Hazy Shade of Winter

If there's one thing that visiting Florida always reminds me of, it's my overwhelming hatred of hot, sticky weather. Holy Jeebus, was it ever hot there this weekend! It was actually 93 degrees with 60% humidity yesterday. Yuck! It never ceases to amaze me how much people in Portland complain about the weather there: how it's too rainy and cold most of the year. I will take 60 degrees and drizzly over 90 degrees and torrential downpour any day.

I was supposed to fly back to Portland yesterday and start grad school this morning, but due to some technical issues my flight was cancelled and I was forced to leave today instead. So, here I sit, crammed into the window seat of my airplane next to a seven-foot tall basketball player who won't stop squirming long enough for me to get comfortable (and he's totally hogging the arm rest!). It's funny, yesterday when my dad was driving me to the airport I told him that I didn't want to start school the next day. I said, "all I need is one more day off before I start. That would be perfect." Well, I guess the moral of the story is to be careful what you wish for, huh?

Soon I will be home again, and it can't get here quick enough. Facebook updates have informed me that Fall has come to Portland already. How exciting! I've been dreaming of cool weather, pumpkins, and hot tea all weekend. Looks like I'll get my fix sooner than expected!

Thanks for the Memories

We all get older. We may not necessarily all 'grow up', we may follow different paths entirely (or still be searching for our paths), but time affects everyone the same. This weekend I attended a wedding which, for all intents and purposes, was as much a sort of high school reunion as it was a marriage reception. I saw people I haven't seen or talked to in ten years, and I reconnected with some that I haven't spoken to outside of Facebook in almost as many. It was really nice. Some people have done amazingly well at life so far, by all measurable standards. They are married, have great jobs, wear nice clothes, own cars, mingle like champs... You get the idea. Some have let their vices define them, unfortunately, and have hit a sort of standing pattern until the next phase of life finds them. Then there are those of us who fall somewhere in the middle. We are the ones who are on the cusp of being grownups, able to fit in and converse with both sides of the spectrum, because just as we are nearing respectable futures we still relate to the people we were just a few years (months?) ago.

I missed my high school reunion, but the wedding filled whatever void my absence there might have created. I get it. It was truly wonderful hanging out with all of my friends, and in a way channelling who we used to be: the outcasts and/or the 'cool' kids on the periphery. And there were dinosaurs! Dinosaurs are awesome.

Now, time to get back to real life and start grad school in the morning. Nothing like the thought of Univariate Statistics to sober you up.

My Baby's Got a Secret

Okay, it's 1:22am and I have a confession to make.  Remember that inspired blog I wrote a while back that was all about how I've become a morning person and started a garden? Well...

After one week of enjoying my newly found morning-person-ness, I quickly fell back into my old habits.  Case in point, I'm still awake right now.  In fact, for the past three weeks or so I've been staying up until at least 2:00am and fighting with myself to get up in time to run out the door for work in the mornings.  And the garden? Well, it's pretty much deceased at this point.  I'm chocking that up to a lack of consistent watering (all four of us work different, long hours so it's hard to keep a good watering schedule) and the crazy high temperatures that we've been experiencing in Portland over the past few weeks. Whatever the cause, our stuff is definitely not rocking right now.

I am not disheartened by this information, though. Nope, not at all.  It's just another in a long series of life lessons.  In the general way, I've tended to live my life moving from one extreme to the next.  For instance, I thought I might secretly be a city person, so I up and moved to New York.  Turns out my body and mind craved more nature than the Big Apple was able to provide. Then I thought I might be more into the old-timey, rural lifestyle so Chris and I moved into my grandmother's old house in a small town in Central Florida. Yeah, that turned out to be more creepy than anything.  The experience, if nothing else, taught me that I am not a fan of what the kids call 'country dark'; I was pretty well convinced that every bump in the night was some sort of country bumpkin serial killer trying to break in and... Well, you know.  So, in a kind of inspired compromise, Chris and I moved out here to embrace the city-meets-nature wonderment of Portland.

See, I wasn't at all lying in the other blog.  I actually do want chickens, and I would love to have a beautiful garden and fruit trees.  I just now know that the missing link to making that equation truly fantastic was a well-paid, talented expert to do all of the actual gardening for us.  You know, someone who can actually be devoted to the well-being of our veggies and fruits and water them regularly.  See, I learned something!  Yay!

Regarding the sleep schedule issue, I am pretty well at a loss.  I think some people just aren't meant to get up early, and I thank the Flying Spaghetti Monster that I've chosen a career path which can potentially allow for a semi-flexible schedule.  Really, it's for the benefit of everyone involved.  Just ask Chris, you do not want to be near me that early anyhow.  I'm a cranky wench.  No lie.

