motion. Dizzyness can occur suddenly and painfully, as your blood is pressed to kick into higher gear for the muscles you've just whipped into employ. Also, your equilibrium may not be quite in sync with what your mind want to do, so be patient and allow it to catch up. Hold its hand if you have to.

vii) Invest in an account with a company that will ship you films and perhaps a television series or two (this is a great time to watch an entire season in just a few days, rather than watching them through a grueling once-per-week process, especially because the suspense may be too much for the weakened mind to bear). This is particularly helpful if one does not believe in cable or satellite television services.

viii) If your library has an online catalogue, peruse it like there is no tomorrow and reserve as many books and audio books as your library card will allow. Have your life-entrusted individual pick the books up for you, reminding him or her to clear out the car's backseat to make sure there's room to transport the monstrous load. Books will be your most loyal (well, most available and justifiable) companions for the duration of your illness, as even your errand-runner / life-saver will need to get out of the sickhouse for a few hours at a time. You cannot, by any stretch of the imagination, expect them to stay indoors with you at all times, because your health and life as you know it may depend on their ability to survive their term of service with you. Let them be free.

ix) This rule is impossible to fix after you've realized sickness, so it is probably of no use for me to include (except, perhaps, as a rule for preemptive measure), but be sure your place of employ, whatever it may be, is kind and is flexible and is patient. This will ensure you still have employment upon the completion of your situation, and may mean that flowers are ordered and sent to you, as well as caring coworkers and a caring boss who, not call only to find out when you will be well (this is difficult to answer, anyway) and when they'll be relieved of the inconvenience brought to them via your illness, but will actually and factually show their sincere care and concern for your condition by calling or emailing just to say so. When this happens, you know you've got a good thing going for you, which will possibly be cause for you to even be excited to return to work. It is often in times of distress that you find out the true colours of your associates and compadres, and it is most pleasant and reassuring to find that their colours are pleasing to your heart's eye.

x) Remember that this is not the end of the world as you know it, and proceed to break out in song as often as you feel necessary and/or appropriate. Singing lifts the spirits so!

xi) Keep plenty of brandy or whiskey on hand at all times for hot toddies, or on the rocks (the whiskey; of course I don't mean the brandy, you heathen).

xii) Be happy! You've been removed from responsibility to the outside world, thereby enabling you simply be, in the quiet of your own home. Take joy in this solitude, for it will not come along often. You've actually got a solid deal on your hands for a possibly jolly good (albeit lacking in late-night dance sessions) time.



100.5 internal temp & roasting cabbage

You learn things about yourself when you're under house arrest due to an incessant fever.

     1) You learn how much you like sleeping. In my case, I realized that if I'm not sleepy, it's near impossible to make myself fall asleep. This is a conundrum when all of the strolling in the sunshine I wanted to do was out of the question, since the general understanding was that the less physical energy exerted, the better. I read a lot of articles instead.
     2) You learn to appreciate how substantial food is. Most people eat too much. Multiple studies have shown it. I've found it out by ordering one meal at a restaurant, splitting it with my fiance, and still feeling stuffed. When you're sick, food counts. Little bites, little sips. Flavor is shocking.
     3) You learn to appreciate the importance of an aesthetically pleasing home. It has been a hard-sought goal to get rid of anything in my apartment that is not either a) highly functional or b) incredibly beautiful. (Still holding out for a suitable bed replacement since the air mattress decided to grow a tumor.) I've got a whole suitcase now full of clothes that have sat unnoticed for over a year, and there will be more added to that. Streamlining is crucial as well. I need my bank to stop sending me paper after paper after worthless piece of paper, since I only look at my bank account online anyway. There are too many boxes of security-sensitive documents. Unsightly things. Lots of things into the rubbish bin. Someone else will be happy with my forgotten clothes, and I'll be happier without them and with the extra storage space.

Cabbage was roasted and cookies were made. Things were cleaned. Books and many (MANY) articles were read. Notes were taken for future reference. This was all very spur-of-the-moment. Cabin fever will do that to you.

There is a bruncheoning at the Skirvin's restaurant on Sundays that will give you lots of food and unlimited mimosas. Let me know if you'd like to join me on one of these jaunts. I may make one once per month or half-month, because who can pass up brunch and mimosas in a large hall with ceiling-high crimson velvet curtains? Not this gal.


full summer, full heart

green tea ice cream
films at the art museum
night walks at the lake
luncheoning on memorial grounds
holding hands
baseball caps and overalls
makeshift beds and makeshift bathrooms
dewy grass
impromptu demo construction projects
venison and smoked pork with extended family
blackberry wine in virginia
scaffolding and historic architecture
free sushi rolls
solo dates
unexpected overnight stays
learning laughter's power
beach-marching in jeans and a grey cotton sweater
gritty, sweaty manual labour
the darjeeling limited / amelie / midnight in paris / girl with a pearl earring / west side story / safety not guaranteed
derek webb / marina & the diamonds / bailiff / jars of clay / amanda palmer / songs for water / kopecky family band / the vespers / the civil wars
moment-to-moment living
cooking for the beauty of it
uncanny "coincidences"
best year yet of my traveling career [nyc, ny + new haven, ct + groton, ct + new orleans, la + baton rouge, la + providence, ri + westerly, ri +  oak ridge, tn + memphis, tn + knoxville, tn + sedan, ks + indianapolis, in + tulsa, ok]
grace, elegance, steadfastness, truth, and beauty as mantras. self-preservation happens naturally when one refuses to allow death and lies to have their way in one's heart. no need for this foolish trepidation any longer.



New favorite nail polish color: think of the deepest, darkest ocean you can. It’s that color. A blackish green-blue that just shines.

New York City is bustling, humming, buzzing, whirring, vibrating, dancing. More on that later.

