First Anniversary Bonus Post

I wrote the following article for Vail PM about a month ago but it hasn’t run on their site yet and I’m not sure if it ever will. I put some work into it, though, and I had fun writing it so I thought I’d share it here.


Spring Forward into Spring Fashion

Spring is here. We’ve seen plenty of sunshine in the last few weeks accompanied by temps in the 40’s and 50’s (anywhere else that’s still cold, here that’s flip flop weather). Daylight Savings made its debut last month and Easter is right around the corner. And while this winter has been a bit mild compared to the last few it has been winter nonetheless. It’s always bittersweet to bid adieu to ski season, but the pain of saying good-bye can be eased with the promise of longer days, Hot Summer Nights, and summer sports. And, of course, the thrill of shedding a layer or two or five and stepping into some spring style.

A friend of mine who used to live in Vail returned this winter for an extended holiday from her native Melbourne, Australia. Before she arrived she expressed to me her anxiety over what to pack. After two years in Melbourne, often regarded as Australia’s fashion capital, she wasn’t sure how or if her trendy wardrobe would fit in here. She packed some skinny jeans and bought a couple new hoodies and some sneakers and hoped for the best. After being in Vail for a few weeks, however, she said she was pleasantly surprised to find that folks in the Valley seemed to be dressing trendier than the last time she was here and that she felt comfortable wearing the majority of her Melbourne duds in Vail.

Yes, it’s true, fashion is alive and well in Vail. You can see it in the chic boutiques in the villages or at events such as the fashion show fundraiser for the Susan G. Komen Foundation last month at Samana. We have to be creative about the way we apply trends in fashion to life in the Rockies, though; we have to adapt them to the climate and lifestyle we enjoy in the mountains. And, while there’s something to be appreciated about living in a place where it’s perfectly appropriate to show up to happy hour in bike shoes or snow pants, it’s just as nice to peel off layer after layer (of dirt or ski gear, depending on the season) and step into something a tad nicer.

With a hint of spring in the air, this is the perfect time of year to update your wardrobe with a few new items to take your look into spring/summer 2010 (even in a place where spring is called mud season and it can snow in July). Consider the following trends when stocking up your closet this season.

The Boyfriend Blazer: Perfect for layering on cool mud season days or for a Hot Summer Nights concert this trend, featured in spring fashion issues of magazines like Lucky and Glamour, is an essential staple for the mountain girl’s wardrobe this spring/summer. The blazer should be a little too big as if you borrowed it from your boyfriend’s closet. It should fit long in the torso and should be worn with the sleeves rolled up. Try throwing one over a flirty flowy cami to make the look more feminine or layered over a cute hoodie with a scarf for brisk spring days. Shop Billabong in Vail Village, Quicksilver, or Arriesgado, both in Lionshead, for camis, hoodies, and other perfect tops to wear with your blazer.

Tights and Leggings: Are a mountain girl’s best friend, and still very much on-trend this spring. What better way to wear a sweet floral skirt this spring, before things heat up, than paired with tights, flats, and that boyfriend blazer? From standard black to a striking yellow, tights and leggings give you an opportunity to wear summer prints and cuts before it’s warm enough to do so. Also stay warm and show off your legs (c’mon you’ve been skiing all winter, you know you want to) by wearing shorts over tights. This look, seen on celebs such as Nicole Richie and Sienna Miller, and sported by my fashion-forward friend from Melbourne, is another great way to wear your warm-weather clothes now. Arriesgado Clothing Company in Lionshead has tights and leggings for sale as well as a selection of sweet and sexy summer dresses.

Sportswear as Streetwear: Hallelujah ladies, it really is trendy to après in ski gear. Well, almost. From ballerina chic to tomboy tumbled this trend is perfect for life in the valley. This look is more sophisticated than your favorite hiking clothes but just as comfortable and effortless. Fashion networking site fashionising.com breaks down the details on how to pull it off. For cute sportswear that’s also functional check out Roxy Athletix, the surf-wear brand’s latest line of ladies athletic clothing available at Quicksilver in Lionshead.

Accessories, Accessories, Accessories: Even as the economy creeps toward recovery, finding ways to spruce up your wardrobe without breaking the bank is key this season and accessories are the perfect way to do it. Accessories are also a good way to experiment with trends in pattern and color without going all-out. Hot colors this season are bright but not neon, bold but not over-powering, think turquoise or coral. Try a lightweight scarf in one of these colors paired with a more neutral top. Or, give the new warrior trend a try with a studded leather belt or a piece of jewelry inspired by ancient cultures. Knee-high socks are also big this season and another way to stay current while staying warm this spring. Knee-highs can be sporty or dressy, worn alone or layered over tights.

