by Tracey Flower
There’s an episode of Sex and the City where Carrie gets broken up with on a Post-it.
“I’m sorry, I can’t, don’t hate me,” wrote Jack Berger on that infamous square sticky note.
Poor Carrie. As she points out to one of Berger’s friends later in the Post-it episode, “there is a good way to break up with someone and it does not involve a Post-it.”
I can’t say that’s happened to me but after recently watching a re-run of that episode I got to thinking about the significance Post-its have played in my life.
There’s a small drawer at one end of the kitchen table in my parent’s house. It is full of used Post-its. The notes scrawled on them recall the when's and where's of the Flower family past: “gone to the store,” “walking the dog,” or “running far.” The handwriting dictates message ownership rather than a signature. The messages are short, to the point, and not totally significant in retrospect; the sort of messages Post-its were created for. Yet at some point some family member (Mom?) started saving them and the rest of the family followed suit. I’ve even seen them reused from time to time when a note from the past applies to a current situation or destination.
It seems silly, I suppose, to save Post-its, or even to note in a blog post that they’ve been saved. But if you sit down and open that drawer and start reading, you sort of end up getting a snapshot of the Flower family over the years, of a life lived, and remembered, on Post-its; of where we were and where we went, of what was important to us at that moment.
The notes in that drawer are only a small fraction of the many Post-its that have been shared between Flower family members over the years; reminders, questions, labels, and more have been documented on those convenient little pieces of paper. The habit has stuck with me over the years and I often leave myself, and occasionally my roommate, reminders on Post-its. And, in a 2011-take on my Post-it habit, my MacBook's desktop is wallpapered with Stickies.
My favorite Post-its to receive growing up were the birthday notes from my dad. He was always gone to work by the time I woke up on my birthday. And there was always a Post-it on my placemat (yep, my placemat, we had assigned seats) with a birthday message from Dad. So simple. So meaningful. And you know what? I’m pretty sure I have a good handful of them saved in a box somewhere in my parent’s basement.
This is my 50th post here on Flower Blog. If I could have I would have written it on a Post-it.
Showing posts with label home. Show all posts
Showing posts with label home. Show all posts
Friday, September 16, 2011
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
Exploring Pure Michigan
by Tracey Flower
A few weeks ago I posted the following on my Facebook wall:
I wrote it after spending a few days in Grand Rapids, Michigan with my sister Susan. They were possibly the most fulfilling days I’ve had on a trip back to Michigan since I moved to Colorado six years ago. In fact the entire three weeks I spent in Michigan this past May were the most fulfilling weeks I’ve spent in Michigan since I moved to Colorado.
It’s because I made the decision when I stepped off the plane in Grand Rapids to treat the trip as if I were somewhere brand new. To explore, relax and re-discover in that very familiar place.
Here’s what I found:
Grand Rapids’ East Town community, where Susan and her husband live, is as totally rad as all the hipsters who call that area home. Susan and I spent two days walking around the leafy tree-lined streets, stopping into shops like Art of the Table where locals can pick up everything from peanut butter made in Grand Rapids to tabletop accessories to chocolate and artisan cheeses. They also carry a selection of local-made beers and wines. We shopped for Indian cooking spices and browsed their unique selection of cookbooks. I left wishing there was a shop like it around the corner from my own apartment in Vail.
We browsed through a couple of Susan’s favorite consignment clothing stores to see what gems we could find, and though our search yielded nothing that day, Susan assured me that’s not always the case.
One afternoon we grabbed a bottle of Layer Cake Cabernet and a wheel of brie for a snack from Martha’s Vineyard, East Town’s friendly neighborhood wine and spirits shop. Then we picked up a take-out sampler plate from GoJo’s, an Ethiopian restaurant, and feasted on spiced chicken and lentils, sopping up our watt (Ethiopian-style stew) with lots of injerra (a pancake-like flatbread). It’s a meal I’m still lusting over.
It was a thoroughly satisfying couple of days and, if nothing else, just nice to be out of the mountains and in a city for a moment (not that I’d trade my mountains for Grand Rapids, but it is enjoyable to crawl out of them every now and again and see what the rest of the country is seeing, eating and doing). I expressed my satisfaction to Susan and she shrugged off my compliments to her city, saying it seems quite small to her now, after living there for a couple years. I guess I can see her point (Although I’ve always been a small town girl and any place with more than two different coffee shops is a city to me), but, really, big city or not I was charmed by Grand Rapids on this trip.
I was also charmed by South Haven.
With its beaches and lakeside condos it’s easy to be charmed by my hometown. That is, if you didn’t grow up there.
It’s taken me a little more time than some (twenty-something years) to get here because I had to figure out how to separate the issues I have regarding my hometown, like hating high school and other issues relating to awkward teenage dramatics, from the charm of the town—I had to learn how to not hold those things against it. I worked especially hard on this during this last visit, and discovered a lot of cool stuff along the way. But scraping away high school angst is a tedious and time-consuming job, so that, my friends, is another story for another time.
A few weeks ago I posted the following on my Facebook wall:
I wrote it after spending a few days in Grand Rapids, Michigan with my sister Susan. They were possibly the most fulfilling days I’ve had on a trip back to Michigan since I moved to Colorado six years ago. In fact the entire three weeks I spent in Michigan this past May were the most fulfilling weeks I’ve spent in Michigan since I moved to Colorado.
It’s because I made the decision when I stepped off the plane in Grand Rapids to treat the trip as if I were somewhere brand new. To explore, relax and re-discover in that very familiar place.
Here’s what I found:
Grand Rapids’ East Town community, where Susan and her husband live, is as totally rad as all the hipsters who call that area home. Susan and I spent two days walking around the leafy tree-lined streets, stopping into shops like Art of the Table where locals can pick up everything from peanut butter made in Grand Rapids to tabletop accessories to chocolate and artisan cheeses. They also carry a selection of local-made beers and wines. We shopped for Indian cooking spices and browsed their unique selection of cookbooks. I left wishing there was a shop like it around the corner from my own apartment in Vail.
We browsed through a couple of Susan’s favorite consignment clothing stores to see what gems we could find, and though our search yielded nothing that day, Susan assured me that’s not always the case.
One afternoon we grabbed a bottle of Layer Cake Cabernet and a wheel of brie for a snack from Martha’s Vineyard, East Town’s friendly neighborhood wine and spirits shop. Then we picked up a take-out sampler plate from GoJo’s, an Ethiopian restaurant, and feasted on spiced chicken and lentils, sopping up our watt (Ethiopian-style stew) with lots of injerra (a pancake-like flatbread). It’s a meal I’m still lusting over.
It was a thoroughly satisfying couple of days and, if nothing else, just nice to be out of the mountains and in a city for a moment (not that I’d trade my mountains for Grand Rapids, but it is enjoyable to crawl out of them every now and again and see what the rest of the country is seeing, eating and doing). I expressed my satisfaction to Susan and she shrugged off my compliments to her city, saying it seems quite small to her now, after living there for a couple years. I guess I can see her point (Although I’ve always been a small town girl and any place with more than two different coffee shops is a city to me), but, really, big city or not I was charmed by Grand Rapids on this trip.
I was also charmed by South Haven.
With its beaches and lakeside condos it’s easy to be charmed by my hometown. That is, if you didn’t grow up there.