People shouldn't fight about petty issues that miss the point altogether and waste everyone's time that could be much more effectively spent, if folks would set their minds to it with a little research and elbow grease.

In other news: LONDON 2012. I think I'm rescheduling my British trek for sometime post-Olympia. 

And now...down to the Deep South.

God, life is beautiful.


"danger". a comfortable excuse.

Part of me is re-thinking my decision to visit London and Dublin this year.  I'm not sure if I feel rushed/forced by my own critical expectations, or if I just don't have enough money this year.  Sure, I have enough to purchase a ticket, secure my lodging, and find sustenance.  But I just don't know if I can go it alone.  Flying out of the country alone is one thing.  Fine.  Flying out alone and staying out alone for a full fifteen days is an entirely different thing altogether.  This isn't Mexico we're talking.  Mexico would be a breeze.  I know how to dodge conniving taxi drivers.  I can place an order with ease, even requesting extra cream, or 'no onions, please'.  I can haggle my way to an appropriately-priced wooden letter-opener.  But they speak English in that part of Europe, and that can be a tad more difficult to navigate, conversation-wise.  Deeper things can be said in one's own heart-language and, as a matter of course, deeper things can be heard.  Sometimes this is a messy ordeal.

Another part of me is thinking that I can - wait - should do this.  What does it matter if I don't know how? Experience is the best tutor.  I already have one friend in the area, and who knows who I'll sit next to on the airplane?  And what better way to meet new people than to surround yourself with no one but strangers?  There's no telling what marvelous things await.  Traveling solo in a foreign country?  Why not?

Still...it would be a sad day that took me into a stranger's house, territory of one turned out to be more 'fiend' than 'friend'.  After all, my muscles aren't big enough to ward of would-be pouncers.

...I don't appear vulnerable, do I?


the aviation, an indian gardeness, and two big dogs

French melodies from Camille wafting down the freeway.

Took a walk through my neighborhood late this morning and met a lovely Indian gardeness named Sicily.  I'd often seen her peacock-shaped pine bush and lovely tomato plants while strolling past and had never had the honor of meeting the person responsible until today.  She showed us her "yasmine" plant that was just budding and would be a powerfully fragrant blossomer tomorrow.  Sicily and Zacharias (her husband) are in their 49th year of marriage.

Sicily informed me that there is a duplex next door to her that is being renovated, and will need a new tenant at the time of its completion.  Upon inquiring inside, I came to discover that the owning couple - who are also the renovators - are people I'm already acquainted with, thanks to a community-group we attended together once or thrice about a year ago.  They are lovely people, and I'm very excited about the prospect of renting from them.  They'd live downstairs, I'd live above.  There are wood floors, a fireplace, and LOTS of east- and west-facing windows.  A dream come true.  The precious lady and I spoke for a good while about coffee, intentionally living with less, stripping down your faith to find out what stands strong, and the necessity of reading books before seeing movies.  Oh! - and they have big dogs!  Two of them.  I would reside happily.  I also offered to assist in the rejuvenation process and in beautifying the place up.  They said yes.

What I delightfully discovered on the late morning stroll, just before taking a reminiscent swing.

The Aviation >>
Sweet gin, tart lemon, and maraschino liqueur, over scraped ice.

Red Prime Steak has a fantastic Happy Hour.  They're really a high-class establishment.  Top-notch appetizers, a tingly cocktail selection, and lovely conversation about business and the saving of lives.  Riveting crowd there, and a passionate barkeep.  His name is Scott.  He warningly, realistically, and encouragingly gave me pro bono counsel on how to get onto the bartending scene.  Experience + real knowledge trumps certification in the eyes of a GM, so it would seem.  I've got a lot of reading and experimenting to catch up on.  


cocktails, oh joy!

This evening finds me reading Milton Crawford's The Hungoevr Cookbook.  "I was left in no doubt about the severity of the hangover when a cat stamped into the room." - P.G. Wodehouse.  Cardamom Porridge with Spicy Apple Sauce.  How painfully lovely hangovers could be...

On the note of alcoholic beverages, I was informed of / invited to a cocktail festival in the Paris of the Plains.  Late August.  Booking my calendar.  Perhaps a train trek?  Perhaps.

Caffe breve in hand.  Bed calling to me.  Paradoxical nothingness.  I need to write.


hospitality + local brews + striped shirts. a combination of days.

Nuts and Dunkin’ Donuts coffee for breakfast.  Dark Roast.

The cot was an unexpectedly wise purchase, and has come in handy more than a few times.  I enjoy having a guest stay over on occasion.

You never quite know what you're going to get on the phone at the office.  Crazy week.  A firm client said we should have lunch sometime, his reasoning being that we speak on the phone so much.  (He means how I transfer him to his attorney so much.)  Something delightful and subtly challenging about requiring so little as an excuse for a real person-to-person visit.

There’s a little big joint on the corner of Sheridan and Oklahoma Avenue called Bricktown Brewery.  I went there yesterday with my fianc√© for lunch (there are so many bar scenes in my own backyard that I have yet to experience) out of pure curiosity.  Buck’s Bourbon Burger and a sample sip of Blueberry Ale.  Not even joking.  Best.  

I met a high school friend of my Lover's with his bride-to-be today, over a Mexican meal.  Conversation thick with genuine jokes and hints at seriousness.  Tattoos and expectant smiles (she's expecting twins).  We laughed the entire time.  

I'd forgotten how fun it is to make new friends in person.  And then, the journey of getting to know someone over a course of time is such an adventure.  I'd like to have one such adventure once a week, at the bare minimum.

Wide-eyed and pursed-lipped chillens brought sincere attempts at politeness, tumbles, and frozen yogurt toothy smiles.  

Many, many blue shirts today: gingham, stripes, solids, colorblocks.  It makes me happy to see such good taste in fashion roaming about this state of mine.  Inspiration walked past me in a soft white tee, a navy skirt with aqua dots, a camel-tobacco belt and matched-color leather sandals.  You're doing fine, Oklahoma.

