Tuesday, January 2, 2018
Hey there, 2018
2017, you were a learning year, that's for sure. So many things happened that put into fine focus what is important to me. That's not nothing. But I'm ready to look ahead with my newly gained perspective. I'm kicking you to the curb, 2017. No offense.
This year is going to be about facing forward.
This year is going to be about trying new things.
This year is going to be about making good choices (Olivia, I'll tell myself that as I walk out the door each morning) and then trying hard not to second guess myself.
This year is going to be about perspective (Paige and I are both working this one).
You know those storm chasers? Every so often you see stories about how insane they are, pursuing tornadoes with such single-mindedness. I'm going to be a joy chaser. That's my job for 2018.
Start where you are. Use what you have. Do what you can. Find the joy.
So here we are, 2018. You and me. I'm here. Ready to roll.
Monday, December 4, 2017
Paige
I'm sitting here thinking about my first cousin, Paige. She is my mom's sister's daughter. We are less than a year apart in age. We live three thousand miles apart geographically--always have. I grew up in California and Paige grew up in Virginia. But every summer as far back as I can remember and lasting through my high school years, my mom and her two sisters (and husbands and kids) would descend upon my grandparents' summer house in Beach Haven, New Jersey for two glorious weeks.
So for fourteen days, Paige and I got to spend pretty much every waking moment together. It was heavenly.
We would wake up to Jack's cream donuts and cantaloupe, head to the beach mid-morning, head back to the house when the noon whistle blew (seriously, there was a noon whistle that blew every.single.day. at precisely 12pm) and eat lunch in front of the TV, return to the beach for a few more hours during which time the ice-cream man would ring his bell at the top of the dunes and all of us kids would go scrambling for money to buy bomb pops and other assorted frozen treats, and then finally around four or five in the afternoon we would go back to the house to clean up for drinks on the front porch or, if it was not too muggy and the mosquitoes were at bay, up on the deck. My grandmother might make tiny little hot dog appetizers with ketchup/mustard dip, or maybe shrimp with cocktail sauce. When everyone was there at the same time we totaled fourteen--eight adults and six kids.
Paige and I shared a room. It was small, painted an odd shade of green, and had two beds and a dresser. And us. That was it. Every summer.
We were inseparable during those fourteen days. We even had matching clothes that our grandmother would buy for us every summer. We were referred to as "the twins". We loved it!
We didn't really see each other much outside of our summer vacations. We wrote letters. We occasionally would talk on the phone (not very often--this was back in the time when there was this thing called a "long distance rate", and California is a long distance from Virginia). Once Paige and her mom spent a week at Christmas with us. But really, our relationship grew pretty much out of those magical two weeks in the summer.
I vacationed with her one summer for a week in Maryland late in our high school years. I went to her family's house on St. Croix for a few weeks one summer and we traveled together for a month in Europe during our college years. We were each other's maid of honor at our weddings.
I was thinking about all of this today as Paige and I were exchanging long, detailed texts back and forth. We do that a lot. And not just texting. We write long, detailed emails. Very occasionally we will talk on the phone (she's not much of a phone fan). And we visit each other. Not a lot, and not enough, but we do squeeze in visits.
And I wondered, how did two kids who lived across a continent from one another end up in each other's weddings? How did we maintain, no not maintain how did we even establish, such a close friendship for dozens of years without cell phones and FaceTime?
I don't have an answer for that question. But somehow we did it. And we did it well, apparently, because I don't think there's anything we wouldn't tell one another. She's one of the first people I contact when something goes wrong and I need to commiserate. Also one of the first people I contact when things go well and I want to share.
Somehow, with three-thousand miles between us for 341 days of the year, we managed to make those fourteen days together add up to something priceless.
I'm thinking about all of this because 2017 has been a rough year for both of us. Neither of us would choose the path that got laid out in front of us. But there it was. And I can confidently say that Paige is one of the reasons I am still sane. This year was awful, but through it all she was right there by my side, both metaphorically and literally. She sent me texts of encouragement. She called--yes, she who detests the phone made an exception more than once to talk and more often than not to listen. She asked me questions that I know everyone else wanted to ask but they didn't know how. She flew across the country and the two of us went on a girl's beach weekend to help me give Dave a break for a few days (Dave made her swear up one side and down the other that she would take very good care of me and she more than accomplished that). She drove for hours to visit me after my surgery and kept telling me how amazing I was. I did not feel very amazing. I felt and looked the opposite of amazing. But she continued to insist that I was kicking some ass and at some point I started to believe her.