Anyhoo, I'm going to try to get some sleep now, by the light of my computer monitor.  I think I've also become an internet addict, but that's a subject for another post.  Until then, toodle-oo!

Everyday

For no reason whatsoever, despite the fact that I am not at all a fan of the group, I woke up this morning with Dave Matthew's "Everyday" playing over and over in my head. I've been feeling absolutely rejuvenated the past couple of weeks, ever since we got back from Seattle.  Wait, when did that happen?  Maybe it was more like a week and a half ago.

I have to be honest, Seattle as a destination was pretty okay.  The food was good, but the ambiance everywhere felt... How should I put it?  Borrowed.  The whole time we were there all I could do was name the other cities that it reminded me of: San Francisco, Chicago, Asheville, Lincoln, etc. The food was great, the people were as was expected (BTW, the comedian was totally right!), and the company was fantastic.  The trip helped to remind me that I absolutely married the best and only man in the world for me.

As some of you know, the trip to Seattle was sort of a birthday surprise.  I use the word 'surprise' very loosely since Chris told me he was wanting to take me there and then asked me to make all of the hotel and restaurant arrangements for the weekend.  I have to admit, at first I was a little taken aback by the proposition but Chris new exactly what he was doing.  He knows that I love the planning almost as much (or more) than the actual trip.

There's a kind of thrill that I get from making a decision and seeing it go well. Maybe everyone else feels that way, I don't know. Before we left, I created a bookmarks folder full of restaurants and places to visit.  I can say, with a strong sense of accomplishment, that 80% of the plans worked out brilliantly! We may not have visited the Space Needle (sorry Mitch), but we did have one of the best meals of my life at the Tin Table restaurant. Seriously, Chris and I ate through literally half of the menu as we sat and talked for hours. I also highly recommend The Pink Door (awesome italian food and burlesque shows), Cafe Flora (best breakfast I've had in a long time), and the Experience Music Project museum.

Anyway, suffice it to say we had a fantastic trip! I knew that I needed to get away, but I didn't realize how much my body and mind needed that reboot. I feel completely recharged and ready for the next phase of life. Bring it on!

Honky Tonk Badonkadonk

So, tonight I was in a bar with a friend of mine, and a local lady-comedian who sells handmade greeting cards approached us, totally plastered. She told us that she's moving to Seattle in a month, to which I casually mentioned that I'm visiting there this weekend for the first time. Then she proceeded to tell me (BTW, she's easily 30 pounds heavier than I am), that I'm "going to F-ing LOVE Seattle, because bigger, curvy girls like us can TOTALLY get laid there!"

...Yep. Awesome.

Young at Heart

I find that when it comes to listening to music, playing video games, or watching TV I tend to always rely on the old favorites, rather than taking a risk on new experiences.  One of the benefits of this, at least where TV is concerned, is that I get to grow with the shows and let them affect me in different ways.  Lately, I've been watching a lot of Ally McBeal.  

I used to watch this show every week with my Dad when I was in high school.  At 17, the characters (who are all nearing 30) embodied a lifestyle I didn't quite understand, although I knew I wanted to get there someday.  I liked the show mostly for it's utter ridiculousness.  The fantastical nature of Ally's hallucinations and Peter McNicol's wacky hijinks were (and still are) highly entertaining.  However, when Ally struggled with her birthdays and continuously inspected her face for wrinkles I could not at all relate.  Funny, but as a teenager it made perfect sense that she would be getting wrinkles.  I mean, 30 was OLD.  

Well, I just watched that episode again, the 30th birthday episode, and the reality of my age started to really set in.  I find that, in a way, I'm still watching the show from that 17 year old's perspective; Ally still looks old to me.  But she shouldn't anymore.  I am the age that she is in the show.  I'm turning 29!  I'm the same age that she was in the first season, and every episode when she complains about her age I now feel like David E. Kelley (the show's creator) is launching mini attacks on me and all of my friends.  How dare he make us seem like neurotic, age and beauty-obsessed, power-hungry wenches! 

So, yes, I'm turning 29 on Thursday.  And you know what?  I'm not inspecting my face for creases.  I'm not obsessed with men, weight, power, fashion, or money.  I feel younger than I did when I was 25 (God, I felt old and wise at 25), and I feel older than I did at 17.  It used to seem like life was speeding along, but since moving out here it seems like everything has somehow slowed down.  Maybe I slowed down and learned to appreciate everything more; I don't know.  It feels weird to watch my favorite shows and finally be the age of the characters in them, but it's also oddly comforting.  My life isn't dramatic. It's not understated either. It's just mine.  I don't need to go to my high school reunion to see how I stacked up on all of the meaningless, superficial scales.  I've succeeded.  I'm living my dream, and I found it in my own timeline.