Tammy Lucille Buhler

Mother, daughter, sister (twin).  Aunt.  My aunt Tammy.

April 30th she passed.  I have remained in shock for quite some time.  This was completely unexpected.

I traveled to Kansas for the funeral/memorial.  Her son (my cousin), Trenton, was there; I embraced him with such a severe lack of words.  Nothing but tears, really.  I met his wife, Jolene, of 8 months for the first time.  Sweet, sweet girl.

Grandma, Grandpa, aunt Terry (Tammy's twin), uncle Donald, Dad, uncle Curtis, aunt LaJean.  Many new relationships, many steadfast couples.  Cousins are so tall these days.

Slightly awkward, not knowing how to make light-hearted "how are yous" and "what's keeping you busy latelys".  The see-saw decisiveness between consolation and distraction...  There should be cue cards for these kinds of things.  What is there to say that hasn't been already said, anyway?  I know you need to process this; I know you need to get your mind off of this procession.  "I love you?", as I wrap my invisible arms around you, and wonder if you can hear me over the absence of her voice.

Understanding.  Compassionate.  Inquisitive.  Generous.  Hearty.  Joy-filled.  Patient.  Tender.  Tammy.

Jolts of electric and rude reminder - just when you think you've got time, you don't.  Not enough, anyway.  Mis-arranged to-do lists seem like such trivial mistakes.  At the time.

Driving up to Elgin myself for the first time showed me how easy it is.  We'll spend time on what we attribute the most value to - it is inescapable.  Upon recent review, my record sits uneasily with me.

Tammy.  My aunt Tammy.  You were loved, and always will be.


self-sustainability goals, cocktails, & brevity of life

Daydreaming today.  I can’t keep my mind on my work.  Maybe it’s because I don’t care about my work today.  Today, the pre-programmed course in front of me just seems…unfit.  Could be my Sagittarian way, you know...always flitting about, here then there, then here again, then far out of sight.  The mere potentiality that this is what I must do for the rest of my youth because this is what pays the bills and this is what pays for what I want to do…is horrifying and deeply depressing.  Must I slave away and restrain everything inside me for the chance at one tiny grain of Dublin, a Liverpool crumb, a breath of Amsterdam?  Even then, I am only allowed to stay for 2 weeks, because they need me here, in this.  I’m [the best receptionist we’ve ever had].  I’m [a breath of fresh air].  I [put people in a good mood].  I’m [so popular].

I’m making goals, now.  Real ones.  I must reach and maintain complete and, yes, even utter self-sustainability.  More languages, portable skills, adaptable disposition (check) and a weathered/seasoned sense of humor.

Currently reading >> Imbibe! by David Wondrich.
‘From absinthe cocktail to whiskey smash, a salute in stories and drinks to “Professor” Jerry Thomas, pioneer of the American bar. Featuring the original formulae for 100 classic American drinks and a selection of new drinks contributed in his honor by the leading mixologists of our time.’

Thoroughly enjoying the rich history and stories of the cultural development and gradual permeation of the Mint Julep into America, and the adventures of the trailblazers and risk-takers who brought it into its own.

Last week, my aunt Tammy (dear soul that she was), at the tender age of 39, graduated this planet and moved to her new house in His neighborhood.  I'm still in shock.  I went to Kansas for the service.  More on that later.

People.  People are important.  Sometimes I need frequent reminding of that.  This is one of those times.


good times on the friday before last

Lover took me greenhouse browsing.  We kissed in the tiny rock cove that was anything but hidden.  We touched cacti.  We saw the governor.  We climbed.  We smelled.  We smelled a LOT of things.  Night time is a brilliant time to see the Crystal Bridge at the Myriad Gardens, if you can ever catch them when they're open that late.

Work is so often at the forefront of our lives that it's often difficult to take an evening and not speak a word of it, speaking instead of beauty, of the varieties of people we watch, of traveling, of God, and of fine wines.  We're improving at this.  Friday showed it.

Don't waste your time on anyone who has poor taste in entertainment, ladies and gents.  Be that literature, film, theatre plays, music, cuisine, alcohol, cigars, or whatnot.  Life is too short.


revelries on the saturday before last

Breaching futile workplace boundaries.  Devin invited us to come out to see his band on Saturday night.  Soliciting fandom from your customers, now are you, Sir Barista?  Glad you did.  VZD's.  11pm.

There was a fantastical 1.5-seconds-to-go shot by KD for the Thunder win.  There was much thunder and rain outside.  There was a dancing astronaut.  There was a one-and-a-half pint jug of Red Stripe (a Jamaican lager, for those not in the know).  There was more dancing.  There was the precautionary removal of 4" suede wedges.  There was a mid-aged woman whose dancing prime must have been in the seventies, but somehow she'd managed to bring it with her all the way to 2012.  There was music that made you laugh and head bang at the same time.  There was Dr. Pants.

I'd gone shopping that day and had come back with:
1. a little black dress that twirls like you wouldn't believe
2. a navy & white striped sailor tank
3. a sturdy/soft pink oxford shirt from J. Crew that I'm so scared to wash for fear it'll lose its newness, but yet confident it will age so much more than gracefully.
The store clerk complimented my sister and I on our manners and sweet attitudes.  Haven't gotten that one since I was little and people were saying it to my parents, or since Mister Gee said it at a Christmas Conference some odd years ago.


help seen is help indeed, but if not seen, no matter.

Do you ever find that there's only a microscopic line between
       a) helping to solve a problem, and
       b) harboring and nurturing its continuance?

