Creating Capital

[I won't lie-- I had to look up the difference between capital with an a or with an o. Oh grammar, I just can't quit you!]

Lately, I've been trying some alternatives to traditional career moves and I came across a website my friend Redd from college has been actually making a LIVING off of. I have been so proud of her because she's one of the most creative and industrious people I've ever met. A couple of highlights about her...she moved from the UK for college in the US (so brave!), has supported herself working in a career of her dreams (stage management) in Atlanta, then took a huge leap and moved to Las Vegas and worked for Cirque du Soleil! How cool is that? She has written an excellent, relatable food blog that she also published as an e-book cookbook. Now, she's been doing voice over work for a long time and has made her career off of this site called fiverr. Her voice is beautiful and she's technically minded, so she can edit and market herself quite brilliantly. She's my "living her dream" hero! 

A few months ago, I started my own fiverr. I'm sticking with stuff I know-- letter and card writing, water-color painting, and homemade natural living products. I'd like to add some editing and other digital services, but for now, that's what's on my plate.

So, if you're interested, please take a look! Feel free to share far and wide, because I'd sure appreciate it.
Remember my post about making natural deodorant? You can buy your very own container of it-- customized with essential oils of your choice. Click HERE for deodorant.

Want to relax and take a break? I've read recently about the effects of magnesium deficiency in our diets from the environment being stripped of certain minerals. Did you know a nightly (or weekly, comeon, ain't-nobody-got-time-for-that) bath in epsom salts can help restore your magnesium levels naturally and safely? Check out my customized bath satchets HERE.

My fiverr gigs also include hand painted water-color cards (or could be on a small, frame-able paper) HERE, post cards from Colorado HERE, and hand written, locally printed (Leanin' Tree Art in Boulder, Colorado) cards HERE. If you know me in real life, you know I send cards and postcards like nobody's business already. ;)

If you're interested in something along those lines from me...please send me a message! I am pretty shamelessly plugging myself here, but maybe you'd be interested in this cool world of five-bucks-a-pop.

Payment note: fiverr.com uses paypal. For some people, that's very easy. For others, it's a new financial system. Until recently (thanks, Trina!) I was not a paypal user. It's safe and easy...and I'm still scared of bitcoin.

Feminism Friday! The Idyllic Land of Norovirus

I wanted to write a status update (a la my friend Joan who writes small missives about her day) in the moment about this little experience, but then it seemed like I had too many things rolling around in my head. (I love Joan's status updates. It reminds me the good things that can happen in rough schools with the right person wearing her heart on her sleeve!)

We have a wreath because adults have wreaths. 

Lately I've been taking a step back, career-wise, and re-evaluating what I'm doing with my life. I worked really hard and nearly non-stop in my twenties and had a lot of stressful years. I have a lot of things I'm proud of-- a Master's Degree, many travels, much writing. Lots of stories from times spent with friends, romance and breakups, and laughter and tears. I said goodbye to my grandmothers in my twenties and I hold them very close in my heart-- their words sometimes echo in mine and I smile to think of all the skills and loves I share with them. Crock-pot cooking with whatever is in the house? Grandma Jane. Flower arranging (ah, dried eucalyptus smells so good!) and wreath making? Grandma Marilyn. I pulled out my watercolor painting supplies and have been working on those-- a skill I practiced while in one grandma's native Italy, the other's love of travelling firmly instilled in me.

The days of working 12 hours and feeling like nothing I do matters, even though I'm pouring my heart into every minute of planning, teaching, listening to, working with, assisting...lessons with children? That's on pause. And man, it feels GREAT. Teaching is rewarding, but it's become a field synonymous with levels of exhaustion akin to having triplet newborns. You love what you're doing, but as soon as one mess of poo gets cleaned up, there's another one waiting.  So a gap year of sorts was in order for me.

I've been nannying and babysitting for families in the suburbs of Denver. I love it. [Any names I use for children have been changed for their privacy. Any pics have their identity obscured because I think kids should be protected from the evils of the interwebz before they're in high school!]

Crockpot stew like Grandma Jane's

The town where I have been working is a very special place. There's a manner of frozen in time going on with these kids' childhoods! Kids walk, bike, and razor-scooter to school. They ride their bikes and take the local bus to the ice cream shop and have milkshakes before heading to the library, skateboard park, or nature trail. They play musical instruments and soccer...and the parents are in the stands or audience, cheering for their babies. In a word, it's idyllic.

After working in inner-city and OTP Atlanta for 10 years, I was left with the sinking feeling that childhood was a myth. Kids had to deal with food stamps and immigration (and they still do), and were generally learning skills (manipulation and lying) to serve them in a life that I wouldn't be proud, personally, to live. They were learning that school was about test scores and nothing more. It is incredibly disheartening for all parties involved-- parents, kids, teachers, administrators, law enforcement. Where did middle class America go?

I found it! (And I dearly wish it for every kid everywhere.)

The cul-de-sac where I've been finding myself every afternoon, Monday-Friday, has kids with swings, apple trees, scooters, bikes, gardens, friendly Fidos, and sassy cats. There are a group of little boys (ages 5-9) who play outside every day. One was using a magnifying glass (from his chemistry set!) to try to start fires. I shared, "Oh, I used to do that when I was a kid!" and he responded, "My mom said the same. It must be a rite of kid passage." Gulp. Wut? Kids talk like that here.

No Holy Grail outfits, but they looked like this. 

