One Size Fits All

According to several web sources I have found, the average American woman is 5'3.7", 152 lbs., and has a BMI of 26.3. While I do feel somewhat accomplished that I fall short of all these statistics, I am very aware of the challenges of finding clothes, shoes, and styles that are flattering to my frame. Like most women, I am burdened with the chore of sorting through aisles of clothing and daunting trips to the dressing room only to leave downtrodden and vowing to never eat anything other than celery again. Every week, without fail, I will succumb at least once to trying on so many articles of clothing and changing that eventually the amount of clothing piled on my bed far outnumbers what is left in my closet. I will then resort to pouting in my robe until I settle on the lesser of my attire enemies, but the cats will have at least triumphed to a well-deserved nap upon the mound of cotton, silk, and polyester. I have learned that I am not the only woman that spends a good amount of time, washing, ironing, and hanging loads of clothes only to find she has nothing to wear. I am also not the only woman who waltzes over to the bathroom mirror in what she feels may be the winner only to have the mirror beguile her, "Hello, hi. I'm Fatty McWrinkle and apparently I can't dress myself." Why are we so critical of ourselves? Is it vanity? Is it low self esteem? We are all so different and even though the average American model is something like 5'11" and 117 lbs., I don't really want to be like that, they face their own challenges (however, I certainly wouldn't mind trading for a day or two.). Have you ever bought a "one-size-fits-all" article of clothing? They are almost always too wide, too long, too something, because one size could never really fit ALL or even most for that matter. I do feel that clothes can certainly enhance your confidence, but nothing can truly make you feel good if you don't feel comfortable in your own skin. No amount of makeup or crunches will compensate for what you truly see when you look at yourself. So maybe the issue for me isn't a new haircut or finding the best type of top to flatter my figure, but maybe some soul searching is in order. Although there will always be times when I'll want to burn down my closet and all it's contents, I know that neither this or a lavish shopping spree will result in a gratifying image in the mirror if I ignore what needs the most improvement, and no I don't mean my thighs (although that couldn't hurt :) ).

Bearing Good Fruit

I hate to become a cliche, but moving to California has certainly fueled my wine-tasting desire. It annoys me to no end when I see something with such a long history turn into a media-fed trend. The art of wine seems to be one of Hollywood's latest victims which will inevitably be an attempt to dilute even the richest of cultures. I guess those of us with real appreciation will still be sipping long after the bandwagon passes. I was interested in wine long before we moved here, but being surrounded by vineyards has totally enthralled me in viticulture. The science, passion, and history of grapes (and wine) is very inspiring. I've gone wine tasting many times in various places and each time I always find myself interviewing the bartenders and listening attentively as they go in to detail about their art. One interesting fact I learned on my last wine-stained outing was how long it takes to mature a vineyard until it is suitable to produce wine. That particular vineyard needed to age for ten years before it produced adequate grapes for wine. Ten years! I can just imagine feeling so anxious to start this amazing new adventure, being filled with passion, and finally committing to this new way of life. Then have to toil for ten years completely unsure of what the outcome may be. This must take so much faith in what you are dedicating yourself to. I can consider all that I've been through in the last decade, the commitments I've made, and how many times my faith has wavered. I wonder how many vineyards fail in that time, unable to see it through all the rough patches like droughts and storms, or how many people realize that their dreams of becoming a winemaker was not to be and that they must regrettably reap their young vines and start anew. Maybe they were too hasty in their endeavors and failed because they started out the wrong way. Perhaps some winemakers might make it through those rough years, so anxious to taste the literal fruits of their labor, but still be forced to wait patiently as the delicate juices ferment in their barrels. By this point, the winemaker may be physically exhausted, mentally drained, and desperate. Should he just crack open a barrel to taste at the risk of ruining what would have been a truly fine wine? Should he rush off and sell it because he is struggling and needs to support himself? Or should he continue to wait patiently, faithful in his hard work, his commitment, his passion; wait to see what miracle is being created within and what the future holds for his beloved vineyard? Occasionally after time and effort has been exhausted, some vineyards just don't make it and that's ok if it were never meant to be, but as I sipped the ten year old prize-winning sample the bartender graciously shared at the last winery I visited, I was grateful for their patience. There is nothing wrong with younger wines, but the complexity of an aged wine is incomparable. Unlike newer wines, this wine had no bite, no bitter aftertaste. The flavors were distinguished, I would even say confident. It tasted rich and balanced, not tannic. Wines that are aged properly, absorb the delicate flavors of their surroundings and become better with time. Ten years for a quality red wine is still relatively short in the aging process, but still the taste of time made an amazing difference. Although I was a cynic to aged wines truly being all they are made out to be, I've learned that some things are definitely worth the wait. So, here's a toast to patience, a toast to faith, and for some, even a toast to looking up your old address (whatever that means).