When I was 17, I used to say that I couldn't wait until I was 30 because by 30 I would have it all figured out.  I've got to say, I don't think I was wrong at all.  Now I can't wait until I'm 50.  The other day I was talking to someone who told me this was the end of my twenties, and the last time I'd be able to admit my true age out loud. Trust me, I wanted to reach my hand through the phone and pop his head right off of his neck. I mean seriously, dude?!  SERIOUSLY?! How rude! Contrary to what society might think, I actually really love getting older and watching everyone around me do the same.  We're all so lucky to have every year that we get.  I've already outlived some of the people I've known and loved, and I've got a lot of time left until I reach my goal of 105.  Twenty nine is going to be awesome!

Make Me Lose Control

Remember when songs used to tell a story?  I can't even remember the last time I heard a new song on the radio that resembled anything more than a string of redundant, overly-simple phrases created purely for the purpose of pushing record sales and selling products. Although, to be fair, I suppose some songwriters still strive to weave some sort of narrative for their audience.  Country singers have done a fairly good job of continuing to tell tales, although I don't know what sort of moral I'm supposed to draw from "Honky Tonk Badonkadonk." 

People have always told me that I'm an 'old soul', that I have 'grandma taste', and/or that I am clearly biased against any song written after 1988. These people are not wrong. In fact, if you've ever asked yourself, "why does my good friend, Lindsey, insist on listening to nothing but oldies and classic rock?" here's your chance to learn the answer.  It isn't glamorous.  Actually, I've already completely given it away up there at the start of the intro.  You see, I like stories, and modern music just doesn't tug at my heart strings the way the golden oldies do.

For example, take one of my all-time favorite songs, "Band of Gold." At first glance it really just sounds like a breakup song.  Boy left girl; girl sings a doo-wop number about it.  Wrong!  Listen to it again.  Go ahead, you know you want to.



This song is actually about a woman who, on her honeymoon, chickens out of having sex with her new husband.  He gets angry and leaves the room, and she spends the rest of the night hoping that he'll come back in and give her another chance.  "Band of Gold" provides one of the most fantastic juxtapositions in musical history.  Despite the upbeat, happy nature of the melody, the meaning behind the lyrics is intense and raw.  Brilliant!

Remember Bon Jovi?  Of course you do!  Who doesn't love to scream "Living on a Prayer" at the top of their lungs while driving down the interstate with a car full of good friends?  I know I sure do.  If you're with me then you definitely remember the opening lyrics.  We all know poor Tommy so well, don't we?  And Gina, who dreams of running away?  Yep, in a way we're all "halfway there" right with the characters, clinging to our youth while simultaneously trying to survive in the real world.

Yeah, I love "Slippery When Wet" as much as the next 45 year old, but my heart has always truly belonged to the 70s folk rock gods and goddesses.  Every year when the radio station officially switches to nothing but holiday music, my heart skips a beat in anticipation of Dan Fogelberg's "Same Old Lang Syne." I'm not sure why they reserve it exclusively for the holiday mix.  If I had my way, Dan would be welcome on public broadcast 365 days a year.  The lyrics of this song are so honest and relatable, never mind that it was based entirely on a true story. Every time I hear it I feel like I'm right there with them, in the frozen food aisle, fumbling at the checkout stand, awkwardly conversing in the car, and finally saying goodnight.  Don't get me wrong, all of Fogelberg's songs are written as stories, but this one really hits at something in me.  I'm not sure why. [Forgive me, but these YouTube fan compilations crack me up.  Sorry I couldn't find a better video.]



I'm sure by now you get the point, and you're thinking to yourself "oh my gosh, Lindsey, are you still talking about this?  And why am I even still reading?" Well, I'll tell you why. It's because you miss the stories, too.  We all miss the good old days when music wasn't weird for weird's sake, or created specifically to address some gap in the MTV culture, or mindlessly repetitive to the point where you can't decide whether to keep singing along to it or to bash your car stereo in with a hammer.  I know this feeling all too well.  Every time Chris and I are in the grocery store and I'm singing every lyric to every awful new song (even though I've never heard most of them before), he stares at me with daggers in his eyes and contempt in his heart (don't worry, he's Hardcore). I can't blame him; I kind of hate that I do it, too, but I can't help it.  Music is made to be easy, accessible, and repetitive these days.  You only have to hear a song twice to think it's probably your favorite.  Think about it in terms of cognitive dissonance: "I know all the words to this song!  Wait, why do I know all of the words to this song?  It must be because I really like it!"