It’s taken me a little more time than some (twenty-something years) to get here because I had to figure out how to separate the issues I have regarding my hometown, like hating high school and other issues relating to awkward teenage dramatics, from the charm of the town—I had to learn how to not hold those things against it. I worked especially hard on this during this last visit, and discovered a lot of cool stuff along the way. But scraping away high school angst is a tedious and time-consuming job, so that, my friends, is another story for another time.
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
Don't miss Holland
by Tracey Flower
A friend of a friend once shared this story:
A couple was in a plane on their way to Italy for their honeymoon. Due to some sort of random technical difficulties they were forced to land in The Netherlands, and for whatever reason, ended up stuck there for the duration of their trip (no I don’t know why they didn’t then just scrap the plane and hop on a train). They were less than thrilled with the situation and, while they spent their time sightseeing in Holland, they complained about everything and fretted over what they were missing in Italy. Thing is Holland isn’t so bad; in fact it’s pretty cool in its own right, but these guys were so worried about missing Italy that they didn’t get to soak any of it in. Catching on to the moral here? Don’t miss Holland, folks.
I love to travel. I want to go everywhere and I want to see everything. So far my travels have only made a teeny tiny pine beetle-sized dent in that dream so I recently made a promise, no, scratch that, a commitment, to myself to simply travel more. To take and make every opportunity I can to go somewhere I’ve never been before, whether it’s Texas or somewhere slightly less foreign like, say, Morocco. (My apologies to the handful of Texans I know and love, I did have to go there).
This commitment won’t be difficult to stick to. I live in a place where it’s almost expected, if not encouraged, to take a month or so off each spring and fall (in seasonal job speak we call this the off-season). I’m not afraid of a little credit card debt and I love going on vacation. My head’s already spinning with all the options of where to go next. Hawaii? Italy? Costa Rica? Holland?
Ah, yes, Holland. Here we are again. And I’m not talking The Netherlands this time.
I’m currently on vacation in, wait for it, Michigan. Not exactly an exotic spring getaway. Not even somewhere I’ve never been before. This is where I’m from. It’s my (first) home and it’s where my family lives. This holiday was born out of a two-parted necessity, to catch up with friends and family I haven’t seen in a year and to celebrate the marriage of two dear friends. I’m thrilled to do both of these things. But, man, no offense to anyone (expect, maybe, the aforementioned Texans) but there are about a billion other places I’d rather have gone and spent my precious pennies (and, er, Capital One credit) this off-season.
Thing is Holland isn’t just a country in Europe. No siree. In fact it’s also a city in West Michigan. My grandparents live there. I was born there. And it comes complete with wooden shoes, windmills and a tulip festival.
And here I am smack dab in the middle of three weeks here. And, while I’m having a fabulous time catching up with friends and family (who I miss too much when I’m away and always leave wishing we lived closer) and that is probably enough to make this trip worthwhile, I also made a decision when I stepped off the plane at Gerald R. Ford International airport in Grand Rapids, Michigan to treat this trip, at least parts of it, as if I'm somewhere totally new; to explore, relax and re-discover this oh so familiar place. Those Pure Michigan commercials make this place look pretty damn inviting, right?
There are a billion amazing places to visit in this world. And I intend to make my way around the globe discovering them, even if every now and then I end up somewhere I’ve already been. Cities change. So do people. And because of that there’s always something new to discover. Even in Holland.
Stay tuned next time to read about what exactly I discovered, and re-discovered, on this trip.
A friend of a friend once shared this story:
A couple was in a plane on their way to Italy for their honeymoon. Due to some sort of random technical difficulties they were forced to land in The Netherlands, and for whatever reason, ended up stuck there for the duration of their trip (no I don’t know why they didn’t then just scrap the plane and hop on a train). They were less than thrilled with the situation and, while they spent their time sightseeing in Holland, they complained about everything and fretted over what they were missing in Italy. Thing is Holland isn’t so bad; in fact it’s pretty cool in its own right, but these guys were so worried about missing Italy that they didn’t get to soak any of it in. Catching on to the moral here? Don’t miss Holland, folks.
The South Pier Lighthouse, South Haven, MI
(From the Flower family photo archives)
I love to travel. I want to go everywhere and I want to see everything. So far my travels have only made a teeny tiny pine beetle-sized dent in that dream so I recently made a promise, no, scratch that, a commitment, to myself to simply travel more. To take and make every opportunity I can to go somewhere I’ve never been before, whether it’s Texas or somewhere slightly less foreign like, say, Morocco. (My apologies to the handful of Texans I know and love, I did have to go there).
This commitment won’t be difficult to stick to. I live in a place where it’s almost expected, if not encouraged, to take a month or so off each spring and fall (in seasonal job speak we call this the off-season). I’m not afraid of a little credit card debt and I love going on vacation. My head’s already spinning with all the options of where to go next. Hawaii? Italy? Costa Rica? Holland?
Ah, yes, Holland. Here we are again. And I’m not talking The Netherlands this time.
I’m currently on vacation in, wait for it, Michigan. Not exactly an exotic spring getaway. Not even somewhere I’ve never been before. This is where I’m from. It’s my (first) home and it’s where my family lives. This holiday was born out of a two-parted necessity, to catch up with friends and family I haven’t seen in a year and to celebrate the marriage of two dear friends. I’m thrilled to do both of these things. But, man, no offense to anyone (expect, maybe, the aforementioned Texans) but there are about a billion other places I’d rather have gone and spent my precious pennies (and, er, Capital One credit) this off-season.
Thing is Holland isn’t just a country in Europe. No siree. In fact it’s also a city in West Michigan. My grandparents live there. I was born there. And it comes complete with wooden shoes, windmills and a tulip festival.
And here I am smack dab in the middle of three weeks here. And, while I’m having a fabulous time catching up with friends and family (who I miss too much when I’m away and always leave wishing we lived closer) and that is probably enough to make this trip worthwhile, I also made a decision when I stepped off the plane at Gerald R. Ford International airport in Grand Rapids, Michigan to treat this trip, at least parts of it, as if I'm somewhere totally new; to explore, relax and re-discover this oh so familiar place. Those Pure Michigan commercials make this place look pretty damn inviting, right?
There are a billion amazing places to visit in this world. And I intend to make my way around the globe discovering them, even if every now and then I end up somewhere I’ve already been. Cities change. So do people. And because of that there’s always something new to discover. Even in Holland.
Stay tuned next time to read about what exactly I discovered, and re-discovered, on this trip.
Monday, March 28, 2011
Of All the Places I've Lived (in Vail)
by Tracey Flower
In the spirit of apartment hunting, taking stock of my life and my pending six-year anniversary with Vail, I’d like to share a list of all the places I’ve lived since I’ve been here. A list that, in writing it, I realized tells the story of my time here, of where I’ve been, who I was and how I’ve grown.
All the place I have lived (in Vail):
In the spirit of apartment hunting, taking stock of my life and my pending six-year anniversary with Vail, I’d like to share a list of all the places I’ve lived since I’ve been here. A list that, in writing it, I realized tells the story of my time here, of where I’ve been, who I was and how I’ve grown.
