Merry Merry

Good Morning Heartfelt Followers- some of my favorite Christmas images to start off the day!

I want to hang in my room all year long.

How much do I wish I

was here right now

you ask?

J'adore.

Sweet Christmas

Wonder.

The Thought Cliché

When you're a broke romantic who adores Christmas, shopping is 2 parts heartfelt giddiness and 1 part gut-wrenching anxiety. While each dollar flies seemingly into the abyss, I find myself having to set an active mental reminder- it's all for a wonderful cause- choosing the perfect gift conveys to those special friends and family in my life just how grateful I am for them.

If you're like me, the pressure of knowingly having a year to plan for the season, yet feeling unprepared at its arrival, is inexcusable- I simply won't stand for it. However, trying to think of the perfect cadeaux du jour for quite a few people at once can be a little overwhelming.

Running to the mall to pick up any old rag of a skirt or top just isn't my style- I prefer the thought- and while the cliché has earned it's title, I believe the thought truly is what matters most. Even if I fail, even if in that one honest moment of reaction I see a glimmer of disappointment rather than thrill, I'll know I thought hard with all my might to hope it turned out differently- and to me, that's my gift. What I take most to heart is knowing those who chose to willingly trek into shopping madness with me in mind had all the intention of coming home with something I'd love- making the end result less important.

Not all feel this way, and that's alright. Because Christmas is something different and unique for each. Some choose to celebrate with church, others with Rudolph, some with lights and cocoa, others with a tree- whatever it takes to make your smile set.

To quote my sister as of yesterday "Shopping for you is so easy because I know I can just find something weird and you'll probably love it" thanks Kicker.

I say, do what makes you happiest, and appreciate those in your life you truly should shower with gratitude each and every day.

Committing to Christmas

Each year it feels more and more difficult to get into the holiday spirit. When young, we happily fall victim to the red and green grasp of Christmas. When old(er), the realities of commercialism and excess spending strike a more honest cord.

As followers might have recognized, I generally get excited for Christmas come, oh, August. I think of it's chill, it's white magic and the smile it so whimsically places on the faces of friends of family, and it brightens my spirit immediately.

The chill....this year I experienced the chill briefly when I was fortunate enough to go home to Oregon for Thanksgiving. The immediate need for jackets, scarves and hot chocolate warmed my heart and set my passion for the season aglow.

But now it's back to reality and in the flow of work's demand, it feels as if the 23rd is both all too close and not nearly soon enough. With little bought and my brain a-stormin', I feel the stress set in. All in all, not the most inviting landing pad for santa and his sleigh.

But like many things, often the joy must be created from within in order to appreciate the time that is upon us. Creating your own happiness, triggering your own holiday spirit. So that's why I made the decision, starting this past weekend- I committed to Christmas.

Word Vomit

The problem with thoughtless speaking is that once said, it's said. Others have heard, assumptions made, and our ability to revoke is compromised by our ability to judge instantaneously.

We've all been there, heard ourselves unintentionally affront, hurt or simply miscommunicate our desired directive. I'd like to think I have total control over what verbiage seeps through, released for the world's scrutiny. But is this always the case?

Like most, I can admit to having failed in this regard. The problem is - although we may slip, affront or offend, the responsibility remains intact. We are accountable for our words just as mightily as actions, and allowing the unintentional utterance of a slur, hurtful comment, or inadvertent phrase has potential to evoke severe emotional consequence, circumstance aside.

How far these consequences extend is dependent of course on the phrase or comment itself, to whom it is made and to whose ears it permeates.

There is a factor which remains debatably essential however - intention. How significant a role, if any, does intention play whilst judging the miscommunications of others?

If some, what's to stop us from speaking without concern, provided the apologetic backdoor remains propped, offering to each a simple escape? If none, are we allowed no forgiveness for human error, provided one is passionately apologetic?