I can't even wrap my mind around how two objectives, so seemingly starkly-contrasted, could be so easily confused for each other.  "The heart motive is what really counts."  The heart motive...really?  What if I want to help someone who doesn't want to help themselves?  What if my "help" is feeding into their precious idyllic mental state that allows them to take and take until the giver has nothing left, and then move on to the next eagerly willing and sympathetic donor?

The tree most definitely wants to grow, to advance, to flourish in this big, bad world.  It has one goal: to advance toward heaven.  But with each passing day, the energy it expends to push its greens further and further gets spread ever thinner and thinner to each life-hungry leaf, which have no idea of the tree's lofty aspiration and hopeful destination.  Each leaf has a mind of its own, taking the path of least resistance in any direction that path may lead.

In an ideal situation, we would conclude that the proper growth process would be to funnel this life-form's efforts toward the most productive and efficient trajectory.  Pruning can't be an enjoyable process, but it is undeniably the most healthy process a tree can take, when a tree wants to go in the direction of the skies, anyway.

Unfortunately, good-hearted and well-intentioned efforts such as this are not without misunderstandings and backlashes.

"Perception is reality, but only until reality comes and beats the living hell out of perception."  ~my dear lover

And sometimes reality takes its sweet, leisurely time and leaves the good-hearted to either defend themselves or subject themselves to utter revilement and rejection by the objects of their affection.

However, the truth, in reality, will speak for itself.  It can be but ignored before the ignorant one is seen as such by all who surround, or before he decides that truth, reality, is more to be desired than the saving of his own proverbial face.

Now.  Frustration with rejected attempts at making nice no longer exists with me.  Joy is a personal choice, and I've chosen to internalize the joy I've been given, and let no accuser steal.  Beautiful life is ready to be redeemed, and I plan to extract every miniscule smattering of it I set my eyes, ears, heart on.


seasoned soil & fresh greens

House Salad at Kamp's.  Greens, nuts, veggies, feta.  It's the cheapest lunch for the most fullness of tummy I've yet found downtown.   And I was hungry come 6 o' clock this evening, meaning the portion size was impeccably precise.  Success.

Energy has been abundant as of late.  I hate going to bed.  There's too much to read, too many places to go, too many versions of Caffe Americano out there to taste test and critique, young in the coffee-critic game though I am (still so many brewing methods to master knowledge of).  Luckily, coffee after 6pm just doesn't sit with me pleasantly, so the ventures are limited to mornings.  I can't even think of everything I want to write tonight, but there's just too much.  Of that I am sure.

A camping trip will be underway two weekends from now.  I will say that I am more than stoked about this.  Longings for the next day I'd be in a tent on a cold, hard ground...bundled in a sweatshirt, socks and sleeping bag with the rain fly off, staring at the everclear stars...  Don't even get me started on the ash-laden s'mores.  Don't.  Even.  Very grateful am I for the invite, and think this just may be the best weekend of the year thus far.

So many incredible conversations happening around me right now...the most prominent of which are 1) a reenactment of a Coachella journey, and 2) the virtues of making films that win awards at festivals.  Cuppies & Joe is not to be underestimated in the realm of intensely-put-forth conversations.


life firsts & the best creme brulee

Living rent-free in someone else's mind.

Last night I had my very first cigar. Scared out of my mind at first, I was... I simply knew I would inhale, fill my chest with smoke and have my lungs collapse inside of me. There was enough hot sake in my blood by that time, though, that inhibitions of the irrational nature quickly fled the scene. Java with vanilla in mine (was incredible on the lips); Arturo Fuente (Hemingway's Short Story) was his. I felt very keenly observed by the surrounding male population - here she is, a nearly pale lady in a shimmering and shapely ivory Monroe-style dress, sparkling teardrop earrings, blood-black hair and brightly tinted lips...puffing away on a less-than-ladylike longpiece. A lovely paradox, 'twas. Let them think what they will, darling...for they will, whether you let them or not.

Leftover steak & lobster in my fridge. Remnants of a fantastical evening out. Is it even possible for me to validly complain about life, ever? Ginger dressing will have to be obtained at a later date. It makes for a good excuse to return to Shoguns.

All of my paragraphs in this post except for this one start with 'L'. I've grown so weary of the 'T's and 'I's as the entryways for every story; predictability has shown its ugly face around here for the last time, in my opinion.


trains, clouds, and a thunder brew

I love hearing the whistles as they blaze by. Kamp's 1910 is right on the railroad tracks. My biscuits and gravy are aptly named "Derailed", as they're loaded with eggs, green and white onion, cheese and sausage, conveniently deviating from the minimal standard of white peppered gravy and flaky crusts.

It's such a humid and cloudy day, and I'm a little surprised not to have seen any fallen trees yet. The storm last night was supposed to be "unprecedented", to use an ironic buzz word of our current day. Apparently there was a tornado on the ground in Norman last night; tonight is supposed to be just as exciting. All we got here was thunder, lightning, and erratic showers.

The Thunder brew (again with the irony) is caramel flavored here, and I failed to take this into account when I added my near-whole packet of raw sugar. I just can't take such sweetness anymore, having weaned myself off of the excessive sugar and creamer I took in my younger days. Sugar is for brownies, for blueberry coffee cake, for homemade ice cream, for peach pies. I like to enjoy my flavors separately, one at a time, not blended. I want to taste two flavors in two distinct places on my tongue rather than take two flavors and make a new one. Maybe that means I'm old-fashioned?

There comes a time when one has to begin making purchases meant to last a long (life) time. List of purchases to make:
  • sleeping bag and mat
  • real hiking boots
  • waterproof jacket with removable warm lining
  • compass
  • cookware
  • tent
  • more to be determined


preventing mental and spiritual atrophy

Mental stimulation. I crave challenge. Where are the new ideas? Where are the intellectuals? Somehow I've lost connection with them. What is connection? What is my excuse? Where do I start now?

