As anyone who is following along at home knows, I’ve been less than busy in my new locale, much to my chagrin.  I enjoy being busy – going places, doing things, seeing folks…I’m very much an extrovert in that sense.  This weekend, however, was set to prove the exception.  I was literally scheduled to do something about every two hours on Saturday from 7 AM until 4 PM.  And although a lot of it was fun, I would have rather had all the fun spread out over a few weekends.

My day began at 7 AM with training for the 4 Miler.  I did my 2+ miles for the day and high-tailed it home to take a quick shower, then ran out for an appointment I had in town at 9 AM.  From there, I went downtown to meet some book club folks for coffee and then planned to head to a women’s lunch at church with one of the people from book club who also attends my church.

This is where my tight schedule and best laid plans went awry.

We had parked in different lots so we said our adieus and promised to meet up with one another in the lot next to the church.  I was fairly certain I knew two ways to get from point A to point B (still being new, I don’t have a whole lot of shortcuts in my repertoire yet!) and took the one I thought would be the quickest.  But in my overscheduled, slightly stress-inducing day, God had something to show me.  He has a tendency to do that when you aren’t paying attention and are caught up in the busyness of life;  at least that’s what happens to me!

I was about halfway to church when I noticed an old golden retriever mix, soaking wet, ambling along the road.  I didn’t see any people around and noticed she was wearing a collar and tags so I pulled up alongside her.  She was wagging her tail but kept on going;  I was afraid by the way she was ambling that maybe she had been hit by a car and the fact that she wouldn’t come near mine made me even more concerned.  She finally stopped a bit of ahead of me in a shady area.  I pulled over, thinking this would be a quick stop – do my good deed, get the dog back to her owners and get over to lunch in the nick of time.  But she was intent on continuing her journey so I MacGyvered a leash from my belt and examined her tags.  I called the vet listed on the rabies tag first and they assured me they’d call her family and give them my number.  In the meantime, I tried getting her in the air conditioned car, thinking that would be better for both of us and easier for me to drop her off once the owner called.

But the owner didn’t call.  And she wouldn’t get in the car.

I stood there in the blazing sun wondering what to do.  I was hot, I was late…I was stressed.  But like my overscheduled day, I had done this to myself.  I’m completely incapable of leaving a pet, especially one with tags, wandering the streets when I might be able to help.  I know I’d be devastated to lose one of mine and I always just think of that and stop.  In the past, however, it’s usually been a quick fix:  the owners drive up, looking for the pet;  the pet has a rabies tag and I reach the owner through the vet;  the tag lists the owner’s number and I reach them directly.  All is resolved, tied up with a neat bow – good deed done and I’m on to the next thing.

But that’s the thing about life. It rarely gets tied up with a neat bow.  Sometimes you get dirty.  Sometimes you end up smelling like a wet dog.  And sometimes the easiest thing (or what you think is the “best” thing) just doesn’t work out, no matter how hard you try.

You get a bad report from the doctor.
You don’t get the job.
You get the job but it turns out to be different than what you thought it would be.
You don’t get the guy.
You don’t even MEET the guy.
You fail the test.
You don’t get the raise.
You get an unexpected bill you can’t pay.
The rent check bounces.
You can never quite make those blasted ends meet.
You have a misunderstanding that grows into something more.

I stood outside with the dog for a while.  I was now a half hour late and knew my friend was wondering what had happened to me on our ten minute ride across town but I had no way to reach her.  I tried texting a few folks from church to see if they might be able to get word to her but they weren’t there.

I thought about giving up.

I could have just unhooked my belt from her collar and hoped she’d find her way home;  I had somewhere to BE after all.

But I thought again of how awful I’d feel if one of my pets went missing. And I realized that this situation that “messed up” MY plans was part of a larger plan, one with details to which I’m not often privy.  There was a reason this dog crossed my path on this busy day and I was being shown exactly why that was. There was no way I was letting this dog go;  not now.  I took a breath and looked at the tags again.  On her collar was a gold plate – with two numbers on it.  I tried the one that was not local, hoping it was a cell but got a voicemail.  I tried the other and a voice answered on the first ring.  “I have your dog, ” I said.  “Oh, God bless you!” the man said.