A most common example- I have personally chosen to exclude the word 'gay' from my vernacular while not providing specifics of orientation. Years ago, a genuinely mortifying confrontation of my intention sparked a state of shame so profound the suggestion of life beneath a rock seemed too high a luxury, and more-so, by an individual to whom my admiration knew no bounds. It was enough.

That day, I made a vow to which I've effortlessly remained true- to eliminate my personal misuse of the word. The reason for its ease? - the thought of carelessly snubbing an entire sect I firstly had no intention of offending, and secondly, had no greater explanation for than laziness- was a sense of true mortification. How had I allowed myself to carelessly and thoughtlessly offend for so long due simply to a lack of concise word choice?

It never fell from my lips maliciously, yet fallen it had, and onto a page seen by a respected superior. In one careless moment, I felt I'd managed to change the kind-hearted, optimistic opinion of a man I revered into one of dishonor and shame.

What could I possibly do to rectify the error of my ways? I pleaded for forgiveness, begging for his ears, wishfully hoping he'd accept my explanation as penance for the discrimination paralleling no other principle by which I lived. The deed was done he'd said.

The inevitable lesson he later admitted: He'd already forgiven me. He'd understood immediately, but later clarified- forgiveness was not immediate- the instant he'd seen my error, he was hurt, and for no greater reason than my careless phrasing. Was that, he questioned me, something I was willing to accept?

It has been over five years since that day, yet it remains as powerful now as that moment it slammed a knot down my throat, drops to my cheeks and a slug to my gut. The power of this word enlightened another path for me altogether- one where words meant something, where my own seemingly mundane carelessness was revealed to encompass the power to evoke true passion in others, for better or worse.

The kicker- since this day I've heard the word fall more than once from my lips, in your typical caddy, condescending tone. It wasn't ever the word I'd meant to use, I remain to have an explanation for its summance, and am horrified each time I hear my own offensive slip.

Nothing can be fully retracted, once purged, its existence can remain deafening, forgiveness moot, consequence enacted. However, although this is a word I cringe whilst admitting I've quite nearly eliminated, I do believe I've sacrificed a thoughtful second longer for the ability to say I've worked consciously for years to change my ways.

The hard work, the dedication, the ability to say you give your all as often as humanly possible to use caution and concern whilst speaking, is all you can expect of yourself, and of others.

While a genuine apology may never erase the cold reality of a misspoken affront, it can be a convincing tool in attempt to warm the hearts of those willing to hear out your true intention.

I choose to listen.

The Greatest

Marathon Sunday

4 people I know are running Marathons tomorrow!!! My mom, older sister and friend Justin are all attempting the Portland full, while my one and only Maggie is in the New York half! I could not be more proud of this accomplishment they've all worked for months to experience.

At the start of August, myself, my mom (in training for the full), younger sister & our friend all ran a half in Oxnard, CA. Before this, I'd never come even close to running the distance we accomplished that day- 13.1. In fact, the furthest I'd ever run was 5 miles, many years before.

Once committed, I immediately regretted my decision. How was I, the non-runner, the person who hadn't seen the likes of a treadmill, much less the pavement in months, going to live to see just over 13 miles fly by? I truly didn't believe it could be done.

But then- you go one mile further than you've ever gone before- and it shocks you so intensely- into this world where limits are for the weak, and checking off that next mile consumes your thoughts. This is what was most fulfilling for me- each week, with each mile, I'd accomplished something I'd never thought I would and didn't think I could. Each week having done something I'd never been able to do before- simply amazed the last hour provided me with such an apparently simple reward- brand new, big time accomplishment.

Although it is not my older sister's first full marathon, it's a new experience for the rest of the gang (and if I recall correctly...my sister wasn't too keen on ever repeating the experience fresh from last year's finish line- but here she is!)

Congrats and good luck to each- no matter the outcome!