My analytical side wants to pick at this wound until it's swollen red and throbbing, whatever it takes to get down to the deepest-seeded root and scrape it out, shred by shred until it's sure never to return. My impatient and antsy and artsy side is chomping at the bit and itches to move on, forget the cause, move forward and don't look back.

I guess it never hurt to try. I'll search and seek until my journey either leads me somewhere, or leads me nowhere. Either way, I'll have found my answer.

A lovely palest-blue light-weight tee and the black/white tribal skirt again. But this time with a sexy slingback black suede heel and long minimalist sparkly necklace. Another day at the office.


of humidors, roller-blading, and the sun

Jubilation! How unexpected!

I hadn't bladed in a good eight or nine years. And these skates had yet to be broken in. Well, a second-hand store donor had done their part in this, good and well. However, none of my bruises or scrapes had memories tied to this pair yet. "Chaaaange...is gon' come..." It did. I fell. But not even due to a lack of skating skill -- I was feeling quite accomplished for having just skated up a hill, and decided to perch myself upon a stump that was, I discovered, just a tad too tall for my 5'2" frame. Consequence: a tender
derrière and a heightened sense of and appreciation for, well, my height. My uphill victory remained with me, though, and I dare say I won't ever attempt to excuse my way out of a physical challenge of this sort again.

The sun rewarded me handsomely for my efforts to look natural on a pair of blades. My arms, shoulders and face now have a bright, rosy glow, which I couldn't be happier with.

Lover has this thing for a stout Arturo Fuente, of the Short Story variety. We found a smoke shop on the way to lunch from the lake (where my pavement-cruising escapades transpired). His voice changed, took on a higher pitch, a quicker rhythm. Seeing him excited gives me the chills. The sea foam green eyes dance like pups tumbling after a baseball in the grass. He doesn't even need to try to enchant the smiles out of me. The shop owner showed us around. I learned what Cavendish is.
[The smell of the vanilla cavendish right before the sturdy English blends of tobacco sat with me as a lovely couple.] I learned (though not yet by experience) that pipe-smoking is a little dangerous on the tongue, heat-wise. I learned that I just may really, really fancy this as a hobby someday.

I bought Argan oil hair products. I have to say, my hair is incredibly soft for using the shampoo and leave-in conditioning creme, and the curls continue even now to remain separate. Let me tell you, that is not an easy feat, unless you are of the wet-look persuasion, and don't mind the crunch that comes with a gel styling. My dollar has been well spent. Next for experimentation: honey / olive oil heated hair mask.

she wields an ax

Slower, please. Not every day is about exasperated extraction, fear of being stranded with "less than". What is this dandy-lion fear, and who let it go to seed? Its stench has grown on me, collected like moss.

The beautiful things and the mystery are what my most fulfilling days are made of. But how the memories flee! It has become clear that I must take to hunting them like wild game. I'll sack them up and pin them on my wall, using nails where necessary. A memory, an experience is like a rare butterfly or bird. With most of them, you only get that one chance to catch and cage, to make it yours forever.

The yard in my head is overgrown. Covered, really. The most obvious and efficient solution would be to simply destroy the would-be flowers' nutrient source, rather than plucking them out of the ground, one by one. I take the ax to the sprinkler, to the bag of "Miracle"-Gro, to the landscaper. Sit down. Breathe. 'Never again', I say. Someone needs to vacuum the lawn while I go empty, decompress; my relief is a cleansing, salty shower, after which I laugh nervously.

Fear has no place here. I said "JOY". I said "lion-hearted lilies". And that's what I meant when I said it. No more out-sourcing this critical labor and skill set. I'm handling my horticultural endeavors myself, with His supervision.


i am not ashamed of my life.

Coffee tastes wonderfully dirty and almost ethereal when coupled with a blueberry Clif. Breakfast of champions.

So this is the price I pay for being responsible. Single-handedly handling my own apartment, utilities, car, fuel, insurance, telephone, and groceries means I have far less money to travel with. The one thing I would choose to do, I can’t. At least not without a long, arduous saving process. Temptation teases me – should I be jealous? jealous of those with the liberty to live with their immediate family at such low cost, and the luxury of stockpiling their earnings for things such as a jaunt down to San Cristobal or Misol Ja, a sail across the North Atlantic for a holiday in Ireland?

Jealousy is not an option. Everyone must learn to take care of themselves at some time or another. This blessing for that, a commerce of pros and cons. Upon further consideration, I realize I would never trade what I have in an apartment of my own for what I might have had if I had chosen to live with my family. For one thing, it is necessary in the sharing of a family house that said family be tolerant of their adult daughter’s life and beliefs, regardless of their non-agreement with said items. I couldn’t stand to live with someone who, after countless attempts on my part to reach a ‘live-and-let-live’ truce, insisted that I either believe their way or head for the highway. I have always loved traveling…

My beloved nuclear-blue thermos has been rescued. I had left it behind at the Renaissance several weeks ago. What a tragic mistake.

Today I matched my environment -- the office colors and my outfit consisted of olive greens, gold & brass, soft whites and more stone shades.

I have GOT to eat hearty breakfasts more often. Fewer rushed, too-short mornings would aid this. Hello, old lady bedtime.


ill, and a soreness of spirit

What a weekend.

Friday started off ominously, with a little scratching of the throat and an overly warm feeling in my skin. They say this is how it starts. By three o'clock, I was no longer confident in my ability to contain myself. I was relieved of my deskly duties and allowed to go home.

The time between then and now has passed enjoyably enough...as much so as can be, considering my not really feeling up to much of anything at all. Even the writing of this post has proven a difficult undertaking. In my mind is so much energy! so many ideas! such things to do! Alas, my body is not so willing. Frustratingly weak.

