Nature

There is pleasure in the pathless woods, 
There is rapture on the lonely shore, 
There is society where none intrudes, 
by the deep sea and the music in its roar;
I LOVE NOT MAN THE LESS, BUT NATURE MORE.

      - George Gordon, Lord Byron, Childe Harold's Pilgrimage

Nature has always been my retreat, my fresh of breath air, that one thing that constantly brings me back on solid ground when I feel like I'm about to fly away and get lost into oblivion. Nature holds beauty and power to the highest. When you see the vastness of a canyon, the ocean, a sunrise there are no words to describe the gasp you let through your lips. It beholds beauty on the largest scale, when you look at the out stretched galaxy. It contains beauty in the smallest petal of that glorious spring flower. And yet within all that peaceful and calm claiming beauty it holds a power larger than any human could imagine possessing. The power to destroy an entire species with one blow. Nature amazes and baffles me most because of the power it holds within me. At the exact same moment nature makes me feel so powerful, it gives me a sense of confidence that truly makes me believe I could take on the world and conquer it. And yet in that same instant, I feel more insignificant, more inadequate and smaller than I ever have. 

There truly is a pleasure of getting lost within the grasps of the wild. There is a rapture that forces repentance of the evilest kind when you kneel into the earth. There is a sense of community, a sense of society that is accepting and calming, because of the lack of judgment not company. When you sit amongst the grains of the earth and you listen to the music it strums, the way it strums the strings of your soul. You can only come to the conclusion, that everything in life is not loved less, but that your heart and spirit have grown to love, to crave, nature more.

coffee

A perfect morning for me is waking up early enough to see the sunrise. To first have a hot cup of tea and read The Word and then go off for a brisk morning run. When I return home I make a wonderful, delicious breakfast. (This morning happened to be grilled mushrooms cooked with a thick creamy sauce, fried into my egg and put on a piece of toast with a banana and orange on the side, delicious I recommend it.) All of it combined together is great the sunrise, the run, the food, the reading, the peacefulness; but the one item that can break or make that morning of goodness: the cup of coffee. 

Coffee, according to the women of Denmark, is for the body what the Word of the Lord is for the soul. 

Coffee is not merely a mug filled with a thick, hot mess of liquid. It is not just your wake up call, or your drug to get you through the day. No, no, coffee is so much more. A bad cup of coffee can ruin your morning, put you in a horrid mood and leave a bad taste in your mouth until dark. But a great cup of coffee, now that will put you in a blissful mood no matter who or what you encounter. Coffee can be dark and strong, it can be sweet and the smell of it that hits your nostrils before the taste of it kisses your tongue is something that you can relish upon for days. A cup of coffee is not only good for your body; to caffeinate you, to energize you. But a good cup of coffee is good for your soul as well. The number of incredible conversations I have had over coffee is countless, the number of heart-felt talks I have encountered over lattes are numerous and the number of epiphanies I have embarked upon inside my own heart and mind while sipping a cappuccino are endless. 

So, please go enjoy a cup of coffee. Make it caffeinated, make it strong, have someone right there to enjoy it with you and take in the wet, hot goodness of bliss in a mug.

(p.s. the mug, the to-go cup, the styrofoam can make all the difference!)

perspectives

We are constantly hearing the voices that surround us say, "that is so weird, that is different" As those individuals alienate the object of their discretion, they beat them into the ground denouncing it/him/her of all humanity that they once obtained. 

   Yes, you, when you disagree with someone because of what they eat, when you look lowly upon an individual due to the way they dress or react to relationships you are rejecting them of all the dignity they are truly worthy of having! 

   Why do we say that is different? obscure, weird, crazy, disgusting? Why do our faces make such an ugly face when we see something we are so unfamiliar with? Is it really that big of a deal? That big of a deal to be thrown completely outside of your comfort zone? 

    We all live in a bubble. No matter what that bubble may be. There are worlds out there, whether it is a different international world, like the stone-age tribes in Brazil, or the sophisticated in Sweden, or the self-controlled of Thailand - maybe the other world is the political world, the business world, the gypsies, the boarders, the granolas, the preps, the scholarly, the musicians, the rebels, the bikers; so many worlds out there, too many for you to be a part of. And yet when we are introduced to a style of their living we tend to glare upon it with our glorious googely eyes. 