The boys also were playing with one of the oldest toys that any parent knows will entertain kids for hours-- a big ole box. I looked out the porch window and thought, "Oh dear. That child has a battle axe."

Box. Best. Toy. Ever. 

Yup. The neighborhood boys were demolishing a large box with their medieval (plastic) swords and battle axe. Boys will be boys, but it sure looked like fun to me. They jousted, they hacked, they smashed, they pillaged. And when the box was in pieces (and had been converted also to a dinosaur costume), they placed all the pieces in the recycling bin. One of them asked if I could try to bring a box from my house tomorrow. I promised I'd do my best. (Recycling dumpster, don't fail me!)

One of the boys noticed my State Park sticker in the windshield of my car (oh skills of observation, very coveted!). I felt that I'd been transported to a beach in SoCal-- as he put his little hands up (in a stop gesture) and said, "Whoa! Whoa! Do you go to Eldo, like my Dad? He has a sticker like that on his car from Eldo." -- yeah, bro, the hiking and climbing at Eldo are totally choice.-- Not really, I said, "Oh yeah, this is a State Park pass for Colorado. You can go to any of the parks. You've probably been to Golden Gate Canyon and Cherry Creek? But I like Eldorado Canyon too." Totally rad sticker, dude-bro.

Just painting this picture of the nature of these kids. They play outdoors. They eat actual food (one of the kiddos had a playdate, in which she searched the fridge for cherry tomatoes she'd picked from the garden (because "they'll go perfectly with our snack!") to go with the berries, cheese, and pretzels. They make their beds. They have TV time limits. They are adorable.

So why did I call this post Feminism Friday? Well, one of the kiddos (who's a girl) was having a playdate with two other friends. They carefully sat down at the table and completed their math  homework and quizzed each other over their analogies. I interrupted only to remind them at you have to say all the words that the colons stand for in analogies, or they don't really make sense. "Ship is to sailor, not ship dot dot sailor, as the colon suggests." These kids are that driven and sweet. There was no inkling that "math was hard because we're girls" and that's refreshing.

There's tons of statistics  (like college enrollment rates) and research that support that women are still underrepresented in the STEM (Science, Technology, Engineering, and Mathematics) fields. Women of color (more specifically Black and Latino) are terribly underrepresented, with this fear of science stemming (sorry) from elementary school years. Motivation, gender, and color are huge when it comes to which people will finish school with which degrees. Particularly, Latino girls see themselves as caretakers of others, and will, if they choose to seek a career, mention ones that relate to taking care of children and babies (teacher, day care worker, nurse), more than any other field. It's incredibly limiting and sad as a society to see this play out. The truth is, we need a society with women AND men scientists and doctors. Women and men bring different roles to the proverbial table, which makes better workplaces for us all.

(Quick side note: I just read The Green Glass Sea, which is a children's book that received the Scott O'Dell award for Historical fiction. It was GREAT. It dealt with a girl protagonist living on the base of Los Alamos when they were building the atomic bombs. The kids meet all the scientists you think about learning the early stages of radiation studies. It's a different side of WWII book than I'd read. If you have kids-- 8-12ish, make them read it.)

Imagine my surprise when the girls trotted upstairs to gather (it seemed like) every stuffed animal and

baby doll known to man to bring to the basement to "play daycare." I was a little disheartened-- these are girls who have scientist and engineer parents-- why are they stuck in this gender-role play?

I gave it some time, and laughed as I came downstairs to check on them. The babies were all in the side room-- in quarantine. They were using makeshift cell phones -- calculators, old phones-- to call all the parents at the day care. They'd come, not as day care workers, but as CDC doctors to quarantine the Norovirus. Yes. The Norovirus. One kiddo warned me, "Don't go in there. It's the Norovirus.  There's vomit. EVERYWHERE! We have to keep these kids on lock!" They giggled and laughed as they put on their imaginary medical gear to take care of the babies and to put on press conferences about spreading the virus. They put on serious voices and made day care outgoing messages for the parents of the children struck.

With the Ebola virus crippling Africa currently and scaremongering laypeople about hospital care of those aid workers returning home, (even in my native Atlanta and alma mater Emory) it seemed prescient that these kids were playing doctor/scientist/aid worker in the basement in Colorado. They are neatly living this beautiful idyllic childhood, but the real world exists.

And this highly-contagious world may have a few health care workers coming up through the ranks in a few years!!

Ooh, look! I made a scrapbook!

Click here to view this photo book larger

You'll love Shutterflys award-winning photo books. Try it today.

Grateful for...stuff.

I've had this feeling. It's been growing- waxing and waning since about May. It's this overwhelming, but not scary, sense of gratitude. A sense that the town crier shouting, "12:00 and all is we-lll," is maybe, just maybe correct. It's late-- past my bedtime for sure. But this peaceful gratitude-- it means All Is Well. 

All is well? Yes. In two days, I'll be out of my apartment. My apartment was my safe haven, my cozy little spot. It was under 400 square feet-- just a rectangle with a closet, a bathroom, a kitchen, and lots of windows. Since I moved in my sedan, I didn't have furniture. So in August of last year, I was in little apartment with a slightly leaky loaned air mattress and a few boxes, bags, and suitcases of my things. I had a few things shipped from Georgia; I went to Goodwill, Bed, Bath & Beyond, Ikea, and Target; I checked freecycle and on Craigslist. I found an amazing amount of treasure next to the dumpster on my street, just waiting to be discarded, but with a former owner who hoped it could get some more use. Somehow, that little rectangle box with good windows-- it became home. It had my magnets. My cards. My pictures. My books. Somehow, all those things become you, even though 'you' aren't 'stuff,' our 'stuff' makes us feel like we belong. Have roots. 