City of Angels
. This film, last night, caused me to cry in a way I haven't in a long time. The fallen angel said, upon being asked if he still would have become human if he'd known his lover would die that day: "I would rather have had one breath of her hair, one kiss of her mouth, one touch of her hand...than an eternity without it. One." What kind of love is this? What kind of intensity and commitment to something outside of ones self? Inspired passion. I saw a piece of my nineteen-year-old self. Surely this couldn't have been four years ago.

I've got to stop trying to explain the world to myself, and vice versa. These rules I've created for protection only take me further from from where I actually want to be -- with my truest and oldest Friend. Tragically, I wish there were a book I could read in a span of three hundred and fifty pages that contained the solution(s) to my unplaceable doubts and fears. Yes, this means that I seek the easy way through this mess of emotion and a million people's thoughts, opinions, revelations. But this method is predicamental, as the easy way is ever-elusive, and I can't wait any longer for it.

I'm backed into a corner with nowhere else to look but straight ahead and up. Would someone for the love of God take my sword and shield away? Or at least coax gently, quietly enough that I'll give them up of my own volition? I feel too small to advance without them. Convince me, sway me. I'm fairly ready to believe anything
(given that the coaxing is adequately grounded in sound theology [what is that, again?], because Lord knows I'm quite done with ancient myths and foolish superstition).


a sea-farer i may be

Of note today >>

1. To Sea: I just may have found the ship for sailing to Europe on this summer. Ports of call include a) Miami, FL; b) Ponta Delgada, Portugal; c) Cobh (Cork), Ireland; d) Le Havre (Paris), France; e) Southampton (London), England. After landing in London, it'll be a few days of traipsing about, sampling wines and beers, and people-watching our hearts out until we fly back to the States. The trick now is securing accommodations while in London and a decently-priced flight home.

2. Pattern-Shuffle Tuesday: tablecloth blue/white plaid button-down on top of a black skirt with white tribal pictures, and set with patent black wedge sandals. There is also an unmentionable that I took for a test run all day today. In order to maintain some level of personal propriety, let me just say this: All my doubts are removed as to the workability and comfortability of this extraordinary little luxury.

3. Deferred Pleasure: I will have to wait a little longer for a lunch-date with a friend with whom I am longing to catch up on life. I tend to think that the delay will only increase my anticipation to chat with this lady; there is so much to discuss; the suspense is terribly exhilarating.

4. O Mirror, Where Art Thou? Hopefully in the back of an obliging chap's truck. He said he would give it to me for a hundred -- a 7'x3' beauty. It will have its own wall, all to itself.


berries and a denim romper

The week that just ended did so completely without my help. In fact, I'm inclined to think it intended to slip by without my noticing. Almost, Leap Week. Almost. Caught you by the Saturday.

I've found out that in order to get the fashion blog up and running, I'll need a full-sized mirror, unless I want to place my sets in natural-looking arrangements on the bed and take pictures that way. 'Twould be fun for a while, and maybe will happen occasionally, but I can't see that pleasing me for too long. Off to Craigslist...

Sold a few items at Daisy Exchange again. They gave me a store credit, which I was most excited to spend. As it turns out, after the credit was applied, I got five dresses and a little smocked denim romper for approximately $35 out-of-pocket. This method of wardrobe-updating is sitting happily with me.

Date night with Loverboy was, in two words, purely charming. Strawberry Daiquiri harkens back to the days of Mexico, luscious cheesecake (definitely didn't need to share two slices, but hey -- now we know that the Adam's Peanut Butter and the Coconut Chocolate pass the taste test [I would contend that mine, the Coconut, was the most desirable]), and a finishing off with Shrimp Scampi. We told our seafood-bearing waiter that we'd felt like eating our meal backwards, with dessert first, excusing our late arrival to the restaurant. It was his second day on the job. He served very well.

Last night, getting home, I suddenly felt the urge to listen to some scraping electric guitar and a grisly-intense voice singing out some passionate soul's heart. Some Anberlin made it to the speakers, some Collective Soul. I closed my eyes and soaked in the notes; I fairly felt the finger sequences flowing from my hands to the strings upon frets upon an instrument I've never played well, but plan to learn as soon as the cello is mastered. A song from Disciple ["Lay My Burdens"] is what finished it all off, what really did me in. What happened was very unexpected, but all the same welcomed, after some trepidation on my part regarding the addressing of sunk-deep matters of my heart, my burdens. Tears flowed. I had to let them. I was sorely tempted to swallow, raise my eyebrows, lighten my countenance, and let out a high-pitched and happy-sounding sigh. Here was another candid portrait of which I was most unfortunately afraid. My curiosity overwhelmed my fear, though, and I peeked in. It didn't kill me.

I may have begun my annual accumulation of suntan this afternoon. What joy.

Today I had berries. Lover and I concur: Berries contain the secret to happiness. Did you know that blueberries are yellowish-white on the inside, and not blue? It takes the patience to eat only half a berry at a time in order to see. This requires much self-restraint, as blueberries ask to be consumed as soon as possible. The blueberries were so fresh they popped when I bit. Dear, how I love a popping blueberry.


new hair and a popped collar

Feeling today a bit like Eva Green in my pinned-up hair that could now pass for a bobcut. Images of her character, Vesper Lynd in Casino Royale, come to mind with my black wool collar popped. All I need now is a little smoky-dark eyeshadow, some racy black stilettos, and for my medium-length pea coat to turn into a full-length trench. Her style in that film was simultaneously breath-taking and simple, up to the point she wore the incredible evening gown, which could hardly be described as simple. Just goes to show that the way you wear an item largely rivals the importance of the specific item itself.

“Who is Edie Sedgwick?” <-- (title of my most recent miniature person-study [not to be confused as "miniature-person study"])

Loverboy is an anglophile, through and through.

In picking up the mail today, my arms already quite full of bags and creamed Earl Grey, a seemingly elderly chap in a (grey) plaid jacket offered to hold my tea while I unloaded the post office box, all the while warning me of his temptation to steal a sip. His adorable pretended gulping and swallowing sounds have definitely been the highest-light of my day yet.

