Perspective on the Mountaintop

There's a moment after you're slapped in the face with a life lesson that your perspective blurs, the world grows still, and you're suddenly blinded by understanding.

Yesterday I became enlightened at 12 thousand feet.

(As one does).

The Location
A frigid mountaintop, violently windy with intermittent graupel.

The Players
Me: An overworked, underpaid frantic type who was awoken at an ungodly hour to spend the next 14 hours working for free.
She: A sweet older woman who has cerebral palsy.

The Scene
I awoke before the sun, a sure sign that the day would be a wash. As the vile fireball crested the mountain top, I glowered, knowing full well that I would still be working hours after it went down.
Snowshoeing in an unfamiliar environment was the catch of the day and I was handed a map, an athlete, and directions to the door.
She smiled at me contentedly from the red metal chair. Stories of her cats and grand nieces flew over my head as I knelt in the snow, strapping the spiky metal frames to our boots. As we rode the chairlift to the trailhead, all the things I wasn't doing raced through my head. The emails, lists, applications, job searching, apartment searching, bible study, scheduling, laundry, all ricocheting for future priority. My distraction rose with the altitude.
Our trek down the mountain was an arduous journey. Every fourth step was accompanied by a pause to retell stories and consider the trees. Minutes stretched into hours and the wind ripped at our clothing, tiny snowballs pelting the back of our heads like all the things waiting for me at home.
"Do your legs get tired?"she asked as we moseyed through a temporary lull.
Not when we move this slowly came the thought.
"Sometimes" was my actual response, "But usually my lungs hurt more. Sometimes I forget to breathe," I added, offering her an excuse to take a break.
"Oh, I'll help you!" she said, a broad grin flashing across her face, "First you inhale!" She pulled in the air, watching me... waiting.
I looked into her sparkling eyes and slowly filled my lungs with oxygen.
"Now exhale!" her words gushed out in a cloud of steam.
I held the oxygen inside, heart pumping it to my cells.
And then released.
I exhaled my thoughts, my worries. My shoulders slumped as the tension melted away.
"See? It's easy!"
 As the little purple hat continued down the hill in front of me, the gears in my head ground to a stop.
First you inhale... 

Now exhale!

Revisiting New Beginnings

It's strange how life changes between blog posts. Theoretically this would be amended by more frequent journaling but the nostalgia induced by flashing back (in this case) 9 months is to be embraced rather than avoided. My intent is always to blog more regularly but my "fill every moment" brand of lifestyle tends to leave little wiggle room for random exposition.

However, this is a moment of transition and I shall therefore carve out a sliver of time for collaborating with the thoughts inside my head.

Ready?

I've moved to Denver.

As I'm sure you've heard me gripe, fighting through frigid winters has never been my predilection. Trapping someone indoors who lives to exist in the open air is standard faire in the north but that makes it no more palatable to me.

My knee jerk response to an inquiry about my hobbies has always been to rattle off "hiking, biking and kayaking". But when you consider that the streets, rivers and trees up north are buried under a solid layer of ice and snow for the majority of the year, it quickly becomes clear that I needed a redirection of hobbies or locale.

Knowing that another season of cabin fever would result in more angst than the world needs, I sent carrier pigeons to the far corners of my world and was accepted for a Denver based internship before I'd even applied.

And so here I am!

Footloose and fancy free

On my own

Reaching into the unknown

No looking back

Only moving forward

Whittling myself a new life

For now.

Until the winds change.

Like Sand Through the Hourglass...

It's February 14th and I'm feeling nostalgic.

Facebook is littered with sappy Valentine's pics and rants about being single but, to me, it's just another day. A day for doing laundry and watching movies, a day of yoga and painting my nails. 

A day where I open timehop and see this...

...and I'm instantly transported back in my mind.

It shakes my grip on reality to realize that a year ago I was a nanny still and three sweet babies (mistakenly) called me "mama". I was potty training and carpooling and wiping snotty noses and running a household. 

A lot has changed and it's time to find my footing again.

And that begins by catching you up on my year.

I...