He did.  On a hot, busy, overscheduled summer Saturday, he did.

P.S.  Lest you think I’m leaving you hanging:  The owner came and met me shortly thereafter.  The dog, Sarah, was a 13-year-old golden mix.  She’d been out in the yard with him while he cut the grass;  he startled a group of deer and she took off after them.  She wasn’t hurt as I had first thought, just old and tired from her adventure.

I learned from my Grammy how to give of my time.  She was always going here and there, doing this and that.  When I gave her eulogy, that was a big part of what I said about her, what I admired, and what I strive to emulate.  She was always mending my cousin’s jeans, picking mint for tea or dandelions for salad.  She stayed at our house with the dog so my parents could stay with me at DuPont Children’s Hospital when I had my spinal fusion without worry.  I know she wasn’t a saint and, more importantly, that my relationship with her was different than hers with her children and my cousins, but this is what I remember most when I remember her.

I’ve been working out lately.  Walking in training for the upcoming 4 Miler and then this week, I began taking an aqua class at the University pool.  That, coupled with a long drive to Pennsylvania, fun times with friends and family, a very long drive back and a late night gig on Monday (long story), has made me quite exhausted.  I am not an early to bed sort but I was ready last night by about 9:30.  I got in bed and picked up my book for a bit but eventually, couldn’t keep my eyes open.  Yet as soon as I turned out the lights, my brain went into overdrive.  I started thinking about my trip to Romania two summers ago now and how much it meant to me.  It was truly a watershed moment;  I quite literally would not be where I am today (both in location and in life) without that adventure.  I started to think about the summers leading our students on Group Workcamps around the east coast – more amazing, life-changing times that I cannot imagine not being a part of my experience, of who I am and who I have become.  It’s hard to put into words why these mission trips have had such an impact on me.  Like my grandmother, I like to serve, I like to give, I like to help.  And that is a big part of what these trips were about but quite honestly, they are also about people and moments…just moments, but moments that you never forget, that you carry with you like a seashell or a smooth stone.

In my exhaustion, I was suddenly overwhelmed with the thought of perhaps not getting to experience that all again.  Awake, in the light of day and in a little less weary state of mind, I realize that that’s probably irrational but last night, it was a heartbreaker.

I’m not entirely sure, truly, why I’m even telling you this.  Maybe it’s because I promised time and again to recount our trip to Romania.  Maybe it ties back to the lack of moments I’m feeling in my current life.  Maybe it was my subconscious lamenting some really great moments I was blessed to have with my people last weekend.  I don’t know…I guess we’ll see.

No, I’m not going to force you to endure yet another post about how hard moving has been.  (It is.  It continues to be.  But, anyway. Yeah.)

A few weeks ago, I ended up with a coworker’s ticket to a play.  She couldn’t go but her friend still wanted to, so I ended up going with her.  (Oddly enough, a friend from home had tried to connect the two of us when I first moved to town but we never managed to connect in person.)  During intermission and afterward, we talked a lot about the struggles of moving to a new place, trying to make friends, etc. (yes, I KNOW I promised – give me a minute!)  Having lived through it elsewhere, she knew what I was going through and she suggested that a great opportunity to meet people was coming up soon:  training for the local Women’s 4 Miler.

If you know me, this seems like a ludicrous idea.  I don’t run unless I’m being chased (and even then, I have to weigh my options seriously.)  I can’t remember a time in my whole entire life when I would characterize myself as fit.  Heck, even as a kid, the most activity I got was trying to figure out how to get OUT of activity.    I fell off my bike more than I rode it.  I even ran into an old lady once…and that was the end of my “career” as a cyclist.

