Things that I love: time away from electronics

by nyoin via Flickr

Sometimes, a step back from the computer is a great thing. More and more on these summer weekends, I find myself outside instead of planning blog posts. I intend to continue to post my 3 posts a week, but if I miss a post here or there, don't be too remiss, okay? Less to read here means more time for you to spend outside too!

Summer blues

It must be a relic from my schooldays, but every summer, I fear that I am not embracing the season enough. When summer vacations used to be clearly delimitated by the end of one school year and the start of the next, there was a pressure to squeeze as much fun and relaxation out of everyday you didn't have to spend at school. I don't know about you, but I still feel this pressure at the start of every summer even though I have to go to work as if there were no such thing as a summer break.

These days, this anxiety usually springs up around mid-July, even though summer has clearly already been in full swing for a month or so. I think I live in denial during most of June, alternatively thinking that it doesn't matter that it's summer, it can't possibly be summer yet, or I'll have plenty of time to enjoy the weather. July tells me what's what though and then I start to scramble, trying to take road trips, sunbath, swim, and socialize.

This year is no different, yet it's entirely different. I still feel this rush to do summer things, yet I feel as though I can't really do them. The weather hasn't been helping this feeling: it's either been way too hot to stick even a toe outside or thunderstorming like you wouldn't believe. The main culprit for this apprehension though is the in between phase I've been in since May.

Since I moved to my dad's, I feel as though my life has been stuck on pause. I'm waiting and waiting for the job interviews to roll in and for me to figure out the next stage of my life. I feel as though I can't make extensive plans since I don't know when I'll get a call to come in for an interview or where I'll be living the next month or two. I'm a planner by nature, so this not knowing and up in the air feeling do not sit well with me. I want to know and I want to know now. Add this to the facts that I now live in a different town than my friends and boyfriend and I'm reliant on another person's schedule for my car pool to and from work most days, and it feels like I'm just going through the motions.

I love summer and all of the opportunities it presents. I keep trying to remind myself not to take this all too seriously or I really will miss out on all of the fun. I have to take what I can, when I can get it. Even though I can't make elaborate plans, I can find new places to explore and visit places nearby. I have to remember that it's not all or nothing, it's what I make of it. If I purposefully plan to squeeze sun into my day, I will no doubt feel better than if I didn't make an attempt at all.

This afternoon I sat outside and read during my lunch break so that I could get a taste of the beautiful weather. I feel better already.

First week back

This week was my first week back to school. Schoolwork after a break is always a hard pill to swallow and I tend to turn into a very frustrated person whenever my freedom is jerked away from me. The first few weeks are always hard, but I know I'll find my rhythm in time and getting through classes will become easier. I've just got to keep my eye on the ball and remind myself that this whole thing will be behind me come May.

Now that summer is coming to an end (tear), I'm thinking of a few places I would like to go in the fall. Before it gets too cold, I'd like to visit Pony Pasture down by the James River. I managed to get to Texas Beach for the first time this summer and would like expand my experiences at the river further by visiting another site. My sister in law is expecting around Labor Day, so I know I'll be in Pennsylvania for a few days once my nephew decides to say hello.

Once the leaves start to turn, I want to explore at least part of Skyline Drive. I've heard such wonderful things about it and I think the fall foliage would really be gorgeous to see. Additionally, I want to go apple picking again. Lynn and I went to Carter Mountain last year and had a great time picking apples together.

Can apple pies really be so close? Where did this summer go?

(P.S. I hope you all like the redesign I did last week. I think the place looks a bit nicer now.)

Hazy

Sorry for the silence, friends. Lately, I've been pulling myself away from social media and the computer in general and taking care of other things in real life. I think summer as a whole usually does that to me. I just can't bring myself to sit in front of a screen for hours when it's so sunny and beautiful outside (or super duper muggy and hot like it was last week). Regardless, I'm popping in for a little update.

Life's been chugging right along. I had to pay over $400 to get Betty, my black VW Golf, back to tip top shape. That hurt my savings account a bit. My brother and sister in law came for a short visit this week. It was really nice to see them as I hadn't seen them since Christmas. My sister in law's got a full baby belly already and I was able to feel my little nephew kick a few times. I'm now on book 6 of Harry Potter, so it looks like my goal of rereading the whole series before the last movie comes out on July 15 will be attainable. Lynn and I are supposed to watch the second Harry Potter movie tomorrow during our quality BFF time. The first class for my summer class is next week, so I'm getting kind of pouty about that. Now that I've got complete freedom, I'm very reluctant to give any of it back up. Sigh. I have to keep reminding myself that I'll have my degree this time next year. Just keep it up.