Maybe you read all of this and it doesn't seem that extraordinary to you. But if you knew Paige like I do, and you knew her story, her history, her life, you'd understand that she is Wonder Woman. She's a superhero in every sense of the word. The challenges that she has faced and overcome are book-worthy (in fact she's been writing a book for years now... it's gonna be good!). And in the midst of all that shit there she is supporting me.
I remember the toast I gave at her rehearsal dinner. It went something like this: Paige is one of those people who you know is there for you, no matter what. Sometimes she's walking in front of you to clear the path. Sometimes she's walking behind you to catch you if you fall. But mostly she's walking next to you, holding your hand, ready to celebrate your victories or wipe away your tears.
I have no explanation as to how we forged such an amazing bond with such limited time together. But I do know that as we get older it gets stronger. It is unbreakable.
I"m going to try to describe a visual representation of us. Picture two women standing, facing one another, about three feet apart. Now picture them leaning forward, without moving their feet, until their foreheads touch. So now they're supporting each other so neither one of them falls.
That's us. Depending on what's going on, one of us might be more upright and the other more bent, but we're still leaning on each other all the way.
So for fourteen days, Paige and I got to spend pretty much every waking moment together. It was heavenly.
We would wake up to Jack's cream donuts and cantaloupe, head to the beach mid-morning, head back to the house when the noon whistle blew (seriously, there was a noon whistle that blew every.single.day. at precisely 12pm) and eat lunch in front of the TV, return to the beach for a few more hours during which time the ice-cream man would ring his bell at the top of the dunes and all of us kids would go scrambling for money to buy bomb pops and other assorted frozen treats, and then finally around four or five in the afternoon we would go back to the house to clean up for drinks on the front porch or, if it was not too muggy and the mosquitoes were at bay, up on the deck. My grandmother might make tiny little hot dog appetizers with ketchup/mustard dip, or maybe shrimp with cocktail sauce. When everyone was there at the same time we totaled fourteen--eight adults and six kids.
Paige and I shared a room. It was small, painted an odd shade of green, and had two beds and a dresser. And us. That was it. Every summer.
We were inseparable during those fourteen days. We even had matching clothes that our grandmother would buy for us every summer. We were referred to as "the twins". We loved it!
We didn't really see each other much outside of our summer vacations. We wrote letters. We occasionally would talk on the phone (not very often--this was back in the time when there was this thing called a "long distance rate", and California is a long distance from Virginia). Once Paige and her mom spent a week at Christmas with us. But really, our relationship grew pretty much out of those magical two weeks in the summer.
I vacationed with her one summer for a week in Maryland late in our high school years. I went to her family's house on St. Croix for a few weeks one summer and we traveled together for a month in Europe during our college years. We were each other's maid of honor at our weddings.
I was thinking about all of this today as Paige and I were exchanging long, detailed texts back and forth. We do that a lot. And not just texting. We write long, detailed emails. Very occasionally we will talk on the phone (she's not much of a phone fan). And we visit each other. Not a lot, and not enough, but we do squeeze in visits.
And I wondered, how did two kids who lived across a continent from one another end up in each other's weddings? How did we maintain, no not maintain how did we even establish, such a close friendship for dozens of years without cell phones and FaceTime?
I don't have an answer for that question. But somehow we did it. And we did it well, apparently, because I don't think there's anything we wouldn't tell one another. She's one of the first people I contact when something goes wrong and I need to commiserate. Also one of the first people I contact when things go well and I want to share.
Somehow, with three-thousand miles between us for 341 days of the year, we managed to make those fourteen days together add up to something priceless.