For the Love of Fall

I find myself at a lack for words today- or desire perhaps- so I decided to share with you some of my very favoritest fall images :) Enjoy

Oh to Grow

It is a challenge I think, to find a friend who genuinely accepts the stories they know are hard for you to share, and without judgment or condescension. It is equally as difficult to discover the flaws and fissures of another, even more so to view them as endearing elements of what make that person real.

I've had many friendships in my life to date to which I look back and understand I wasn't giving the truth of my soul to- over-concerned by the prospect of being outcast, believing this could & likely would be the end of social happiness- the happiness I once felt came from normalcy- idiosyncrasies left unknown, cracks covered.

The funny thing is, when you are first growing into yourself there is nothing more frightening than being different. But then you've grown, and the terror lies most in that same conformity.

The thought of having to train the course of my actions around the words and thoughts of others is something I regretfully now feel too experienced to justify. I know better. This in no way means I'm successful at it- but I do try my best to let my soul be my guide.

I feel grateful for the lesson time is providing- I come to know myself better each day whilst dodging the bullets of life, and I feel smarter & stronger than I did a year ago because of it. I can't help but passionately wonder what lies ahead.

Make Them Count

1955-2011

"Your time is limited, so don't waste it living someone else's life. Don't be trapped by dogma- which is living with the results of other people's thinking. Don't let the noise of others' opinions drown out your own inner voice. And most important, have the courage to follow your heart and intuition. They somehow already know what you truly want to become.

Everything else is secondary."

Steve Jobs

There's nothing fair about dying- nothing can be done to prevent it, nobody has managed to escape it, nothing helps fill the void it leaves behind, it is a true emptiness.

Even the passing of those I don't know personally still manages to emotionally affect me. Steve Jobs' losing his fight to cancer caused these thoughts today. He mustered the bravery and confidence to set a precedence for technology as a whole. He pioneered and revolutionized how we listen to music, how we interact with media, and each other on a constant basis. It feels unfair to lose someone so valuable, so brilliant and so bright, so young. Steve was 56.

We can only learn from the lesson his death provides- to value every day we have, because no matter your circumstance, the fact is, each one that comes is a gift, not an expectation.

Make them count.

"You can't connect the dots looking forward; you can only connect them looking backwards. You have to trust that the dots will somehow connect in your future. You have to trust in something- your gut, destiny, life, karma, whatever. This approach has never let me down, and it has made all the difference in my life."

From the Rubble

There's something so inviting and terrifying about the blankness of a page. Too white, too empty, desperately aching for it's first tattoo.

Although people are often kind enough to compliment my writing, seldom do they ask the question I'd think they'd most like to know- why? Why do I write- if not as I do, simply at all? Many don't feel any pull towards placing themselves on a page. Maybe I wonder because this is the one-word serpent tongued question I find lashing out inside me throughout each and every day- Why? Why would she say that? Why did I forget that? Why did I take this way home?? I guess I can't help it, I'm curiously crazy.

It might seem a funny question to some, but why is most of what the experience is for me- It takes me to a place not even I understand- I feel transported to a limitless land where expectation can't survive. Where possibility's in my hands- a series undiscovered lying within, ready to pounce free. Actions can't be re-acted, but words can be re-written.

Do you ever stop to think- 26 versions of small lines, miniature symbols, each with their own rule and concept- together forming a tool which enables understanding, to communicate our inherent- what a gift we take for granted, no?

For me, that's the magic- that this gift we've been bestowed to aid in our smooth function in society, which has in turn laid a communicative foundation for the whole of the human routine-provides individuals the constant ability to create anew, glueing masterpieces from the rubble.

This is how I quite literally imagine writing- I see the sentence in my head, floating, ready for deletion & completion- the re-arranging of what's been done too many times in the past to count, but in a way recognizable, all my own, and best yet- worthy of a breath of praise.

Culinary Escapist

Today my mind remains trapped in the kitchen. With potentially delicious treat recipes popping in and out at whim, uncontrollably infusing my thoughts with daydreams of spicy chutneys & savory jams, vegetable spreads & fruity dips, rich ganache and a medley of tasty toppings- all tumbling together in my head, their untapped potential pounding loud enough to silence my desire to tackle any actual responsibility the day demands.