Well, I think I'm going to enjoy some more Harry Potter and continue with the relaxation. I've been thinking about ways to improve this little blog and to write more about my mom and my past in a more structured way. I'll see if I can't figure out a way to keep on track.

Merry stinkin' Christmas

By kelp1966 from flickr

The Christmas tree stood at the foot of the stairs 365 days a year for the majority of the 10 years I lived with my mother. It was a hand me down artificial tree, probably given to us by someone at the Methodist church we attended for a few years, and was put up in the dining room the first Christmas we lived in the apartment. My brother was still living at my mother's primarily at the time and we decorated the tree with the familiar handmade and antique ornaments. Just like when we had a gigantic, real tree at the old house, the left side of the tree had my brother's ornaments and the right side of the tree had mine. Likewise, my brother's gifts were piled under the left and my gifts got piled on the right on Christmas morning. The middle was reserved for the gifts my brother and I gave to my mother. I thought these strict designations were normal until I visited friends' homes during the holidays and got weird looks when I asked them which side of the tree was theirs.

Somehow, the tree got moved to the landing at the foot of the stairs shortly after that first Christmas when I realized that it was never going to be put away. I got antsy as a preteen and teenager and took to rearranging the furniture on a pretty regular basis, so I'm assuming I moved it there during one of these sweeps in one of my desperate attempts to change my environment. The tree was pretty sad; some of the connecting parts didn't connect so well, leaving wide gaps, and we had no working string of lights to spruce it up with. The years of dust and cobwebs that settled on the fake boughs and numerous ornaments didn't do much to add to its festiveness. Random boxes and gifts we received from my mother's coworkers that we had no use for or interest in remained under the tree for years, making it appear that we always had gifts waiting for us, when in reality, it was just an extension of the clutter surrounding the tree from all sides. The only sign of Christmas cheer came from the thin string of colored lights that hung near the gutter on the front of house, only there because our neighbors that shared the other half of the building decided it would look too weird if they only had lights on their side.

My mother has never been good at time management and usually spent Christmas Eve staying up all night, wrapping gifts. I would yell from the top of the stairs if it was time yet and I would receive nos for hours as she slaved away on the couch, folding and refolding to make the edges crisp and straight and the wrapping perfect. When I was finally allowed to descend the stairs, I sat on the bottom stair to open my gifts, with my mom usually wedged on the landing beside the tree. I respected her hard work and instinctively, from years of experience and being scolded not to rip the wrapping paper, slid my nail under the tape before bending back the paper, preserving as much of the paper as I could so that it could be saved and reused the following year. My stocking would be filled with dollar store finds and off brand candy. My mother usually gave me a few of the gifts I requested, staying strictly within her budget by comparison shopping at every store imaginable, and making sure that my brother received comparable gifts, down to the cent. She would total up the purchases with a pencil on the back of used envelopes or scraps of paper that she shoved in her purse along with the ream of other papers and scraps that became soft and frayed from refolding and became a dingy grey from smeared pencil lead.

Christmas as a child was always calculated and stressful; everything being last minute, equal, and deliberate. There was an order to the gifts opened and very little ground for childlike wonder to be inspired or expressed. The same fake smile was plastered on my mother's face when she opened her received gifts; delicate examination and stock responses in sing songy inflection. These contrived holiday routines have unsurprisingly taken their toll when I approach Christmas as an adult. My holiday spirit is dampened by the thought of dusty Christmas trees and happiness springing from a perfectly unwrapped gift rather than from the gift itself.

I combat it as best as I can by trying to remember helping my grandmother bake cookies and set up her Christmas village instead. My grandma trusted me to decorate the cookies the way I wanted, imperfections and all, and to place the ceramic houses in any arrangement that struck my fancy underneath her short Christmas tree. I put the small, round mirror that doubled as the ice skating rink and the skating figurines where ever I damn well pleased and spread the cotton wads of snow where ever my child's eye deemed it so. The tree ornaments and gifts were jumbled up and shared, creating the proper mosaic of a family instead of the sterile lines that created a permeable guise of a woman who was grasping at an opportunity, any opportunity, to feel a sense of empowering control.

