lessons learned from having a dog #34:
don't leave her food bowl in the kennel with her all day.
because she will eat it.
the end.
Monday, July 11, 2011
Friday, July 8, 2011
love note to my sweet, sweet car.
dearest ziggy,
thankyou for being handsome. and smart. and fast. and a lil' sparkly in the sun. and amazing on gas mileage. and having a sunroof. and having a killer bass. and being so easy to parallel park. and for simply needing an oil change today.
maple canyon here i come.
love,
me.
thankyou for being handsome. and smart. and fast. and a lil' sparkly in the sun. and amazing on gas mileage. and having a sunroof. and having a killer bass. and being so easy to parallel park. and for simply needing an oil change today.
maple canyon here i come.
love,
me.
love note hate note disgruntled note to my dumb troubled vehicle.
dear ziggy,
your little check engine light has ruined the maple canyon trip for me this weekend.
you see, in order to keep you around, i have to work alldayeveryday, thus making tomorrow (saturday) the ONLY available day to take you in for a check-up.
which means no climbing trip for me this weekend.
hope you're happy,
me.
PS. we're fighting.
your little check engine light has ruined the maple canyon trip for me this weekend.
you see, in order to keep you around, i have to work alldayeveryday, thus making tomorrow (saturday) the ONLY available day to take you in for a check-up.
which means no climbing trip for me this weekend.
hope you're happy,
me.
PS. we're fighting.
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
time
it's easy to neglect your mind when you spend 10 hour work days staring at a computer screen. mine is feeling malnourished.
my mind. not my computer.
i have a long post-it note list of books to read, also neglected. i added to it over the span of a few months earlier this year. while i was drowning in 12 credits of english classes i was dreaming about reading for my own agenda rather than that of my professors.
lately there have been many moments where i feel like i'm simply existing, and not living. this is a surprising feeling to me, for those moments counteract with many moments filled with the pure joy of living. summer thus far has consisted of trying to overload my days and nights with as many activities as possible to make it "feel like summer." while i have loved every minute of it, i forgot how sometimes it can "feel like summer" just by sitting on the front lawn, reading a book.
last summer when i was nannying on the ranch, i realized how dependent i was on time. on how many hours were left of whatever i was doing. on constantly checking the clock to see how much time was left in the day. one morning as i was helping tashya (the three year-old girl i was nannying) walk down the hill to the ranchhouse, she paused for a minute to bend down and pluck a wildflower. she looked down at it and smiled, then reached up to give it to me. i wanted to freeze that moment, for with the simplest of actions, the smallest of children had taught me a most important of lessons. i gave myself a mental challenge, to spend that week making a solid effort to not worry about time, but to enjoy every moment with that little girl and the other people at camp.
this is my plight as a young woman with a sometimes slight/sometimes not-so-slight dose of anxiety. to slow down, to stop analyzing every single thing, to take time to appreciate the simple things, to forget about finding some mind-blowing activity for one night and just be. my mind misses those kinds of moments. to read a book, or write a letter. i have a friend who once spent 80 dollars on stationary because she wanted to be "the kind of person who writes notes to people." it's amazing how something as simple as writing a letter can connect you to another person on an emotional level, and can make you feel as though you did something worthwhile.
to slowing down, to leaving our watches at home, to stopping planning what activity we are going to do next before we're even finished with what we're doing. to looking around and taking in life as it happens. to sitting on the front lawn and reading a book. (if the sun's out, we can still work on our tans. and eat an otter pop).
my mind. not my computer.
i have a long post-it note list of books to read, also neglected. i added to it over the span of a few months earlier this year. while i was drowning in 12 credits of english classes i was dreaming about reading for my own agenda rather than that of my professors.
lately there have been many moments where i feel like i'm simply existing, and not living. this is a surprising feeling to me, for those moments counteract with many moments filled with the pure joy of living. summer thus far has consisted of trying to overload my days and nights with as many activities as possible to make it "feel like summer." while i have loved every minute of it, i forgot how sometimes it can "feel like summer" just by sitting on the front lawn, reading a book.
last summer when i was nannying on the ranch, i realized how dependent i was on time. on how many hours were left of whatever i was doing. on constantly checking the clock to see how much time was left in the day. one morning as i was helping tashya (the three year-old girl i was nannying) walk down the hill to the ranchhouse, she paused for a minute to bend down and pluck a wildflower. she looked down at it and smiled, then reached up to give it to me. i wanted to freeze that moment, for with the simplest of actions, the smallest of children had taught me a most important of lessons. i gave myself a mental challenge, to spend that week making a solid effort to not worry about time, but to enjoy every moment with that little girl and the other people at camp.
this is my plight as a young woman with a sometimes slight/sometimes not-so-slight dose of anxiety. to slow down, to stop analyzing every single thing, to take time to appreciate the simple things, to forget about finding some mind-blowing activity for one night and just be. my mind misses those kinds of moments. to read a book, or write a letter. i have a friend who once spent 80 dollars on stationary because she wanted to be "the kind of person who writes notes to people." it's amazing how something as simple as writing a letter can connect you to another person on an emotional level, and can make you feel as though you did something worthwhile.
to slowing down, to leaving our watches at home, to stopping planning what activity we are going to do next before we're even finished with what we're doing. to looking around and taking in life as it happens. to sitting on the front lawn and reading a book. (if the sun's out, we can still work on our tans. and eat an otter pop).
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