This is not meant to be a justification of my taste in music, or a plea for any of you to join me on the 'Dark Side' of grandma-tasticness. Think of this post more like a call to arms for all of the modern musicians and up-and-comers in the world (because clearly they all read my blog) to honor the true purpose of music, to tell stories that will touch our hearts and inspire our souls.  Like this delightfully sad number, originally performed by Fifth Dimension and revived for episode 16 of Glee Season 1. Until next time, toodle-oo!

You've Got a Friend in Me

I was talking to one of my friends about a week ago, maybe two. He's one of the few friends I've been close to for many moons (since 1997ish), and he's one of those people who I can go months, even years (although that's not preferable), without talking to and yet we're still somehow able to pick up right where we left off.  He and I used to half-joke that we had a psychic connection.  Anytime he had a fight with his girlfriend I would get a stomach ache no matter where I was, and when I was feeling particularly down he would "coincidentally" decide to call me right when I hit rock bottom. When I moved to New York with my ex, this friend was my rock.  He was my first call whenever I felt homesick or things weren't going well with my then-guy.  When the two of us got married to our respective spouses our phone calls became less frequent, our psychic connection became a little fuzzy, but somewhere deep down we've always known that we had each other's backs.

Anyway, like I said before, I was talking to him a bit ago and he was feeling particularly melancholic, as was I.  He had been reading a lot of Rumi while his lovely wife was out of town, and he had done a little soul-searching.  He brought up the concept of friends with a capital "F". A Friend, as he defined it, is someone who you can count on at any point in your life, someone who you don't have to see or talk to to know they're there, maybe even someone who would be willing to hop on a plane at the drop of a hat if you needed them (and vice versa).  He said he only had a few people who qualified as Friends, of which I was one, and it got me thinking about how many Friends I might have.

I've always been someone who gathered acquaintances, or so I thought; although, when I moved to Portland I quickly grew tired of my ever growing pile of one-night-stand-friends and found myself craving a solid connection.  Nevertheless, I fully realize that I am a hard person to get to know.  I don't let my guard down easily, not even to those I'm closest to, and as a result I don't know that I've gathered many Friends with a capital "F". Maybe we're not supposed to, I don't know.  I find, upon reflection, that most of my Friends are people I've grown up with.  I don't mean that in the sense that I've known them for 10 years and keep in "close" contact with them through Facebook. I mean the people that I've known since high school and New York who I've literally grown with; the people who have seen me change over the years and know me well enough to be able to tell.  Even though I only have maybe, maybe ten Friends, I take great comfort in knowing that I'm fortunate enough to have this second family of sorts, even if they don't know each other at all.  They all know me, and that's not for nothing.

Of course, this entire post may just be born out of the fact that I'm about to turn 29 and start a PhD program.  Don't get me wrong, I've always loved aging, but I find that part of the natural progression of life is the weeding out of old friends, for whatever reasons, to make room for new life situations and goals. For as many people who are willing to watch you grow and change, there are always a few who can't handle or understand your need to make the necessary transitions, or, worse, who purposefully or inadvertently hold you back.  I guess reflecting on my conversation with my Friend has inspired me to think about not only how many people I have in my life, but also those I've left behind.  It's a sad, yet necessary process, not that any justification can completely resolve this truth in my mind.  I'll just chock it up by saying life sure is funny sometimes...

Getting to Know You

Today I took the Myers-Briggs Personality Inventory questionnaire for kicks, and apparently I am classified as having an ESTP personality type. I found a description of what this means on the Perdue University webpage, and it fits so well I thought I would share it with all of you! I even had Christopher read through it, just to be sure I wasn't falsely trusting in the characterization, and he gave it a big thumbs up. Here you go! Oh, and if you happen to take the test after reading this, please let me know what your results were; it'll be like a fun game!

ESTP Personality

ESTP are men and women of action. When someone of this personality is present, things begin to happen. The lights come on, the music plays, and the game begins. And a game it is for the ESTP, the outstanding entrepreneur, the international diplomat, the conciliator, and the negotiator par excellence. Approximately 13 percent of the general population are of this extraverted, sensing, thinking, and perceiving type. And if only one adjective could be used to describe ESTPs – resourceful – would be an apt choice.

Life is never dull around ESTPs. Their attractive, friendly style has a theatrical flourish which makes even the most routine, mundane event seem exciting. ESTPs usually known the location of the best restaurants, and headwaiters are likely to call them by name. ESTPs are socially sophisticated, suave, and urbane and are master manipulators of the external environment.