One Sunset at a Time

Writing is therapeutic for me. It calms me and heals me. I’ve kept journals for as long as I can remember. The things I write in these diaries are intensely private. Sometimes these things, these rants, fears, and confessions, are hard for me to read in retrospect as the words are, many times, born from pain and reading them easily reminds me of the pain I felt when I wrote them. Other times re-reading old entries shows me how I’ve grown and I feel relieved that whatever I was going through then is over. There are often big gaps between entries in these books because I tend to write in them less when I’m happy. Writing, especially when I’m upset, helps me see things clearly; it takes a burden off me having my worries, fears, heartaches, and frustrations written down.

I went through a time early last year of intense heartache. There were not even enough pages in my journal to help ease my burden. I existed for months in a state of persistent melancholy and I cried a lot. I cried a lot because I woke up every day and my chest felt heavy and as the day went on the sadness that weighed in my heart grew more intense as it was pumped and pumped through my body. And it was just too much to keep inside me. So I cried. I cried big heavy sobs that shook my body and hurt my stomach and made my eyes swell. I cried in an attempt to dispel the sadness, to purge myself of it.

And then spring came. Spring came and I knew it was time to pick myself up, if only slowly, and find a way to keep on living. It was time to stop crying. I recently read through my journal entries from those months and found one very short entry I wrote at the start of spring. I remember the day I wrote it and I know that was the moment I realized it was time to keep on living, the moment I first knew I was going to be OK.


Journal entry written 03/06/09:
Yesterday was full of wind, like 60 mph winds, and it didn’t die down until around sunset. It was a beautiful sunset and so quiet after such a windy day; and it gave me the smallest bit of peace. I texted Dad about it and he said sometimes you just have to take life one sunset at a time.


It was around then that the idea for Flower Blog first came to mind. I decided it was time to take my life back from my grief. There were certainly more tear laden days to come in the months that followed that journal entry but starting this blog was one of the first steps in rebuilding myself. I wanted to do more with my writing than just rant in a journal, and, besides, that didn’t seem to be curing me; this was bigger pain than I’d had in the past and it required bigger writing. It was about remembering who I am and what I want for myself, something I’d forgotten to do while I was grieving, something I’d forgotten to do a long time before the relationship I was grieving had ended, something that had probably, in part, led to its demise. 

Writing for Flower Blog reminded me how much writing makes me feel alive. And, while I can’t say writing alone brought me back to life, it was the first piece of many that drew me out of my sadness. Investing time and effort into my writing reminded me how important it is to nurture all the little pieces of me I discovered that spring and in the months that followed. Before, I had invested everything into my relationship and I had let many other things, including other relationships, fall away in order to do so. When the relationship ended I invested everything into mourning it. I know I will feel heartache again one day and I know I might even completely fall apart again, but I also know I will survive again. I know the winds will calm and the sun will set and I will keep on living.

Where There are no Cornfields

There were times during my trip to Australia when I was struck by how much it felt like home, times when it felt so un-foreign, so normal; times when I felt like we could easily just be on a road trip somewhere in the States. There were subtle differences, of course, the driving on the wrong side of the road, the large stretches of undeveloped land that were just land and not cornfields, that it was November and Christmas and summer were approaching simultaneously. But often it all felt very familiar. Because of this I tried extra hard to take note of the things that were very unfamiliar.

There were things I wrote down, things I took photos of, and then there were the things that I didn’t record because there was no way to capture them, things that I could only savor in the moment and hope they would come back to me one day. I attended a liquor tasting recently and the smell of a certain rum triggered one of these memories.

Our first stop in Australia was Cairns, Queensland, from there we quickly headed north to The Daintree Rainforest. We drove north until we couldn’t go any farther and then we drove in. We drove into the thick of the Daintree with all the trees, frogs, birds, and bugs. And then it rained. It rained hard and often. It rained so much it felt like a Hemingway novel.

We eventually made our way out of the rainforest because we were sick of being damp and because it was just time to move on. And it was there, somewhere between tropical rainforest and tropical beaches, that I first smelled the scent of sugar cane mixed with the wet heavy air from the Daintree. It was there where you have to watch out for the cane trains, there where you can still see the steam rising from where the rainforest meets the ocean.

The smell of sugar cane, especially burning sugar cane, is sweet, deep, and earthy. It’s complex and layered and too much to take in at once. It hits you first as a dense wall and is a little startling especially when it’s something you’ve never smelled before. It burns a little and you can taste it in the back of your throat. But then you recover and you breathe it in deeply. It moves through you slowly, like molasses, and you hope you will never forget this smell and the feeling it brings; this smell that is so foreign, that smells like a place that is a world away from home.