   Friend, life is all about perspectives. Whenever you think something is gross, something is weird; think about the fact that somewhere in the world to some individual THAT is normal, THAT is comfortable. You do not have to like it, you don't have to enjoy it (whatever 'it' may be). You can end up not liking it, I will never be disappointed in your taste buds for not liking sushi, but I would be disappointed in you for not ever trying it because you think it's gross. 

   Just try to see the world, from another perspective, open your eyes. Look at it from their point of view. You don't always have to agree. But o, what a beautiful sight it is too see something brand new! Too see something you never even knew existed upon this earth, whether it is horrid or glorious. Everyone's personality is different, but from my own personal experience, stepping out of my comfort zone has always been the best decision. Just lifting my foot off the ground of familiarity and placing it onto the land of the unknown is always a journey worth having!

 

A normal day for me, is not so normal

    Those individuals I was talking about, those people that encouraged me to blog. Well, I am beginning to think that they wanted me to blog not because of my writing style or skill (or lack there of, depending on your opinion) but because of my life. Because, absolutely ridiculous things happen to me on a daily basis.

   I knew when I parked behind Lindsey's green buick that I would have to get up early and move my jeep before she left for work. So why I got into the shower 10 minutes before she needed to leave I have no idea. One moment I was warmly sound asleep, then showered and then the next moment I was running out to my jeep in my black uggs boots with my little red bath robe and a head wrap (shrunken towel) suffocating my head. I'm sure if any of the neighbors saw me, it was a frightening sight considering I had wrapped a green blanket around me while my face was being wrapped in a fruit extract face scrub. Yes, I am sure it was a beautiful sight. Only I would get caught running around in the front yard looking like a Christmas disaster who fell face first in the oatmeal pie.

   So, I finally get all ready to go so I begin my drive across town to my 9:00 am class. As I pass the Dude's donuts I pondered the wonderful thought of stopping for some coffee and maybe even splurging for a creme filled log. As I decide to take the responsible route and continue on my way to class, I heard the beautiful chimes of a police siren followed by the wonderful beeping to alert me that my gas tank is empty. Conclusion, of getting pulled over on the way to class ... ALWAYS, ALWAYS stop for coffee. 

   

    Evidently, I do indeed believe people wanted me to blog because of the crazy things that occur inside this life of mine. Whether, it was that time I wrecked the 4-wheeler in my coach's lawn in front of the entire football team, or that time I got kicked out of the stoner's house while snowboarding, or that other time I was standing at gun point in front of Central America's war force. It just seems that every day for 21 years I have been able to say, "did that really just happen?!" Maybe it started when I was 2 years old and broke both of my collar bones for jumping off the counter top and then jetting myself down the stairs in a car seat. I am completely an accident waiting to happen, entirely a spontaneous combustion always looking for the surprises.

     So, yes it's true I am waiting for that day when a circus of bearded men who do acrobatic stunts and travel internationally with a team of monkeys will knock on my door asking me to join them and get paid in coffee beans. Because in my life, that would happen on any regular Tuesday. 

    

Norman Ville

    Between Lindsey's screams and Sonja's squeaks I realize our tv is not willing to cooperate and we are in the most intense moment of 'The Bachelor.' Although, our television deciding to have a mind of its own and seeming as if it has a desire to completely ruin our lives, it is not the only faulty finding we have come across in these last 7 and a half months of living at Norman Ville.

     It started with scratches on the inside of the wall and poop findings in the drawers, when we had to admit that we were sharing our duplex not only with an itty-bitty old lady and her dashing husband but a mouse. We were a little worried about sharing the inner part of our house with a mouse. Until, we realized we were sharing the outer part of our home with a creeper. Between his foot steps and cigarette butts we came across the perverted peeker that was peeking on us. With sleepovers in one bedroom and phone calls to the local detective and drive-bys from the local police we are seeking to capture our little creepy creeper. 

      Norman has been a journey all in its own. Even though I am the lone blonde, I have not journeyed alone. I have a loving, incredible, yet heartless brunette beanstalk who lives across the hall from me, who for the past 2 years of my life slept 2 feet across from me. And now 4 feet across from me lives another brunette an emotional, baby lovin, food cookin of a woman. 

