Today I had the privilege of waking up at 5:00am. Ha.
I literally fell out of bed, strangled my alarm clock trying to locate the off switch (not the snooze button), and then stumbled into the bathroom. I stood in the hot shower for probably half an hour. My shoulders were in knots, my head was still waking up, and my eyes still weren't ready to open. By the time I got out, my toes could've qualified as prunes, but my head was a little clearer. I finished getting ready and was out the door at 6:15am on my way to Starbucks.
The only time I can ever remember the streets being so empty was the time we left for Boston as a kid. Roadtrips for us usually began at 4:00am so we could "beat the rush." I have many memories of being sandwiched between two pillows and a pile of blankets in the back seat of our Buick with my teeth chattering in the early morning chill. This morning was similar, with the exception of the blankets and pillows. The streets were so barren, I felt like I had the world to myself.
Raise your hand if you talk to yourself in the car. Or pray in the car. Or sing in the car. Or say something out loud in the car, just for the mere fun of knowing you're alone and there's no one around to hear you say it. Yeah. I do this frequently. And there's only a smidgen of self-conciousness about it usually because even if they can't hear you, the people in the cars around you are probably wondering what you're talking about... and odds are they're staring at you.
Well, this morning, me and myself in the car were quite alone. There was no one around to watch and wonder what the heck I was saying. It was a good kind of emptiness. Some very quiet moments alone, really alone, to say what I needed to say, and hear what I wanted someone to hear. It felt good.
The next few weeks of 5:00ams maybe won't be so bad.
Saturday, April 18, 2009
Thursday, April 9, 2009
Snippets Of My Bucket List
1. Visit and take a picture in every country in the world.
2. Build my own house.
3. Go to Fenway and meet my team.
4. Sing a solo.
5. Visit New Zealand and Australia, and go scuba diving.
6. Get married to someone and remain madly in love with them for the rest of my life.
7. Stand on a mountain peak with my eyes closed, my arms open wide, and the sun setting brilliantly behind me.
8. Ride in a hot-air balloon.
9. Save someone's life.
10. Learn how to ski. And ski well.
11. Go to some isolated and uninhabited island with only my husband. Hehe.
12. Own a boat. Sailboat, yacht, doesn't matter as long as it floats. Although, it has to be functional and pretty too (i.e. NOT a canoe, rowboat, pontoon boat, etc.).
13. Have kids. And I mean a minimum of two.
14. Live by the ocean, even if only for a time.
15. Visit Greece, and Italy, and France, and.... heck, how about all of Europe?
16. Build the world's largest and most unique snowman. Anybody with me?
17. Adopt a child(ren).
18. Smile as many times as is humanly possible in a life time.
19. Learn French.
20. Beat a pinata and scream like a little kid for the candy!!!!!!
21. Learn and understand every single action, play, and term in the game of football, so I know what's going on when I'm cheering.
22. Lay underneath the stars in the back of a pickup truck, in the middle of nowhere, preferably the southwest coast (and don't forget the super cozy warm sleeping bags).
23. Write something at least the slightest bit profound. Something that makes people think, but then smile in agreement.
24. Ride on the back of a motorcycle down a dirty and forgotten road, in the SUNSHINE!
25. Paint a mural or some otherwise large and publicly displayed work of art.
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
Say Hello To Helpless
I'm sure it seems that I endlessly ramble on the days that life gets me down. But it's those days that usually prompt me to blog....
I was on my way home tonight, alone in my huge, humming Buick, and I was feeling, I don't know, useless. Like I wasn't doing anything remotely wonderful with my life, and the world was just passing me by. And somewhere from the silence, my nervous little voice cried, "Dear God."
And I couldn't go on. Somehow, for some reason, I was speechless. I didn't know what to say. What do you say when you're talking to God? He's not clueless; he knows exactly the thoughts rushing through your head. And I struggled for almost a minute of silence, until finally I broke down.
"God, I don't know what to say. I'm out of words."
And I was. I truly felt like I'd been poured out dry. Like I'd been drinking from empty wells, and continued to find absolutely nothing. And I'd finally fallen to my knees in helplessness.
I guess that's how you let go and lay things at God's feet--when you finally realize, "I just can't do it alone anymore..."
Have you ever felt small? Like standing by the ocean, and not being able to move. Tonight, I felt positively tiny. But I think it's kind of funny, whenever that "small" feeling pops up, it's shadowed by awe. When you're standing in front of something so vast, and so infinite, and so wonderful, and so magnificent, how can you not feel awe?