Autumn leaves and rotting apples

By Kew Gardens, from Flickr

While walking to work this morning, I passed under a ginkgo tree and waded through the distinctive bright yellow, fan shaped leaves that had fallen to the ground. They followed me, scattered about the sidewalk and road, for a block or two before they tapered off. As soon as I saw the unique leaves, I smiled and whispered, "Ginkgoes!" out loud. I sadly can't distinguish most trees from one another. I've tried many times, but the information just can't find a place to stick in my memory and the knowledge quickly fades away. Ginkgo trees, however, have managed to stay with me.

Before my parents divorced when I was eight, we all lived together in a huge, white Victorian house on three and half acres in Pennsylvania. My brother and I ran wild in the hilly yard, climbing every tree we could and breaking out in poison ivy on what seemed like a daily basis. The furry ropes of poison ivy that ran up and down many of the older trees did not do much to deter us from setting our feet on the bark and swinging ourselves up into the boughs. I cannot recount the majority of the tree species that were in my childhood yard, but I can tell you about three: the ginkgo, the Japanese maple, and the apple trees.

The ginkgo largely went unnoticed by me until autumn.We had a huge ginkgo tree that was unclimbable, due to its lack of low branches, that shaded part of the driveway close to the house. The color and the shape of its leaves made them stand out from all the other leaves that floated to the ground. They were not brightly colored or shiny like the other leaves. They were a matte pastel orange. You'd think that their comparative dullness would make them less noticeable, but the creamy orange color was always a nice change from the piles of showy leaves. I always felt compelled to pick up a leaf or two and finger the paper like texture, feeling the tiny raised veins, all running in the same direction. Ginkgoes are pretty robust and capable of thriving in areas of low air quality. Perhaps their quiet endurance is what attracts me to them so much.

By autan, from Flickr

The Japanese maple was in our front yard, sitting on the crest of a hill, right next to the road, and very close to our front porch. It was an excellent climbing tree because of its smooth bark and many low, well spaced branches. The leaves were always bright red, not just in the fall, and, for that, I liked its fiery independence. It was my go to climbing tree because of its close proximity to the house and because it had one thick branch that jutted out to the side that was perfect to swing on. The ground below was on a decline due to the hill, so when I was young, I could grab on the branch, arms stretched out, and let myself hang with my feet dangling as I swung back and forth. I remember the bark grew darker and smoother on that branch from my grubby, kid hands after a spring and summer of swinging back and forth.

Shortly before my parents separated, my mom began working part time, which left my brother and me alone after school for a few hours. One autumn afternoon, I ran out to the front yard with my brother after throwing our backpacks down inside and headed for the Japanese maple. I was dolled up in a dress and had on dress shoes. My brother stopped me and asked me if I should change first before climbing the tree. I looked down at my outfit, knowing that he was right, but shrugged my shoulders and said that I'd be fine. My recklessness made me bold and I swung myself up into the tree like an expert, gripping the well known branches and placing my feet into the joints that were formed where two branches met. The bottom of my shoes were slick and didn't have much traction. High up in the boughs, my footing slipped and as gravity pulled me down, I blacked out. I woke up, face up on the grass, with my brother, white as a sheet, kneeling over me. I have no idea how long I was out for, but as far as I can remember, I was largely bruise free. I stood up, all in one piece, and my brother and I unconsciously took the sibling silence oath and never spoke of the incident to ourselves or to our parents. The sheer terror of the accident kept us mum. Thinking about the amount of luck involved in me being able to walk away from that incident makes my brain hurt. I could have fallen into the street and gotten hit by a car, I could have broken my neck and been paralyzed, I could have, I could have...

By canong2fan, from Flickr

Farther away from the house, higher up on the hill, was a row of apple trees. Most years, we didn't do anything with the apples. We just let them fall to the ground and be eaten by the many deer that roamed through our yard. Walking around these trees in the fall was like walking through a mine field. Rotting apples were incredibly slippery if stepped on and piles of little deer turds were littered throughout. One year, my dad did gather up boxes and boxes of the apples and made applesauce with them. I have no idea what kind of apples they were, but it was the tangiest, most mouth watering applesauce I've ever had. After being raised on jarred, store bought applesauce, I had no idea that apples could taste that way.