All the place I have lived (in Vail):
- May 2005-May 2006: My first home in Vail was Timber Ridge Unit N5. (NOTE: Timber Ridge is Vail Resorts employee housing and dirt-cheap because it’s dirty, old and likely to crumble at any moment. Also fondly known by nicknames such as The Ghetto and Timber Ritz, I’ve mostly bopped around units in this complex as the location and the price fit my needs to a T. Yes I get made fun of for it. Yes I’m slightly embarrassed to get off at the bus stop here. But at least the rent doesn’t break me.) This is still the address listed on my Colorado driver’s license and I was once refused a Town of Vail Library card because I had since moved from that address but never changed my license. I lived in that unit with three guys and it was quite the experience for someone who had up until that point lived with mostly women.
- May 2006-November 2006: I moved into a two-bedroom condo in Simba Run, just down the road from Timber Ridge, with three of my girlfriends. It had a washer/dryer (jackpot!) in the unit and a pool and gym on the premise. We may have been twenty-something’s sharing bedrooms but we felt like we were living the highlife.
- November 2006-November 2008: Timber Ridge Unit I8. The longest I’ve lived in one place since living in my parent’s house and I’m quite sure the longest anyone’s ever lived in the same Timber Ridge unit. Almost all of my closest girlfriends in Vail lived with me in that unit at one time or another, and our second winter in I8 marks the only six months when we were all single at the same time. Some of my favorite adventures in Vail housing moments happened in that unit.
- November 2008-February 2009: Timber Ridge Unit K3. I lived here with two guys, one of whom was my boyfriend. He broke up with me. I moved out. End of story.
- February 2009-April 2009: Timber Ridge Unit C5. This was the unit my friends were forced to move into when the house they were renting in West Vail caught fire one night. The fire destroyed the home and most of their belongings. I moved in, devastated, a few months later when my boyfriend and I broke up. We weren’t thrilled to be living in that place, it was crowded and the reasons we were there were lousy, but I must say at least we all had a place to go.
- April 2009-November 2009: My girlfriends and I moved out of C5 and into a townhome in the Telemark Condos. By far the biggest and nicest place I’ve lived since my parent’s house, it was a relief and a treat to be there after the winter we had all had. It had three bedrooms, three bathrooms and a washer/dryer. It had something like four floors and there was a pool on the premise. This was the only time in my life that I have had my own bathroom. Alas, it was only a six-month lease and at 2,400 buckaroos a month (800 of those my responsibility) not really affordable. It was also the reason for the great landlord security deposit debacle of 2009, but that’s another story for another time.
- November 2009-April 2010: Timber Ridge Unit K14. With all my former roomies either shacked up with their significant others or moved away, I was left to fend for myself so I sucked it up and went for the cheapest option for a room. I ran into a friend I knew through work when signing my lease and he moved in to the unit’s second bedroom. I’ve had better and worse roommates than this one but it was, in all, a pleasant living experience (and a huge weight off my wallet after that pricy condo).
- May 2010: Month of my botched move to Australia. I packed up my life and squeezed it into the world’s tiniest storage unit and whatever didn’t fit I gave away. I loaded up my oversized bags and headed home to Michigan, where I had planned to spend two weeks with friends and family before departing for Australia, where I was going to live for at least the next year. As we all know it turns out life had absolutely no regard for those plans and after a confusing, frustrating, upside down, life-changing month I was back in Vail.
- June 2010-present: Timber Ridge Unit K14. And home again? My roommate was still in this unit when I returned, and still had all the stuff I had given him that wouldn’t fit in my storage unit, so I moved back in and reclaimed my stuff and my space (and, eventually, my life). He moved out about a month later and I enjoyed a summer of living alone before the housing office gave me two brand new roommates. It hasn’t been the most pleasant living arrangement ever but I’ve made it work and now I’m looking forward to what’s next, both in the world of apartments and for my life in general.
What stories do the places you've lived have to tell?
Monday, February 28, 2011
Just a Small Town Girl
by Tracey Flower
I really am a small town girl, although it’s a label I’ve only recently learned to embrace (or even accept). When I was in college (hell until just a few months ago) I was convinced that I would have to move to a city at some point. To grow up. To move on. To make something of myself. I mean, Carrie Bradshaw’s “Sex and the City” column would have most definitely not made sense in, say, a little resort town somewhere. I felt especially compelled to make a big move this past summer when my life was all twisted around and turned upside down. After my plans to move to Australia fell through my plan was to come back to Vail just to get my head together, to get my life together, and then move on to something bigger and better. But a funny thing happened as I worked through my grief and found happiness again, I found contentment in this place I call home and instead of resisting it, instead of telling myself I should want something else or something more, I gave into it.
Giving into small town contentment has relieved an anxiety I didn’t even know existed in me until it was gone. I love living in this small town, I really really do. I like day-tripping to Denver and visiting cool quirky cities like San Francisco and Melbourne. And whenever I have a rant about tourists (or, ahem, guests as Vail Resorts prefers us to say) my dad oh so gently reminds me that I grew up in a resort town and well, what did I expect moving to another resort town. Why did I move from one small resort town to another? I suppose, simply, because it fits. Because somehow I think in my deepest gut I’ve always known when I visit a city that it doesn’t fit in the same way, because if I’m being really honest (and I finally am) cities are great places to visit but I don’t want to live in Denver or even Melbourne.
Perhaps part of why I can embrace my small-town contentment is because Vail has little bits and pieces that fulfill the bits and pieces of me that crave city life. There’s music, art and culture to be found here and what this town lacks in diversity, alright well there’s actually no redemption there, this town could use a little diversity. I was recently in Crested Butte and I found myself enamored with that town’s rustic charm, there’s something about it that just feels more authentically Colorado than Vail. There’s no hint of Disneyland in Crested Butte, no plastic-y fancy resort feel. As I wandered around a used book store/coffee shop in the Butte I found myself, just for a moment, wishing Vail had a little more quirk to it. But then I returned home and joined my girlfriends for a fancy cocktail at the new hotspot in town, Frost. This posh lounge feels modern and fresh, like something one might find in, yep you guessed it, a city (a locale that wouldn’t be caught dead in a town like Crested Butte). I realized then that perhaps my small-town contentment might just be contentment with making Vail my home. In one day here I can go for a hike in the middle of nowhere, see a concert with my favorite people, and drink cosmos in a swanky new bar just like the one and only Carrie Bradshaw. Vail has bits and pieces of small-town mountain charm but also has tastes of city life that, frankly, towns like Crested Butte (and my hometown of South Haven, Michigan) don’t.
I think, though, more than anything else my contentment with my small town status comes from realizing that I have, in fact, done a lot of growing up in the last year. And a lot of moving on. And when it comes to making something of myself, well, I had my first article (and byline!) in the Vail Daily this week, not to shabby at all.
I really am a small town girl, although it’s a label I’ve only recently learned to embrace (or even accept). When I was in college (hell until just a few months ago) I was convinced that I would have to move to a city at some point. To grow up. To move on. To make something of myself. I mean, Carrie Bradshaw’s “Sex and the City” column would have most definitely not made sense in, say, a little resort town somewhere. I felt especially compelled to make a big move this past summer when my life was all twisted around and turned upside down. After my plans to move to Australia fell through my plan was to come back to Vail just to get my head together, to get my life together, and then move on to something bigger and better. But a funny thing happened as I worked through my grief and found happiness again, I found contentment in this place I call home and instead of resisting it, instead of telling myself I should want something else or something more, I gave into it.
