Author: Katie Huey

Self Care and Other Things that Start with S

It seems like I rip off the pages of my daily calendar at an alarmingly rate. It is already March. Days continue to turn into night, and the sun returns with a beckoning whisper of new hope. New beginnings. New identities starting to form. March is the whisper gently saying, “you’ve almost made it!” You can start thinking about bravely poking your new shoots through the dirt and soil that has kept you safe, and well, frozen. Let the sun thaw you into something green.

I’ve been thinking a lot about the phrase, “refiner’s fire” mentioned in the Bible. How God takes all those gnarly parts of who you are no longer meant to be, and literally burns them away. The burning is a painful process, right, but beauty remains. I was talking with my mom about change and she reminded me that every cell in your body replenishes itself at least once a year, of course, if not more. Every single cell that makes up who you are in the world dies and begins again to allow for growth. How do you die and begin again? Is it a choice for a new habit to form, a new friendship to take root, a new place of being to spend your days? I’m going through some changes, and I will have a full update soon, but for now, am thinking of the refining process and allowing myself to celebrate amidst those fiery flames that lead to new, great and wonderful ways of experiencing our world.

So, here are some things that I consider to be my self-care lately. Judge as you may – the way we spend our time is often up for scrutiny isn’t it?

Sushi – There is a great restaurant in Boulder that Dylan and I often frequent for a splurge night out. Hapa Sushi is delicious, adventurous, and sparks the senses. I fear my tastes in sushi may be evolving. We wanted the fancier, more delicate rolls that are crafted with an immense amount of intentional flavor blending built in. I drove down to Boulder Friday night, and we thoroughly enjoyed a culinary experience. We talked, really talked, about our hopes and our perceptions of where we are at in this stage of life. Quality time and beautifully crafted raw fish made my heart happy.

Scrapbooking – When I was a junior and senior in high school, I participated in the International Baccalaureate program. It’s a wonder I graduated. I still can’t spell that word without the help of spell check. Can I get an I.B. holler? One of my higher level classes was HL Art. In our creation of our pieces it was a primary responsibility to maintain a research workbook. Ah, the dreaded research workbook. We were supposed to document and identify every stage of the creative process for our artistic inspiration. This included pictures, techniques, supplies, articles and insights that led us to our finalized masterpiece. The books were a lot of work to maintain. I, being a collage creator and journaling documenter, loved this homework and have adapted the research workbook style of documentation into my life. That, and my love for rubrics, but that is something different altogether. I glue things into my personal journal, draw, sketch, capture readings and words that bring me up to speed with who I am today.

So, after our honeymoon and the realization that we took over 400 photos, I had the idea to create a research workbook style scrapbook that would document the start of our official “us-ness”. This weekend, Dylan was brewing beer and I got to work organizing our photos and our memorabilia from our trip, and set to work to craft our story of how our marriage started out. All I could think of was my professor in college who taught my “Families in Society” class as she repeatedly said, “Women are primarily responsible for the documentation of family history. This involves Christmas Cards, scrapbooks, kid’s memories boxes.” Well yes, Professor, I’m taking on this work diligently. This project is going to take me longer than I originally anticipated, but it’s off to a great start. I think my forearms are actually sore from using the glue stick and my fancy paper cutter. Sore. I know, it’s pathetic. There is beauty in documenting my life, and in my efforts to do so creatively.

Snow Shoes – Sierra Trading Post was having a sale so I bought some new snow shoes. I’ve only ever tried this hobby once, borrowing the much needed gear from a co-worker. In efforts to invest in new interests, I now have my very own pair. They are pink, and they have stars on the bottom. They are fabulously girly. They also give me reason to desire the snow, and I hope that I can have a few adventures tromping around in that white powder before it melts for the year. Cheers to the beauty in trying new things, in investing in interests that will allow you to expand, and to pink! If you want to go on a snow shoeing adventure, please, please invite me along!

Books – Beautiful, Beautiful Books – I continue to read, and love my time with words on tangible pages. I just finished “Yes, Chef”, by Marcus Samuelsson, and was tantalized with his way of mixing our connections to food and culture to his own story. I’ve got a stack of new books on my coffee table and I just scheduled a “Book Swap” party with some of my favorite women in town. Stories are important. We need to document them and we need to explore them. At least, I do.

As winter begins to thaw into spring, where are you growing? What are you doing for self-care and how are your very cells regenerating into something new? Do you find the process to be beautiful, or painful, or both?

Biscotti Update – replaced with Banana Bread this week. Use half the amount of allocated sugar, and add chocolate chips

Essie: They just release their spring collection. I’ve got to go check it out

And The Oscar Goes To

“Girls in white dresses, and blue satin sashes. Snow flakes that stay on my nose and eye lashes. Silver white winters that melt into Spring. These are a few of my favorite things!” Was anyone else blown away by Lady Gaga’s performance at The Oscars? I think that moment was the oddest combination of memories for me on screen. Here a few of my favorite things. The Oscars. Julie Andrews. Winter melting into Spring. When will that be happening? Lady Gaga does not typically belong in the mix.

