Cowboy, Take Me Away

The last time I slept in a tent was 1987. It was on a school trip and I have no real memories of liking it or disliking it - mostly because I'm sure the fact I was not AT HOME, but states away with all my best friends and the guy I'm sure I had some sort of mad crush on, made everything super cool back then.

SO when we first planned this trip to Maine I was, while excited, a bit trepidatious. Ya'll. I married a man who LOVES to camp. Who loves the outdoors and hiking and dirt and fishing and tents and who doesn't even mind having to pee in the woods.

I still wasn't totally sold on any of it, quite frankly.

But, one lesson I have learned over the past few years with Sam is that no matter how uninterested I am in something - if he loves it, that something takes on a whole new meaning. I suddenly find myself listening more intently, pay attention a bit more carefully - and dare I say actually enjoying from time to time . . . and while I was skeptical about this whole crazy sleeping in a tent thing, I was willing to try it for just this reason.

And let me tell you - I LOVED it.

I don’t know if it was the killer view of Sennebac Lake. Or perhaps that our tent rested beneath a copse of cathedral pines . . .


Maybe it was the bald eagle that flew over us as we canoed the lake at dusk, or the tiny bats that swirled over our heads as we sat before the fire . . .


Or maybe it was just that this city girl was ready for some peace and quiet. Some simple, easy living. I don’t know.


What I do know is that there's no place I'm happier than out in wild open space with my husband, just the two of us.


I'm already shopping for camping equipment and begging for us to plan our next weekend out in the wild. Not to mention ready to trade in our current silver skyline for some green . . . I can't wait for ur next trip. This trip was even a bit fancy, some nice restaurants thrown in - and of course, there was Lobster Fest as our grand finale . . . But next time I'm ready to hunker down for a weekend away, truly. For hot dogs over the fire. For hiking and roasting marshmellows and peanut butter sandwiches.

For real camping. For a tent in the trees in the middle of no where. Just us.

I wanna be the only one
For miles and miles
Except for maybe you
And your simple smile

Guess where we were this weekend!

stories and pics to come tomorrow - for now, to sleep . . . .

Our Town

"It goes so fast. We don't have time to look at one another. I didn't realize. So all that was going on and we never noticed. Take me back -- up the hill -- to my grave. But first: Wait! One more look. Good-bye , Good-bye world. Good-bye, Grover's Corners....Mama and Papa. Good-bye to clocks ticking....and Mama's sunflowers. And food and coffee. And new ironed dresses and hot baths....and sleeping and waking up. Oh, earth,you are too wonderful for anybody to realize you. Do any human beings ever realize life while they live it -- every, every minute?"

HP

Hello, my name is Misty Bell and I think the HP books are poorly written and only get worse as you read book after book.

I realize this may damn me for the rest of the world, but I had to say it out loud as I trudge through this last book alternating between "oh! my! so good!" to "DEAR LORD HAVE THEY LEARNED NOTHING?!"

Seriously, J.K. You coudln't have developed these characters AT ALL in seven years? Made Harry a bit less assey?

Off to continue with the eternal hope something will change . . .

BIGGIE*S HERE!

BIGGIE*S HERE!

I am his new Number One fan.

This is Hagan. He's awsome and the sweety-est sweet-ey boy you'll ever meet.



And now, ladies and gentlemen, I begin planning my next trip to Kansas . . . he's way too much fun to stay away from for long. But of course, it makes perfect sense, I feel the same way about his mom and dad. *Love you guys!*

Us on a Monday Night

Seriously, how handsome is my husband?


This is what it looks like to be super lucky-in-love.


You don't get classier than us. Pretty soon Mikki and Baz are totally not going to go out to eat with us nice places . . .

Our Weekend

New Camera!

My parents got us a birthdays/anniversary/christmas/all holidays in the coming year gift this week: a brand new shiny digital Nikon D80.

Sweet Jesus, is it fab.

They wanted to give it to us for our Southeast Asia trip, and knowing we would need lots of practice and had a lot to learn they gave it to us now. And it. is. awesome. Last summer they gave us our point and shoot which is UNBELIEVABLY great - I had a hard time imagining this camera could be even better, just that we could do more with it, but it *does* take the most beautiful shots . . . I'm ready to quit my day job and become a photographer already!