Vail: A small town with big views
Giving into small town contentment has relieved an anxiety I didn’t even know existed in me until it was gone. I love living in this small town, I really really do. I like day-tripping to Denver and visiting cool quirky cities like San Francisco and Melbourne. And whenever I have a rant about tourists (or, ahem, guests as Vail Resorts prefers us to say) my dad oh so gently reminds me that I grew up in a resort town and well, what did I expect moving to another resort town. Why did I move from one small resort town to another? I suppose, simply, because it fits. Because somehow I think in my deepest gut I’ve always known when I visit a city that it doesn’t fit in the same way, because if I’m being really honest (and I finally am) cities are great places to visit but I don’t want to live in Denver or even Melbourne.
Perhaps part of why I can embrace my small-town contentment is because Vail has little bits and pieces that fulfill the bits and pieces of me that crave city life. There’s music, art and culture to be found here and what this town lacks in diversity, alright well there’s actually no redemption there, this town could use a little diversity. I was recently in Crested Butte and I found myself enamored with that town’s rustic charm, there’s something about it that just feels more authentically Colorado than Vail. There’s no hint of Disneyland in Crested Butte, no plastic-y fancy resort feel. As I wandered around a used book store/coffee shop in the Butte I found myself, just for a moment, wishing Vail had a little more quirk to it. But then I returned home and joined my girlfriends for a fancy cocktail at the new hotspot in town, Frost. This posh lounge feels modern and fresh, like something one might find in, yep you guessed it, a city (a locale that wouldn’t be caught dead in a town like Crested Butte). I realized then that perhaps my small-town contentment might just be contentment with making Vail my home. In one day here I can go for a hike in the middle of nowhere, see a concert with my favorite people, and drink cosmos in a swanky new bar just like the one and only Carrie Bradshaw. Vail has bits and pieces of small-town mountain charm but also has tastes of city life that, frankly, towns like Crested Butte (and my hometown of South Haven, Michigan) don’t.
I think, though, more than anything else my contentment with my small town status comes from realizing that I have, in fact, done a lot of growing up in the last year. And a lot of moving on. And when it comes to making something of myself, well, I had my first article (and byline!) in the Vail Daily this week, not to shabby at all.
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
All About Family
by Tracey Flower
In my last post I talked about how my friends and I are all growing up and I mentioned some of the events of the last couple years that helped lead me to that conclusion. After I wrote that I got to thinking about those events and more, and I realized I don’t want to mention tough times without also talking about the people who have helped me through them. I’m talking about family here, both the people who I am tied to because of birth and blood and the people I am tied to because of friendships that have weathered time and, well, growing up.
I love being alone but I hate being lonely. This has been true for most of my life but I’ve only realized it in probably the last five years. I’m still trying to figure out how to maintain a balance between being alone and being lonely. I’ve always been content to entertain myself, whether spending time alone was something I elected to do or something that found me. The older I get the more I seek it out. The older I get I also realize more and more that for all the time I spend alone I need to give myself an almost equal amount of time with other people. I’ve also realized I gain more from my time alone when it’s balanced by time with others, it’s more purposeful and I appreciate it more. I think, perhaps, had I known that secret during my teen years I might have spent at least a little less time being so very depressed in high school.
Thing is I didn’t have the family structure in high school that I have now to be the un-lonely weight on the scale. Yes I had my mom, dad, and siblings and one or two good friends but even those relationships weren’t as strong then as they are now. Truth is it’s very difficult to have the kind of relationships we have as adults in high school, the kind of relationships that form when we decide to care less about appearance or background and more about who a person is and how we both benefit from what one has to offer the other and the world; the kind of relationships that keep you from sinking or floating away during the darkest of dark moments.
I have that now. I wrote a few months ago, after I left Vail for Australia and before everything fell apart, about how I realized that Vail is home for me. With that came the realization that my friends in Vail are family to me. We celebrate holidays together, take vacations together, live together, and work together. We’re all different kinds of people from different places and, like the people who share my DNA, we’re sometimes very different, we sometimes annoy one another, and we don’t always get along but somehow there’s an inexplicable love that binds us. In retrospect that realization couldn’t have come at a better time, I’ve never needed home or family more than I have in the last few months.
In the wake of my heartbreak came messages, phone calls, and support from all the people in my life I consider family, even from friends here and there I didn’t even know cared so much (second or third cousins when talking in terms of family). Everyone from my little brother to my college roommate to my international clan of girlfriends in Vail was there for me. And they still are. And knowing that, being able to lean on all that un-loneliness, has kept me anchored enough to avoid floating away. I had a thought the other day that somehow the knowledge that there are so many people who love me takes my focus off, and almost makes up for, the one person who doesn’t.
What about you? Who is your family? How and when have they kept you anchored?
In my last post I talked about how my friends and I are all growing up and I mentioned some of the events of the last couple years that helped lead me to that conclusion. After I wrote that I got to thinking about those events and more, and I realized I don’t want to mention tough times without also talking about the people who have helped me through them. I’m talking about family here, both the people who I am tied to because of birth and blood and the people I am tied to because of friendships that have weathered time and, well, growing up.
I love being alone but I hate being lonely. This has been true for most of my life but I’ve only realized it in probably the last five years. I’m still trying to figure out how to maintain a balance between being alone and being lonely. I’ve always been content to entertain myself, whether spending time alone was something I elected to do or something that found me. The older I get the more I seek it out. The older I get I also realize more and more that for all the time I spend alone I need to give myself an almost equal amount of time with other people. I’ve also realized I gain more from my time alone when it’s balanced by time with others, it’s more purposeful and I appreciate it more. I think, perhaps, had I known that secret during my teen years I might have spent at least a little less time being so very depressed in high school.
Thing is I didn’t have the family structure in high school that I have now to be the un-lonely weight on the scale. Yes I had my mom, dad, and siblings and one or two good friends but even those relationships weren’t as strong then as they are now. Truth is it’s very difficult to have the kind of relationships we have as adults in high school, the kind of relationships that form when we decide to care less about appearance or background and more about who a person is and how we both benefit from what one has to offer the other and the world; the kind of relationships that keep you from sinking or floating away during the darkest of dark moments.
I have that now. I wrote a few months ago, after I left Vail for Australia and before everything fell apart, about how I realized that Vail is home for me. With that came the realization that my friends in Vail are family to me. We celebrate holidays together, take vacations together, live together, and work together. We’re all different kinds of people from different places and, like the people who share my DNA, we’re sometimes very different, we sometimes annoy one another, and we don’t always get along but somehow there’s an inexplicable love that binds us. In retrospect that realization couldn’t have come at a better time, I’ve never needed home or family more than I have in the last few months.
In the wake of my heartbreak came messages, phone calls, and support from all the people in my life I consider family, even from friends here and there I didn’t even know cared so much (second or third cousins when talking in terms of family). Everyone from my little brother to my college roommate to my international clan of girlfriends in Vail was there for me. And they still are. And knowing that, being able to lean on all that un-loneliness, has kept me anchored enough to avoid floating away. I had a thought the other day that somehow the knowledge that there are so many people who love me takes my focus off, and almost makes up for, the one person who doesn’t.