In August last year, I bought a futon to sleep on. In November, I decided I was too damn old to sleep on a futon, so I bought a bed. That was a good choice. My little apartment with good windows had a rug, shelves, plants. The plants came from freecycle with many of the pots from Goodwill. Amazing what plants will do for a living space. 

But a year has come and gone. I've added clothes and accessories to my wardrobe I never needed before my life up here at 5280 feet. Snow boots, thermal layers, woolen socks, a headband with a hole for my ponytail. Hiking gear, running gear, picnic-in-the-park gear. I noticed it when I moved, and it became true for me-- I think Denver people don't mind having small apartments-- because they get to spend so much time in this great grand wonderful outdoors. The sun is shining 300 days a year-- even when it's cold, it's rarely miserable out.

All of that stuff came in-- one bag or box at a time and all of it had to leave too. So, here we are and I'm back to being grateful. I sublet my apartment (shh!) while I was in Atlanta for a conference and much-needed family time and it turned out to be the best situation for both of us. My "housesitter" was recently out of a bad relationship and needed a homebase that wasn't squatting on her well-meaning friends' couches. She kept the place clean and nice and took care of my furniture. She's a photographer and makes beautiful art. She paid on time and in full. Can't be anything but grateful there. 

And here I am again, feeling grateful. A mom I met, selling her that futon that I got back in August, pointed out that she "meets the nicest people on Craigslist." I couldn't agree more. For all that furniture that I required to make my little space mine, a lot of it had to go. The counter stools, the futon, the ottomans, the mounted dish rack, the vacuum, the bed. One by one-- with ads on Facebook (a bust!), posted by apartment laundry rooms and door frames (a bust!), and craigslist ads, I got rid of those pieces one by one. I haven't met one mean person on craigslist. They've all been grateful for the deal they got and excited for the "new to them" from my home to theirs. Two of the women I met selling things I no longer needed? Also started out, this summer instead of last, with a car full of stuff and nothing else-- departing from "back East" to this haven of buildings, mountains, and rivers in Colorado. Something so poetic and cyclical about getting the things that I needed to replace to someone in nearly the same situation, a calendar's turn around the sun later. 

For all those things I "needed," I realized I had too much. I gave away items on freecycle. I placed books in Little Free Libraries. I brought a load of odds and ends to the Goodwill (the cycle continues!). And somehow, my Christopher could stop gently correcting me for saying "your" apartment to "our" apartment. My magnets and books and jewelry and things were incorporated with his books and video games and art and Das Boot memorabilia. The stuff? It's our stuff. Or it's now someone else's. Lots to be grateful for tonight.  

Farewell little Dexter St. apartment. We had good times. 

So what about you? Could you distill your life into a few small boxes and bags? Fit everything in the space of a car? What stuff would you get rid of in your life...if you dared?

Brevity is the Soul of Wit, but it Isn't My Thing...a (longish) tribute to the late Robin Williams

My dog loves people, but she knows no fear when she’s on her leash. Back when we lived the suburbs in Georgia, she would tear out after those grey squirrels like nobody’s business. When we lived in Atlanta, she would sniff like a bloodhound after where rats (yes rats, eww) had been. (Atlanta has a bit of a disgusting rat problem, but I digress.) Now, we’re in Colorado, and there are bunnies. At dawn and at dusk, the wild rabbits come out to play, and boy-howdy, she takes off after those bunnies! She drags me, running along behind her with her leash and harness straining against all her 60 pound strength. There’ve been song birds too—always where there are rodent critters around. In all her 10 years, I’ve never seen my dog go after a bird. Just this morning, we went on a walk, and the rabbits had already gone away, but there were robins and song birds. There’s one little robin, with its proud blue-black head and shiny coppery chest, that just tweets and sings, plucks the ground for worms and bugs, and shows no fear near me and my dog. This robin, has some innate sense—that my dog doesn't mean any harm to him. He’s just a sweet, singing robin.

A couple weeks ago, the world lost a robin. Robin Williams allegedly committed suicide in his home in California. I haven’t kept up with any news reports or sheriff’s details—I really don’t want to know. Some things are meant to be private, even in this paparazzi, social-media-laden world. I believe Mr. Williams’ family, friends, and especially children, deserve the chance to grieve, without commentary from the world.  I greatly respect people who work or volunteer with the mentally ill, and I deeply respect those among us, who have the intense call to come to the end before “nature” intended. It’s a personal decision that takes great suffering to attempt and achieve. As horrible as suicide is for the survivors, it’s a horrifying space that that person’s head and heart occupy—for who knows how long, that only the pain of death can relieve. I write today, not a commentary of Robin Williams’ death, but my remarks about his life.