(Um, yes, it's only day two. Perhaps I'll wait a bit before making THAT career move.)

We've barely figured out any of the fancy stuff, but I've managed to take a couple shots. You know, of the things I love most. . . .






Expect lots of photos of our lives and favorite people, places and things for the next few entries . . . .

Jars

I want to get five glass jars, the old fashioned canning kind. The kind with "Ball" written on the side in cursive.

I'll clean them 'til they shine and set them on a shelf over our oven. In the center of our home. Where everyone passes and everyone stops. Where conversations happen; small ones about chopping onions, and big ones about having babies. Where there are arguments about who should make the salsa (me, because you never get it quite right) or who should wash the dishes (me, again, only this time because I never do them. Never.) The heart of our home. Where things are made, and cleaned, and put away. Where the messes are flung about, but somehow never really last.

When you walk through the door they'd be some of the of the first things you'd see, these jars. All lined up and shining. Filled with marbles and pennies. Shells from beaches and pebbles from trips. The odds and ends that build a life - that build up over the years. The small memories and moments that become us. That define us. That write out our story.

They'd be our hopes and dreams, our plans we've made. They'd be all the walks we took on Sunday afternoons, all the luck we found on Wednesday evenings trapped between footfalls. All the silly games we played in the dark of the night when one of us couldn’t sleep.

All but one.

One I'd keep empty. Filled with magic. Filled with the shadows of lightening bugs. The breath of birthday candles. The laughter of pure joy and surprise.

That one, that one would always be overflowing. Shining and clean. Ever room for more.

Cause the Best Thing about New York City is

you and me.

I'll Drink of Anything to Make this World Look New Again

Listening to the Gin Blossoms Lost Horizons for the first time in decades.

Rminds me of home. Of wheat fields, Bogey's shakes - John Flack's car with the super small backseat, driving past golf courses . . . hanging out with Jamie Johnson and dreaming up wonderful futures for us and loving the fast-passing moments of the present.

It makes my heart full.

It also tempts me to immediately buy a ticket to wherever you are, James, and stay up too late drinking (Hawiian Punch, anyone?) and talking and remembering what it was like when the world held such possibility and love and hope.

And sharing our new version of it.

Living the Dream

He taught me that if I put pennies on the train track and was very patient they would double in size.

He patiently had "tea" with me in small plastic cups.

He sat in the back of the truck with me on family vacations and ALWAYS ate the extra burgers in the sack.

He snuck me candy.

He laughed at me.

He pointed to planes and told me someday he'd be flying them, just like the guys in the movies.

He was nine years my elder and my hero.

And when I stood next to him in my home, on the corner of 42nd and Broadway a couple weeks ago, none of that had changed for me. Not in the decades since we've seen each other, in the lifetimes that have passed.

He'll always be that guy I feel infinitely proud to be related to, infinitely blessed that he would take the time to hang with his so much younger, so much different "baby cousin."

And as I introduced him to my husband, as we walked through my city streets - pointing out my work, my neighborhood . . . where I've made my home: it felt so right that he would finally get to meet me all over again. See my life. I wanted to so desperately for him to see I had done well - grown up okay.

And as we sat in Serafina and caught up, as best we could over lunch, it felt as if no time had passed at all. I felt sheer joy a couple times when he had mentioned us going to Yellowstone one summer - as if confirming somehow all my memories were real. After so long apart, it almost felt as if they were just stories in my mind.

And then, the best part - to hear him talk of flying; of his job, what he does now every day.

Which, of course, is everything he once told the smallest version of me he would do. I remember watching planes fly across the sky, trying to imagine him in them - and now, knowing that is exactly what's happening? It could not have filled me with more sheer happiness.

As we walked to the train station to say goodbye, he slowed a bit and said we had done it.

Done what?

We're living the dreams, now, aren't we? And doesn't it feel good?

And my world came into such sharp focus. Suddenly the kids in the back of that truck and the adults we are now stood side by side. All their dreams wrapped up in wishes and hopes at the time, staring at skies and pictures and maps . . .

All that real now. All that as real as we are, standing in Times Square. He going home to fly a plane, me to my apartment 10 minutes from Central Park.

Yes, it feels good. It's feels wonderful and amazing and right.