What about you? Who is your family? How and when have they kept you anchored?
Thursday, July 8, 2010
Two Months
by Tracey Flower
“When grief is fresh, every attempt to divert only irritates. You must wait till it be digested, and then amusement will dissipate the remains of it.” ~Samuel Johnson
I realized yesterday that I have been home for exactly one month. I also realized that it has been two months since everything fell apart. Two months. Every second of those months felt like an eternity but now when I stand looking back at them I’m shocked that it has already been two months.
A friend of mine said to me the other day that she’s glad I’m back and it feels like I never left. I feel the opposite. To my friends I was only gone for a little over a month, which I understand is an insignificant amount of time when life is carrying on as it has been with few glitches or bumps; at the end of which they were all pretty much the same as they were at the start. For me, on the other hand, that month changed everything and my first thought in response to my friend’s comment was along the lines of I feel like I’ve been gone for a lifetime because every day I feel the weight of the events of that month and every day they affect me.
Two months, two seconds even, can change everything and, as I pick myself up off the floor and start moving forward again I take comfort in that fact because I have a glimmer of hope that sometimes the change that comes is good. My life is still turned upside down and still changing but I have lived through the last two months and I will live through the next two.
And just as I will keep living I will keep writing. Flower Blog will continue to grow and change the more I live and learn and I hope you will continue to read as that happens. Please feel free to share your comments and suggestions to me along the way.
“When grief is fresh, every attempt to divert only irritates. You must wait till it be digested, and then amusement will dissipate the remains of it.” ~Samuel Johnson
I realized yesterday that I have been home for exactly one month. I also realized that it has been two months since everything fell apart. Two months. Every second of those months felt like an eternity but now when I stand looking back at them I’m shocked that it has already been two months.
Hello again Vail. The Gore Range from my balcony.
A friend of mine said to me the other day that she’s glad I’m back and it feels like I never left. I feel the opposite. To my friends I was only gone for a little over a month, which I understand is an insignificant amount of time when life is carrying on as it has been with few glitches or bumps; at the end of which they were all pretty much the same as they were at the start. For me, on the other hand, that month changed everything and my first thought in response to my friend’s comment was along the lines of I feel like I’ve been gone for a lifetime because every day I feel the weight of the events of that month and every day they affect me.
Two months, two seconds even, can change everything and, as I pick myself up off the floor and start moving forward again I take comfort in that fact because I have a glimmer of hope that sometimes the change that comes is good. My life is still turned upside down and still changing but I have lived through the last two months and I will live through the next two.
And just as I will keep living I will keep writing. Flower Blog will continue to grow and change the more I live and learn and I hope you will continue to read as that happens. Please feel free to share your comments and suggestions to me along the way.
Like this post? You might also enjoy One Sunset at a Time.
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
Home is Where the Moon Sets (From Flower Blog Two: Stories From Down Under)
Had someone told me five years ago that after living in Vail for awhile I would think the best way to celebrate the end of a winter season is to spend a few days camping and playing in Moab, Utah, I would have been skeptical. When I moved to Vail sleeping in a tent and not showering for a few days did not excite me (click here to read about my first camping trip in Colorado on Flower Blog). Five years later and I found myself squeezing in a 4-day trip to Moab between finishing work, packing my life into a very small storage unit, and tying knots in all the ends that needed to be tied before I leave Vail for Australia. And it was worth it.
There’s something exhilarating and cleansing about that annual pilgrimage of Vail residents to the high desert. It’s the moment when everyone breathes a collective sigh of relief that the chaos of winter has ended. People let their hair down. They whoop and laugh loudly on the river and continue to eat, drink, and be merry into the night while gathered around big campfires. It’s a big familial celebration and always a good time.
I was sitting around the campfire on the last night of the trip this year watching my friends, many of whom have become family to me over the years, laugh and talk and I realized that I was home. Not home in Moab but home with these people and home in moments like that. This epiphany shocked me at first. I’ve called Vail home over the years but I’ve also called Michigan home, although somewhere during the past year or so I believe I stopped calling Michigan home. I never expected Vail to become home, never knew when I moved there that it would become home. But that’s what it is, and not just because all of my stuff’s there or because I have a 970 area code or a Colorado driver’s license; because those aren’t really the things that make a place home. It’s the people you love and the experiences you share with them that make a place home, that shape who you are and tie your heart to a place.
Vail has a very transient population and I realized early in my time there that as long as I live there I would always be saying good-bye to people. I hate that. Good-byes are exhausting. I learned quickly that these farewells had to be quick and, sometimes, even a little impersonal. A hug and a “see you later” and that’s all that’s needed, especially because I’ve also realized that many of the people who leave come back. Vail has that kind of pull on folks.
With the end of this year’s Moab trip came my turn to say good-bye. This time I was on the opposite end of quick hugs and “see you laters.” It was harder for me than I thought it would be to be the one leaving and I almost wanted everyone to be sadder to see me go.
The morning I left Vail was cold and clear. It was 4:30 in the morning and I went outside to take the trash out before my 5:00 am airport shuttle arrived. It was still dark, right before the first hints of daylight arrive, and the moon was incredible. It was setting in the west over the mountains and it was glowing and huge. It felt like a little “see you later” from Vail. And it struck me that there was no need for myself or anyone else to be sadder to see me go because the best thing about knowing where home is, is that you can and will always find yourself there again. And, if home really is with the people you love, and the people you love are scattered around the globe, then you’re really never that far away from home.
The view from my tent in Moab, Utah
There’s something exhilarating and cleansing about that annual pilgrimage of Vail residents to the high desert. It’s the moment when everyone breathes a collective sigh of relief that the chaos of winter has ended. People let their hair down. They whoop and laugh loudly on the river and continue to eat, drink, and be merry into the night while gathered around big campfires. It’s a big familial celebration and always a good time.
I was sitting around the campfire on the last night of the trip this year watching my friends, many of whom have become family to me over the years, laugh and talk and I realized that I was home. Not home in Moab but home with these people and home in moments like that. This epiphany shocked me at first. I’ve called Vail home over the years but I’ve also called Michigan home, although somewhere during the past year or so I believe I stopped calling Michigan home. I never expected Vail to become home, never knew when I moved there that it would become home. But that’s what it is, and not just because all of my stuff’s there or because I have a 970 area code or a Colorado driver’s license; because those aren’t really the things that make a place home. It’s the people you love and the experiences you share with them that make a place home, that shape who you are and tie your heart to a place.
Vail has a very transient population and I realized early in my time there that as long as I live there I would always be saying good-bye to people. I hate that. Good-byes are exhausting. I learned quickly that these farewells had to be quick and, sometimes, even a little impersonal. A hug and a “see you later” and that’s all that’s needed, especially because I’ve also realized that many of the people who leave come back. Vail has that kind of pull on folks.
With the end of this year’s Moab trip came my turn to say good-bye. This time I was on the opposite end of quick hugs and “see you laters.” It was harder for me than I thought it would be to be the one leaving and I almost wanted everyone to be sadder to see me go.