I'm thinking about all of this because 2017 has been a rough year for both of us. Neither of us would choose the path that got laid out in front of us. But there it was. And I can confidently say that Paige is one of the reasons I am still sane. This year was awful, but through it all she was right there by my side, both metaphorically and literally. She sent me texts of encouragement. She called--yes, she who detests the phone made an exception more than once to talk and more often than not to listen. She asked me questions that I know everyone else wanted to ask but they didn't know how. She flew across the country and the two of us went on a girl's beach weekend to help me give Dave a break for a few days (Dave made her swear up one side and down the other that she would take very good care of me and she more than accomplished that). She drove for hours to visit me after my surgery and kept telling me how amazing I was. I did not feel very amazing. I felt and looked the opposite of amazing. But she continued to insist that I was kicking some ass and at some point I started to believe her.
Maybe you read all of this and it doesn't seem that extraordinary to you. But if you knew Paige like I do, and you knew her story, her history, her life, you'd understand that she is Wonder Woman. She's a superhero in every sense of the word. The challenges that she has faced and overcome are book-worthy (in fact she's been writing a book for years now... it's gonna be good!). And in the midst of all that shit there she is supporting me.
I remember the toast I gave at her rehearsal dinner. It went something like this: Paige is one of those people who you know is there for you, no matter what. Sometimes she's walking in front of you to clear the path. Sometimes she's walking behind you to catch you if you fall. But mostly she's walking next to you, holding your hand, ready to celebrate your victories or wipe away your tears.
I have no explanation as to how we forged such an amazing bond with such limited time together. But I do know that as we get older it gets stronger. It is unbreakable.
I"m going to try to describe a visual representation of us. Picture two women standing, facing one another, about three feet apart. Now picture them leaning forward, without moving their feet, until their foreheads touch. So now they're supporting each other so neither one of them falls.
That's us. Depending on what's going on, one of us might be more upright and the other more bent, but we're still leaning on each other all the way.
Saturday, December 2, 2017
Awesome
You know when go to the mailbox and open it up, expecting to find the usual pile of junk mail with an occasional bill sprinkled in, but instead you find the usual pile of junk mail and a bill or two and an envelope with your name hand-written on it, from someone real who you know and love?
That's awesome.
You know when you open the refrigerator and you're hungry but you're not really sure what you're hungry for and then BAM! there's one serving of your favorite dessert leftover from a few nights ago sitting right there on the shelf because everyone in the house forgot it was there for the last day or two?
That's awesome.
You know when you're driving in your car and you start to dig around in your purse (probably not something you gentleman do very often) to find your sunglasses (while still keeping your eyes on the road) and all the sudden you can feel the shape of a couple of Hershey's kisses that have been in there for at least a week because you thought you had eaten them all and had stopped fishing around for them days ago?
That's awesome.
Get the idea?
A wonderful family friend (who feels more like family than friend) gave me "The Book of Awesome" a few weeks ago. I had never seen nor heard of it so didn't know what to expect when I opened it up. It's now one of my favorite books. It's full of dozens of little moments like the ones above. Little things that happen to normal people all the time that should be appreciated but are more often than not overlooked.
This is a fun game to play (by yourself or with others). Instead of rehashing the tale of the guy who cut you off in traffic (because you know you'll tell this story to multiple people, and to what end?), or repeating the story of the lady in the checkout line who decided to write a check but didn't start writing it until her entire basket was bagged and ready to go, or getting frustrated with the barista at Starbucks who put whipped cream on your mocha even though you said "no whip", why not let those moments roll off of you and try instead to come up with a few "awesome" moments--it's really pretty easy once you put your mind to it.
In today's world it's just too easy to see what's gone wrong instead of looking for what's gone right.
Here are a few more of my "awesome" moments from this week:
When it's after 5pm and you have no idea what you're making for dinner and you're pretty sure you might have to go to the supermarket and you really don't want to but when you open the freezer there's a package of frozen raviolis AND you find a jar of marinara in the pantry. Awesome!
You put on your winter coat that you haven't worn since last winter and when you put your hands in the pockets you find a ten dollar bill. Awesome!
You unload the dishwasher and lo and behold EVERY SINGLE GLASS in the house is now clean and your cupboard is FULL. Awesome! (this one, incidentally, will NEVER happen if your kids are home for any length of time as all the glasses will be in any spot BUT the dishwasher or the cupboard--but your kids are home so AWESOME!)
That's awesome.