• moved North, into my grandparent's house (next door to my parents).
• began working for my Dad.
• traveled from one side of the country to the other, putting my feet in both oceans in less than a month.
• visited New York City for the first time.
• skiied in the Rocky Mountains.
• tried stand-up paddleboard yoga and slacklining.
• caught a Cardinals game in St. Louis.
• discovered roller derby and burlesque.
• went gluten free.
• skinny dipped.
• got my nose pierced.
• went to RockFest.
• acted as Maid of Honor in the wedding of one of my southern lovelies.
• moved out of my grandparents' house and into one I now share with four other people.
• started working at Barnes & Noble, only to have the store close four months later.
• took a little sister to the Renaissance Festival for the first time.
• found out that I'm going to become an aunt in April.
• taught myself to knit and crochet.
• rung in 2015 with some of my boys.
• resolved to go on a date this year.
• picked up a new second job at a sandwich shop.
• volunteered as a ski instructor for people with disabilities.
• grabbed a set of scissors and cut off all of my hair.

Saw Aerosmith live at RockFest 2014

A lot has happened in the past year and I can't shake the feeling that it's changed me so very much. I feel a constant shifting of my being as I go about life, a hesitant grasping for stability and direction.

The person I was a year ago is dead. And they've been replaced by a stranger.

It's a peculiar feeling.

Happy Valentine's Day.

The Bright Side

I always swore I'd never move back here.

Back to the north, back to the cold, back to this town.

If life had a punch line, that would be mine.

Every place I go has a memory, every person I see has a history.

I go out here and I feel myself avoiding eye contact, talking less and retreating into the shell that protected me through high school. Reaching the end of my last job was the most heart wrenching experience I've gone through in my two and a half decades on this earth and coping with it and this place simultaneously is a daily test of resilience.

But I've made the decision to use this piece of my life as a springboard. I miss my girlies and will never stop praying for them but I choose to become better instead of bitter. This blog was meant to be a place where I find the shrapnel of happiness in the overwhelming mess that is daily life. Monty Python tells you to "always look on the bright side of life" and Dr. Seuss admits "my philosophy is simply: things could be worse". My inch of insight for today? If your life is a joke, learn to laugh at it.

Even though I'm back in a place I ran screaming from, I'm not that person any more.

Some things are the same...

...but some things are different. 

I drink tea on purpose because it's delicious.

I secretly clean the dishes when I'm feeling awkward.

I won't let being alone stop me from having fun.

I can get lost without leaving the path.

The path is more a set of "guidelines" than actual "rules".

I can't say no to people.

I won't be walked on. 

I choose to be happy and, as cliched as this sounds, find the silver lining in every cloud. Yes, I've moved back but my family is here. I don't have my old job but my new job is infinitely less stressful. I miss my friends down south but I missed my northern friends too. 

Everything's going to work out in the end. And if it hasn't worked out, it's not the end.

My Werewolf

A secret werewolf resides in every woman, a creature which resurfaces periodically intent of wreaking havoc on all those close by, a thing which no amount of willpower can stave off.

And it's name is Susie Homemaker.

Once in a blue moon I can feel her stirring. She struggles to get out, tugging at the edges of my mind until I take up a spatula, trowel or, in this case, a sewing machine and wield it as a weapon in the battle for my sanity.

Unfortunately for me, innate talent is not a weapon in my arsenal. My recent skirmishes with inner Susie have, without fail, followed this recipe...

INGREDIENTS

1 pattern ("1" is relative)

3 yards of every fabric (or more if it's really pretty)

2 spools of thread for each fabric

1 cushion of pins

9 band aids 

Assortment of buttons, zippers, lace, elastic, and duct tape.

DIRECTIONS

1.) Pick a pattern and a fabric.

2.) Change your mind.

3.) Change your fabric.

4.) Cut out the pattern (this will take hours, find a good podcast or you will lose your mind).

5.) Revert back to original fabric.

6.) Dewrinkle fabric.

7.) Change your mind again.

8.) Fold fabric in half and lay out pattern, pin it down.

9.) Remove pins from fingers.

10.) Apply band aids.

11.) Cut out pattern.

12.) Read the instructions 6 more times.

13.) Pin random pieces together.

14.) Stitch 'em up!

15.) Repeat steps 13 and 14 until all the pieces are attached to each other.

16.) Scratch head and wonder where you went wrong.

17.) Try on garment.

18.) Decide it needs a zipper.

19.) Cut a slit somewhere and pin a zipper into it.

20.) Run over the zipper while sewing it in and snap the needle in half.