In the beginning of October, my best friend, Lynn, and I went apple picking in Charlottesville. The plan was to pick enough to make an apple pie and some applesauce. After partaking in apple cider and apple cider doughnuts, we entered the orchard and wandered down a pathway between two rows of apple trees. My nose perked up and picked up the familiar scents of the orchard. Lynn noticed the perplexed look on my face and she knew exactly what I was trying to place. "It smells just like at my old house. All the rotting apples in the fall smelled exactly how it smells here." She recognized the smell as well, having traipsed across my yard with me on a number of occasions. I had forgotten that pervasive sweet, earthy smell over the years, but in a matter of seconds, I had returned to my childhood, skipping and jumping over brown, mushy, wrinkly apples, on my way to the next tree.

On daylight saving time and seasons

You'd think that dealing with the time change year after year for my whole life would take away the novelty of the whole ordeal, but no. Each and every year, falling back an hour feels like I fall into a well. I appreciate the light in the morning, I do. I'm not a very graceful or quick riser, so the intense sunlight is the extra kick in the pants I need to get out of bed. It's the leaving work at night in the pitch black that bothers me. I have no windows in my office, so I'm already disconnected with the outside world for the large majority of nine hours a day. Not being able to witness the official closing ceremony of the day, the sunset, gives me an uneasy feeling. Not that I manage to sit and watch the event every night, but I'm usually able to register it unconsciously from having windows in front of me or slowly noticing the increase in shadows around me. There's something about not having a connection with the natural progression of the sun that always leaves a jarring feeling when I step outside of work into darkness. "A whole day, gone? How is that possible? I didn't see the sun go down." I guess it's the whole biological clock thing. I associate the passing of time with the progression of the sun and when I don't see the sun making its arc all day, I internally assume that time has slowed in some fashion and that outside looks the same as when I last left it at 8 or 9 am. Additionally, the dark is so uninviting and I tend to throw the towel in on the day. After work plans are barely even considered since it feels so late. Sigh. Give me a few more weeks and I'll begrudging accept the time change. My internal, unconscious underpinnings will make their adjustments and I'll stop bitching about the inevitable. This happens every year, self. Get with the program.

If you know me at all, one of the first things you quickly learned about me is that I absolutely hate cold weather. Give me 80+ degrees and I am in paradise. This fall has been a rather warm one in Virginia and for this, I am very grateful. (Regardless, my eczema has flared up horribly already and makes me worry about how bad this winter will be.) I just can't hack feeling cold. I feel as though I physically, mentally, and emotionally shrink. I know, at least, that my fingers do noticeably shrink, but I'm afraid the rest of it is just psychological. Deep down, I associate cold weather and snow with Pennsylvania, tapping into my reservoirs of hatred and fear, so I guess it should come as no surprise that I react the way that I do to winter.

Today, though, I feel very proud of myself and am not bothered quite so much by the chill in the air. The reason I feel a little bit better is because of my snazzy outfit. I've been paying more attention to what I wear lately because I want to look more professional at work and because I noticed that a lot of my clothes are incredibly old. I've managed to go shopping a few times over the last few months to update and replace my wardrobe a bit. So, I've been experimenting with my clothes more and today I think I'm going to count as a win. I'm wearing a very old printed dress (from 2004!) that I love, but because I hate being cold, I usually avoid wearing dresses or skirts in the winter. I came up with a solution for this: tights. Duh. How did I not think of that earlier!? Oh right, because I absolutely hated tights when I was little and I've had a deep emotional scar associated with them ever since. Well, I gave them another try and I must say, I've been missing out. On top of my dress and brown tights, I'm wearing my extra long, navy cardigan to pull it all together. I'm cozy and well dressed: the best of both worlds. Maybe I'll snap a picture later if I get a chance/remember. I must add that I drew my inspiration from the dapper ladies at What Would a Nerd Wear and Kendi Everyday. They both recently wore printed dresses with long cardigans, reminding me that I have similar pieces. Now I just need a skinny belt and boots to pull off the look. Errrr baby steps, baby steps.