As it turns out, Brazilian folks have access to cashew fruit juice, and apparently enjoy it very much. I didn’t even know cashew trees grew a juice-able fruit! A friend in the area tells me it’s his favorite.

I am very much looking forward to a lecture on quantum time-flow, physics, and theology this evening. Can’t wait to see Lover in full-on teacher mode, not to mention experience the buzzing of thought as students question, counter-question, and expound on the topics. Boy, he loves what he does. *enamored sigh* I love that he loves it, which makes up for all the parts I don’t understand about the subjects (I naturally gravitate toward colors, rather than numbers). Watching him in his element is truly a sight for sore eyes and hearts.

| words for today |


+time with loved ones is not to last forever – as the clock ticks, we’ll never have more time to spend together than we do right now.

+blinkety-blank goes the cell phone! almost time to get a new one, I fear…

+Seattle’s Best coffee brand
+grasping for the unknown


there is no mathematics to love and loss

Cost of good manufactured vs. cost of good sold. My fiance knows everything that those two terms mean. Maybe he'll explain them to me for the thirty-seventh time. Economics is, of a certainty, the most important class I'll be auditing regarding the running of a business. I don't know why everyone doesn't think this way in their collegiate endeavors. Knowing how to see the signs of the times has just got to be the quintessential skill in staying ahead of the game / competition, saying nothing to merely staying afloat.

My sister and I had an intriguing time on Friday night. I swear I have no idea how we live in the same city and don't chat more than twice every three months. Reminiscing over movie habits and strange impersonation talents, I realized I'm more comfortable with her than anyone, excepting my lover, but even that is a close contest. Whatever/whomever has inspired me to return to being sociable, I thank you. I'd forgotten what I was missing.

Red velvet + cheesecake + coconut = a decadent mixture of frozen yogurt flavors, in case there was any question. This will become a habit if I don't curb myself.

Being unplugged from one's electronic devices is a marvelous antidote for the "time flies so quickly" blues. It's nice to leave the phone at home, the way it used to be.

| words for today |



+hotel points

+indie films


+kettle corn

+a black eye

+lemon-scented furniture polish


swimming in the marigolds

I used to plant marigold seeds and keep them in the bathroom window. Watching this thing live was a wonder – it bent its tiny stems toward the glass and fairly pressed its leave onto it, like a child looking into a toy store.

My latest horticultural endeavor is merely to provide life support to the miniature rose bush I was given on the 14th. It is staying well-watered, but I’m afraid it’s dying for lack of sunlight. I moved them to the conference room window. Hoping the thorny stems will bend as easily as the marigolds did.

I’ve decided it’s time to buy a bathing suit, and one I love so much I want to wear it all the time under my oxford shirts and everything. A necessary item :: perfect fit. I must not fall out of my bathing suit.

After making a faux budget for my time, it appears I have more time to read than expected. Currently arranging the reading list. Making goals for the year.

Speaking of budgets, I also determined that I can put 777 dollars per month into my savings account. That should be enough for Europe in about 6 months. Plenty of time.

I've got that itch for a meaty theological discussion. A start might be: No more categorizing people via Christianity, folks. It's got to stop. God doesn't separate people out in His head; neither should we. He relates with each one specifically and exactly, and speaks to them accordingly.

Time for weight-lifting.

| words for today |

+always carry a book

+less creamer in my coffee, less sugar

+dresses are so much easier
+tousled updo

+C.S. Lewis


it will happen.

Simplifying. Back to the way things were.

From this week forward, I'll be substituting flats (mini wedges at most) for heels. This decision was not easy. My favorite shoes I own are heels, and now I am denying myself them. My legs could use a better workout, though; the muscles seem to have almost set themselves into the shape my leg makes when a heeled shoe is on my foot, so walking in anything else utilizes a muscle set that hasn't seen action in too long. My combat boots arrived today. They are flat-ish, and caramel-colored.

More flashbacks. At McNellie's, a friend expressed how much he's missed being out, instead of constantly running to and fro without a chance to let loose. "The energy...I love it," he said. I was suddenly prompted to be right there, in that moment. It used to come so naturally. That was before I grew up and had an electric bill.

Somehow the difficulty is lessening...or maybe it's that I'm coming alive to the fact that there is a choice: I don't have to be busy. I will get enough sleep. I will make it to work in the morning. I will get my fashion blog up and running. I will purchase bicycle, camera, etc. But if I become unhappy in the process, what did I gain? More responsibility for these expensive items, and not a moment to love with them.

Life is SO MUCH about being happy. Jesus came to give us life, more abundantly, the whole sh'bang. But what if it's not about the destination to an attempted sense of content, but the adventure-laden journey through? And WHY am I saying these things?! I used to KNOW them, and now I'm trying to re-convince myself. Utterly forgetful. The most important things are at my fingertips every second of every minute.

No more words tonight. Only sighs of relief.


gather yourself, and gain composure. GO!

I feel the pressure to focus my near-uncontainable energy. The mere thought of only doing one thing at a time makes me nervous. The countless things that require my attention - ah! And so nothing gets done, rather than any one particular thing. #counterproductive

Just about decided upon the order of my "Major Purchases List":
i) bicycle
ii) camera
iii) euro trip
iv) motorcycle

The above may change, but I'm working for it not to. Focus! Bicycle.

Last night was pure invigoration, although it could have been made more so with the right dosage of upbeat music (remember for tonight). Weights, the cot, the floor, the weights again. I already feel fitter, and that is no lie. This morning my back/torso felt amazing, and my pencil skirt sat just right around my waist. I can breathe.