Chocolate or Vanilla

"Look to the cookie, Elaine. Look to the cookie." This is a bit of advice from Jerry while eating a black and white cookie on The Dinner Party episode. While I recognize that this was about race relations, I can't help but think about the Black and White cookie when I consider 2009. The biggest reason for this is moving. We literally spent half of the year in one state and the other half in the other. I can't help but compare the differences sometimes. Since I'm not discriminatory to vanilla or chocolate, in fact I'm quite fond of both, I'm not comparing this year in terms of pros and cons; it's simply a comparison of differences. Like the cookie, my foundation is the same: my values, my personality, and my nature, but it really amazes me how contrasting things are with opposing surroundings. Some may say Wyoming is simple and boring and while I can see why, I learned to appreciate the simplicity of it. When we left for California we had the highest of expectations. We were leaving plain vanilla for the Wild West. California is known to be exotic at times and beautiful. There are so many different ways to experience California and we couldn't wait to try it all. Since my first visit, I loved California so I was anxious. It's been six months since we moved and it hasn't been a let down, but it has been curious. Sometimes things can look so much different then they actually are and like many things in life, sometimes it's just better in smaller doses. Now that we've moved on to a new year, I'm excited for what this year has in store. In the end, Jerry's black and white cookie caused him quite a bit of angst, and there were certainly times when I was in the middle of conflicted sides during the past year and I questioned the outcome. I'm thankful that it ended well and I can't wait to savor another.

Soledad

There's a long road ahead and she slips into the driver’s seat.
She doesn't know where she's going,
but she's headed for a place where her heart and her head meet.

Driving away, she’s driving away.
No destination in sight,
but she'll find her way.

Warnings were there, this time, she knows.
Feeling the pull of the road
and the push from here for her to go.
There’s more here, don't go, but she's gone.
He stands with his guitar, hallow breeze,
and he waits until dawn.

Driving away, she’s driving away.
No destination in sight,
but she'll find her way.

Trying to call out, trying to remind her each mile she gains.
Her eyes are ahead, no looking back. This hurt will wane;
letting go of the pain.
Her tears aren't fuel, but its working. Memories aren't company, but keep her on her way.
Too far gone to turn back,
do you hear the words I say?

Driving away, she drives away.
No destination in sight,
but she'll find her way.

Snapshots on the visor fade, letting go of the loss that she's always feared.
Hope is a breeze blowing through her hair.
Love is a whisper, but she's not there.

Driving away, she drives away
No destination in sight,
but she'll find her way.

Quarter-life Crisis: ✔

It's no secret that I have some quirky OCD habits and that I am a compulsive list maker. I love making lists! Christmas lists, grocery lists, goal lists, even spice lists! Pen and paper is my equivalent to a security blanket and list making is my little way of gaining control and perspective on situations. So, maybe that comparison to Joanne from Rent wasn't so far off, but I'd consider myself more of a Type A hybrid than a total square. I just hate that feeling of being "typecast" with certain expectations even if I have a few characteristics here or there. Life is full of expectation without much consideration for gray area. It seems to start when you are are school-aged, what crowd you fit into, what clubs you belong to. By the time you graduate high school, you are literally wearing your label in the form of a Letterman jacket. My whole existence has been spent in the gray area, never quite feeling like I've accomplished all those expectations. Now, I'm teetering the edge of my twenties (gasp), and I'm looking at that quintessential "Twenties checklist," and knowing that, once again, I have unfulfilled expectations. Everyone in or beyond their twenties has one of these lists whether they acknowledge it or not, and I personally believe that is one of the reasons hitting the 30 mark is so difficult. For some, the checklist is completed in perfect order, and by the time some turn 27, they can take inventory with a sense of accomplishment and bright-eyed naivety at the wonders that lie ahead in the next few years, others aren't so lucky and they may feel rushed to meet the deadline at the back-end of their 29th year, and still there are others that see the the list ahead, appreciate the few checks they have scattered on the page and wave the white flag of defeat that they have failed. What happens when you fail? Is that what drives once beautiful and perky young women to moo moos and beehives? Or once prospering young men to Bermuda shorts and moth balls? Let's take a look at the list. In our generation, our twenties are mainly spent establishing the type of person we want to be and hitting all the big spots in adult life, i.e. degrees, career, marriage, children, mortgage, credit card debit, travel, etc. (Reference LIFE, the board game, if you have any questions). Maybe I played house too much as a child, but my expectations for my twenties didn't veer too far from the list above, just add a little creative detailing. What went wrong? I've given it all my effort, but as I gain speed on the downhill slope to thirty, I feel incomplete and I feel that I have failed at my twenties. I know my life hasn't exactly followed the proper order of things (I'm pretty sure life-threatening disease was suppose to be a little further down the road), but I am struggling to understand that while these things are suppose to naturally progress, I have plateaued at such a young age. It's like a relay race, and people five years younger are speeding past, but I haven't been handed the baton. How do I respond to the questions: "What is your degree in? Do you own a home? When are you guys going to finally have kids?"...all I hear is, "You're how old? You haven't met our expectations. You haven't completed your twenties checklist. What's wrong with you?!" So, here I stand with my worn, yet incomplete list inching towards the front of the line for the inevitable 3-0. Will I be able to meet those expectations? Venture off into my thirties with 2.5 kids, a healthy career, and white picket fence? Or will I raise that white flag and adopt a few more cats? Maybe I'll just cross-over and give Maureen a try.