You know when you open the refrigerator and you're hungry but you're not really sure what you're hungry for and then BAM! there's one serving of your favorite dessert leftover from a few nights ago sitting right there on the shelf because everyone in the house forgot it was there for the last day or two?
That's awesome.
You know when you're driving in your car and you start to dig around in your purse (probably not something you gentleman do very often) to find your sunglasses (while still keeping your eyes on the road) and all the sudden you can feel the shape of a couple of Hershey's kisses that have been in there for at least a week because you thought you had eaten them all and had stopped fishing around for them days ago?
That's awesome.
Get the idea?
A wonderful family friend (who feels more like family than friend) gave me "The Book of Awesome" a few weeks ago. I had never seen nor heard of it so didn't know what to expect when I opened it up. It's now one of my favorite books. It's full of dozens of little moments like the ones above. Little things that happen to normal people all the time that should be appreciated but are more often than not overlooked.
This is a fun game to play (by yourself or with others). Instead of rehashing the tale of the guy who cut you off in traffic (because you know you'll tell this story to multiple people, and to what end?), or repeating the story of the lady in the checkout line who decided to write a check but didn't start writing it until her entire basket was bagged and ready to go, or getting frustrated with the barista at Starbucks who put whipped cream on your mocha even though you said "no whip", why not let those moments roll off of you and try instead to come up with a few "awesome" moments--it's really pretty easy once you put your mind to it.
In today's world it's just too easy to see what's gone wrong instead of looking for what's gone right.
Here are a few more of my "awesome" moments from this week:
When it's after 5pm and you have no idea what you're making for dinner and you're pretty sure you might have to go to the supermarket and you really don't want to but when you open the freezer there's a package of frozen raviolis AND you find a jar of marinara in the pantry. Awesome!
You put on your winter coat that you haven't worn since last winter and when you put your hands in the pockets you find a ten dollar bill. Awesome!
You unload the dishwasher and lo and behold EVERY SINGLE GLASS in the house is now clean and your cupboard is FULL. Awesome! (this one, incidentally, will NEVER happen if your kids are home for any length of time as all the glasses will be in any spot BUT the dishwasher or the cupboard--but your kids are home so AWESOME!)
Saturday, October 28, 2017
A Call from Amsterdam
Two nights ago I had a hysterical, hour-long conversation with Olivia on a FaceTime chat.
I might as well just end the post there. Because what more could a mother ask for than her daughter calling in what is the middle-of-the-night-in-Amsterdam-time because she can't sleep and just felt like talking. For an hour. From six thousand miles away.
I can't tell you what we talked about. Privileged information. Mother-daughter confidence must be maintained.
But I can say that my daughter can make me laugh. LAUGH! She can literally make me laugh so hard that my stomach hurts. She can tell a story with just the right amount of detail and exactly the right amount of sarcasm. Most of her stories involve sarcasm. Just know that going in. I have no idea where she gets that.
We talked about everything from soup to nuts (as my mother would say). We talked about important stuff and trivial crap. I tried to listen more than talk. Not hard to do as she's pretty interesting to listen to. (Just stop it, grammar police; I know what I did. Relax.)
Olivia and I get each other. We can sense each other's subtext. You hear her talking about memes and retweets. That's not what I hear. I can't tell you what I hear. But I hear what she's really talking about.
It's not like we solved the world's problems or anything during this conversation, but I'm ranking the chat up there among my top ten. My almost-twenty-one-year-old daughter called. Just to talk.
I might as well just end the post there. Because what more could a mother ask for than her daughter calling in what is the middle-of-the-night-in-Amsterdam-time because she can't sleep and just felt like talking. For an hour. From six thousand miles away.
I can't tell you what we talked about. Privileged information. Mother-daughter confidence must be maintained.
But I can say that my daughter can make me laugh. LAUGH! She can literally make me laugh so hard that my stomach hurts. She can tell a story with just the right amount of detail and exactly the right amount of sarcasm. Most of her stories involve sarcasm. Just know that going in. I have no idea where she gets that.
We talked about everything from soup to nuts (as my mother would say). We talked about important stuff and trivial crap. I tried to listen more than talk. Not hard to do as she's pretty interesting to listen to. (Just stop it, grammar police; I know what I did. Relax.)