Don't worry, I plan on sharing some upchucked form of my afternoon spent dreamily in the land of unprecedented culinary creation, trudging through deliciously unclaimed territories.

I've always found being in the kitchen to be therapeutic. Who knows its secret to dragging me from the dungeon, but once called upon, I fall instantly into a familiar rhythm, spinning wheels in operation of a task accomplished so many times before. My excitement is surreally stemmed from a passion for a fond culinary contradiction- the ease of a hand onto ridges of a wooden spoon crafted gently by turn upon past gentle turn- all the while a Red Velvet masterpiece from this month's pool of blog to-try's and forget-me-nots cooling on the counter.

The kitchen is where old meets new- where tradition meets unconvention, where ease and challenge coincide. An old song with new notes, a fresh-faced platform for a meal your kitchen's been privy to only whispers of before now. That's what it's about. It's new every time, and you only get better- if you want to that is.

Without the basics, you cannot build. Do you step into the kitchen for the first time with Julia Child-esque expectation? No you do not (or you should not at least...) Because whether it's to feel confident voicing your own praise or in expectation of other's, in order to climb, you must first step onto the ladder. Or in this case...tie on the apron :)

New Additions to The Kitch

THIS IS MY NEW APRON!!! It was gift card paid for, which is just a double present in itself if you ask me. Today was the start of an ongoing project I'm working on in the kitchen, and there was nothing like falling in love with an apron and discovering it was cheap! It fits wonderfully, with all the right nooks in all the right crannies- and it made my day today- along with a boatload of other goodies I picked up at Crate & Barrel.

It's funny how little things like this can brighten your day. To me, an apron pulls on the memory-strings of growning up & learning how to cook in my Dad's kitchen. His style was his own, complete always, with a glass of wine, and and apron. And I now know it should always be so. Wearing an apron, I catch myself feeling instantly more domestic, with thoughts of pie crusts cooling in the window and the waft of chicken dinners agog in my head.

So when I saw this fall-inspired essential I knew it was the beginning of great things ahead in my little kitchen. I can't wait to see what I can create in this adorable new addition to my home.

The other new purchase I couldn't be more excited about is the amazing soup & sandwich saucer below. On sale- this was just fun enough to be a gift-card approved buy. The bowl is just perfect for morning oatmeal & yogurt parfaits paired with toast, or coffee & tea with a pastry, or my favorite- warm soup & grilled cheese. I can't wait to dress up these porcelain beauties this holiday season.

The October Challenge

I've made a pledge to post every day of October, and today is numero uno!

I sit writing in sunlight graciously occupying a patch of my bedroom carpet. Saturday. What a wonderful day- energized at the thought of the weekend's arrival, grateful for the knowledge the day which follows will allow you the same open platform for planning and doing as opposed to the routine of work's demand.

I love Fall. Autumn. Pumpkins and patches, orange, red, auburn & gold, all reminders of the seasonal change in our midst. The time for cozying up to a fire is nearly here....or is it?

It's been a funny moving to sun shiny Los Angeles from rainy, seasonally loyal Portland for this reason. Although you get the sun you truly never see up North, that nip is lacking. The windy chill, the smell of fresh rain, the shake off of that expected downpour which still caught you off guard. The necessity of an umbrella is replaced with sunglasses, and the jackets which wrapped you daily hang loveless in the back of the closet.

As of now, I wouldn't trade it. But who knows, that ache for the seasons apparent might change, and just maybe I'll come to find myself in need of a Portland puddle so great, I won't have the strength to deny it. We'll see.