Grandpa Flower

I’m 27 years old and all four of my grandparents are alive and well. This is, I believe, rare. It’s a treat, a privilege, bestowed on few. I’ve been able to get to know my grandparents, to hear their life’s stories and adventures in their own words. They are amazing multi-faceted people and their lives intrigue me. And while they have all led extraordinary lives, I can see each of my grandparents as just plain human beings in a very real, very palpable way I don’t think would be possible if I hadn’t been able to spend my life so far getting to know them.

Here are a few of my favorite memories, my favorite stories, about my Grandpa Flower.

Grandpa Flower used to call my sister, Susan, and myself Penelope and Maryann. This is something I hadn’t thought about in years but recently remembered during a trip home for Christmas. I believe Susan was Penelope and I was Maryann and I can’t remember when he stopped calling us that. Oh, and to be clear, he called us those names as a joke, not as a result of a fading memory or out of old-person confusion. That was Grandpa when we were kids, always teasing us, always joking around with us.

Whenever it was time to leave Grandpa and Grandma’s house we would hug Grandma good-bye, then giggle in anticipation of Grandpa’s bear hug and big sloppy noisy kiss on the cheek. The last few times I’ve been home a much older, slightly more serious, Grandpa has hugged me in a way he never used to, in a way you hug someone when you realize you will not always be able to hug him.

In middle school and high school, studies about World War 2 always made me think of him and always made me realize how little I know about the large man with a crew cut who likes to sit in his big arm chair and watch the game. I know his family background is complicated with divorce and alcoholism, I know he used to teach chemistry and coach basketball, I know he was shot once in the war, and I know he won’t talk about most of that stuff.

Possibly my favorite memory of my Grandpa Flower was at his and my Grandma’s 50th wedding anniversary party. There were photos everywhere of their younger selves. Grandma was an absolute knockout when she was younger, stunning in a classic way, in a creamy white skin and cherry lipstick kind of way. A party guest approached Grandpa at one point and said to him Nell was beautiful when she was younger. Without missing a beat, without a smirk or a silly smile, Grandpa said, “still is.” His response gave me goose bumps and I knew then that I want what they have someday.

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

Giving Thanks

The following is an email I sent my family last Thanksgiving and I like it so much I want to share with everyone who reads Flower Blog this Thanksgiving.


As a child I was taught that the first Thanksgiving happened when the pilgrims and Indians sat and feasted together. Both parties brought food to share and they were all thankful for the companionship. In elementary school we made pilgrim hats and Indian feathers out of construction paper and sat pilgrim next to Indian at the school’s Thanksgiving lunch.

As an adult I’ve been taught that meal or no meal the pilgrims murdered many Indians and stole their land. I’ve been taught to refer to Indians as Native Americans as if that somehow makes amends for the sins of my ancestors.

The true origins of Thanksgiving are fuzzy to me and I find it difficult to describe the reason for the day to my non-American friends. The lesson generally leads to stories of how poorly the Native Americans were treated by the first settlers, a part of American history I’m not particularly proud of.

Tomorrow I will join 20-plus friends for a meal. We will be American, Australian, English, and South American and we will eat, drink, and be merry together. Regardless of whether or not the first Thanksgiving went the way I was taught as a child, regardless of the messiness that came later, I hope to show them that this is what Thanksgiving is about.

Because that is what this holiday is about, isn’t it? It’s about family, friends, and feasting. It’s about coming together and reminding ourselves that, despite the doom preached on the news, we have so very much to be thankful for. And this year, more than years past, I can’t help but feel hope. Hope that in small ways, like a meal where African refugees eat with white Americans, this is the place those pilgrims hoped it would be. A country where change is possible and the dreams of our forefathers are still tangible.

And for that I am very thankful.

Happy Thanksgiving.

Small Town Seasons: A Sonnet

For this post I decided to revisit some writing work from college. The following is a sonnet I wrote for a creative writing course that covered fiction, poetry, and playwriting. Poetry is not my strong suit and I don’t enjoy reading or writing it. The segment of that course that focused on poetry is the only training I’ve had in the subject. I fumbled through it and, in the end, my professor agreed that poetry isn't my forte. That said, I think any writer can benefit from studying poetry. Studying and writing poetry, sonnets in particular, for that course taught me an important lesson in structure and simplicity. If I remember correctly this was the only poem I wrote that received positive feedback from my professor and reading it not only reminds me of those lessons, it also makes me smile.


A crystal sea of fresh water stretches

endlessly. Rumbling waves tumble one

over another; their tongues making etches

in the cool compact grains on shore. The sun

majestically warms her subjects who flip from

back to front like pancakes on a griddle.

Then they will swarm these small town streets like bums.

They’ll eat. They’ll shop. They’ll drink. They’ll dance. Little

by little, though, they will disappear. Behind

them they will leave only scraps of summer;

grains of sand mingling with snow drops. Kind

signs that read “Closed for Winter.” A shrinking number

of subjects stroll the streets. An icy zephyr

roars off the water, moving things like feathers.