And even better? Looking into his eyes and knowing he feels it all too. That patient ornery boy I looked up to knows it, too.

The amazing feeling of finally getting to live your dream.

I'm so glad I got to share that with him all these years later.

Catching up

SO, I'm behind. Behind in everything, it seems. So I'm trying to catch up here, then everywhere else.

But I've made myself some promises lately, and with the help of my friend Mikki who's supporting me every step of the way even when she's SICK of hearing me complain, and Sam who's forced to join me by proximity - I'm Living Healthy (TM).

With everything getting so busy and hectic I found myself just feeling worse and worse. I was tired, I was sick, everything hurt. . . and I decided I didn’t' want that for myself.

I mean SERISOULY I'm living in New York City with the love of my life in a good job with great friends and I don't feel good? That sucks. Especially when I can try to change it - so change it I am. (With much as stated above, MUCH support.)

First was following the diet my doctor told me would help combat the Fibromyalgia. No white sugar, no white flour, lean meats, no caffeine.

Um, you can see why up until now this seemed like only a good idea in THEORY to me. Seriously, do you know what's left to eat? Well, there's still stuff, but the list most notably does NOT include pasta, ice cream, chocolate or any of the yummy things I love. Sam, Mikki, and my friend Chris assure me it gets better - but it's been two weeks now and I'm still a little bitter about what I'm eating.

It will get better.

That was my mantra every time we ate out this weekend and I had salad when everyone else had DESSERT.

Baklava, people. Rice pudding. I PASSED. I said "No, thank you" in my most polite voice while being very very angry inside. I want Baklava. I *heart* rice pudding!

But alas. I've made promises and if there's one thing I'm more devoted to than dessert, it's keeping my word, dammit. Though "my word" sure doesn't taste as yummy.

I'm also taking yoga twice a week and going to the gym in the mornings with Sam. (Okay that happened once, but I'm making it a habit! I am!)

I tried "hot yoga" with Mikki last week, but that's an entry all to itself. Needless to say it was a one-time experience.

Anyway, part of my Summer of the Pirate Queen," (don't ask) is making myself happy in the midst of all this - and that's where this blog comes in. I'm no writer, but I do love to write - so you'll be seeing me here more often. Hopefully, I'll have good stuff to say.

But if I don't? That's okay too. I've promised to be less judgmental of myself as well. And that might be the hardest thing of all . . . .

Whirlwind

It feels like summer is already flying by at a whirlwind pace. We have friends coming to visit on a regular basis and small trips to be taken and plans to be made and concerts to attend, and man! it's all going to be so fun.

And then there's fall, with the birthdays and more small trips and a NEW birthday to happen and THEN our trip to Asia.

This year is slipping through my fingers faster than I can close them and try to hold on.

We bought our tickets yesterday for Asia. Our itinerary will be as follows: Hong Kong, Bangkok, Singapore, Kuala Lumpur, Pangkor Laut, Penang, Phuket, Hong Kong.

Speaking of doing a lot in a little time! Though we will be gone for almost three weeks. I can't even REMEMBER the last time I had three weeks off with absolutley nothing to do. High school, maybe?

So I'm filled with excitement, about so much. Time is moving quickly but in the absolute best of ways . . . .
pictures are of our garden

Defining the start of summer

Ninth Avenue International Food Festival and Street Fair

Train rides to the beach

Coney Island Mini-golf

Gelatto on the corner for a dollar in dixie cups

Baseball games at Shea

Picnics in the garden

Sandals to break in

BBQ, potato salad, roasted corn on the cob

Mr. Softy Vanilla Cones dipped in Cherry

Weekly trips to the farmers' market



New sassy hairdo





What signifies the beginning of your summer?

Ninth Ave. International Food Fest

So last weekend was one of greatness. I smiled so hard, so often my cheeks were sore striaght into Monday.

And the best part? We spent all of it surrounded with amazingly good friends. Most notably, John H. was in town and spent Saturday afternoon wandering the Ninth Avenue International Food Festival with Sam, Nathan and I. It was wonderful to get to catch up, share news of our lives and the mutual friends we've kept up with . . . and, well, eat amazing food as we traversed 37th thru 57th streets.

Good times.