To Say Or Not To Say

I'm having a hard time with this blog, and I'll tell you why. Although I'm enamored by having an outlet to which I can share my writing and thoughts, this here blog has proven itself to be a mental road block. Per usual, I started on an immeasurable high- singing praises of a newfangled obsession- BLOGGING, telling everyone I've ever known to keep the ole ears perked and the edge of their seat on reserve because I was about to be.... A SERIOUS BLOGGER (OK so I told my roommates and family...but still...expectation was born.)

Are my topics worthy of sharing? Is my font too distracting or boring? Does the personal section go on the left or the right? Does the header accurately represent who am, what I know and all I believe?!? A widget...that's funny, what's that? Is this photo too fuzzy to post? Most frequently though I admit- does anyone even read this little blog or should I just toss the constant oh-what-to-write dilemma to the dogs and go about my day sans stress?

Although I think I can ease up on myself about layout, topic selection and the kinks and quirks to fluency in all terms bloggy, there is another fear which haunts me- am I perhaps, OVER-sharing?

We all know that person, whether it's via interoffice work chatter or your facebook and twitter feeds, we've all encountered 'em- the thoughtless poster, the oversharer, that person who, despite all evidence to the contrary, believes the world is fascinated by their personal minutia- "Ran into a door- ouch!," "Shouldn't have eaten that last meatball..." , "bad hair day, ugh"- you know the drill.

Flagrant tidbits- sharing without thought, care or concern. An ever-flowing stream of consciousness to which others must not only be interested in, but appear entitled to.

Call me private, call me reserved, even call me conservative (although I'd have to wonder how well you know me...) but I'm cautious not to fill this endlessly vast chasm of literary possibility I've suspended in cyberspace with personal monotony. This has overemphasized the importance of topic selection. Which in turn has me frozen in a post-less, fearful state. So ridiculous!

So I made this decision- no expectation, realistic reservation and hearty appreciation. Don't expect each post to be a work of art greater than the last. Cater my reservations to over-share with a balance of spontaneity and good judgement, and stop worrying so much about whether people are in fact reading, and start giving those who are something to read!


This is your blanket apology- to those of you who don't find what you're looking for here, or if expectation remains unmet after browsing the over-brimming of my soul into this space, I thank you for stopping by.

In the insanely magical words of AWOLNATION's song "People"-

"Thank you,
for listening again,
or for the first time,
or for the last time,
we share this moment,
and I am grateful for this"

Intrinsic Us

It is a challenge every day being away from those who've known me forever, to whom an explanation is unnecessary, an understanding, intrinsic.

I cherish and hold dear many people whom I've encountered throughout the years- some for how they make me feel, others for how I understand I make them feel, and in the lucky circumstance, a few for the unparalleled harmony we create as one.

It is to these people whom I dedicate my thoughts today. To those who've seen me trudge shallow waters and scour mountain tops- remaining loving nevertheless. To those whom my heart flutters in the surreal wake of how deep a mutual appreciation can root itself.

Despite how true the notion of growing increasingly fond of something only when it no longer surrounds us is, remembering and crediting the strength of friendships afar remains a challenge for me. It lies within my nature to perceive actions, reactions and a lack of action personally- and too often, unfairly.

But were it not for those moments of insecurity, those troubled times of doubt and distance between friends, the pride of having defeated the muck would not, and could not, reach its true and full appreciation.

There is something to be said, and unfortunately a lesson one is unable to learn before time permits the lesson be taught, for overcoming the petty, embracing the flaws and laughing whole-heartily at the idiosyncrasies of another- because the reward of such unconditionality, is unwavering and unquestioning.

Maybe others remain unaware of this gift because there seems no adequate form of explanation whilst describing the emotion it evokes. Until you've experienced it, felt loved to the kernel of your being for all of, and only what that kernel has to offer-it will remain an unfortunate mental impossibility.

Heartfelt thanks to those who've allowed me this luxury. I don't have to tell you who you are, and that's the best part.

My Cheerless Sacrifice

Today I'm in a holiday mood. Sitting at work sipping coffee wishing I was warming my toes aside some crackling fire, listening to Perry Como ring throughout crimson & emerald reminders that 'tis in fact THE season.