I’m sure greater scholars than I have reflected upon Shakespeare’s writing about suicide and its connections to Robin Williams. In fact, one of the first films that popped into my head about Robin Williams was What Dreams May Come, a movie adaptation of a novel. Both the film and the book explore the afterlife in a surreal and fantastical way. Both knowledge of the afterlife, and the control we have over it—as humans, bothers us. The novel quite differs from the book—there are some unique plot points, but I remember  when I read it, I thought, that movie really captured the essence of this book, particularly Robin Williams’ performances. He (his character, Chris) was so tortured by the loss of his children and later his wife, that he literally journeyed to hell to find her. His deceased son attended him in heaven, and what better way could we imagine heaven to be? It was aesthetically beautiful and his kids were back. The title of the book, of course, is borrowed from Hamlet’s Soliloquy in Act 3, Scene 1. (Page 127, if you click on THIS link from the Folger Shakespeare library.)  

I can’t help but ponder some of the connections in this text—and Williams’ connection to Shakespeare (in parody, in stand up, in referential performances, and of course in Midsummer Night’s Dream as depicted in Dead Poets Society and Neil’s subsequent suicide in that film) foreshadowed some of the pain and suffering that we, as his audience, were not privy to see. The high school literature teacher in me can’t help but annotate a few lines from Hamlet’s speech:

To be, or not to be: that is the question:        I believe we have the right to choose whether we’re here or not. Life is a gift, of course, but to those suffering, it’s a curse.

To die: to sleep; No more; and by a sleep to say we end

The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks  Sleep, even in death, sounds better than thousands of natural shocks and heart ache!

To die, to sleep;

To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub;  Some say dreams are glimpses of heaven—perhaps it’s true?

For in that sleep of death what dreams may come   Here’s that movie title there.

When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,              The imagery here, of mortality, choking us, coiling around us, never permitting us rest or sleep—it’s a heavy line of thinking.

Must give us pause:

 there's the respect That makes calamity of so long life; I can’t help but mention that Mr. Williams was 63 at his passing. He acted and shared his life with the world from his 20’s. So long a life, yes, he gave us many many moments of his.

But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscover'd country from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will                        

                                                                      We, as humans, simultaneously can’t know but desperately                                                                            want to know (and dread) the answers of finding out what                                                                            happens after death.

There are many videos, blogs, news stories, etc. that came up after Williams’ death about the futility of suicide. I don’t want to debate that in this light, but I will mention that the National Suicide hotline saw a huge percentage increase in volunteers offering to man the phones. What a tribute and what a kindness to come out of the “undiscovered country” of another’s death.

A much-loved Mork figurine left in honor of Williams

 Speaking of tributes, and living in Colorado, I didn’t realize it, but the house in which the TV show Mork and Mindy was set is in Boulder, only about half an hour north of where I live. My boyfriend and I went to visit it—to pay our own respects, and bring a candle in honor of the memory of Mr. Williams and his beloved alien character Mork.  There were cards, letters, flowers, eggs, candles, a Mork action figure, and a Gameboy (as Robin Williams was a huge gaming fan). Even as I sit here at my boyfriend’s desk, a huge poster of “The Legend of Zelda” looms over me. Williams was so inspired by the game and Nintendo, he named his own daughter Zelda. My graphic designer boyfriend Chris took these photos while I walked around, re-lit candles, lit my own St. Jude candle, and read people’s missives and messages honoring Mork and Robin Williams. The paper that caught my eye and caused a lump to grow in my throat? That of a little cut out piece of paper in big, scrawly kid penmanship, stating, “I love you Genie!!”

That paper memorial jumped to my heart as I remembered another entertainer’s death and how it impacted me as a young child. Jim Henson, creator of the Muppets, died of cancer on my actual birthday, when I was 7 years old. To that point in my life, I’d never known anyone who’d died and Henson’s death hit me like a truck. I went out to my backyard that day after school, eschewing my birthday dinner, and made play-doh and clay muppets as a mini-shrine under the pine trees. I felt like I’d been hit in the gut, that Jim Henson had left ME personally—and seeing that small kid’s writing—brought all that back to me.

Variety of signs, flowers, candles, notes, tributes

Candles, Ork Eggs, letters at 1619 Pine St.

My childhood was of course, charmed, as most childhoods are, but it had a great deal of heartache too. My siblings and I watched Nick @ Nite—so we saw old, quality comedies, including Mork and Mindy. Our family favorite movies were the Marx Brothers. I bellowed the lyrics for nearly every Rodgers and Hammerstein show tune. The Genie of Aladdin spoke to all that entertainment. What talent Mr. Williams shared with me and my siblings (dozens of times on VHS) of the Genie’s voices, accents, and songs. I didn’t associate myself with being a princess or an orphan; I was the dancing, singing, helpful one. I even had a big Genie pillow  that I snuggled with each night. Even though he was sad and trapped, he could still sing about it.

 Around the time that Disney was revamping gorgeous cartoon feature length movies, my family kind of shattered. It was a huge adjustment and my father was absent for many big (and small) milestones. I had so much heartache and I felt like something was missing from ME because my dad wasn't in our lives. (See the note below.) I don’t care how it sounds, Robin Williams was a surrogate “screen” dad to me during those years. There was comfort in the fact that there were writers writing movies and movies getting produced about dads that either weren't there or wanted so desperately to be in their kids’ lives. It meant I wasn't alone. And it meant that there were some dads out there, loving the shit out of their kids.

Another film we watched dozens of times, Hook, has a line, where Peter Banning’s wife Moira, admonishes the dad Peter, saying, “You’re missing it, Peter.” It echoed so much of my mother’s frustration with my own father. He was “missing” our childhoods—the few precious years that childhood exists. Of course, that film explores what childishness is versus childlike innocence, and how kids deserve to hope and dream, and have their parents support them. The line that Hook states to Peter, “Death is the only great adventure I have left,” and Peter retorts, “No. To Live. To live is the greatest adventure.” How I longed for my dad to have wanted to swoop in and save us from whatever ‘pirates’ existed, but I had Robin Williams as my screen dad to do it for me.