John was determined to fully experience the fair, and I have to give him props - he did us proud. (Even stopping at a booth that sold, why yes - it says it - stuffed CABBAGE. That's not what he got, however, just to put your mind at ease . . .)

Nathan caught up with us and joined the adventure, and you can see in this pic how very happy I am about that.

A bag of zeppelies was purchased and devoured, though even in their utter deliciousness, we couldn't bring ourselves to eat the whole bag . . .

Sam and Nathan lovingly shared some chocolate covered strawberries . . .

And the NAIFF delivered once again. Delicious food and some great, great company. Despite the sprinkles of rain, we had ourselves one awesome afternoon.


And, John? Come on 'a our house anytime. It was FABULOUS having you . . . .

Song Tuesdays

You turn a blue eye to me and you look right through me
You said define what you think freedom means... if you want freedom
We can wake up this lullaby town
Burn through every red light I found
Lift a dust cloud
Break the speed of sound...
you could break free

It's amazing, is it not? How a song, no matter how long it's been since you have heard it - can immediately take you to a moment in time so clear and real it's as if it's happening all over again? As if it's no longer three, or five or ten years since the past. It's like a fresh breeze hitting me at the corner of ninth and forty-ninth, transporting me in milliseconds and miles to a Kansas plain.

It can bring tears to my ears and a smile to face like nothing else.

I remember the first time I heard Ellis Paul's song "Take All the Sky You Need."

I sat on a green slope of a hill, skirt billowing around me, head on Sam's shoulder watching boats slip by on the Hudson. It was within the first month of him moving to New York and we had traveled to the Clearwater Music Festival up-river, while most of our mutual friends had traveled west to the Smokey Hill. It was the first of many trips we would take separate, just the two of us, when it seemed everyone else was going elsewhere.

It was beautiful that day. There was one cloud on the sky. One clear, defined cloud, as if drawn by the spirits in mocking reminisce of a comic book. It floated directly above a tree in front of us, and there was a stage to our left - filled with a regular rotation of musicians. All of whom I would whisper as they began "He/She's my favorite."

But then Ellis Paul started to play. And I had never heard him before, but I immediately loved him. And what’s' more, when he came to the song "Take All the Sky You Need" - I immediately had to own it.

If you want to run I'll pack my suitcase
If you want to stay I'll make a front door key
And if you need space... to fly... free
Take all the sky you need

I never took falling in love or marriage very seriously. That summer was crazy for me, Sam and I creating a home together. I had never planned on sharing my home, really. Never thought it would work. I was fiercely independent, tied to my ways. I had plans, I had hopes. Sharing involved the dreaded "compromise." I could not. Would not.

Then, suddenly, I was looking up at deer antlers hanging on my bedroom wall.

And I knew, *I KNEW* that this all wasn't easy for Sam either. Sam the traveler, the gypsy. Who had equally set up his life, his ways.

Our lives had collided in a small 350 sq foot apartment just weeks before. In a surprisingly smooth manner. Oh, I had my breakdown. My sitting in the closet amongst boxes in tears over there NOT BEING ENOUGH ROOM FOR US BOTH. Calling Jan, frightened I had made a horrible horrible mistake.

That thought lasted about five minutes. An hour later we were already planning trips. Trips down to Florida, across the oceans, up the Hudson.

I stand on the rooftops; I look down on my story
And it swallows me
Beyond the horizon, the taillights, the glories,
Will you follow me?
(Freedom) I need to know who I am
(Freedom) I'm like a moth in your hand
(Sweet freedom) do I fly or stand?
Or fall on my knees?

And when I heard that song, sitting at the edge of the Hudson that day, I knew what my life would be like from that moment on. How I felt about Sam and I being together. What it would take, and what I was willing to give. It was like listening to our story, watching it wrap around that tree and head up straight to that crazy looking cloud.

In the beautiful, beautiful, clear blue sky.


If you want to run I'll pack my suitcase
If you want to stay I'll make a front door key
And if you need space... to fly... free
Take all the sky you need

Anxious and Excited

I'm awaiting anxiously for news today from Sam about something. . . it feels like Christmas eve as a child when you can barely think about anything else and people actually expect you to SLEEP, only people shall expect me to WORK.

