One & Only

DIY-Do it yourself. I never really was aware that growing up most everything I did was DIY. When I learned to tie my shoe there was no one there except me to do it–me and my mom standing over me, who always seemed to think (and still does) that if she just repeats the same thing over and over, except louder, that somehow I will finally realize what it is she is saying–that the bunny goes around the tree loop (first) instead of through it. You can all rest assured I know how to tie my shoes–been doing it for ages.

However, if you snapped at me I might cry–still do.  I couldn’t read facial expressions. I really didn’t know how to interpret a glare or what to do with it...I still don’t. If you grabbed something out of my hand, my gut would scream help–it still does. When I spilled the bowl of ice cream on the carpet there was no one there to blame except me. When I broke the neighbors window with a soft ball there was no one there to point to. My room was my own. My stuff was my stuff. My imagination was my company. But it never occurred to me that all this could have changed the dynamic of the situation had I had a sibling. I never thought about making someone else tie my shoe for me. I never thought about the need to fight for attention, the need to start a competition, or the idea of blaming someone else, that is not in the DIY manual, and being an only child was the only thing I knew, and so DIY was instinctive, and still is.

And until three nights ago I had never really thought about all the factors that go into being an only child and DIY. All these factors are things you can only understand if you, yourself, are an only child (DIYO- Do It Yourself Only). And until three nights ago, I had never been seated at a dinner hosted and shared with a group of “onlys.” Growing up, I was the only–only –until about middle school and then I met one other one, but we never talked about it. And so at dinner three nights ago, we discussed everything from the lighthearted to the heavy, the good times and the bad times… as an only.

While I cannot discuss what was discussed at dinner, (it is considered DIYOC (Do it yourself only confidential)) I will say that I came away with new perspectives, answers to unanswered questions, similarities that I can relate to, and a like minded sense of perspective and trust that was shared among all of us. There is no denying it; all of us were connected with the “only” gene.

Lonely? Hardly. Independent? Move over and watch me do it myself. Soft spoken? Sometimes. Bossy? Just as much as the next person. Spoiled? No, not compared to other kids I know. Knows how to handle her self around adults? Certainly. Has more imaginary friends then other people? Maybe, but who says that is a bad thing? Can’t share? Well, who likes sharing anyway? Patient? Test me. Loves my parents through thick and thin? Duh–everyone should. Can DIY? Always.

This cup is for the DIYO: Thanks for one of the best dinners ever

And to all the other DIYO children out there! Cheers to us!

Valentine

Wednesday night, after a long and unhappy day, I sat on my old creaky hardwood floors and got lost in a sea of hearts. As the watercolors dripped and faded into the white paper, mixing into a pallet of reds and purples I thought back to the days of fine glitter and lace trimmed paper. My mom would bring out the box of heart shaped stamps and we would cut and glue until our fingers stuck together and we had glitter in our hair. Not once did we ever go out to the store and buy a pack of Valentines. No matter how many kids were in my class, I would sit down with my mom and decide what it was we were going to make. I always loved the gluey part of Valentine’s Day.

This week I found out that we are no longer going to get mail on Saturday. Most of New York City rolled their eyes at the system, shrugged, and then hailed a cab. But for some reason I felt really bad about it. I am not one to get a ton of mail, but it is the possibility, the anticipation behind waiting, the hope that I could get mail–just maybe. To be honest, I send more snail mail now than I ever did before, and I love it. No matter what people say about email, there is practically nothing better than a hand written note. A long time family friend has been sending me post it notes filled with positive energy all winter. A friend from the sea has been sending me snail since we arrived back on land almost three years ago, and my mom takes that cake for most handwritten notes and care packages filled with good juju and love.

I live in a house that is filled with handwritten notes and reminders and I love it. This week, our toaster died and when I went into the kitchen it was sitting on the counter with a sign that said R.I.P. Sometimes, when I get home really late, there will be a sign with an arrow pointing to the kitchen that reads hot cider on the stove, help your self.

My hearts were a hit–all 25 of them. And as I walked home last night I saw The Empire State Building illuminated in a rosy pink glow that filled the city with love, and came home to a small hand written note taped to my door.