So many people are  touched by his works.

Another one from that time is the comedy Mrs. Doubtfire. It’s a divorced dad who loses contact with his kids, so he dresses as an old lady in order to be able to be around them. Once again, I wanted to be Mara Wilson, the little girl in that film, or the singing little sister in Hook “When you’re alone, you’re not really alone,” so that my dad would want to be around me and my siblings. Around this time too, I watched Showtime’s Faerie Tale Theatre episodes—either ones that my grandmother had taped for us, or reruns on the Disney channel. I was in late elementary school when I started noticing celebrity—and that it was so neat that some famous actors were in these shows made for kids. How generous of them! The Frog King—where Robin Williams was a prince trapped in a slightly disturbing looking frog outfit, stood out to me. I’d seen Aladdin, Hook, Mrs. Doubtfire…I couldn't get enough of this actor. I just had to see his whole body of work! One Friday evening, I remember going to Blockbuster and handing my mom Goodmorning, Vietnam as my video that I wanted to rent that weekend. My mom didn't quite explain it to me, but said, no, I needed to pick something from the children’s section. How the 10-year-old me would have been shocked by my hero’s language!

My family continued to be a source of turmoil in my middle school years when Jumanji came out. My younger siblings and I loved this movie, even though there were definitely some suspenseful and scary parts! The pain of the father’s disdain for his son, as well as how the adult Alan and Sarah looked out for the kids through so much danger and adventure, echoed with me then.  Robin Williams was so brave! Alan and Sarah were going to be such good parents, I knew it. As I've become an adult, it’s a film that I've used when teaching, because of all the imagery and excitement. Kids in my classes from elementary to high school have learned about writing and sculpting scenes from that movie.

A few other movies I’ve taught with (in high school) are Swing Kids and Dead Poets Society. Swing Kids doesn’t have Mr. Williams, but it has the WWII era roots of students going against the grain of society that the 1960’s DPS portrays oh so well. The Thoreau lesson—“sucking the marrow out of the bones of life,” is one my students quote back to me. Taking the kids outside to teach them to step out of a pattern—to stand out? I’ve done that lesson for Iambic Pentameter. The ripping out the boring literature book pages echo Billy Collins’ poem “Introduction to Poetry”—I know he was playing a role, but it inspired some of my best subversive and humanities-based teaching. The look of sadness in those bright blue eyes, when he hears of Neil’s suicide—it portrays so much loss and so much innocence gone, from the man who was the leader, the smart one, the “Captain, my Captain.” How does one teach literature without that movie?

In about 40 minutes, more than a dozen came to pay tribute.

 On a lighter note, my life progressed and I survived my childhood (as we all do) and I no longer felt the same attachment to Robin Williams’ screen roles in my childhood as an adult. I knew he was making brave choices. I knew there were good movies of his that I saw, some I haven’t, but I will now. The relationship portrayed by Nathan Lane and Williams as two loving parents, aging and their child getting married—it’s some of the most beautiful and touching examples of celluloid on the subject of family.  I’ve seen live stage performances of The Bird Cage, yet there are tons of lines from that movie that I just adore. They’re redecorating the apartment to look “straight” and the gay club dancers keep adding over the top things that surely all hetero people have in their homes—the candles, giant cross, moose head, and he bellows, “Subtract, don’t add!” I hear his voice every time I’m shopping at Ikea. I have enough stuff in my home. Subtract, don’t add!!

1619 Pine Street in Boulder, Colorado

As time has progressed, childhood has become but a memory, and the technology has surpassed anything I could have imagined in the 90’s, I've been able to rewatch Sesame Street clips on youtube—sometimes when I’m teaching, and sometimes when I’m feeling nostalgic for a lighter time. Maybe I realized I watched Robin Williams when I was a very small child, maybe I didn't. Toddlers and small kids don’t understand celebrity, and frankly, I didn't really understand that some of the people on Sesame Street were people and some were puppets. (Ah, Jim Henson, you did great work.)

In searching for a few things, I came across this gem of a video of Mr. Robin Williams from several decades ago on Sesame Street. He acted on Sesame Street because it was a job, I’m sure. But he acted on Sesame Street because it was something he could show his kids. And for that, I’m grateful. (Note: I have read a few headlines that people have been unkind to Williams’ grown children in the last few weeks, and to that, I say, shame on those who seek attention that hurts others. And I also say to Williams’ three kids, a heartfelt thank you. Thank you for sharing your dad with the world. Some of us didn’t have a dad who would fight for them, the way he did in his movies. I hope that you felt as much love from him as he shared with the world.)

And on that note, I leave a small clip. It reminded me of the little brave robin that was out while I walked my dog this morning. Little brave Robin, we’re not so much different, on the inside and outside. Depression is a real disease, which requires understanding from loved ones and treatment.  

Let’s be gentle with each other. Let’s not be scared of things that are different, because we’re all similar in some ways. Be strong, friends. Hold each other up. Shine.

Note: My father and I have reconciled in the past few years. There are many words to be said, and many years that have passed without words, but there is no time like the present. I don’t write this as an insult to my dad, but as my words of truth about the years in this little girl’s life where she felt broken and abandoned. If there’s anything to be said, it’s that time heals many, many wounds, and thank goodness to those surrogates around us who give us strength when we need it.