*sigh*

Will let you share in the excitement as soon as I can.

~

Updated: Sam and I leave for a Southeast Asian Tour in November!

Singapore, Malaysia, Thailand and China here! we! come!!!

This is the resort we shall stay in for a couple days. *le sigh*

Cinco, a week late

So Sam and I headed off to Chelsea on Saturday to meet Mikki and Bazi for dinner and drinks in celebration of pastry. (Some sort of pastry war is involved in Sam's story of why we celebrate Cinco - it sounds remarkably legit , though I could not properly retell . . . )

Mikki planned it all out for us, making reservations and all. And I must say, it was FABOO. The food was delicious, and it instantly made me want to do some research on how to make some good mexican food at home.

The drinks were nice too.



Mikki and Bazi were, as always, great company. "Great company" in our vernacular meaning inappropriate dinner conversation, multiple rounds of drinks and copious decadent dessert ordering.



When we finished our awesome dinner, we decided to walk uptown back to Hell's Kitchen, and I have to say the night could not have been more perfect.



I mean, yes, sure, the weather was nice. The sun sat beautifully behind Jersey . . . but what made the night so perfect was the awesome, ghetto-tastic STREET CARNIVAL we happened upon.

Not just a street FAIR, mind you. a CARNIVAL.

With death-trap rides, fixed games and men stirring batter with which to fry every known food with their BARE ARMS.

It was trashy trashy trashy and we got inordinately excited about it. We weren't one booth in before some toothless carney got Mikki throwing darts to win a prize.






Bazi carefully picked through all the darts in the box and coached Mikki on her throw, while the old toothless man did his own coaching. It was hilarious.



But totally worth it. Twenty bucks later Mikki one herself a real fine fuzzy yellow bear.

Alas, I fell prey five booths down. But! Being the kickass team Mikki and I are, together we managed to dart enough balloons (um, aka spend more money) to upgrade to a new! better! even more fabulous! trashy prize.



Are you jealous yet? Ha. I'd like to point out Mikki gave our faboo prize to a small very sticky boy as we exited the carnival. He was crazy excited, so perhaps it wasn't quite as trashy as we thought.

Or, um, this kid's standards weren't too high.

Either way. We: too much money spent at carnival. Him: No money spent, fabulous prize.

It all worked out.

-------------------------------------------------------
*Updated to be fair and honest about our nightly activities because my husband wants you to know how it all ended*

We did eventually make it back to th Bell Stiers nighborhood bar, The Gaf.

Where again, we tested our darts expertise. Bazi and Sam were a team, Mikki and I (in preperation for the eventual unleashing of the Free Radicals (TM) were the other.







Sadly, Mikki and I fared no better at the bar. We lost. Twice.



But it was still a super fun night. And, regardless of our problems with consistency - Mikki and I both had true moments of brilliance. We'll get 'em next time.

*end of update*
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Tears

"You should be more judicious about what you choose to shed tears over."

He said it condescendingly. Patronizing. Mockingly.

He didn't understand that injustice against another human being, no matter how slight, was something I took issue with. Of course, he had to make it small, because he was small. A small selfish man with expensive suits and fancy shoes; with catered morning breakfasts and hired cars to take him home at night. The comment infuriated me. It was meant to sound, I think, like a peace offering of some sort. A careful reminder we were on the same team somehow. But it was exceedingly hollow. It only showed how far apart we are.

A chasm I'm not willing to cross.

I fight the tears. They come most easily when I'm mad; and here, in this place, they tease the corners of my eyes often (but rarely escape). I see them as a weakness. As a girl-ey thing to do. I feel they seem a sign I am to be taken lightly, treated as a child. That I am incapable of controlling something as small as a tear. A microscopic collection of salt water.

But that evening it changed. Something in me changed. With that one comment he turned all the things I feared about shedding those tears upside down. I suddenly became proud I was "so easily brought to tears."

It meant I still cared. I still knew what was important. I still had retained, through all the madness and politics and game-playing, myself. My core values.

I had not been caught up: I had been let down.

And as much as that hurt, it felt good, too. I'm not afraid to hold this sword in my hand. And I'm less afraid to raise it. And will - time after time, moment after moment. Even if lifting it brings tears to my eyes. They embarrass me not at all now.