The morning I left Vail was cold and clear. It was 4:30 in the morning and I went outside to take the trash out before my 5:00 am airport shuttle arrived. It was still dark, right before the first hints of daylight arrive, and the moon was incredible. It was setting in the west over the mountains and it was glowing and huge. It felt like a little “see you later” from Vail. And it struck me that there was no need for myself or anyone else to be sadder to see me go because the best thing about knowing where home is, is that you can and will always find yourself there again. And, if home really is with the people you love, and the people you love are scattered around the globe, then you’re really never that far away from home.
Sunday, December 13, 2009
Christmas Letter 2005
Greetings:
I’m currently finding myself in the midst of my first holiday season away from home. And, while good friends and Rocky Mountain paradise surround me, I’m a bit nostalgic for Christmastimes past. There are certain Flower family holiday traditions that can only be shared at home, however there are a couple I’ve found I can preserve on my own. The first is listening to Christmas music for the entire month of December. The second is writing my very own Christmas letter in a way I can only hope will make my father proud. With that I give you the past year of my life (and a how-to for stepping out on your own for the first time).
Make the decision to move away from home, let it twist and turn in your head, pray it’s the right one, and hope that Colorado’s the Promised Land they say it is. Remember that it’s been almost a year now since you graduated from college and that, as much as you love Mom, Dad, and working at that little local coffee shop, as scary as this move is, you have a nagging hunger to see what else it out there. Write your last article for Allegan County Living magazine and make one last vanilla latte for your favorite regular. Send your resume to the Starbucks in Vail, get hired over the phone, and promise them you’ll be there by May.
The day when you have to say good-bye to your sisters, brother, cats, dog and mom will come way too fast. Cry when you hug your mom, she’ll hold you so tight it hurts a little, hug her back just as tightly.
You’ll feel a little nervous on the car ride to Colorado but mostly you’ll find it strange that you feel so confident, so assured that this is right. As you pass through Iowa, Nebraska, and into Eastern Colorado realize that you have, indeed, discovered the Middle-of-Nowhere. Try to call Rand McNally to let him know where to mark it on the map. Don’t be surprised when you can’t get through because you don’t have cell service.
Naturally your stomach will flutter a bit as you near Denver, but don’t worry, as soon as you start winding up through those majestic mountains in the distance, you’ll feel at home.
Try not to cry too much when you have to say good-bye to your dad.
Start your new job right away and love it because your co-workers are great and the atmosphere there is more that of a small-town coffee shop than a Starbucks. You’ll be promoted to Shift Supervisor within the first month.
Be in awe of your surroundings in that little mountain resort town. You’ll mostly be in the company of your boyfriend and his buddies. Try to keep up with them. Go for lots of hikes in those first few weeks, huff and puff as your lungs try to acclimate to the altitude. Don’t cry or complain when thorny weeds scratch deep into your legs or when you slip on a rock crossing a stream and bruise your shin. Get over the layer of dirt that has covered your entire body and keep trekking. Take note of your surroundings, of rushing waterfalls, alpine lakes, sapphire skies, and blooming wildflowers. Be humbled by it all.
Go camping at a place that has no modern plumbing. Sleep in a tent, cook over the fire, don’t shower for a couple days, and love it. These camping adventures will take you swimming in the Colorado River, bathing in natural hot springs, and star-gazing under a sparkly black blanket you never knew existed. Wish on more shooting stars under those brightly lit nights than you ever have before.
The summer won’t be all fun and games. You’ll be homesick, particularly after seeing your family when they come out to bring your brother to college. You’ll miss your girlfriends and your old job. You’ll miss all the things about home that you hated when you were living there.
Turn 23 in September and wonder if you’re a grown-up yet.
Plan a trip with your boyfriend to visit home in the fall. Decide to also visit Seattle and San Francisco and everything in between. A month or so before you depart for this trip quit your job at Starbucks because, somewhere around July, it stopped being fun and you didn’t move to Colorado to work, at least not at a lousy job. Decide to work at Bailey’s, the little Vail Resorts-owned coffee shop on top of the mountain.
In Seattle visit the Pike’s Place Market and see the famous fish-tossing fishermen. Stop by the first Starbucks and listen to the street musicians playing outside. It will rain a lot all the way down the coast. Appreciate all that you see anyway. You’ll touch the Pacific Ocean for the first time, drive through a redwood, and cross the Golden Gate Bridge. Oh, and don’t forget to have lunch with your dad once you reach San Francisco, he’ll be there on business.
Once you’re back in Vail snow will start to fall and you’ll begin making friends with all the people who have moved there for the winter. Start riding the gondola up the mountain to work every day and taking snowboarding lessons on your days off. You’ll soon see more snowfall in one week than you’ve seen in two months in Michigan. After the storms pass the sun will shine for days on end.
Realize on the way home from work one night, while you’re sitting alone in a gondola car watching the rising moon cast a soft glow on fresh powder as it peeks over the mountains, that you’re content. Realize that this is true even though you still miss your friends and family sometimes, that this is true even though you can’t be with them on Christmas. Something in the moon will remind you that you’re never too far away from the ones you love, and for that reason you can find joy in this holiday season away from home.
Have a blessed Christmas and New Year.
Love,
Tracey
I’m currently finding myself in the midst of my first holiday season away from home. And, while good friends and Rocky Mountain paradise surround me, I’m a bit nostalgic for Christmastimes past. There are certain Flower family holiday traditions that can only be shared at home, however there are a couple I’ve found I can preserve on my own. The first is listening to Christmas music for the entire month of December. The second is writing my very own Christmas letter in a way I can only hope will make my father proud. With that I give you the past year of my life (and a how-to for stepping out on your own for the first time).
Make the decision to move away from home, let it twist and turn in your head, pray it’s the right one, and hope that Colorado’s the Promised Land they say it is. Remember that it’s been almost a year now since you graduated from college and that, as much as you love Mom, Dad, and working at that little local coffee shop, as scary as this move is, you have a nagging hunger to see what else it out there. Write your last article for Allegan County Living magazine and make one last vanilla latte for your favorite regular. Send your resume to the Starbucks in Vail, get hired over the phone, and promise them you’ll be there by May.
The day when you have to say good-bye to your sisters, brother, cats, dog and mom will come way too fast. Cry when you hug your mom, she’ll hold you so tight it hurts a little, hug her back just as tightly.
You’ll feel a little nervous on the car ride to Colorado but mostly you’ll find it strange that you feel so confident, so assured that this is right. As you pass through Iowa, Nebraska, and into Eastern Colorado realize that you have, indeed, discovered the Middle-of-Nowhere. Try to call Rand McNally to let him know where to mark it on the map. Don’t be surprised when you can’t get through because you don’t have cell service.
Naturally your stomach will flutter a bit as you near Denver, but don’t worry, as soon as you start winding up through those majestic mountains in the distance, you’ll feel at home.
Try not to cry too much when you have to say good-bye to your dad.
Start your new job right away and love it because your co-workers are great and the atmosphere there is more that of a small-town coffee shop than a Starbucks. You’ll be promoted to Shift Supervisor within the first month.
Be in awe of your surroundings in that little mountain resort town. You’ll mostly be in the company of your boyfriend and his buddies. Try to keep up with them. Go for lots of hikes in those first few weeks, huff and puff as your lungs try to acclimate to the altitude. Don’t cry or complain when thorny weeds scratch deep into your legs or when you slip on a rock crossing a stream and bruise your shin. Get over the layer of dirt that has covered your entire body and keep trekking. Take note of your surroundings, of rushing waterfalls, alpine lakes, sapphire skies, and blooming wildflowers. Be humbled by it all.