Nanu Nanu, and God speed, Robin. 

A Tasty Little Post

I have quite a few blog posts to catch up on! There was a lovely long trip back home to Georgia, a surprisingly awesome cross-country road trip in a fancy car, many hikes in the Rocky mountain air, a change in job positions, and quite a few new experiences I've just GOT to chronicle in words. But for today, here's a couple pictures and thoughts about eating-- eating well and eating in. 

For budgetary reasons, Chris and I are eating at home a lot and trying to use many interesting ingredients for the foods we usually tend to enjoy out. I follow the rules of thumb put forth by Lisa Leake from 100 Days Of Real Food about cooking, limiting numbers of ingredients, and working hard to cut processed food out of our daily diets. I also am an avid reader of Michael Pollan's Omnivore's Dilemma and The Botany of Desire. Chris has a copy of the Forks Over Knives book and enjoyed the information presented in the documentary. 

What a mess!

As an educator, I'm very concerned about childhood obesity, childhood hunger (and the health ramifications of that!), and the dangers of irresponsible foods being placed in school lunches. That's another soapbox (food crate?) for another day. The bracket on the door of the refrigerator cracked and broke this week, leaving a mess to clean up and less space to contain ALL THE FOODS I insist on stocking. All this stuff was in the door. A couple of glass bottles containing different things also bit the dust. Oh well.

So, for my blog post at a (failed) attempt at "Wordless Wednesday," I give you our fridge:

We seem to adore Target brands. (Hey, when their organic brands are priced better than the national brand, and have better packaging, why not?)  And Trader Joe's. And dairy. There are at least a half dozen kinds of cheese in there. Plus lots of yogurt. My spoiled dog gets yogurt with every meal. << I wonder how a boy from America's Dairyland of Wisconsin and a vegetarian got so much cheese. Hah. >>

There's produce in the drawers-- romaine lettuce (it lasts so much longer when you chop it for salad yourself), Colorado peaches, peppers, kale (we have kale chips several times a week), apples, and zucchini and cucumbers from a local farm. 

I have my Redd's Apple ale and Rocky Mountain peach whiskey plus Chris has all the summer Leinenkugal brews (another WI staple) stocked. 

What're all those green wraps on things? A decade ago, some nice folks I was housesitting for (Ginny and Steve!) used these weird reusable green bags for produce. I was skeptical, but you can't argue with a product that works. You just toss your produce into these green bags, deflate the bags, and twist them closed. They work against the chlorophyll in the plant's cells going bad or something sciencey. The bottom line is, they are an investment in healthy eating! You can rinse and reuse the bags again and again and they still protect your food from going bad as quickly. Sounds like "As Seen on TV," but they work. There's heirloom tomatoes, blueberries, raspberries, and strawberries wrapped up still in their containers there. 

Onto the door-- we have quite a few dressings! I have been on a Caesar salad kick as of late. The Trader Joe's caesar dressing is perfect to me. Horseradish is versatile too. Oh, so it would seem we like spicy and flavorful too! 3 kinds of hot sauce? We're on fiyah!

From L-R, clockwise: Smuckers Simply Fruit (nat'l), Organic grape jelly made by my students (CO), One Screw Loose special edition Orange Lavender (GA), and Kay's Kitchen Apple Butter (CO). 

Couple of sweets in there too-- we tend to buy jams and jellies from farmer's markets-- some here in Denver and some I've shlepped back from Atlanta (One Screw Loose is from Barnesville) and aim for the ones with juice/wine/beer/fruit mixed with pectin. That's what you need to get into a good jam. Organic TJ's Hershey's? Doesn't have HFCS. Raspberry agave? Makes a great raspberry hot chocolate or mocha. 

Last but not least-- I think I left off the savory! We tend toward Italian food and stir-fry, so the low-sodium soy sauce is great. I like the Amino Acid spray too-- I use it in salad dressings and as an alternative to soy sauce. Tastes just right. 

A couple tips for a healthier fridge:

• Sort your foods. It's easier to find what you want that way.
• Buy healthier food. Seems like "duh," but you can't eat it if you don't buy it.
• Vote with your dollar. Choose carefully-- local, organic, avoiding big agro-- whatever your interest.
• Remember to eat it! Place to-go containers or leftovers front and center so you remember to eat them before they go bad. Remember granny always said, "Waste not, want not."
• Keep it cool. Place eggs, milk, meats toward the back where the temperature won't fluctuate as much as it does in the door.

What's in your fridge? Any dirty little secret foods?

What a difference a year makes...

I was having a conversation with one of my few friends out here in the West. I was saying, I've had some odd crystalizing moments with moving-- and most of them have to do with the concept of home, life, and identity. I still refer to Atlanta and Georgia as "home." When people ask where I live, I usually say Grant Park, which they ask, Chicago? But you work in Denver. Then I remember, oh yes, there are other famous Grant Parks out there, not just my beloved one in Atlanta. And technically, I live in Denver. The Denver in Colorado.
    *            *                  *

I asked my friend, "Do you ever feel like your life is just displaced? That you're kind of watching it, like a play, and you're disconnected from it,  but you don't belong in it?"

He said, "No, I feel like my life's a play, and I'm in the audience and shouting at the people on stage and in the audience to interact with me, but they can't hear me."