But since I’m still in the mode of throwing things against the wall to see what sticks, I looked it up.  It was scheduled to begin soon and would be every Saturday morning at the crack of dawn leading up to the race.   Walkers were encouraged.  And so I signed up.

I started walking a bit more around work;  several days, I walked from where I park to my office instead of riding the shuttle bus.  I encouraged others in my office to walk with me a little more.  And I got up that first morning and wondered what the heck I was doing.

But I went.

I didn’t really meet anyone but it was fun.  And it felt good to be doing something active.  And I know it’s important…and I know it also harkens back to my word for the year.  I still don’t know how I fit here in my new town and more often than not, I don’t feel as though I do.  But I can focus on trying to get myself fit and this is a great way to do it.  But there is more to this goal than just that.  The money raised goes to the local cancer center.  I’ve had two dear friends pass in the past few years from that crappy disease; I have an aunt and another friend who are proud to call themselves survivors.  And I have a friend who is fighting her own battle right now.  And when I don’t feel like going out, when the weather is challenging as it has been (dear Lord, will it ever stop be grey and rainy here??) or when my foot hurts, my back hurts, whatever – I think of my friend.  What I’m doing is so small.  I’m not doing it for purely altruistic reasons;  there are plenty of selfish reasons I’m doing it.  But when I don’t want to, I think of her and put one foot in front of the other.

9 weeks to go.

A few years ago, while traveling with a colleague, he mentioned his bucket list to me.  I had never given much consideration to mine, beyond the usual, “Oh, I hope someday to…” whatever.  But in talking to him, I realized that it wasn’t such a bad idea;  more of a goal setting, giving yourself things to work toward.  If you looked at mine, you’d see some of the usual things:  visit all 50 states, go on an international mission trip, go to Italy, see KISS in concert, etc.  I made short work of it within the first several months of writing it, crossing several states off in a busy season at work, traveling to Romania on a mission trip and many other fun adventures.

Last night, I was taking care of some things at home in the late afternoon when I took a break to thumb through my Twitter feed.  In doing so, I saw a quick tweet from one of the local news stations that Judy Blume was in town to screen the movie version of her book, Tiger Eyes.  It said she would be doing Q&A and a book signing afterwards.  And best of all, tickets were still available!

I think my heart may have skipped a beat as I looked at the clock and calculated if I could make it downtown in time.  I shot off a quick message to two friends I grew up with, asking if they thought I should go while all the while I was getting ready.  The resounding answer came back:  “OMG!” “Yes!”  “Go…and go once for me too!”

To us, Judy Blume is so much more than an author.  Her books, and especially her preteen and teenage protagonists, SPOKE to us.  In many ways, they were us.  They faced the same struggles and uncertainties and confusion that we all did.  Some of us hid it better than others but believe me, it was there for each and everyone in one form or another.  We learned about getting our periods for the first time;  we learned that “we must, we must, we must increase our bust” exercises didn’t really work.  We learned about first love.  We learned about bullying.  We learned about racism.  We learned about sex…and what the oft-discussed “first time” might be like.  We learned that coping with loss was incredibly heartbreaking and hard but that we could and would emerge on the other side of that sadness.

I can’t tell you how much her books meant to me growing up, especially one in particular.  “Deenie” is the story of a girl who finds out she has scoliosis and is confined to a back brace to try to correct it.  While my experience wasn’t exactly the same, I dealt with some of the same fears and issues in dealing with my own diagnosis and brace. I can’t even begin to go into all of that – we’d be here all day.  But suffice it so say, her book had a huge impact on me.

I was so excited and a little nervous driving over.  I was really holding out hope that tickets would still be available and they were.  I grabbed a large popcorn for dinner and settled in to relive a book I’d read for the first time over 25 years ago.

The movie is on limited release to about 20 small theaters nationwide but it’s also available for download from various outlets now.  I would highly recommend it.  In many ways it is very true to the book and, although I’m usually a purist, the artist liberties didn’t bother me at all.  I think it helped too that I knew that Judy Blume and her son had made the film together;  in that way, changes didn’t seem a betrayal of the author, as sometimes in the case!