Go camping at a place that has no modern plumbing. Sleep in a tent, cook over the fire, don’t shower for a couple days, and love it. These camping adventures will take you swimming in the Colorado River, bathing in natural hot springs, and star-gazing under a sparkly black blanket you never knew existed. Wish on more shooting stars under those brightly lit nights than you ever have before.
The summer won’t be all fun and games. You’ll be homesick, particularly after seeing your family when they come out to bring your brother to college. You’ll miss your girlfriends and your old job. You’ll miss all the things about home that you hated when you were living there.
Turn 23 in September and wonder if you’re a grown-up yet.
Plan a trip with your boyfriend to visit home in the fall. Decide to also visit Seattle and San Francisco and everything in between. A month or so before you depart for this trip quit your job at Starbucks because, somewhere around July, it stopped being fun and you didn’t move to Colorado to work, at least not at a lousy job. Decide to work at Bailey’s, the little Vail Resorts-owned coffee shop on top of the mountain.
In Seattle visit the Pike’s Place Market and see the famous fish-tossing fishermen. Stop by the first Starbucks and listen to the street musicians playing outside. It will rain a lot all the way down the coast. Appreciate all that you see anyway. You’ll touch the Pacific Ocean for the first time, drive through a redwood, and cross the Golden Gate Bridge. Oh, and don’t forget to have lunch with your dad once you reach San Francisco, he’ll be there on business.
Once you’re back in Vail snow will start to fall and you’ll begin making friends with all the people who have moved there for the winter. Start riding the gondola up the mountain to work every day and taking snowboarding lessons on your days off. You’ll soon see more snowfall in one week than you’ve seen in two months in Michigan. After the storms pass the sun will shine for days on end.
Realize on the way home from work one night, while you’re sitting alone in a gondola car watching the rising moon cast a soft glow on fresh powder as it peeks over the mountains, that you’re content. Realize that this is true even though you still miss your friends and family sometimes, that this is true even though you can’t be with them on Christmas. Something in the moon will remind you that you’re never too far away from the ones you love, and for that reason you can find joy in this holiday season away from home.
Have a blessed Christmas and New Year.
Love,
Tracey
Friday, September 4, 2009
Journal Entry 02/09/05
This blog is not a personal diary for me. My journal, however, is. I use my journal as a place to rant, to document events, and to help me sort through my thoughts. The entries aren’t always well written and sometimes don’t even make much sense to me when I read them later. Some of the entries are deeply personal and I hope no one will ever read them. And some of them, like the one posted here, I think are worth sharing.
I was reading an old journal the other day, looking for ideas and inspiration and this entry made me smile. It made me think about who I was then and where I was at that point in my life. I wrote it after my first visit to Colorado before I decided to move to Vail.
February 9, 2005
I feel a bit like I’m cheating by writing in this at the moment. See I have another journal going right now that still has blank pages. One entry left of bank pages to be exact. When I fill those pages it will be the last entry in a book that has chronicled the past few years of my life. It’s a book full of rambling notes, stories and thoughts about life. Not much of a page-turner, but it’s my life nonetheless and it deserves a good ending.
It doesn’t feel right to start the next book without finishing the last. It’s tough, though, because my life is in limbo right now. I can see where I’m going and where I’ve been but I’m finding myself somewhere in the middle of it all. I’ve yet to close that last chapter, to experience the ending there, or perhaps I have but I haven’t realized it. In any case I’m not ready to write it.
As for the beginning of this next chapter, I suppose I’m writing it right now. I’m not quite sure why the beginning is easier to write than the ending. Perhaps it’s because the beginning is more exciting than the ending. Perhaps it’s because I’m scared of the ending. Perhaps it’s because I’ve already experienced this chapter’s first adventure. Because I’ve already learned from it, already grown from it and already changed from it. This volume begins after a six-day trip to Colorado with stops in Vail, Glenwood Springs, and Aspen.
I learned on that trip that people who vacation in Vail or Aspen have considerably more money than people who vacation in Florida (most of my vacations until recently were family road trips to Florida). The people I observed vacationing in high-end Colorado resort towns do not seem the type to pack up the minivan, throw on some Bermuda shorts and join the caravan of families trekking down to Orlando or Tampa for spring break. They wear fur coats, shop in stores like Prada, drink expensive wine, and spend vacation days skiing. People who vacation in Florida wear tacky floral shirts, shop in discount souvenir shops, sip brightly colored drinks, and spend vacation days getting sunburned at Sea World. This is not to say that those who spend time in Vail or Aspen do not like to spend a day at Sea World, shop for souvenirs, or wear Bermuda shorts. They just seem to go about it in a more expensive, classier way.
That observation is one of many from my recent trip, more stories to come later. Colorado was definitely different, though. Good different. The trip has left me thinking a lot about that place as a potential new home. We will see what happens in the months to come.
I was reading an old journal the other day, looking for ideas and inspiration and this entry made me smile. It made me think about who I was then and where I was at that point in my life. I wrote it after my first visit to Colorado before I decided to move to Vail.
February 9, 2005
I feel a bit like I’m cheating by writing in this at the moment. See I have another journal going right now that still has blank pages. One entry left of bank pages to be exact. When I fill those pages it will be the last entry in a book that has chronicled the past few years of my life. It’s a book full of rambling notes, stories and thoughts about life. Not much of a page-turner, but it’s my life nonetheless and it deserves a good ending.
It doesn’t feel right to start the next book without finishing the last. It’s tough, though, because my life is in limbo right now. I can see where I’m going and where I’ve been but I’m finding myself somewhere in the middle of it all. I’ve yet to close that last chapter, to experience the ending there, or perhaps I have but I haven’t realized it. In any case I’m not ready to write it.
As for the beginning of this next chapter, I suppose I’m writing it right now. I’m not quite sure why the beginning is easier to write than the ending. Perhaps it’s because the beginning is more exciting than the ending. Perhaps it’s because I’m scared of the ending. Perhaps it’s because I’ve already experienced this chapter’s first adventure. Because I’ve already learned from it, already grown from it and already changed from it. This volume begins after a six-day trip to Colorado with stops in Vail, Glenwood Springs, and Aspen.
I learned on that trip that people who vacation in Vail or Aspen have considerably more money than people who vacation in Florida (most of my vacations until recently were family road trips to Florida). The people I observed vacationing in high-end Colorado resort towns do not seem the type to pack up the minivan, throw on some Bermuda shorts and join the caravan of families trekking down to Orlando or Tampa for spring break. They wear fur coats, shop in stores like Prada, drink expensive wine, and spend vacation days skiing. People who vacation in Florida wear tacky floral shirts, shop in discount souvenir shops, sip brightly colored drinks, and spend vacation days getting sunburned at Sea World. This is not to say that those who spend time in Vail or Aspen do not like to spend a day at Sea World, shop for souvenirs, or wear Bermuda shorts. They just seem to go about it in a more expensive, classier way.