That made me think. Is my life a play?  I *am* attempting to act the best that I possibly can though.
*         *         *

As of June 2013, I didn't know what my job was going to be in the fall. For a teacher, this is really frustrating and anxiety-bringing. I was in Grant Park and sharing a ramshackle townhome with the wonderful Tricia, and we were having brunches and trips to the farmer's market and runs/walks in the humidity together. My sister was expecting her baby, my aunt and my mom were recovering well-- my aunt from Guillaun-Barre and my mom from her hysterectomy. My friends and I were solid- brunches, astrology, book club, etc. I was dating a guy, a neighbor, who was from a different country and had a really different culture than mine-- and an accent. (Mmmm, accents!) But a cute guy with an accent is not really enough to stay in a city that doesn't quite feel right.

Allyson and I...friends for over a decade, July 2013

Welcome sign right over the KS border

So I moved. See this post here. The song in my head and on the radio was "Cups: When I'm Gone." There sure have been mountains, rivers, and shivery sites on this journey.  

And since last June, my friends and family helped me pack up my life, yard sale stuff, free cycle stuff, move furniture to my mom's house, and get in my '03 Taurus and drive the 1500 miles through Tennessee, Kentucky, Illinois, and Missouri (the guy with the accent had a very nice friend who treated me to dinner in St. Louis and broke up my trip), then finally to Kansas and Colorado. I'd never driven anywhere that long, and definitely not by myself. Solitude has a new meaning for me out here. Independence too.

So, in a few words, the things that have changed for me over the past year:

1. Friendship- I've been pretty independent here in Denver, and found it hard to make new friends. I have a few. But the friends that are my long-distance friends are closer than ever to my heart. You know who you are.

Sonja and I at Frozen

2. Family- Other people's families have taken me in, in a sense here. A lovely Canadian-American family has me to their home often, and my coworker, who is Peruvian, has shared her children, her sister, her baby niece's Baptism, her parents, and her beautiful kids with me. Seeing family at Christmas and Spring Break-- not seeing my mom and my sister Emily every day or every week-- it's been an adjustment. Not being in the hospital room when my baby sister had her baby-- I never expected that. Another unexpected change in my life is my relationship with my father. I'd talked to my dad exactly 5 times in the previous 7-8 years and I, after soul-searching, and endless conversations with Allyson, Tricia, Marcus, Trina, and Chelsea, attempted to bury the hatchet with my father and tell him about me leaving for Colorado. He's been kindly supportive (with moving) and lots of texts and calls to check in on me. I think he and I both don't know the steps to this adult dad-daughter dance, but we're working on it. And it feels good.

Proud papa James Earl

10 days old

3. Stella- This one gets its own entry-- Stella is no longer a Belgian beer. She's the most perfect, happy, sturdy, beautiful, jabbery, blue-eyed, messy-haired little 6 month old girl who I call my niece. She's a little star- a little gift to everyone she's around. Her parents are lucky to have her and she's lucky to have the best momma and daddy. Get used to all the Colorado presents and shirts, little baby. You're gonna get those and post cards and notes from your Auntie Moto for the rest of my life.

Many bandages...

4. Pet companionship- I had to leave my Petey Bella at home with my mom when I left in July. It was heartbreaking for me. When I got back to her in December (I meant for it to be September or October, but it didn't work out), it was the sweetest reunion. She's saved my life and my sanity so many times since her bizarre winter-blizzard drive across the country with me and my friend Dan. I have many entries about her Mast Cell Tumor cancer and her life living with those yucky cells in her here.

Double rainbow in September past the Continental Divide

 5. The West- I adore Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman, and the Little House books, so I fancied myself a bit of an urban pioneer, uprooting my life at 30 to come out West. The West is so many things. Rugged (oh, MOUNTAINS!), spacious, friendly, unfriendly, dry, high, open-minded, and simultaneously full of hyper athletes and lazy hippies. Denver drivers can't handle rain (particularly floods), but bulldoze over everyone in snow. Again, the West has meant solitude to me. I'm okay with it-- I'm independent, and I found out just how much independence was in me. And I also found out how much my Southern roots meant to me too. As a friend of Jimmy's (Dave Mitchell) stated well, "There's nothin' like voluntarily exhiling yourself from a place to find out how much of it is in you."

Feb- Indian Springs- 108 degrees but in snow

Jan-- A frozen over Echo Lake- and Mt. Evans

Love seeing NY this way

Rockefeller Square in winter. Ahh.

6. Travel- I've traveled 3 times for work-related courses for IB this year. My apartment felt like home for the first time when I returned to it from LA in October. Speaking of-- in L.A., I got to touch the Pacific Ocean and have dinner with Ford (Marcus's brother and big shot academic) and Vicki (Girl Scout leader and friend Devin's mom). It was the first time since August, I'd seen people I KNEW. I felt like a deflated balloon once I left them, because I felt like I was in my own skin once again.  In Salt Lake City, I got to see the beautiful

Subway: I own you!

Mormon architecture and spaces, and enjoyed dinner and a night with Annalise's girlfriend Mel. Hospitality DOES exist out here, somewhere! And in November, I got to go to New York (I adore New York) for the second time and I got to see Broadway shows, sightsee, take the subway, stay at a friend's  in the Upper West side (thanks Camilla and Larry!) and visit with a friend from the 3-Day, the dear and hilarious and kind (and TALL!) Annie. What a trip.  I packed in a backpack too--
for cold and 5 days. I'm a badass. Travel back to Atlanta-- in December- meant I bought a car and brought my pup back to Colorado. Travel for Spring break meant my sweet pup got to stay with my neighbor Danielle while I was gone. Meeting sweet Stella and seeing my friends...oh, the preciousness of those moments.