This cup is for Mel–thank you for being my Valentine

And to Twin (my forever pen pal), Caitlin and Nancy (for all the notes)

And to my Mom (you know why)

Happy Valentine’s Day

Nemo

It’s wintertime and I am sitting here in a heap of layers holding a mug steaming with chocolate-y goodness hidden under a mountain of marsh mallows. As the snowflakes fall outside, the night is so still I almost forget that I live on an island with more than eight million people.

We were bracing ourselves on Friday night as word spread across the island of another “historic storm.” News anchors provided no comfort as they threw out every adjective they could think of–wintery mix, flusters and blusters, record this and record that, severe, harsh, brutal, and ruthless to describe winter storm Nemo. As we crammed and jammed every non-perishable item we could think of into our pantry, and gathered around a big pot of chicken noodle soup, I couldn’t help but feel a little bit excited for Nemo to arrive. To me, Nemo seemed too cheerful to be a mean blizzard, and what the newscasters failed to mention were all the warm and fuzzy, cozy and snuggly things that take place during a snow storm. Puffy and fluffy, white and bright, snug and warm…these were just some of the adjectives that I was looking forward to this weekend. When Nemo finally arrived, all eight million New Yorkers were bundled up inside their lairs…except for the five of us, who threw on our coats and hats and headed out into the white night.

Folded into a blanket of snow, Central Park was serene. Feeling the soft crunch of fresh snow beneath our feet, we sang, we danced, we laughed, and made snow angels until we could no longer feel our hands and feet. We embraced the quiet, caught snowflakes on our tongues, and huddled together as we made our way home.

New York is in a constant state of hustle and bustle, and I know that in the long run there will be so many amazing things that I will remember about this incredible city–but what will stick with me forever will be the quiet moments that I had on the island with my friends, and this night will be one of them.

This cup is for Nemo

And my four comrades who braved the cold for some winter fun! 

Historic

Four years ago…do you remember it? I can’t remember all the in-betweens in the last four years, but I certainly remember the day itself-- the excitement, the anticipation, the nervous butterflies, the crowds, the lines, the laughter, the tears, and the cold. I was there. I remember it. There is something truly special about being present for a historic event, and the inauguration of President Barack Obama is one that will stick with me forever. Like so many Americans I was over the moon to be in attendance for that cold January day in 2009. I will never forget that beautiful white gown that Michelle wore to the ball and Beyonce serenading the new President and First Lady with At Last by Etta James. And four years later, here we are, back in DC and celebrating four more years. We are taller, stronger, older, wiser, and (for some of us) grayer.

In the last four years we have all faced obstacles, jumped hurdles, felt deep hardships, shared grief, rallied, cried, laughed, celebrated, achieved, and dreamed. Did we accomplish everything on our list? Maybe. Maybe not. Did everything we accomplish get done the way that we wanted? Maybe. Maybe not. Do we (sometimes) wish we could go back in time and do things differently? Sure, sometimes. Are we always perfect? I hope not. Do we settle for just okay? I don’t. You shouldn’t. Is there room to continue to grow and improve? I hope so. Is there still time to learn more, make changes, and be the best that we can be? Yes! This is true for you. This is true for me. This is true for your neighbor, for your neighbor’s neighbor, for your boss, for your mama, and this is true for Obama.

Tomorrow is another historic day–Inauguration day. When you think about it, we all have mini-historic events that occur in our lives everyday, we just don’t deem everything historic, but we should. Did you take a new route to work? Historic. Did you recently try a new food you have never tried before? Historic. Did you finish a book from a genre you have never tried? Historic. Did you get a promotion? Historic. Did you master a new recipe? Historic. Did you have a baby? Historic. Did you get married? Historic. Did you move to a new apartment, neighborhood, state, or country? Historic. Did you start a blog? Historic. Did you buy a new pair of shoes? Historic. Historic is whatever you make it–yesterday, today and tomorrow.

This cup is for our (and my favorite) President and First Lady! Cheers to four more years! 

And to the 49ers who are headed to the Superbowl! 

Rock Out!