Be our guest

This is an odd confession, but I have to admit that the idea of a guest bedroom still kind of eludes me. Maybe it's because I grew up in a small house with two siblings and we never had a room designated for guests. When someone came over to stay, we just converted one of our bedrooms to the guest quarters. Since Wayne and I have moved from Texas, we have had a second bedroom reserved for guests and often extra things that we don't have a place for otherwise. Currently our guest bedroom also holds our vacuum, my wedding dress, sweaters, purses, military gear, Wayne's uniforms, and our fur babies. I do get a little sad having this bedroom, complete with a bed and chest of drawers newly refinished, because it's unoccupied. It's strange for me to have this part of my home that I rarely use and go days without even entering it. I would like to have another name for this room other than "guest." Maybe "The Billings' room," or "Kandy and Brooke's room," or possibly one day "Baby's room." Not having a true designation for this room makes it feel so hollow and vacant. I feel like the rest of my house is pretty much in order, well lived, active, but this whole section is longing to be used. Our house is small and one story, this extra square footage could be great some where else, but it is where it is and I like having this room; I feel like it is destined for something other than to be a generic "guest bedroom," only used on occasion. The times when we have had friends and family over, our house has a much homier feel and I forget about the desolation of that room. Every inch is filled with luggage, pets, toys, LIFE. During those times our house has no void, no space that isn't used. Along with these visits, however, is the ending and once again I'm left with this space, only this time, it feels even more lonely. I often walk by this room (after all, I have to if I wanna get to my bedroom or a bathroom) and I think about the visitors we've had stay there before and those possibly to come. The quiet of that room is sometimes more than I can bare and it's those times I wish there was someone to fill this space more than ever! I still clean this room on a regular basis: vacuum, dust, wash the sheets. It's always there, prepared and waiting. I guess that's the purpose of a guestroom, a special place in your home, reserved for what's, or should I say who's, to come.

Stowed Away

Vacations, traveling, and visiting friends and family have been a big part of my life the past two months. Vacations are great whether they have been planned for a year or if they are a spontaneous weekend getaway. Lately, my life has been all about coming and going; so eventful and exciting! Now that I finally have the time to sit and organize the pictures from these recent events, I'm finding so many moments I'm grateful to have captured. As we all know though, one of the biggest drawbacks to vacations is the packing and unpacking. No matter how conscious and neat I try to be when I pack, my suitcases are always a struggle to zip due to being over packed when I leave. Like any time in my life involving a scale, my fingers are always crossed when it comes to weighing, hoping I won't be over my limit. When I'm finally on my way, I always have the same fear, "Did I forget anything? Did I leave anything behind?" no matter how many times I retrace my steps those thoughts still linger. On the drive back after a wonderful weekend trip, I glanced back in the backseat at our luggage and thought about all the laundry and clean up I'd need to do when I got home, but something else occurred to me aside from the accumulation of belongings in the backseat, I realized that there is so much more that I am bringing back: I've got so many fantastic memories that I didn't have before. With these, comes all of the emotion I invested in each moment: the reunions, the surprises, the concerts, the dinners, the early morning rising, and all of the new places and people. With all of this, I still have that persistent fear, "Did I forget anything?" Unlike my packing concerns, this time the question is much more retrospective. I want to know that I made the most out of every second. Did I see everyone? Did I say thank you? Did I show enough appreciation? Did I say I love you? Did I make sure that each person knows how much they mean to me? Did I jump at every opportunity?... whether it be to dance around the living room in a tutu with my niece or bang on a cowbell off beat in front of 200 people while my best friend sings. Knowing that my time is limited, I am a sponge and I make sure I leave without regret. All of my experiences condensed to heartfelt memories preserved in my mind. Safekeeping and fuel to get me through a long stretch without my loved ones near. I cherish each piece I take with me from every visit and hope that I don't forget anything.