After the film, Judy came up and answered audience questions on a wide variety of topics.  I wanted to ask her about Deenie but I couldn’t find the words in front of everyone, so I chose to wait until the signing.

Strategically, I tried to plant myself at the back of the line but others had the same idea and I ended up about 3/4 of the way back.  When my turn came, I handed her my copy of Tiger Eyes to sign while a gentleman took our photo.  (I look terrible but she looks fantastic!)  While she was signing, I told her that her books had meant so much to growing up and that I just wanted to thank her for that.  (And I’ll admit, I got a little teary as I told her.  Yes, I am a sap.)  And I told her I wanted to specifically thank her for Deenie because I was Deenie, back brace and all for many years.  She and I spoke about that for a time and she asked if I remembered that the book was dedicated to a girl named Jane;  I did.  She said Jane was the inspiration for the story and that she had actually come out to a recent signing.  She is 53 now and doing great.

My time with Judy Blume had come to an end.  I thanked her again and shook her hand and went out to my car and burst into tears, my heart full.  I was thinking of that uncertain, confused girl I was back when I read and reread her books, of how much they meant to me, of how much they taught me.

And I realized that sometimes your bucket list items aren’t on your bucket list.

I’ve got a long list of blogs I read. I don’t read them every day but I usually try to check in at least once a week. Some of the bloggers are authors or speakers I admire;  others are pastors, writers, mamas and dads.  Each one has a different perspective and that is something I crave.

I recently saw this quote attributed to Mark Twain:  “Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry and narrow-mindedness and many of our people need it sorely on these accounts.  Broad, wholesome, charitable views of man and things cannot be acquired by vegetating in one little corner of the earth all one’s lifetime.”  I immediately shared this on Facebook and had an interesting dialogue with a friend.  He asked for an explanation of what I thought this meant.  My take, as someone who has traveled extensively domestically but only once internationally, was that travel opens your mind.  It puts you in situations and with people who are wholly unlike you and those you came from.  It can be scary but enlightening and life-altering in many different ways.  While he understood this, he also pointed out to me that sometimes it’s not a choice for people to travel.  And he’s right, for a whole variety of reasons – financial, familial, etc.  And that got me thinking that the broadening of our experience comes not only through physical travel to different places but also through travel of the mind.  I know that sounds a bit crunchy granola but bear with me here.

I work at a large university.  This semester, I participated in one of several small group discussions over a period of about six weeks;  mine was focused on the topic of faith & spirituality in the university and our community.  It brought together a group of about 15 staff and students, all of different ages, hailing from different hometowns across the country, all with very different views on faith and spirituality.  Our facilitators very gracefully led us through some deep discussions about our feelings, perspectives and how that all impacts the broader community.  The ultimate goal is to create a conversation that respects the differences of others and helps create an environment where folks more readily care and look out for one another.  That seems simple as I type it but I think you can see where this might be a Sisyphean task in some instances, especially depending on the topic being discussed.

In thinking about my friend’s comment in light of this, I realized that “travel” isn’t limited to physicality.  I travel in my mind with every book I read.  I travel in every documentary or news story that captures my attention.  All these things and so many more mold and shape my viewpoints on things in tandem with other factors such as my faith, how I was raised, where I “come from” and more.  My viewpoints on things are constantly evolving and growing and I hope that never ceases.

Which brings me, finally (!) full-circle back  to my lengthy blogroll.  As I read through them and ponder them throughout the week, I have found one common thread:  I am totally bummed out by bloggers who don’t blog.  Especially those whose voice and perspective, perhaps different from my own, I really cherish.

While I don’t lump myself into the “cherished blogger” category by any stretch, I realized this week that I need to recommit to my little space here.  I need to recommit to the tens of you who read it.  I need to recommit to those who come looking for a perspective different than their own.  And moreover, I need to recommit for myself because I really, truly enjoy writing.