Olivia and I get each other. We can sense each other's subtext. You hear her talking about memes and retweets. That's not what I hear. I can't tell you what I hear. But I hear what she's really talking about.
It's not like we solved the world's problems or anything during this conversation, but I'm ranking the chat up there among my top ten. My almost-twenty-one-year-old daughter called. Just to talk.
Saturday, October 14, 2017
Dear Mom and Dad
Dear Mom and Dad,
It's hard to know even where to begin. So I'm going to start with a riff on Dad's toast at our wedding. I believe Dad said that teachers often have to repeat things three times, and he told us "We love you, we love you, we love you." I'm going to echo that sentiment and add a second verse. "We love you, we love you, we love you, and thank you, thank you, thank you."
I want to focus on all the amazing things you both have done for me (and Dave) in the past half year. It's been kind of a crappy time and it would have been so easy to dive down the rabbit hole and be caught endlessly falling in the darkness. It would have been easy for that to happen to me and it certainly would have been easy for that to happen to you. But it didn't.
And here's why.
Because that's not how you do things. It's not how you've ever done things. And so that's not how I do things. Thank you for the example.
It's a gift that you have given to me. A big, giant, lead-by-example, walk-the-walk kind of gift.
There could be no better gift to receive. Nothing in a box, wrapped up in fancy paper and finished with a lovely bow could possibly be more valuable, useful or preferable.
I've watched you both go through heart-breaking, life-altering situations. Some were very unexpected. Some you could see coming. Some were over in a moment and some lasted longer. But no matter what the situation, what I saw was you both doing whatever you could to help make things a little easier, a little better, for those involved. You didn't spend time feeling sorry for yourselves. I'm not really sure you thought of yourselves at all. You spent your time making things better for others. And that made things better for you.
And that's what you've spent the past seven months doing. You've made things better for everyone.
I can't even begin to thank you appropriately. I don't even think I could recount everything you've done. The meals you made, the books you brought, the chats, the walks around the block, the lunches, the daily check-ins, the shoulders to cry on, the good-night texts... so much more.
But the encouragement. And the optimism. And just your presence. Most of all, thank you for that. Because that is what is getting me, getting all of us, through this.
This isn't how things are supposed to be. I never, in my wildest imagination, would have pictured my eighty year old parents taking care of their fifty year old daughter. Isn't that the reverse of how things go? Aren't I supposed to be helping to take care of you? But that's not how things are at present. Life doesn't, apparently, always go the way you think it will. Who knew?
I don't know if you've sat in your kitchen staring blankly into the air wondering, "Why?" I know I have. But I also know that what snaps me out of that is that I have watched you both, for over fifty years now, make your way through life (and all that it throws at you) with grace and dignity and each other. You are always there for each other. And you are always there for us, with quiet support and fortification, gently nudging us forward, upward. No matter what. I have never seen you two sit around feeling sorry for yourselves.
Thank you for that.
I do not have any idea where the two of you get the strength to do what you do, but I'm grateful to be on the receiving end of it.
And my hope is that I'm able to do what you do. I want to have this amazing super-power that you have, this power to make your way through the darkest moments by being your strongest, kindest, most positive selves. That's my goal.
So maybe I could have summed this letter up more succinctly by simply saying,
Dear Mom and Dad,
Thank you for being you. Thank you for being so selfless. Thank you for showing me how to gracefully handle life, with all its ups and downs. I've watched you closely. I've taken notes.
I'm trying to echo your example. What a gift that is! I will try to pass it down :) Thank you, thank you, thank you. I love you, I love you, I love you.
Love,
Kim
It's hard to know even where to begin. So I'm going to start with a riff on Dad's toast at our wedding. I believe Dad said that teachers often have to repeat things three times, and he told us "We love you, we love you, we love you." I'm going to echo that sentiment and add a second verse. "We love you, we love you, we love you, and thank you, thank you, thank you."
I want to focus on all the amazing things you both have done for me (and Dave) in the past half year. It's been kind of a crappy time and it would have been so easy to dive down the rabbit hole and be caught endlessly falling in the darkness. It would have been easy for that to happen to me and it certainly would have been easy for that to happen to you. But it didn't.
And here's why.
Because that's not how you do things. It's not how you've ever done things. And so that's not how I do things. Thank you for the example.