 7. Road travel- Selling my Taurus was bittersweet, but I got the cute little AWD Suzuki because I

Can I drive the next leg, Dan? Sure, Bella.

wanted something for the snow. My long time BFF Dan drove with me across this great United States. Getting to see the country covered in snow was mind-boggling to him, and was beautiful to me. Staying at a hotel with a big giant bulldog in a sweater, hilarious to see other people. Making that trip on I-70 in winter with a partner...very different than solo in the summer.






8. Work- I learned to value my time, my trainings, my experiences, and my talents so much. I put together great field trips, shows, events, and experiences for my kiddos. I got to have colleagues from all the continents, but Australia. I now have friends from China, Africa, SOuth America, Central America, and Europe. Oh, and I took kids on public transportation, made a fire, painted fingernails and toe nails, taught songs in many languages, taught swimming and ice skating. Yes. Me. Ice skating. It's been an emotional roller coaster of a year, but I've learned a ton from the kids, parents, and teachers. Wow. What a year.

Outdoor Art Gallery

S'mores at the lock-in- Denisse, Griselda, me, Alphonsine

The Sinclair dino in Golden, CO

Rainy Red Rocks Ampitheater

 9. Love- Man, I fell in love this year, and I fell hard! I met a couple people to date since July, but none of them were quite right. I love love love love LOVE. And this blue eyed boy who looks out for me, takes pics of me when I'm at races,  makes me breakfast, goes on adventures with me, dances with me at concerts (both Arcade Fire and Fray), walks my giant dog (and doesn't care when she gets fur on his couch), listens to me babble incessantly,  pushes me out of my comfort zone and expects me to to the same for him, and takes care of me when I injure myself...well. As another Chris in my life likes to say, "He's good people."

10. Sports, Hiking, and Athleticism- Denver is a sports town. There's college and professional baseball, basketball, football, hockey, lacrosse, soccer...why the heck hasn't this place hosted the Olympics?? People are always in athletic gear and I joke that as soon as there's 12 square inches of grass soaked in sunshine, there are shirtless men playing volleyball, dodgeball, soccer, kickball...whatever. Being healthy here is pretty much the norm-- and it's infectious. I've hiked huge and not huge trails in Colorado State Parks, Rocky Mountain National Park, Colorado Open spaces, and nature trails.

Chilly Cheeks 4M, Cherry Creek State Park- Feb

Finishing the Colfax 5k- May

Picnic at CC Reservoir, Oct

In July on 2013, I was caught up in the energy at Race Expo for the Peachtree with my best friend Allyson and I signed up for a race in Atlanta in October, not dreaming that I'd live 1500 miles away. Since then, I have run 5ks, 4 Miles, and 10ks, and signed up for several more-- some of which were thwarted by weather, injury, or transportation issues.  Nevertheless, I wasn't particularly athletic-- I like swimming, yoga, and jogs with my dog, but running races has inspired something in me.  I love to see new courses, go to places I've never been, and feel the energy from running in a group. I plug in those headphones, tune out the world, and tune into my body and feeling my cells the way one feels the wind through leaves of a tree-- on a wholesome and healing level.

Sparing you the swimming pics- here's ice skating March

 I've been to hockey games (peewee and pro), Rockies baseball games, and I had tickets to a Lacrosse (the Outlaws) game, but I tripped down my stairs and was too hurt to go that night. (ugh, injuries and clumsiness!) I played soccer for our field day with my students and colleagues and had a blast. I never thought of myself as an athlete or interested in spectating, but it's been a new side of me. Who knows how many sides we have to our personalities-- I think we're only as limited as we want to be.

Walker Ranch Trail and Falls March

Shannon and I at the Avs (vs Blackhawks) Feb

*        *          *
In further contemplation over my friend's statement about shouting at the players and actors, wanting to participate...what can I say, I may not every feel at home here in Denver. I'll always be an outsider who says "y'all" and is confused by architectural differences in buildings here as in the South (swamp coolers, what?). I can say nothing but I'm actively participating in my own life here. I like to think that some of the things I did in my younger years (traveling to Italy, for example), I wouldn't have done, if I'd known JUST how scary they might be...but then again, I'm braver than I ever knew I was. This solitary move out West has proven that to me. The Sara Bareilles song, "Brave" was very popular as I was driving last July, and the words still work for me:

Maybe there’s a way out of the cage where you live
Maybe one of these days you can let the light in
Show me how big your brave is
Say what you wanna say
And let the words fall out
Honestly I wanna see you be brave

Clear Creek Park in Golden in Feb.

So, all this bravery didn't come from nowhere. I've teared up several times writing this, as I think about the love that's held me up and given me faith. I didn't put music in my list, because music is always in me-- it's always in my head and gives my heart strength. Thank you to all the friends who wrote me letters, emails, and cards, facebooked, and visited when I was in town. I'm glad I've gotten to share a bit of my Colorado, my Denver, with Abe, Dan, and Thacker, when they visited.  Thanks to all the people who've listened to me work through any and all solitude and conflicts that I've struggled through here. Your "big brave" has made me strong.