ESTPs are uncanny at observing people’s motivations, somehow hypersensitive to minimal nonverbal cues, which other types might miss. And they are masters at using these observations to “sell” the “client.” The eye of the ESTP is ever on the eye of the beholder, and all actions are directed toward this audience. Witty, clever, and fun, ESTPs seem to possess an unusual amount of empathy, when in fact this is not the case; rather, they are so acutely aware of minimal signals from others that they are usually several jumps ahead in anticipation of another’s position. And ESTPs can use information gained to the ends they have in mind – apparently with nerves of steel, engaging in what seems to others to be suicidal brinksmanship. Other types may find this exhausting, but ESTPs are exhilarated by working close to the edge of disaster. ESTPs are ruthless pragmatists and often offer the ends as justification for whatever means they see as necessary – regrettable, perhaps, but necessary. Usually, however, ESTPs do not care to justify actions, but prefer instead to get on to the next action.

ESTP Career

ESTP’s are outstanding as initiators of enterprises that bring people together to negotiate. They make invaluable itinerant administrators who can pull troubled companies or institutions out of the red very quickly, and with style! They can sell an idea or project in a way no other type can, but won’t follow through on the tedious administrative details of a project. This characteristic often causes ESTP’s to be unappreciated for the extraordinary talents they have, for people lose sight of the idea contributed and focus on the details left undone, becoming critical of ESTPs’ weaknesses rather than appreciating their strength. Few enterprises, which are institutionally, based use ESTPs as they should be used. When they strike out on their own, however, they do not always succeed, for their unwillingness to bother with follow-up details may cause an otherwise excellent project to fail. ESTPs need to be sure they have someone who will, take care of follow-up if at all possible.

ESTP Home

ESTPs live in the immediate moment and as mates lend excitement – and unpredictability – to the relationship. The ESTP mate is usually extremely attentive in public and smooth in social rituals. They carry on amusing repartee, and laughter surrounds them as they recount from their endless supply of clever jokes and stories. Charm radiates from ESTPs. Nothing is too good for their friends, although family responsibilities may, at times, be given second priority. The ESTP’s mate may in time come to feel like an object – the female a chattel and the male a negotiable commodity. Deep commitments do not always occur in the lives of ESTPs, although they are always popular and know many, many people by name. Relationships usually are conditional, and the condition is the consideration of what the ESTP has to gain from the relationship. Anything gained, however, is shared freely and generously with the mate. The unexpected gift, the impulsive trip to Paris, the extravagant surprise at Christmas – all these an

ESTP brings to a mate.

Fun, excitement, laughter, and that element of unpredictability are characteristic of their relationship. The ESTPs have a low tolerance for anxiety and are apt to avoid or leave situations that are consistently filled with interpersonal tensions. ESTPs are usually somewhat of a mystery to their mates and to others. Few people comprehend this unique personality. ESTPs themselves understand well the maxim, “He who travels fastest, travels alone.” Still, ESTPs are not likely to be lonely for long. ESTPs meet life with a hearty appetite for the good things of the world, searching out excitement, perhaps as a warrior, an athlete, an adventurer, or as a professional gambler, but always seeking the thrill of courting Lady Luck in one fashion or another. A theme of seeking excitement through taking of risks runs through the lives of ESTP.

Video Killed the Radio Star

Whenever Christopher and I engage in a dispute, there's always a central theme that arises.  It's the same one every time.  We'll be arguing, and inevitably he'll say something like "Lindsey, we're not Dan and Roseanne" or "This isn't TV; I'm not going to follow whatever script is in your head." On multiple levels these comments fascinate me, founded or not.

Over the past two weeks, I've been assisting with a social psychology course (acting as teaching assistant, that is), and last week someone brought up the concept of TV characters acting as a sort of pretend group of friends or family members.  It made me chuckle a bit, because that is exactly the sort of thing Chris is always talking about: our imaginary TV friends. This, of course, spurred a whole classroom debate on how television effects the way in which we engage in interpersonal relationships, cope with issues like loneliness, and compare ourselves to unattainable standards like those shown in family sitcoms (e.g., the 'middle class' family living in a five bedroom, four bathroom home within a safe, suburban neighborhood). At the end of the class, I found my self wondering if Christopher wasn't on to something.

In many ways, my parents' relationship has always mimicked a sort of 'Dan and Roseanne', 'Tim and Jill' dynamic.  In fact, whenever I feel homesick I pop in an episode of "Home Improvement" (yes, I own it.  Don't mock!). Conversely, my favorite shows, or the ones I relate to the most, are "Gilmore Girls" and "Ally McBeal", both of which star a female character who has many fun, cute quirks, is intelligent and imaginative, and talks at lightning speed. I wonder, thinking about these traits, whether I like these characters because they remind me of myself, or if I've inadvertently modeled myself after them. Likewise, have I been conducting my marriage based on the lessons I learned from watching my parents, or on the television counterparts I compare them to?  I feel like I'm stuck in an episode of the "Twilight Zone" or something.  GAH!  I did it again!!!