My whole life I've anticipated the day I can afford to buy the Christmas gifts I envision the people I love glowing over, a true appreciation glistening in their eyes, serving as a reminder holidays are about the ultimate gift, that of the heart.

Nothing can steal a smile like the realization you've chosen right. The idea that you know another so well, you were able to evoke that oh-so-cultivated reactionary mix of both surprise and pleasure, one worthy only of genuinely thoughtful gift-giving. There's no comparison.

Living in the sun, I've objectively sacrificed days spent dedicated to lounging at the cabin, drinking in the season while gulping down Brandy Alexanders amid the fresh scent of pine and sweet sound of familial laughter.

Although I've gained immensely through this sunny sacrifice, today, I don't care. Today I want Christmas, and the kind of Christmas I've come to know.

I want the chill of snow and the comfort of too-tightly wrapped sweaters fighting gallantly to keep out the nip.

I want snowflake mugs full of chocolate- toasty marshmallows floating precariously, all the while awaiting an inevitable doom, an unavoidable fate- the slow melt into a sugary depth.

I want bow bags and big boxes for paper used strictly for sentiment- a waste of resources with an emotional significance so mighty, the mere thought of going without offends even the lowest of holiday spirits.

I want parties and pastries, mistletoe and magic. I want to illuminate little fresh faces with snow-turned pink noses about the adventures of Ruldolph and his (if not slightly judgmental...) furry friends.

So although I do love those loved ones of mine, they might still have to wait a bit for those oh-so-precious presents I've envisioned. Hopefully that will just enhance what I see when I do arrive- a journey, that by evidence of my bank account,
I think I just began.

(144 days to go..hehe)

Paris

This month last year I was traveling Europe.

For me, Paris was step 1 on the adventure. The month-long journey to which I'd just embarked. The night before leaving home was the first moment a gut-wrenching solitude I was so eagerly awaiting rushed over me, an instant realization that this carefree time alone, well, it might be, kinda... lonely.

Still, I felt on fire with the determination to return in thirty days time redefined- not by the community to which I'd been dropped- but by me. By the experience I alone created. By the people I alone made the decision to befriend. I needed to kick-start what made me tick. A mission of self-acceptance, introspection, and fun, damnit.

Soon enough, wheels up, wheels down, and Paris 'here I come' became Paris 'I'm here'. I'd been twice before, those times with family, and as a follower. Here I was now, at the same Presidential Airport, in quite a dissimilar situation. I was leading. The only problem- I didn't have the slightest idea where to...

A hop skip and a jump and I'd checked in, freshened up, and cruised through the faintly familiar hustle & bustle of Parisian life on a sunny summer Sunday, alongside 30 equally-as-eager hooligans also staying at St. C's Inn in the 19th arrondissement.

How does one begin to speak on the incomparable energy that defines the allure of pristine Parisian sidewalks? I only spent one night in Paris, but in one night, Paris opened itself to me, offering its spirit in the form of 9 Russians, 8 cranberry vodkas, 7 pubs, 6 blisters, 5 hours talking in a hostel stairwell, 4 hours dancing, 3 hours walking home, 2 new girlfriends, and 1 night I can't believe I remember.

Wakey wakey at 9am, to yonder (southern) sea I sought. Now how do you say 'Cannes' correctly? Oh there's two you say.....glad I knew that before I got on this train.

Chalk Talk

Chalkboards. Such a nostalgic mess. My roommates and I sparked an obsession whilst skimming Crate & Barrel magazines over evening rounds of cheesy television, and before we knew it, it was agreed, a dire need born. Upon what you ask? Well that the perfect chalkboard accent piece for our barely-there-soon-to-be-divine dining room was a MUST, to be found immediately (and for cheap!!). This adorable way of communicating, designed for the whimsical, inspirationally-inclined, or just plain forgetful, is exactly what us (described above), and our dining room (described above above) desperately seek. The hunt is on!