      We rearrange on a regular basis, we have framed photos of Jim and Pam, we dance around in our Christmas attire and when Sonja makes pop-corn from scratch it tends to jump from the kitchen into the family room. And we find bundles of webs from our spider friends on the ceiling and poop droppings from our mice pals along with left over lingere from the gals and cigarette butts from our stalker bud. Our neighbors to our left hate us because we spy on them and I drove through their lawn with my jeep (whoops) while our neighbors to our right stand and stare like we're part of a circus show. But I promise you, we here at Norman Ville, are very Normal.

Growing up, because life happens

Maybe it was that Monday morning when I took my own advice into as much consideration as my own mother’s. Or possibly it was that Sunday evening I sold my first painting that I felt all grown up. But I believe it was an accumulation of incidences, minor and major, that happened over the years of my life which threw me head first, unwilling but not resentful, into adulthood.

That first time I missed rent made me realize that I had waded into a body of water full of responsibilities that I was not quite yet prepared for. But that Friday was full of flea market furniture finds for that first home that brought on the adoration of adulthood. But maybe the slap in the face I received when I was backpacking solo through Mexico and had to maneuver my way through Guatemala’s police force made adulthood take on its true formation for me.

Although I don’t think I needed a major event such as that, since lustfully tasting steamed asparagus and avocado pies continually reminds me I have passed teenage twinkies. Then again when I was down on my knees slobbering weeps to God in between repentance for my scandalous sins; I figured you had to be nearing 30 if you already found your spiritual guru.

Maybe the refining of this maturity came upon me that sunny afternoon I gave my 56-year-old girl friend advice. But refining happens through strain, struggle and frustration which I greet at the attempt of completing my first book, which is making me, say ‘Hello failure, you must come hand in hand with 40.’ But those days that I feel like an adult come and go. Just like how on a Tuesday I enjoy my same generation friend but on a Wednesday I converse better with her mother.

I mean I have to be grown up, right? Starbucks is my favorite hang out but then again I do insist on licking all of the whip cream gone before tasting that café-vanilla frappuccino. I roared with youthful bliss as I flirted with my Irish surfing instructor to only wake up the next morning with a soreness that made it all to clear that the next man I flirted with would be my chiropractor.

But I remember feeling like an undeveloped girl when I was eating gelato in Italy, standing next to the women whose figures were obviously the purest forms of woman hood. When I think of my heart, I feel my youth pound because it has not been worn and torn by the ways of men and the world but my heart still believes in prince charming and that happily ever after ending. But through the minor and major incidences that have occurred during my life I believe there has been a reoccurring one that always gives me the ‘O, crap I’m really all grown up’ feeling. And that is when my independency roots dig in and sprout. It happened in adolescence when I took care of my little brother and I could see my adult “me” buried in those teenage days when high school musical should have been found in the drama/horror isle.

Those independent days are the days I can easily taste my strength and what my character has developed into, proving I must have a 50-year-old’s tongue. I know I am grown up when I finally admit to myself that when the sun comes up if I want to change the world I have to be the one to get myself out of bed.

Some days I feel like a giddy girl who believes with every fiber of her being that all her dreams will indeed come true. Other days I feel like the 38-year-old woman who is still frantically seeking romance and purpose. And even though I have seen everything from Africa’s lions to Asia’s lepers with my own eyes, I am fortunate enough to have those rare days when I feel like the 20-year-old blonde that I am. All grown up, too mature for my own good and yet not quite an adult.

As I attempt to take on woman hood I find myself held captive by my naïve youthful nature. My humbling confidence reminds me every day that I am growing up, but that I have a long way to go. For today I am merely tripping into adulthood with the graceful essence of a 30 year-old wearing black stilettos and pink laced pigtails.

bLog.ging

Blog. 

'A website on which an individual or group of users produces an on-going narrative:verb.

  

   Time and time again I have had individuals, whether that be a person I know well, a person who is familiar with my writings or an individual who doesn't know me or my writings, a stranger, a person I respect, a person I care about. Time and time again I have had a person(s) tell me I should blog. It took me a while to begin, to log on, to create a blog, to actually start typing for multiple reasons.

   But whether the doubting, the skepticism was in myself or the blogging society (the authors and their followers). I have stepped over the laziness and decided to begin writing. "So, hello blogging world!"

  Although, I do desire to know, to understand or at least to figure out 'blogging.' The purpose, the intentions, the desire; although it is different for every blogging author. I can't answer those questions today, although I am hoping through some commitment to a blog I will know more surely of the purpose of a blog.

  So, following the title of my writings, let's begin the journey of blogging...