I think I found a rhythm. Tonight I was walking down Fifth Ave and felt it. I have never been in a band, but if I were ever in a band I picture countless sessions in a garage, surrounded by lots of clutter, trying to find a rhythm, find a harmony among the crowd, find a step in the beat. In this way, New York is kind of like my garage and the rest of the world is like my band. For the past six months I have been rehearsing–trying to find my beat in the crowd, trying to find a rhythm in the week–stretching my ears searching for the sound, and I think today I found it. But like all rehearsals this was not the finale, this is not the end of the song, this is just the beginning. This is the note I was looking for that will hopefully lead to a long list of notes that will turn into my NYC playlist called life. And just like any rehearsal this band is unpredictable. One day I can hit a high note, where everybody just rocks out and everyone is dancing to the same tune–and then the next day it can fall flat. For now, I hope we all just keep rocking out.

This cup is for everyone in my band. My album would not be made possible without you.

Hello 2013!

During the last three weeks before winter break every corner of NYC smelled like home–like Oregon–a mini forest gathered on every corner. I couldn’t help but reach out and run my gloves through the branches hoping to coat my gloves with enough pine to last me the day. It was a whirlwind of lights, carols, cramming and jamming (be it events in the day or clothes into a suitcase). And then–just like that–I was looking down over my city of twinkling lights as we made landing into PDX. For me, it is never about how much stuff is under the tree or what is cooking in the kitchen. For me it is about who is sitting around my table, who is passing through my door and who is on my calendar. This break was extra special because I got a slice of time with just about everyone. 

Not only that, I ramped up the mileage on all my favorite trails–breathing the cold air and soaking up the oxygen from the trees. It is amazing how easily I was able to fall back into my west coast routine. Long runs before sunrise, big cups of coffee, and leisurely lunches with friends, trips up to the mountain, and friendly chit chat with everyone from my best friends to total strangers on the street. These are the things I love about Portland.

And here we are: Hello 2013

I have to say I am bittersweet about 2013. I miss 2012––2012 was a great year. 2012 was filled with lots of life changes, lots of transitions, lots of hurdles, lots of love, happiness and all around good vibes!

To be honest I wasn’t ready for the ball to drop–I was still riding the wave of 2012. And with 2013 sneaking up on me so fast I have had little time to think of new years resolutions. But lucky for lists, here it goes:

1. Stretch (I never stretch but I hear it does wonders for both mind and body)

2.  Turn it off (be it a light, a phone, a computer, or negative energy)

3. Only eat half the chocolate bar (don’t be tempted to keep nibbling until the whole bar is gone, save the rest for another DAY)

4. Drink less coffee (this is going to be tough because I am addicted, and long hours with little sleep doesn’t help)

5. Lend a hand (be it opening a door for someone else, carrying someone’s groceries, high fiving a friend or stranger, volunteering, reaching out to meet someone new, or pulling someone into a (bear) hug)

Raise a glass!

Raise a mug!

This cup is for 2013! Happy New Year!

Woosh!

Wooosh!

This is not the flying down the mountain on a sled kind of woosh!–but the sound of deadlines flying by and the year coming to an end. This kind of woosh! is the hustle and bustle of everyone trying to cram everything in before the ball drops, or before everyone drops the ball. I am supposed to be working–or standing in line buying presents–or packing to head for home for the holidays. But instead I just made lists of everything I needed to do and then did nothing.

Frankly–I am a little burnt out. Last week I decorated my apartment with twinkle lights–a new strand fresh out of the box. But when I got them all hung up and plugged them in there was one little light that was burnt out. I got grumpy and fed up thinking, how could this be? The box was BRAND NEW! Can’t one thing just go right? Where is the holiday cheer if I can’t even get a strand of new lights to work? But then I realized–that little light was me–the little light that is just too burnt out from all the hubbub.

When I was little I was organized. I had my dolls dressed up and ready for the holidays well before December, I made Christmas cards, I insisted on getting a tree way too early, I cranked up the Christmas music so loud the neighbors next door could hear it, and I had a wish list that included: lip gloss, glitter nail polish, and hair scrunchies. More than a decade has gone by and all I can muster is a half burnt out strand of Christmas lights and a wish list that includes but is not limited to:

Sleep

Trees, Mountains and Ocean

Sleep

Running

Sleep

A good book

Sleep

A big cup of coffee

Family

Friends

Sleep

World Peace

Sleep

Time with my yellow lab

Sleep

…And possibly a strand of lights that actually turn on

This cup is for all the Dads out there hanging up the Christmas lights–mine included