21.) Throw up hands in defeat.

22.) Wait for tomorrow, then see step 1.

Gallery of Misfit Outfits

Simplicity 2176 

"Winging" it

Unknown pattern

Salvage in Progress

Attempting to channel Susie Homemaker is a constantly humbling experience and the last outfit above was the icing on the crow. 

This was actually the first project and I assumed that the pattern size would be synonymous with my clothing size. This isn't even vaguely close to being true. I attempted to put this romper on after stitching it together and couldn't pull it past my knees. After belatedly comparing my measurements to those of the pattern I became aware that I was at least ten inches bigger everywhere. 

There is truly no greater feeling of shame than realizing that you have to go up 8 numbers for an outfit to have a chance of fitting.

But rather than let shame and a bad fit be the end of it, I decided I'll try my hand at a transformative salvage. So I'm changing the romper into a jumper. I cut out the legs and sewed them together, next I'll be randomly inserting skirt fabric. The way I see it, it can't get worse!

(There's one outfit that didn't make the gallery yet. I was bound and determined to make a dress from start to finish in 3 hours and I got close, but it ultimately kicked my butt. So it's been sitting in time out for the last week and a half and I refuse to look at it again until it apologizes. If it behaves it might show up in a later post.)

Today I call out Susie Homemaker as one of my inner demons. 

And now, if you'll excuse me, I have a pattern to cut out.

Backseat Driver

I hate being a passenger. It's stressful for me to have no control over a situation, especially when my life hangs in the balance. I'd always rather be the driver, all things solely my responsibility: radio, temperature, speed, direction.

The rain is pelting the roof of the car with a vigor normally reserved for brawling young boys. The sky wants to swallow us and the road is rife with opportunities to hydroplane. As I unclench my hands from their death grip on the armrest, I shut my eyes and let the water ricocheting off the paddleboard drown out the thoughts in my head.

I left my job. 

I lost my girls. 

My life is careening out of control.

I'm moving back to - IS THAT LIGHTNING?!

I take it back. I should be grateful to take the backseat on this one. To not deal with hydroplaning and fatigue, to just sit back and trust that my Dad will keep me safe. He knows where we're going, he loves me, and he's going to protect me. 

I just have to learn to enjoy the ride on the passenger side.

Disconnect

It's so hard to sleep now.

I've always struggled with the act of shutting off my faculties and submitting myself to unconsciousness but the sheer exhaustion that accompanied my recent daily life made this necessary evil a good deal easier.

No longer. 

Now I again dread nightfall, when my body is weighed down by the blackness and my mind runs rampant with emotions.

8 days ago my identity was solely encapsulated by the little nuggets I called my charges. I lived, breathed, and poured my sweat, blood and tears into personifying love for them. The triplets I nannied called me "Mama" and, though I always corrected them, the description felt apt.

I raised the girls from 7 months of age to 2 years 2 months and those nineteen months felt like a lifetime. I fed them, clothed them, cared for them when they were sick, did their laundry, caught their vomit, kissed their boo-boos away, taught them how to roll over, walk and talk. I used to joke that if I wasn't covered in someone else's bodily fluids it was only because I hadn't gotten out of bed yet. 

I loved the girls and no personal sacrifice was too great for their sakes.

And now I've been cut out of their lives.

The stress of working for their father had my health in a scary place and I found myself forced to notify the family of my intent to find other employment. I gave them five weeks. This surely, I supposed, would be enough time for them to find a new nanny, for me to personally train her and get the girls accustomed to her, and for me to be gradually phased out of their lives. Five weeks, I told myself, was just long enough to say goodbye.

Two days later I got in a disagreement with their father. 

When he came home from work that day, he asked to speak to me privately, then told me that my services were no longer required, effective immediately. He took his keys and escorted me out of the house.

He didn't let me say goodbye. 

I raised his children and will never get the chance to hug them one last time. 

I left my home for my love of this family with nothing but a prayer that things would turn out. And now I have to find the strength to pick up the pieces of my heart and walk away.

I'll never again hold my girls and tell them how much I love them.

Or grasp all three little hands in mine as we cross the street.

Odd are that I'll never see them again period.

I know I existed before them and I always knew I'd have to exist after them. But those three little girls and their brother have changed me forever and it feels like my heart will never stop bleeding. 

It's so hard to sleep now...