Miss Mila

After this weekend's sexual chemistry overload in Friends with Benefits featuring Justin Timberlake's sexy back and Mila Kunis' puppy dog eyes, I could barely control my urge to stalk. There's simply something about Miss Mila that is so effortlessly girl-next-door-chic it drives me wild with envy. Her locks, those lips, that button nose, and COME ON, who gets blessed with such delicious chocolatey almond eyes?? With a girlish physique and an attitude that says don't mess, Kunis has done a brilliant job convincing me there's no face I'd rather snag.

Monday Precautions

Nobody loves Mondays. Some claim to like them, but get real, nobody loves them. It's the end. The end of a few days where in the rare chance your alarm fills the room with Hells Bells 'round 730, you can violently snooze guilt-free and return to dreamland until your eyelids admit defeat.

The Workweek Mentality
Tuesday- At least it's not Monday.
Wednesday- Half way, weekend planning begins.
Thursday- Thank god tomorrow's Friday.
Friday- TGIF. TGIFF. TGIMF'inF.

In order to meet Monday in the middle, hoping to sacrifice my own bitterness in acceptance of the rare chance this Monday'll be different- not full of resentment, but full, brimming in fact, with possibilities unknown, I try to take Monday Precautions- Clean my room the night before in avoidance of the dreaded what-to-wear dance. Up early to remind myself there are hours in the day which belong only to me, devoted not to the routine. A little coffee/journal date with my pen and patio to warm the thinktank up top, the usual.

On days where the general mood is predicted to be overcast at best, building your own wall of positive deflection can help. I like to think it helps me to postpone succumbing to the dreary by actively pursuing my own happiness- feeling the most connected with myself as possible before opening the doors to the daily battle- a fight to remain uninfluenced by the Monday Moods of others, and to maintain positivity throughout whatever mess of a Monday is made.

My Crazy Quartette

This week, with my family together at the cabin sans moi, a ting of jealousy lodged itself in my gut, making clear its intentions with flashes of crackling fireside laughter- blinding reminders of stories being shared, unadvised upon by a crucial member of the family five-some. This harbored jealousy festered itself in my thoughts- complete with the false aroma of a nearby chef at work in his element, the forged warmth of sunlight taking the windows by ransom each afternoon- beaming down through mossy, budding branches- the dinner discussions lasting long after last-bite, and the ring of coffee grinding faintly in the background of dreams as we lie waking in the loft. These are the times to which I feel we are most a family, sharing food-made with love, and wine- the lessons of its breadth an essential element to every proper cabin evening. These are the times I cherish, the times I believe contributed to who I am as an individual on such a truly massive scale.

Although I love my family dearly, as we all do, I've never been one to feel that intense anxiety some do while wandering the world, far away from the tangible comforts to which we become so dependently accustomed. Recalling as far back as my memory allows, I've craved independence- the chance to meet new people from different places, whose lives are complied of layer upon layer of experiences I've never known. It fascinates me immensely- where people come from, where they wish they were, where they hope to go- where they ultimately land. Terrifyingly exciting the direction our lives take us- so totally unpredictable, so utterly out of our control.

Maybe the fear outweighs the benefit of such experiences in the minds of some- maybe when they say they don't care to travel, care to move away, care to create something for themselves in thus undiscovered territory, well, maybe they mean it. For me, there was never any other option. I had to go- a desire fueled by a fearful knowledge I'd enjoy my life there all too much, and that I'd never again encounter the opportunity, nor the courage, to make the move my heart told me I'd never forgive myself if I left simmering, ignored.

So, although thoughts of familial belly laughter, too-loud-for-the-woods Shakira pulsing through knotty pine, and the waft of sizzling saucepans afire upon the stove make my heart a little droopy and my smile slightly bitter, truly I'm just grateful I have a family such as mine to miss at all- a crazy quartette of characters, who continually encourage and support my every whim,
and I theirs.