I have no poignant thoughts or words of advice on this issue.  Actually, I probably need the advice this time around, truthfully speaking.  Is the solution to stop watching TV?  Is merely being aware of the issue enough to curb these negative, mimicking behaviors?  Interesting questions, indeed.  If you think of a good solution let me know.  I'm going to go watch some "West Wing".

Magic Man

My Grandpa Fred died yesterday morning.  I keep trying to think of something awesome and profound to say about it, but really it's just sad.  He was a man of few words, but when he spoke it always seemed important.  When he smiled at me with pride my whole spirit lit up, because I knew that what I did meant something to him and that meant the world to me.  Most of what I learned about him through the years came in equal parts from other family members and from the subtleties in his body language and murmurs. I can't describe why in any tangible way, but I always just liked being around him; it made me feel special. My father gives off that same vibe, and I've always hoped that it was a trait I also inherited. The one thing I definitely got from my grandfather was his eyes.  People joke that I have the eyes of Renee Zellweger, but in reality I have the eyes of Fred Grimes through and through. I also got his nose and chin.

By the time I knew my grandfather his life was all about car repairs and orange groves, but I've heard stories about the crazy adventures, careers, and odd-ball career offers he had in his younger days.  Like, apparently he was approached by the executives of Burger King back when the chain was just getting off the ground and they were practically giving away franchises.  The story goes, and I quote, my grandfather told them that "no one would ever buy a hamburger out when they can just make one at home."  Whoops!

I have always taken a lot of pride in my Florida roots, which may seem ironic considering how many posts I've devoted to my need to move three-thousand miles away from there.  If you've ever seen the movie "Away We Go" (which you should, because it's fabulous), the place they end up at in the end, the Huckleberry Finn childhood paradise, is what Grimes Road is like in Wauchula.  That's right, there's actually a street named after my family. It's just a simple dirt road, surrounded by orange groves and littered with the houses of every Grimes who has ever resided there.

When Great Grandma Grimes passed away at the ripe young age of 99 the road lost a little bit of its magic, but when Grandpa Fred packed up and moved across town a few years ago much of the charm was lost forever.  Now, with his death, it seems as though my Florida heritage has died as well.  Most of the elders are gone now, most of the groves have been sold or destroyed, and many of the younger family members have moved to bigger cities. It seems strange to say it, but I'm really going to miss having a reason to visit Wauchula.  Honestly, Orlando is nothing compared to the simple beauty of rural Florida. I will truly miss my grandfather, and everything his home meant to me.

Secret Garden

Well, it's 12:50pm and I've been awake for hours now.  This may not seem like a big deal to my followers in Malaysia, but for anyone who knows me this marks a significant change in my normal routine.  Historically, I have not been a "morning person."  Growing up, mornings always came far too soon and were undoubtedly marked by a lot of tired groaning, yelling, and my mother ripping the sheets off of my bed in order to shock me awake.  God, I hated that.  For the past few months, however, I have been learning to appreciate the quiet that comes from waking early.  Instead of snapping out of bed with just enough time to take a 15 minute shower, run a brush through my hair, and sprint to the bus stop, I now enjoy waking slowly, brewing a fresh carafe of coffee, reading the daily news (aka Facebook), and puttering around our garden.

That's right, folks.  We have a garden!

I've always wanted to be the kind of person who has a garden.  When I was younger I would imagine my future to be in a house with a wood burning stove, a vegetable garden, fruit trees of all sorts, three chickens to provide me fresh eggs, two goats to do my yard maintenance and provide milk for cheese, and one cow to, you know, do cow-stuff.  Clearly, I don't exactly have the proper mindset to be a great farmer.  I never thought I would actually grow my own food or cook what I sewed, but the day before yesterday I actually got a chance to pull a carrot (not yet ripe, mind you.  I'm still learning.) out of one of my pots, peel it, and eat it!  It was pretty friggin' magical.  There's a sort of odd liberation that comes from the knowledge that you have the power to control your own sustenance. It's one of the things I love most about living in Portland, and only adds to my pre-existing snootiness over ingredients and food quality.