I know I need to get back on track with posting. I’ve had a rough time of it for various reasons lately.  I’m still struggling – some days are better than others, for sure.  But at seven months into this adventure, I had been sure things would be different than they are…and that takes some reconciling in my mind and soul.  I had several down weekends where I simply didn’t feel like doing anything.  But if there is anything for sure in my life, it’s that I don’t like to let myself wallow for too long.  Life’s too short for that!

I set my mind on finishing up a table I was refinishing for my living room a couple weekends ago.  I’m really pleased with how it turned out.

I had originally just stained and polyurethaned it but I was never really happy with it.  When I found a cool tutorial on decoupaging with book pages, I knew what my plan was.  I posted a note on Facebook, asking my friends to tell me their favorite words and had a great response.  I found a dictionary at a thrift store for $2 and was on my way!  I painted the shelves red and then tore out my friends’ favorite words from the dictionary, arranged and decoupaged them onto the back area of each shelve.  Voila!  I am so please with how this one came out.  And I’m more than a little hooked on decoupaging – and the idea of decoupaging with book pages.

This weekend I went on some adventures.  I visited a pizza place in the next town over that National Geographic claims is the best pizza in the world.  My response?  It was pretty good.  (Take that with a grain of salt, however, as I am NOT what you’d call a pizza connoisseur  – by any stretch.)  I tried out a local barbecue place that was absolutely fantastic.  I conquered a mammoth to do list.  And I finished up my final two furniture projects (for the moment, at least!)

This was a nightstand I bought at a thrift shop back in February.  I wasn’t really sure what I wanted to do with it, so it took me a bit of time.  It has a retro, shabby chic kind of look about it. And I learned a lot about decoupaging furniture with fabric….

This was another table I picked up at the same thrift store.  There was really nothing to it – just bare plywood with some rusty metal legs.  I sanded the legs and sprayed them with a hammered copper and then decoupaged some map paper on the top.  I polyurethaned it and added some rubber “feet” to the bottom over the weekend (so the metal wouldn’t damage the flooring, wherever this ends up.)

I’m happy with how they  turned out.  They are not perfect, by any means, but I’m learning a lot as I work with the different media and I know what I’ll do differently with projects like these in the future.  Now the question is what do I do with them?  My place is very small and I really have no need for either.  I’ve been thinking of setting up an Etsy shop but the easier option may be to simply use Craigslist.  We shall see.

I was sad to learn that TLC’s What Not to Wear is going off the air soon.  Besides my great love of Clinton Kelly & Stacy London, I also secretly harbored hope that someday, some “friend” would nominate me.  Because, really, after you get past the horror of being told you are a crappy dresser on national tv, you get $5000 to create a whole new wardrobe with the help of two savvy, snarky, lovely folks.  How can you beat that?  I’ve learned (though not always applied) so much from the show over the years about patterns and colors and styles and, most of all, about fit.  For instance, about the tendency for people to try to hide their flaws but wearing their clothing too big, which ends up drawing attention to rather than away from the area.  It’s all about clothing that fits, and sometimes that may mean getting a piece tailored to make it fit your figure better.

You may remember that I am all about “fit” in 2013 and it got me thinking.  When I first made my big move, I spent a lot of time trying to figure out how I was going to fit in:  what I could do, what I should do, how I would meet people and make friends.  I tried a lot of different things…and am still trying a lot of different things.  I described it to someone today as “throwing things against the wall to see what sticks.”  An odd metaphor but a metaphor just the same.  And lately, I haven’t been feeling like much is sticking.  I’ve found myself trying to gracefully bow out or take a break from some of the things I thought were going to be the perfect fit for me, the “answer”, if you will..because they just don’t feel right or I just don’t feel like it.  To a degree, some of those feelings may come because I’m disappointed in things not turning out as I had expected;  some may be simply because I’m struggling with a touch of seasonal affective disorder brought on by The Winter That Will Never, Ever (Ever, Ever) End.  Some may be just poor timing.  But others may simply be an issue of fit.  And just like on What Not to Wear, I have to try things on.  I have to look at myself in the 360 mirror, get rid of the old, worn stuff and pick out some new, more flattering things.