It's a gift that you have given to me. A big, giant, lead-by-example, walk-the-walk kind of gift.
There could be no better gift to receive. Nothing in a box, wrapped up in fancy paper and finished with a lovely bow could possibly be more valuable, useful or preferable.
I've watched you both go through heart-breaking, life-altering situations. Some were very unexpected. Some you could see coming. Some were over in a moment and some lasted longer. But no matter what the situation, what I saw was you both doing whatever you could to help make things a little easier, a little better, for those involved. You didn't spend time feeling sorry for yourselves. I'm not really sure you thought of yourselves at all. You spent your time making things better for others. And that made things better for you.
And that's what you've spent the past seven months doing. You've made things better for everyone.
I can't even begin to thank you appropriately. I don't even think I could recount everything you've done. The meals you made, the books you brought, the chats, the walks around the block, the lunches, the daily check-ins, the shoulders to cry on, the good-night texts... so much more.
But the encouragement. And the optimism. And just your presence. Most of all, thank you for that. Because that is what is getting me, getting all of us, through this.
This isn't how things are supposed to be. I never, in my wildest imagination, would have pictured my eighty year old parents taking care of their fifty year old daughter. Isn't that the reverse of how things go? Aren't I supposed to be helping to take care of you? But that's not how things are at present. Life doesn't, apparently, always go the way you think it will. Who knew?
Thank you for that.
I do not have any idea where the two of you get the strength to do what you do, but I'm grateful to be on the receiving end of it.
And my hope is that I'm able to do what you do. I want to have this amazing super-power that you have, this power to make your way through the darkest moments by being your strongest, kindest, most positive selves. That's my goal.
So maybe I could have summed this letter up more succinctly by simply saying,
Dear Mom and Dad,
Thank you for being you. Thank you for being so selfless. Thank you for showing me how to gracefully handle life, with all its ups and downs. I've watched you closely. I've taken notes.
I'm trying to echo your example. What a gift that is! I will try to pass it down :) Thank you, thank you, thank you. I love you, I love you, I love you.
Love,
Kim
Wednesday, September 20, 2017
What I Learned from Tommy Bahama
I just spent a glorious four days at the beach with my amazing cousin/sister/twin Paige. Great weather. Warm Pacific water (which is unusual). Lots of time to just sit in comfy chairs on the sand and talk our heads off. Which we did. Nonstop. For four days. I think we shut up just long enough to eat some delicious food (Phil's clam chowder, Corralitos sausage, Zelda's on the patio).
But back to the comfy chairs on the sand part.
Those are the chairs, above in the picture. Two Tommy Bahama blue beach chairs. They look like ordinary beach chairs. But don't be fooled. These chairs did much more than allow our butts to rest comfortably six inches off the sand. These chairs were metaphors for life. Or similes. I'm not going to commit to one or the other. In any case, these inanimate objects taught us a few things.
For starters, we were fairly loaded up with gear as we began our trek down to the beach. We had towels, books, drinks, a beach bag and of course the chairs. That's a lot to carry, the chairs being the most awkward part of the load. As we tried to negotiate how to carry all of this down two flights of steps, Paige took a closer look and realized that the tangle of straps protruding from the seats were actually backpack straps. Lesson number one: when confronted with a dilemma, take a closer look. A solution may already be sitting right there if you just turn things around and look at them from a different angle.
We pulled open our chairs and settled onto the beach. Beautiful day--partly cloudy, waves rolling in, and that salty ocean air! And it got better, because drink holders! You expect them in your car, but when you get one on your beach chair--well, come on--that makes you smile!
We actually did not put beers in our drink holders. We had a couple of cans of LaCroix water. But either way, important life lesson number two: keeping hydrated, especially when you're out in the elements, is SO DAMN IMPORTANT that even Tommy Bahama is trying to make it easier for you.
And that little pocket next to the "hydration compartment"? It's for your phone. At least that's how we interpreted it. It was the perfect size, and it velcroed shut. It's two lessons in one (maybe?): communication is important enough to warrant a coveted spot on the chair, but also put the phone in the pocket and velcro it shut for a while. You're at the beach. Enjoy.