Don't get me wrong, I'm still a total chick when it comes to getting my hands dirty.  Once again, I count myself lucky for having found such a rugged manly-man to take care of the ickier things in life.  For instance, lately our brussels sprouts have been getting eaten alive by a colony of small, green caterpillars, which Christopher bravely picked off the plants one-by-one yesterday.  Sure, he then proceeded to dump the pile of caterpillars in our neighbors yard, but I won't tell if you don't. With any luck, our multitude of greens will survive the temporary infestation and produce hundreds of delicious sprouts for us to eat and trade for eggs around the neighborhood (all of our neighbors have chickens). Seriously, I know I live in the city but this is like my inner-country girl's dream come true!

Living in Portland has taught me many things about life, but the most important lesson so far, and certainly the most salient in today's message, has been the importance of finding ways to slow down and appreciate everything more.  If I weren't waking up early (well, earlier), I would miss out on the opportunity to experience the morning zen-sation of drinking my coffee and tending to my garden. I am especially looking forward to practicing my new morning-person-ness in the wintertime this year, when the sun goes down at 4:30pm.  Believe me, when you wake up at noon and are only able to really enjoy two or three hours of sunlight per day, the joy of sleeping in hardly seems worth it.  Sure, there's a certain amount of internal stigma that I associate with going to bed at 10:00pm and waking up at 7:00am (old lady much?), but I feel like I'm finally starting to get it.  Well, most of the time at least.

Hot For Teacher

Life is a process of constantly learning.  I am continually reminded of this fact as I grow and evolve.  I feel like I'm always discovering and rediscovering how to love, how to be appreciative, how to listen, and how to express myself.  There are certain factors in our lives - triggers - that force us to re-evaluate who we are. Often times these are attributed to love and loss, money and poverty... You know, all the really important moments that we struggle with from year to year.  Lord knows I've spent plenty of time trying to "find" myself in multiple states, jobs, boyfriends, and vacations.  I suppose even this blog could be defined as a means for me to continue on my journey of self-discovery and emotional competence.

More so than anything else, my marriage has been the thing that has kept me constantly guessing about myself. There's something about being connected to someone for the rest of your life, and making that commitment to him and to yourself that forces you to adopt a perspective which necessitates adaptability in a way that you never thought yourself capable of. No fight will ever be so big that he and I won't work it out, because we've made a promise to each other to stay together and be happy with that decision. Love is not enough to keep a couple together, but it is the key ingredient to making that joined life totally awesome and undeniably worth it.

Marriage is a funny thing in that it forces you to be more introspective, and having a spouse is in some ways like having a mirror that reflects yourself in all of your best and worst ways so that you are made hyper aware of both your good qualities and those which you would rather turn a blind eye to.  This, of course, can be interpreted as a blessing and a curse, although I must say I rather enjoy it.  I will never know myself better than Christopher knows me, and that both horrifies me and makes me extremely grateful that I will have him in my life.

In case you were wondering how my blog got its title, this is it.  Here's to forever.

Same Old Lang Syne

I'm not the sort of person who makes New Year's resolutions.  For one, I think New Year's Eve/Day is a silly holiday meant only to mark the arbitrary passing of time with copious amounts of alcohol and bad decisions.  Second, I believe that resolutions are merely goals which can, and should, be made and followed at any point through out the year.  In fact, I find that I am more likely to stick to my guns when I set resolutions at times that are appropriate for myself rather than designated by societal pressures.  That being said, I have reached yet another point in my life where I feel a distinct need to redefine my priorities and set new goals for my future.

After years of hard work and months of anticipation, I have officially been accepted to the social psychology PhD program at Portland State University!  This achievement was in no small part a direct result of support from many people, to whom I owe a great deal of respect and gratitude.  And it is for them, myself, my family, and my friends that I have an intense desire and need to excel in both my field of study and my life over the next four to five years.  As such, I have developed the following goals (in no specific order):