It's not hard to be overwhelmed. Life can naturally be that way. It's intimidating, yet very humbling to feel small. And it's scary, but it's okay to feel helpless. Because you're in someone else's arms.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Letting Go
I'll just say it: I miss the cafe.
September 17th, 2007--1 year, 6 months, and 11 days ago--the first day I ever walked in. Chelsea had just started working there, and had invited everyone to stop in that night. My strawberry smoothie was $4.04. I still have the receipt somewhere that Chelsea gave me.
The garage doors were up. The sky was a faded blue, with reds, oranges, pinks, and yellows flung across it like paint on a canvas. There were pale white jet-streams over the sun's deep golden rays. Need I say it was memorable. Our first night was on the patio, sipping smoothies and just talking.
And that's how it began.
The cafe gradually became more of a home every Monday. One night a week when we could come and let go of everything tugging on our lives, and just be us. I can say with gratitude that the cafe helped me re-kindle two of my friendships that may not have survived otherwise...
After months of Mondays, I started looking for a summer job. The cafe was the first place I thought of. I applied sometime during April or May. A year ago seems like such a long time ago, and yet like yesterday because I can remember it so vividly.
The summer arrived with so many hopes, and was gone before I could even blink. By August, school was already starting up again. My summer job as a nanny was gone, and I was now frantically looking for a solid job for the school year.
And Monday night came. And Chelsea told me about an opening at the cafe. And Sean approached me about my availability to work. And one day later a phone call. Another day later an interview. One final phone call later, and I had a job. I started on September second.
From the beginning, things weren't the same as I dreamed they'd be. It was no longer the same family I had wanted to be a part of; something had changed. It's funny, I realized that sometimes dreams really are just fantasy. The more we dream them, the more realistic they become. But sometimes when we finally get a grasp of that "dream" and can hold it in our own hands, our false logic falls away and we're left with the true reality. Nothing is perfect, no one is perfect, and I should have been more aware of that at the beginning. Even at cafe that felt like home, I had to realize that "our family" was changing. Michael and Lindsay had gone to college, new people were being hired, and the cafe itself was going through multiple changes. My perfect little world had somewhat collapsed. I was still very excited to work there. I did feel very welcome, and for the first time in I think five years Chelsea and Crystal and I were hanging out like "the old days" and almost getting to know each other all over again. I was still a part of a close knit family, it just wasn't the one I expected.
For a while it seemed like things were continually getting better. I had finally gotten the hang of everything, and things were gradually becoming more comfortable. I remember nearly every Tuesday night with Chelsea, from the nights we worked our butts off, to the night we mopped and sang to Taylor Swift. I can't forget my random chats with Kerry, Darlene, Marilyn, Richard, and Sean. Or the first day I opened the cafe by myself over winter break and had to call Michael and wake him up so he could tell me how to turn on the computer. And then again when I couldn't unlock the door. I remember the day I worked from 10 to 8 nonstop, the days I worked off the clock just to be with Crystal and Chelsea. I remember Crystal making chocolate strawberry smoothies, or when Chelsea and I thought we heard a mouse in the closet. I remember trying to make Anthony's birthday cookie, the "safari" Chelsea and I took with Alise, the one open mic night that I worked with Ian and Chelsea, the Thursday night when EVERYTHING WENT WRONG. Thousands of memories, and I have to stop here.
There's a fine line between fond memories and not letting go of the past. And it's a narrow line. It's extremely hard to miss such a place. When you have so many memories, but you want to forget and get on with life. I can't emphasize enough how hard it is. Sometimes I really don't want to miss it.
The last couple months before the cafe closed, I felt the downhill slide. I remember sitting down with Michael in the empty cafe and talking about everything that was happening. It was a helpless and frustrating feeling, not being able to control any of it. And a great feeling of sadness and anger at all of the unpredictable changes. Chelsea was gone. And Ian was gone. We began closing at two everyday, and I rarely saw Crystal anymore. I don't know if alone is what I felt, but I no longer felt like I belonged. Crystal, Chelsea, Ian, Michael. They were supposed to be there. Not just me. I didn't belong there without them. And from there, I just felt like things gradually fell apart. Near the end, no one there was themselves. And I suppose rightly so, because it's never a happy occasion when any business closes. But we all dream of happily-ever-afters.
