A New Season

by Tracey Flower

It’s that time of year again. Fall. The Vail Valley is glowing with it. It’s a new season, and my favorite one at that.

A new season means time for fresh starts. I love this time of year for that. Life in Vail is lived season to season, and for many of us here the end of a summer or winter season means the end of one job and the start of a new one. This can be, at times, a very frustrating way of life; no one makes much money here and there’s always a pause when one job ends and another begins, a few weeks with no work, no income.

There’s also beauty in that pause. There’s always a moment to travel, to relax, to slow down and, especially in fall, time to squeeze in all your favorite summer activities just one last time before the snow settles in for the next eight months.

There’s also time to reflect and refresh before the next major season (that would be summer or winter around here) starts. Time to prepare for the fresh start that a new season brings. I relish this time and always appreciate the opportunity to start anew.

Fall also marks a new year in my life. I celebrated my last twenty-something birthday (gulp) a week ago. 

I don’t get overly anxious about aging; there’s nothing I can do about it and the alternative to aging is, well, death, so I’ll just go ahead and get older thank you very much. BUT there is something intimidating about 30, and something daunting about coming into the last year of my twenties.

It’s that 30 sounds grown-up. Not old. Just adult. Bonafide grown-up. Like maybe I should have my life together somehow by then.

I doubt I will.

And I’m sure a year from now I’ll find a way to be OK with that.

In the meantime, however, I’d like to take this moment to share some goals I have for myself for the next year, things to work toward in this new season (and things to achieve before the big 3-0).

1. I want to go to Africa a year from now. There are a billion places I want to travel to. Africa is at the top of that list. It’s been awhile since I planned and ventured out into the world on an epic trip. So there you have it. I’m saving my pennies. Countries and dates to come.
2. I want to expand my professional skills and knowledge by taking some professional development courses at Colorado Mountain College. Specifically those pertaining to social media and Internet marketing. As much as I love new seasons and fresh starts, it would be kind of great to have the same job year-round (and kind of great, too, if that job didn’t involve serving beverages). Taking some classes can’t hurt my chances of finding such a position, right?
3. I want to (learn) to cook more. I heaved a big sigh as I wrote that. This has been a goal of mine for the last several years and, to be honest, seems slightly un-attainable. I love food. I don’t love cooking or spending time in the kitchen. But I’d at least really like to gain some more skills in that area, to have some level of competence in the kitchen and maybe, just maybe, develop an appreciation for the art of it. Encouragement and/or advice on how to go about this is appreciated. 

There they are, just a few humble goals. There’s a handful of others I’m tossing around and considering at the moment as well, but these three are my favorites. I’ll enjoy seeing where they take me and what else comes up along the way.


Cheers, my lovely readers, here’s to a new season!

Life on a Post-it

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. 

Had a Bad Day?

by Tracey Flower


I recently had a terrible horrible no good very bad day.

(That right there is a shout-out to the children’s book “Alexander and the Terrible Horrible No Good Very Bad Day” by Judith Viorst, still LOVE IT).

It was a bad evening that sank into a bad night and catapulted me into a really bad day the next morning.

It went like this: Friday evening the boy I like rejected me (boo). I sulked on the couch all evening while it rained and stormed outside (for real, it was like a freaking Hemingway novel). I woke up Saturday morning and resolved to not focus on boys at all at the moment and instead focus on my fabulous new job as a receptionist and marketing assistant at a busy local salon. Then I got to work and by noon, following the most bizarre sequence of events I’ve ever witnessed in a workplace (another story for another time my friends), my fabulous new job came to a screeching slamming-on-the-breaks end. After only two weeks.

In the wake of the shocking end of my fabulous new job came the tidal wave of realization that my finances are a mess, that I am, in fact, broke and the thing I was counting on to revive my bank account was now nonexistent. Whew.

You know the "Friend’s" theme song (it’s by The Rembrandt’s)? The part that goes, Your job’s a joke/You’re broke/Your love life’s DOA? It was like that.

I felt blue.

But I don’t want to discuss the details of that lousy day as much as I want to talk about how I deal when things are crap.

First things first, I let myself feel really badly. I even go ahead and feel sorry for myself. I think there is something very healing in taking the time to notice and just sit with how I feel. The way I see it, even if I ignore my bad feelings, they’re still going to be there and it’s going to be uncomfortable either way, so I minus well acknowledge them and sit out the worst of it on my couch watching reruns of “Keeping up with the Kardashian’s” until that becomes more painful than whatever’s bugging me.

In the yoga classes I attend the instructors often encourage this method of sitting with it when we find ourselves holding a particularly challenging pose for longer than feels comfortable.

You’re probably feeling something in your legs right now, but that’s OK. That’s just discomfort, it’s just a little pain, just breathe and stay with it. 

The point is it’s only one moment. It’s temporary. And there is always something to be gained by staying; it could be it stronger muscles, looser hips or relieving back pain.

I think the same is true when it comes to emotional pain. There is always something to be gained by staying with it even though it hurts.

And what’s the alternative to feeling that pain? Numbness? Paralysis? Death? Feeling pain is part of being healthy and alive, and I for one am thrilled to be alive, and thrilled to experience everything that goes along with that, even if it hurts sometimes.

I also seek out friends and family members and talk about what happened and how it’s making me feel. Talking about what’s bothering me helps me. Period. And I am forever grateful to all the listening ears in my life. I would be lost without you.

And during it all I eat a bunch of junk (like a bag of the most offensive flavored Doritos you can imagine and lots of chocolate ice cream), listen to some sad songs and hide under a blanket (and watch “Teen Mom” reruns when I’ve exhausted all my Kardashian options) until I feel prepared to face the world again.