1. Exercise more often: This may seem like a pretty typical resolution, but, aside from my daily .5 mile sprint to the bus stop, I have been extremely lax (stop laughing, Christopher) in my exercise routine over the past two years.  To say that I never have the time would be something of an overstatement, as my current daily de-stress program involves watching reruns of guilty-pleasure TV shows. PSU has a fantastic gym that I haven't even stepped foot in yet, and that is going to change.  At the very least, I need to devote one hour per day toward physical activity to clear my head and help me stay focused.  I know I can do it, too.  When Chris first got together I was literally 20 pounds lighter and spent hours each day doing resistance training and cardio, and I felt fantastic!  That's not to say that my ultimate goal is to lose weight.  I mean, who am I kidding?  I was also 24 when he and I met, and genetics and time are no longer on my side.  I mostly just want to maintain and/or improve my health and well-being.
2. Read at least one book per month that has nothing to do with school: This resolution is tricky, but necessary.  As it currently stands, I've only read one book in the last six months that had nothing to do with psychology, and even it was an assignment for another class.  I need to stretch out my mind, give myself a break from technical reading/writing, and allow myself to become consumed in literature again.  Obviously, part of this resolution (well, all of them really) comes down to cutting some "me" time into my days, and not allowing myself to maintain my current routine of school-work-Chris-TV-sleep.
3. Call friends and family more often: As I become immersed in school work, I have a severe tendency to put my loved ones on the back-burner.  I'm sure I'm not alone in this trend, not that that excuses the behavior.  I allow calling people to become prioritized as a chore instead of a necessary break.  I'll admit it, I sometimes avoid phone calls just because I either 1) don't have time to talk, or 2) don't feel like I have anything worthwhile to say.  This behavior must stop!  As Lori would so eloquently put it, I need to stop putting myself into a self-imposed 'dark place.' People need people, and I have to start letting myself require human interaction. I'm positive that over the next few years I will have to lean on my family and friends more heavily than ever for support.
4. Let my hair grow long:  You may be thinking, "why in the heck is this a resolution?"  Well, the answer is simple.  I look and feel better when my hair is long, but I have total crap patience.  At every point between chin-length and just-below-the-shoulders my hair is going through some sort of awkward phase.  It is usually at one of these lengths that I lose my cool and chop it off again. As such, I have made a pact with myself: I will not cut the length of my hair until I finish my Master's degree in two years time.  Until then I can trim the layers and bangs, but I have to let it continuously grow.  Don't worry, with the speed at which my hair actually develops, it'll probably only be to the base of my shoulder blades by then and I'm sure it will look fabulous!
5. Write down at least one good and one mediocre idea per day: I realized when I began this course of study two years ago that I was continuously inspired by psychology.  Over that time, I have had hundreds of ideas for research, experiments, and studies. Unfortunately, I've only taken the time to write down and develop five or six of them.  This resolution, essentially, is a two parter.  Part one involved buying a small notebook that I can keep as sort of an "idea diary." Subsequently, part two is carrying said notebook with me everywhere and writing down every idea I have, whether it be for a research proposal, blog entry, outfit, new goal, or grocery list.  I need to start treating every idea as if it's gold, because even if I think they're total crap now, in two, five, or even ten years time I may look back and decide that one of them is worth pursuing.  I have seen the way that the intense environment of grad school can leave students feeling drained and unmotivated, and I am enthusiastically committed to not allowing that to happen to me. 

Honestly, looking at this list now I have to admit that it is not at all the direction I thought I would go with it (I've sort of been free-writing this whole time).  I thought that I was going to produce goals that involved studying hard and living up to my potential.  That being said, I'm really happy with what I've produced here.  Clearly my mind and body know what I need to succeed over the next important chunk of my life, which is good because I need every part of me working hard to get through this.  Doing well in grad school is obviously an important goal of mine, but I am looking way past that now.  I need to succeed there so that when I'm out I can get a great job that allows us to climb out of debt so that we can finally start a family of our own.  I am so ready for this!

Changes

I'm feeling squibby. That's right, I made up a word for my current state.  You may be wondering, "Lindsey, what does squibby mean?"  Well, I'll tell you.

Squibby (adj.) - unsettled, restless, not quite right.

It may be because I'm anxious about my graduate school application (I won't find out anything until April), or because I have some kind of horrific, disgusting cold that has seemingly transformed my nose into a waterfall, or even because I am not feeling spiritually satisfied by my courses this term... whatever the cause, I'm in desperate need of a change.  I'd even settle for a vacation.

... Actually, now that I think about it, I'd prefer a vacation.  I haven't really had one in the past two years, unless you count visiting Florida, which I don't.  I love my family and friends (for really realz, I do!), but the old adage is true: you can never really go home again.  There is always too much to do, too many friends and family to see, and not nearly enough time or energy to do it.  Someone always ends up with their feelings hurt, Chris and I leave feeling guilty and frustrated, and I inevitably come back to Portland sick and exhausted. 

Yes, I need a vacation.  I've declared it.  It's officially true.  This past Christmas, Christopher and I decided to skip giving each other gifts in order to save money to go on a weekend trip somewhere in the Northwest.  I think it's time to cash in on that deal.  Then, when I come back, I'll be my old self again - smiling, happy, positive, with sinuses that don't resemble the Hoover Dam.  Too much information?  Sorry, but we're all family here.

PS - My brother is fine.  The cancer was completely removed, and two specialists confirmed that he has only a 5% chance of recurrence.  Huzzah!  Thank you for all of your kind words and good juju!