Regarding breathing, today I got a taste of what summer will be like, when I can shed all these woolen layers and get into the car, buckle my seatbelt without a strain, and move in my seat. No more fearing the loss of a leather glove. It happened once, and that experience has left me scarred, and slightly bitter at Winter, who asked me to bring the gloves out into the open in the first place. Don't get me wrong - I love my gloves. But the sooner I can leave the accoutrements at home and walk free with the wind in my shirt, the better. That is what this has come to.

HR advice to a Starbucks barista and loved friend. Several dozen glances to the roses on my desk. No runs in the hose. A vintage mother-of-pearl ring. Facial blemishes. Freely-given compliments regarding my "skinny-ness", whatever that is. A sewing machine w/accessories todo gratis from a coworker to whom I'm much obliged. Lover revved the engine at the sight of me walking toward the vehicle. A blogger found, and identified with strongly. Europe plans. Spelling "rapport".

| words for today |
+cable knit sweater + pencil skirt
+idea pad
+"it has to do with you and Me."
+somebody grab me a piano, STAT.
+another piercing will do nicely.
+keep your eye on the ball.


a day for lovers or something

Thank goodness, there were no heart-shaped Russell Stover boxes. Thank God. Small and with class beats expensive and impersonal/cliche/tacky any day, and particularly today. (Well, 2.14, anyway.)

This post was promised, and is now being delivered.

Monetary situations being what they are, at this time in my fiance's life, I wasn't quite sure what to expect. He never fails to surprise with his creativity using limited means; my anticipation was safely placed, I knew. He is such a thinker.

Lunch time came 'round quicker than usual; he picked me up on the south side of my building, the loading zone. The precious look on his face as he handed me a brown paper bag, with telling grease circles on one side...I could have melted just for that. A turtle cheesecake cup.

And then the roses...a bush is so much more than I expected in a floral arrangement, and he told me exactly why. His shot at poetry, drawing parallels between our love and the gift - I spent a while smiling on his first line before finishing the card. The bush is on my desk at the office until it outgrows its spot, and then I get to take it home for transplantation. I pressed pennies into the soil to help it last.

The romance of simplicity was my goal for him that evening. Directly after work, I grabbed his hand and fairly dragged him with delight I could hardly contain to the pace we kept. The gourmet chocolate cafe downtown wasn't very busy, but for a few children helping to clean up after what must have been a V-Day party for little ones. "Choose two", I said to him. Peanut Butter Chocolate Cup and an 85% cocoa truffle (the raspberry truffle would have been his third pick). I ordered two shots of espresso for pairing with the sweets.

The music was nicely subtle, and the children were nicely not. The curl-topped one wanted to be our cashier, and let his balloon fly to the ceiling, and wanted the cafe patrons to know that "that water is dirty; don't drink it". We had a laugh. And yes, a short slow-dance happened.

Dinner needed to be shopped for: yellow sweet onions, aged brie, panna italiana, and garlic cloves (the mushrooms were already stocked at home). [Basil, grapefruit juice, and black spiced rum have yet to be combined for imbibement, but not to worry. I haven't missed a beat yet when it comes to cocktails. I will bartend professionally, elegantly, and with charm someday. He'll join my at my apt this week for the most recent addition to my repertoire, if I pull his leg, or...something.]

The smell of freshly minced garlic will always remind me of him. He cooks with it all the time, and minces like a pro. We won't discuss the occasion of the rash, and the garlic/yogurt/vinegar full-body remedy. At least, until next time we discuss it. He seems to have no qualms with sharing the most incriminating stories of his past - this is admirable in my eyes.

He said the mushroom caramelized onion grilled brie sandwich is in his group of favorites now. I am victorious.

Romance is easily found when one is in love. I dare say, though, that it is more difficult to fall in love when one is a romantic. The expectation of specifics took away a lot from my initial experience with love, and I resisted (albeit reluctantly) in a futile attempt to ensure perfection - "I only want the best", I said. 'God's best', as they say, hung onto my heart like so much seaweed grown upon a precious ocean-covered artifact. I gradually taught the buried heart to swim and to know Love, which is far less peggable than I was taught it should be. I found everything by living. It couldn't have smacked me harder if I ran headlong into it intentionally, with outstretched arms.

My love just happened one day, and I think that is why it is so strong - it grew up without self-help books. It knows, by experience, how to fly.


grit; resolve

Ready for this thing. I need Instagram. Or another such something. A camera would do just as well.

For a good while now, faith [and the active pursuit thereof] has proved a difficult endeavor. But I'm definitely finished looking backward, finished trying to find the precise point where the ship went "off course". No. Instead, I defiantly attribute the last 15 months' seeming "dry season" to be just that :: a season. And killing myself over having a season hasn't been very effective in my new pursuit of pursuit of faith. That is over and done with. I start here & now. This is the same journey I started on when I was 12. I think it's time for me to embrace the fact that it doesn't look like any journey I've ever heard of. <-- That means the journey is mine for the taking and making, which relieves me a little.

Wanderlust has seeped in again...no more procrastinating. Money is money, and there's always more. There is ALWAYS more. The trouble of travel, though, is the need to share the experience with humans. With the fiance in a bit of a debacle with no set end-date, can't really count on his availability. If I really want to have faith, I could just purchase my ticket and wait...see if a miracle happens and obliterates the chains right off of him. As a first plan of action, however, it would appear that I require another traveling buddy (or 3). The destinations on the "potentials" list include (in no particular order):
a) New Zealand
b) Ireland
c) Sweden
d) good ol' Londontown
If interested, please respond.

I'll be writing about Valentine's Day shortly; there's conniving to do in the meantime.

| words for today |
+locate traveling buddy(ies)
+romance in the unlikeliest of places
+v-day still burns in my memory like a perpetual hot coal
+research places
+for the making & taking, my faith is mine.
+definitely need a best red bright lipstick
+handmade jewelry :: donated
+water for elephants

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