The chairs also had a built-in pillow and reclined back. Life lesson number five was a bit more obvious: when presented with the opportunity to relax, take it. Life is full of stresses that you have to deal with on an ongoing basis. If relaxation rudely interrupts, go with it while you can.
We had a really great day on the beach. The sun came out. Paige went in the water! We read our books and stayed hydrated. I headed back upstairs a little earlier than Paige, but left my chair down there as I thought we might watch the sunset from the beach later on. But then it got windy and chilly, so Paige ended up bringing the chairs up by herself. Not an easy task when you can't get the chairs to fold back down. Which brings us to our last lesson.
Here's what the chairs look like when they are all compacted for carrying:
to this
is no easy task, I'm here to tell you. Paige tried and tried to fold the chairs down, but they wouldn't cooperate, so she carried them back up to the house in their fully expanded condition. She's a trooper (also, she's not a complainer but that's a whole other blog post, which she absolutely deserves).
Anyway, we did eventually figure out how to get the chairs collapsed, but it quite literally took two of us to accomplish this, each of us pushing and pulling on different parts of the chair. I suppose one person might be able to do it by herself with difficulty, but it would most definitely be easier with two people working together. And that's lesson number six: teamwork gets the job done.
Who knew a beach chair could teach you so much? But maybe that's the bigger overall lesson-- you can learn from anything if your mind is open to it. And it helps if there's a cup holder.
Stay hydrated!
Saturday, September 9, 2017
I Am in a Cheese Shop Currently (Part 2)
Olivia's texts from the previous post got me thinking... she is really living the life.
To refresh your memory as to what "living the life" is for Olivia right now, she wrote that Nice was the best thing of her life and she swam in the Mediterranean and she was in a cheese shop. (being in a cheese shop should always be recognized as winning at life)
Not bad. Hard to top.
She is, after all, twenty years young, studying abroad, traveling on the French Riviera and quite possibly still in a cheese shop.
"Living the life" at twenty is all about finding out what's out there. It's adventure. New friends. Experiences you've never had before.
What sentences might express the "living the life" idea, for me, that her sentences did for her?
I'll start with location. I'm thinking water--ocean, sea, river--I'm not picky. And I do love Europe. While I would love to revisit some places I've been, the thought of somewhere new to explore, or at least seeing somewhere from a new perspective, is appealing. But I don't just want to see one place. I want to be on the move. Not so fast that I can't take in culture and beauty and ambiance. I want to experience that. But I also want to see more than just one country or one city. I still have some wanderlust.
I like to walk around. Give me a map and a few hours and I'm as happy as can be, even if I get lost. So lots of places to explore, even if briefly.
And food. Good food. Lots of good food, maybe even some I've never tried before.
This is coming into focus.
I think I've got it. Here would be my "living the life" post:
The Danube is beautiful. A new port each couple of days. Today we wandered Budapest. About to enjoy a glass of wine with the sunset.
Goals...
To refresh your memory as to what "living the life" is for Olivia right now, she wrote that Nice was the best thing of her life and she swam in the Mediterranean and she was in a cheese shop. (being in a cheese shop should always be recognized as winning at life)
Not bad. Hard to top.
She is, after all, twenty years young, studying abroad, traveling on the French Riviera and quite possibly still in a cheese shop.
"Living the life" at twenty is all about finding out what's out there. It's adventure. New friends. Experiences you've never had before.
What sentences might express the "living the life" idea, for me, that her sentences did for her?
I'll start with location. I'm thinking water--ocean, sea, river--I'm not picky. And I do love Europe. While I would love to revisit some places I've been, the thought of somewhere new to explore, or at least seeing somewhere from a new perspective, is appealing. But I don't just want to see one place. I want to be on the move. Not so fast that I can't take in culture and beauty and ambiance. I want to experience that. But I also want to see more than just one country or one city. I still have some wanderlust.
I like to walk around. Give me a map and a few hours and I'm as happy as can be, even if I get lost. So lots of places to explore, even if briefly.
And food. Good food. Lots of good food, maybe even some I've never tried before.
This is coming into focus.
I think I've got it. Here would be my "living the life" post:
The Danube is beautiful. A new port each couple of days. Today we wandered Budapest. About to enjoy a glass of wine with the sunset.
Goals...
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