I really really don't want to miss the cafe sometimes, but I find myself wanting my family back, minus the memories of how things fell apart.
I just can't explain it.
September 17th, 2007--1 year, 6 months, and 11 days ago--the first day I ever walked in. Chelsea had just started working there, and had invited everyone to stop in that night. My strawberry smoothie was $4.04. I still have the receipt somewhere that Chelsea gave me.
The garage doors were up. The sky was a faded blue, with reds, oranges, pinks, and yellows flung across it like paint on a canvas. There were pale white jet-streams over the sun's deep golden rays. Need I say it was memorable. Our first night was on the patio, sipping smoothies and just talking.
And that's how it began.
The cafe gradually became more of a home every Monday. One night a week when we could come and let go of everything tugging on our lives, and just be us. I can say with gratitude that the cafe helped me re-kindle two of my friendships that may not have survived otherwise...
After months of Mondays, I started looking for a summer job. The cafe was the first place I thought of. I applied sometime during April or May. A year ago seems like such a long time ago, and yet like yesterday because I can remember it so vividly.
The summer arrived with so many hopes, and was gone before I could even blink. By August, school was already starting up again. My summer job as a nanny was gone, and I was now frantically looking for a solid job for the school year.
And Monday night came. And Chelsea told me about an opening at the cafe. And Sean approached me about my availability to work. And one day later a phone call. Another day later an interview. One final phone call later, and I had a job. I started on September second.
From the beginning, things weren't the same as I dreamed they'd be. It was no longer the same family I had wanted to be a part of; something had changed. It's funny, I realized that sometimes dreams really are just fantasy. The more we dream them, the more realistic they become. But sometimes when we finally get a grasp of that "dream" and can hold it in our own hands, our false logic falls away and we're left with the true reality. Nothing is perfect, no one is perfect, and I should have been more aware of that at the beginning. Even at cafe that felt like home, I had to realize that "our family" was changing. Michael and Lindsay had gone to college, new people were being hired, and the cafe itself was going through multiple changes. My perfect little world had somewhat collapsed. I was still very excited to work there. I did feel very welcome, and for the first time in I think five years Chelsea and Crystal and I were hanging out like "the old days" and almost getting to know each other all over again. I was still a part of a close knit family, it just wasn't the one I expected.
For a while it seemed like things were continually getting better. I had finally gotten the hang of everything, and things were gradually becoming more comfortable. I remember nearly every Tuesday night with Chelsea, from the nights we worked our butts off, to the night we mopped and sang to Taylor Swift. I can't forget my random chats with Kerry, Darlene, Marilyn, Richard, and Sean. Or the first day I opened the cafe by myself over winter break and had to call Michael and wake him up so he could tell me how to turn on the computer. And then again when I couldn't unlock the door. I remember the day I worked from 10 to 8 nonstop, the days I worked off the clock just to be with Crystal and Chelsea. I remember Crystal making chocolate strawberry smoothies, or when Chelsea and I thought we heard a mouse in the closet. I remember trying to make Anthony's birthday cookie, the "safari" Chelsea and I took with Alise, the one open mic night that I worked with Ian and Chelsea, the Thursday night when EVERYTHING WENT WRONG. Thousands of memories, and I have to stop here.
There's a fine line between fond memories and not letting go of the past. And it's a narrow line. It's extremely hard to miss such a place. When you have so many memories, but you want to forget and get on with life. I can't emphasize enough how hard it is. Sometimes I really don't want to miss it.
The last couple months before the cafe closed, I felt the downhill slide. I remember sitting down with Michael in the empty cafe and talking about everything that was happening. It was a helpless and frustrating feeling, not being able to control any of it. And a great feeling of sadness and anger at all of the unpredictable changes. Chelsea was gone. And Ian was gone. We began closing at two everyday, and I rarely saw Crystal anymore. I don't know if alone is what I felt, but I no longer felt like I belonged. Crystal, Chelsea, Ian, Michael. They were supposed to be there. Not just me. I didn't belong there without them. And from there, I just felt like things gradually fell apart. Near the end, no one there was themselves. And I suppose rightly so, because it's never a happy occasion when any business closes. But we all dream of happily-ever-afters.
I really really don't want to miss the cafe sometimes, but I find myself wanting my family back, minus the memories of how things fell apart.
I just can't explain it.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