It has been a hard week, full of the highest of peaks and the lowest depths of valleys.

I’ve said it before and I’ll probably say it another 150,000 times before all is said and done:  this is hard. Some days, I feel the loss of family, friends and familiarity very acutely.  I’m still trying to identify the triggers so I can work with them instead of being broadsided by them.

It all takes time.

I’ve been trying various things to meet people and to make this place my home.  I’m taking classes (line dancing and yoga) and joining things (Bible study, youth group activities).  I’ve been making a concerted effort to put myself “out there”when it may seem just easier to retreat to my couch and my kitties.

One of the ways I’ve decided to do that is to start my own book club in town.  The first meetup was this Thursday and as I drove to the restaurant, I was so very anxious.  What if no one showed up and I was at a table for 8 alone?  What if people showed up but didn’t like me?  Or I didn’t like them?  Everything I do here feels an awful lot like the first day of school or a first date.

Thankfully, four of the eight showed up and they were the “right” four.  We had a great discussion of the book we read but more importantly, had a great conversation overall about authors and books and reading.  It felt so very good.  I was so encouraged.  I came home to find my friends on Facebook eagerly awaiting word (since my last status was that I was freaking out!)  I filled them in and was also texting with my best friend.  She had some very sage advice:  to not let anyone steal my joy the next day.  We all have people in our lives who have that effect on us;  some seem unfortunately surrounded by them.  But often, I find that I can do it all by myself.  But I went into yesterday still riding high and determined not to let my joy be stolen.

For the most part, I succeeded.  Every day has its ups and downs and it was no different.  And today started out much the same.  But then I learned a dear friend had lost her three-year battle with pancreatic cancer.  Even when you know that terrible news like that is forthcoming, it is still a blow.  I wept and wondered why her;  why another dear friend from the same company who we lost to lung cancer a few years ago.

But as I thought about these two amazing, strong, fun-loving women and all the things they had taught me, one thing stood out – the same thing my friend told me Thursday night.  They both were women who refused to let anything steal their joy.  That’s not to say they never went though tough times because to say they went through tough times was an understatement, especially in their final months.  But when I think of them, I think of the parties – the baby showers, the bridal showers, the birthday parties;  I think of the nights out for drinks or dinner.  I think of all the laughs and oh my, there were SO many laughs!  Because no matter what, they had a joy deep in their souls.

And that is how I want to remember them…and what I want to emulate.

“…it’s creation…” or so says a line in my all-time favorite musical, Rent.  The first 7,000 times I listened to the soundtrack, I let this go in one ear and out other other but on 7,001 it hit me how true that really is.  And lately, with the re-creation of my life in a completely new area where I know no one, I’ve been reminded that I really enjoy creating things.  I’ve been working on a few small projects and have started volunteering at a local nursing home to lead a monthly craft project.  I was so nervous when I went for the first time a couple weeks ago;  I’d been working on craft ideas for some time and at the last minute, changed my plan and decided on a little Valentine’s craft:

Pretty simple but fun & festive!  The original craft I had planned is below;  we’ll do this at the beginning of March:

I’ve also started working on a couple larger projects. In looking around my place, I realized that I have painted/stained/stenciled several pieces of furniture in my living room – and I remembered that I really loved doing it and got a lot of satisfaction from it.  My kitchen is so very tiny and I have no counter space so I decided a few weeks ago to go thrift shopping in hopes of finding a small table that would suit.  What I found was a $10 table at the Salvation Army…and the inspiration to make it really special.

 I wasn’t sure how it would look because of the glopping…but once I grouted it, I was really pleased!