Eventually I shake off the blanket, go outside and move on.

That doesn’t always mean I feel totally better; whatever has made me feel sad, angry or disappointed will usually stick with me for a little bit, but after all that feeling sorry for myself I find a little perspective and realize the best way to banish those leftover emotions is to charge forward and check out new job listings, pick up extra shifts at the golf course, make a new budget plan, and, just maybe, meet Someone New.

As I move on I write. I go to yoga. I drink wine and spend time with my girlfriends.

I find my way back to Happy.


Life is crazy, wonderful, heartbreaking, challenging and beautiful. Throughout the journey we take chances and sometimes find the result isn’t what we hoped it would be. Hearts get broken. Pride gets wounded. Self esteem falls. My terrible horrible no good very bad day wasn’t the worst one I’ve ever had, and there will be better and worse days to come and that’s OK with me.

How do you cope when life leaves you feeling a bit blue?

Scent-Triggered Memories

by Tracey Flower

I have always been intrigued by the power of smell. Not the sense just on its own, but the connection of scent and memory, the power scent has to evoke emotions or to recover a feeling from long ago, to send me back to a moment like no other sense can. 

This happened just the other day.

The smell was of warm earth and fresh water. You know the way soil and foliage smell when it’s a little bit damp and been warmed by the sun? It’s rich and powerful, organic and sometimes maybe a little too strong and you taste it in the back of your throat. It was that smell. It was that smell woven into the smell of fresh flowing water. It’s the way lakes or rivers smell in the summer and it reminded me of so many sun-soaked and sparkling long summer days. 

It reminded me of walks with my mom down by the marina in South Haven, Michigan; of the way the air smells when we walk on the pier at dusk. It reminded me of the stillness of the lake and the sky at that time of day.

It also reminded me of the wonderful chaos of the previous weekend’s rafting trip in Utah, of camping, swimming and laughing with dear friends. And I replayed the weekend to be sure I had all the best details saved for future reference—the muddy drive to the campsite in an evening thunderstorm, the views of the surrounding canyons the next morning, and, yes, even the time the raft flipped and spilled us out into the churning Colorado River. 

I know I will think about this weekend less and less as the days and weeks pass and new experiences are had and memories made, but I also know I will be reminded of it the next time that rich smell floats my way again and I look forward to that moment. 

What smells trigger memories for you?

My Word

by Tracey Flower

There’s a scene in the movie Eat Pray Love (it’s in the book too and, while I always prefer the book to the movie, I particularly like the way this moment is portrayed in the film) where Liz Gilbert, the author, is enjoying a fabulous dinner in Italy with some friends and they are discussing and debating what one word best represents certain cities and people. They conclude Rome’s word is SEX and New York’s word is ACHEIEVE. Liz says her word is WRITER and her friends immediately disagree, telling her that’s what she does not who she is. She agrees and spends the rest of the book, and the film, trying to figure it out. 

I’ve spent some time searching for my own word since I first read that passage and I think I’ve got it, in fact I think I knew it all along.

Liz Gilbert’s word might not be WRITER, but mine sure is.

Writing is not just something I do. I certainly hope to make a career of it, and I do, on occasion, get paid to do it professionally, but writing is much more to me than simply a degree or a paycheck.

I’ve been a writer my entire life. It’s always felt natural to me, always come easily to me. I wrote and illustrated my own stories as a child, loved writing essays for English class in high school and kicked butt in college creative writing. But for me writing is even more than just the fun creative stuff (which, I must say, can be fulfilling enough in its own rite). 

I feel most comfortable communicating through writing. As a kid if there was something I wanted to ask my parents, something I wanted to do, somewhere I wanted to go, especially something I thought there was even a chance they could say no to—basically anything I felt a little uncomfortable asking—I wrote the question down, folded the piece of paper up into an airplane and sailed it into whichever room they were in at the moment. It just felt safer, easier, that way. 

This is a habit I have held onto, except the older I get, the more complicated the messages tend to be. Throughout my teenage years and on into adulthood anytime there’s something that needs to be said, anything that seems impossibly difficult to ask or express, I write it down and send it off. Sometimes I say too much. Sometimes I hit send on emails that are hurtful, angry or just plain dramatic. I once wrote a letter expressing some really raw heat-of-the-moment emotions that I’m pretty sure ruined an entire relationship. Thing is, I’m horrible with expressing myself out loud, whether it’s saying “I love you” or “I hate you,” and I’m even worse when it comes to any kind of confrontation; I get all tripped-up and tongue-tied, but when I write it down, well, it all just comes out. Sometimes this is good. Sometimes this is bad. For better or worse it’s who I am.

There’s nothing I can’t say in writing, which is why it’s also therapeutic for me to write. This is something I’ve talked about here in the past. I’ve been keeping journals since childhood, not to chronicle events per se, but to work through emotions. Those pages carry some heavy things, and for that I am thankful because having those thoughts on those pages makes me lighter. I hope when I die those books will all self-combust in order to respect our doctor-patient confidentiality. 

While my journal pages may hold all my deepest darkest thoughts and feelings, I also have no problem being very honest in the writing I share (as you’ve all read here). I have no fear in writing. In fact I’m much more confident in my writing than I am in real life. I’m also the most proud of myself when I share what I create with others. And writing—reading my writing back to myself—teaches me all kinds of crazy good stuff about myself. 

And, finally, I just feel the most alive when I write. Period. 

WRITER is my word. And I could go on and on about more reasons why, but knowing when to stop is one of the hallmarks (at least in my opinion) of a good writer (and a lesson I’m still practicing to perfect). Also one of the very best things about writing is having written so I will stop now so I can bask in the rush of doing just that.

And you? What is your word?

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.

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.

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.