That observation is one of many from my recent trip, more stories to come later. Colorado was definitely different, though. Good different. The trip has left me thinking a lot about that place as a potential new home. We will see what happens in the months to come.
Monday, August 10, 2009
RE: Life With Boys, DATE: June 27, 2005
The following is another email I wrote to my dad during my first summer in Vail. I am, and always have been, a girly girl. I was living with three guys at the time and, after growing up in a female-dominated household, it was a bit of a challenge.
Dad:
I’m sitting in an apartment that looks like a college pad inhabited by guys. Why? Because it is an apartment inhabited by guys, three of them to be exact. This is a rare moment when I'm sitting in the living room enjoying (if that's what you call it) the company of both Joe and Dave, two of the guys I'm lucky enough to call my roommates at the moment. Both are currently sloppily enjoying pasta and, in case Aaron (my little brother) hasn't eaten any lately, let me remind you of how guys tend to eat pasta. It's not pretty. Guys don't eat pasta. Nope, they slurp it then belch it, which adds to the foul boy smell that has dug its talons into the furniture and carpet in this place. I spend a good majority of the time holding my breath. The other part of the time I'm passed out from holding my breath for too long in the altitude. I enjoy my living arrangement much more when I'm passed out.
Let me give you a visual. First there's the kitchen. It's sort of a toss up which room grosses me out more: the bathroom or the kitchen. If I clean either they remain in that state only until one of the guys enters the room. The kitchen isn't a large area. The floors are stained and the stove must have a birth date circa 1980. This can all easily be overlooked when the space is clean as, in general, I tend not to spend a great deal of time in any kitchen. On a good day there is only one pasta-crusted pot left on the stove, only two cupboard doors left open and I only have to brush the crumbs from the floor off my feet a couple times. On a bad day I put flip-flops and a face mask on before entering the room.
The living room has two tattered brownish couches and a chair to match. Guy-type magazines are strewn across the coffee table (if ever I leave one of mine there it is quickly re-distributed elsewhere). The room's highlight is the entertainment system, a large TV complete with a DVD player, a VHS player, and a multi-disc CD player. They've got it rigged so the sound for the TV comes through the CD player’s speakers resulting in offensively loud movie watching. Did I mention it smells in here? The walls in the living room are relatively bare, which the guys see as a problem. Their solution, go online and buy a giant Michigan flag, as we all hail from the state. The flag will arrive in the mail at a later date and they plan to hang it dead center above one of the couches. They were pretty proud of themselves on that one.
Should I touch on the bathroom or just leave that one to your imagination? Let's just say that I finally broke down and cleaned it a week ago. I had to buy rubber gloves and Lysol with bleach. It wasn't pretty. It's already dirty again.
I'm allowed to decorate my room to my taste (I say allowed because I put three magnets on the refrigerator at one point and was ridiculed for them so much that I removed them). I'm tempted to put up pink ruffled curtains just to balance out the rest of the apartment, or maybe a vanity in one corner with a pink satin chair and lots of perfume and makeup. I'll sing "Girls Just Want to Have Fun" at the top of my lungs while putting curlers in my hair. I have an overwhelming urge to fully embrace every girly part of me right now and not hold back. We're talking singing along to the Dirty Dancing soundtrack while staring dreamily at a poster of Patrick Swayze. We're talking fuchsia nail polish and lots of lace. I'm being pushed over the edge here. I'm not sure I can be held responsible for my actions from this point forward.
Things aren't all that bad I suppose. After all I’m in Rocky Mountain paradise and it's beautiful. Things have been a little rough, though. I miss my friends and I've had it with being around guys all the time. But I don't want to go home. When things get really tough, which they have, I tell myself I can go home, and ask myself if that's what I really want to do. I don't. I'm not overwhelmingly happy yet, which bothers me sometimes, but I still feel like this is the right move and I trust that in time this place will become home.
Well, Dad, I'm off for now. Write to you later.
Love, Tracey
Dad:
I’m sitting in an apartment that looks like a college pad inhabited by guys. Why? Because it is an apartment inhabited by guys, three of them to be exact. This is a rare moment when I'm sitting in the living room enjoying (if that's what you call it) the company of both Joe and Dave, two of the guys I'm lucky enough to call my roommates at the moment. Both are currently sloppily enjoying pasta and, in case Aaron (my little brother) hasn't eaten any lately, let me remind you of how guys tend to eat pasta. It's not pretty. Guys don't eat pasta. Nope, they slurp it then belch it, which adds to the foul boy smell that has dug its talons into the furniture and carpet in this place. I spend a good majority of the time holding my breath. The other part of the time I'm passed out from holding my breath for too long in the altitude. I enjoy my living arrangement much more when I'm passed out.
Let me give you a visual. First there's the kitchen. It's sort of a toss up which room grosses me out more: the bathroom or the kitchen. If I clean either they remain in that state only until one of the guys enters the room. The kitchen isn't a large area. The floors are stained and the stove must have a birth date circa 1980. This can all easily be overlooked when the space is clean as, in general, I tend not to spend a great deal of time in any kitchen. On a good day there is only one pasta-crusted pot left on the stove, only two cupboard doors left open and I only have to brush the crumbs from the floor off my feet a couple times. On a bad day I put flip-flops and a face mask on before entering the room.
The living room has two tattered brownish couches and a chair to match. Guy-type magazines are strewn across the coffee table (if ever I leave one of mine there it is quickly re-distributed elsewhere). The room's highlight is the entertainment system, a large TV complete with a DVD player, a VHS player, and a multi-disc CD player. They've got it rigged so the sound for the TV comes through the CD player’s speakers resulting in offensively loud movie watching. Did I mention it smells in here? The walls in the living room are relatively bare, which the guys see as a problem. Their solution, go online and buy a giant Michigan flag, as we all hail from the state. The flag will arrive in the mail at a later date and they plan to hang it dead center above one of the couches. They were pretty proud of themselves on that one.
Should I touch on the bathroom or just leave that one to your imagination? Let's just say that I finally broke down and cleaned it a week ago. I had to buy rubber gloves and Lysol with bleach. It wasn't pretty. It's already dirty again.
I'm allowed to decorate my room to my taste (I say allowed because I put three magnets on the refrigerator at one point and was ridiculed for them so much that I removed them). I'm tempted to put up pink ruffled curtains just to balance out the rest of the apartment, or maybe a vanity in one corner with a pink satin chair and lots of perfume and makeup. I'll sing "Girls Just Want to Have Fun" at the top of my lungs while putting curlers in my hair. I have an overwhelming urge to fully embrace every girly part of me right now and not hold back. We're talking singing along to the Dirty Dancing soundtrack while staring dreamily at a poster of Patrick Swayze. We're talking fuchsia nail polish and lots of lace. I'm being pushed over the edge here. I'm not sure I can be held responsible for my actions from this point forward.
Things aren't all that bad I suppose. After all I’m in Rocky Mountain paradise and it's beautiful. Things have been a little rough, though. I miss my friends and I've had it with being around guys all the time. But I don't want to go home. When things get really tough, which they have, I tell myself I can go home, and ask myself if that's what I really want to do. I don't. I'm not overwhelmingly happy yet, which bothers me sometimes, but I still feel like this is the right move and I trust that in time this place will become home.
Well, Dad, I'm off for now. Write to you later.
Love, Tracey
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