Flashback – I am in 8th grade wearing a long cotton skirt, a white button up shirt, and a yellow striped apron that drops to the floor. My hair is in a bun high atop my head and I have braces on my teeth. I’m standing in front of my English class for our largest report of the year. I had a friend play the piano and I shakily belted out “My Favorite Things” to about twenty other awkward thirteen year olds. When I chose to present for thirty minutes on an artist of my choice for our English class masterpiece, Julie Andrews was a no-brainer selection. From falling in love with Mary Poppins to acquiring a taste for Maria Von Trapp, the characters played by Julie Andrews literally sang and danced through my childhood. It was odd for me to watch such a wonderful tribute to a magnificent human being performed on the screen on Sunday evening.

I delight in the Oscars. I’m not sure why, but I have had an appreciation for the cinematic spectacle since I stopped wearing stirrup leggings. (4th grade ok!…. are those coming back?) I think maybe my obsession started because I was able to stay up way past my bedtime in elementary school. The jokes, the dresses, the glamour, the famous people. It draws me in if only for one night. This year I thought amazing progress graced the red carpet with the #askhermore hashtag, and Patricia Arquette’s speech certainly caused a stir. It was only minutes until Meryl Streep’s reaction became a GIF. Women are continuing to make their mark on an industry that openly admits that The Academy has a way to go in terms of progress in equality for all gender identities. As a woman, this is beautiful to me. We do have ideas and creativity and contributions to make that go beyond the clothes we wear.

Once New Year’s passes my next holiday to look forward to is the release of the Academy’s nominations. This day is bigger than the Super Bowl. I try to watch as many movies that are in the running as possible before the show. This year, I’ll admit, I watched less of the contenders than I had hoped. However, The Theory of Everything did make an appearance in my house last Friday night. This. is. a. beautiful. movie. (Congratulations to Eddie Redmayne who won the Oscar for Best Actor).

This is one of the movies that speaks to your heart if you let it. The bravery exhibited by Jane Hawking. The courage and determination demonstrated by Stephen Hawking. The beautiful cinematography that uses spiral imagery to spin you into the moment and out to the grand spectrum of how we connect and relate to time. There exists an intense emotional portrayal of accepting our own limitations, and hoping with all you have that love will compensate for the gaps that we want others to be able to fill for ourselves. The movie made me tear up a little bit, and I’m not one to usually weep at movies.

I know that Hollywood, and celebrities, and fancy dresses are desirable. Wouldn’t it be nice to be wealthy and seemingly have all your worries wiped out by the promise of financial security. No? That’s just me? Yet, when all of the glitz and glam and gets wiped away, and that image of Neil Patrick Harris in his undies fades from your corneas, truly invoking stories remain. That is what this movie is; a truly invoking story. Watch it. It is beautiful.

Essie Nail Polish: none this week

Biscotti Update: Pumpkin Biscotti dipped in melted Caramel Chocolate Truffles by Whole Foods

Ps – thanks to Nick and Hannah who let me invite myself over so I can enjoy your company and mooch your cable TV to make the dream come true

Throw Your Hands in the Air

February returned. The real February I mean. Not the Colorado teaser February, where I get to wear flip flops and a tank top. Today, I sat at my desk with my coat on all day ( I do this. My co-workers never get to see my cute, professional outfits). I ate chili out of a mug. Much better than a bowl, don’t you think. It snowed a little bit yesterday, and even though the sun was shining, it was still only 34 degrees. While the promise of 60 degree weather lingers in the breaking dawn on Thursday, the snow is supposed to return this weekend. Saturdays tend to be snowy lately.

I’ve been thinking about the weather, and I’ve been thinking about the ups and downs and uncontrollable elements that exist there. One day you’re basking in the sun, the next hunkered down with a little soul food, feeling afraid to be expansive, or creative, or brave. These weather patterns seem to be reminiscent of life patterns. How quickly sunny days turn into cold weather and layers of clothing. Yet the promise of sun is always lingering – especially here in Colorado.

This week, I had the beautiful realization that I have been with Dylan for seven years. The once ever so embarrassing reality of a Valentine’s Day Anniversary has become something that we are now nostalgic about. Seven years since a gangly, dark haired kid asked me out to dessert. Seven years since I first turned him down, and seven years since he persisted. That is a long time. We have seen our ups and downs. When you fall in love at 19, the choices you face and struggles you overcome are significantly different than the ones we face now. I put up this ridiculous picture on Instagram that was taken the first time Dylan met my parents. He had died his hair black at the time. I laugh now and make fun of him looking at that picture. He quickly rebuffs my comments, saying, “Hey, you are the one who fell in love with me.” Yes, Yes I did. Thank goodness my standards of hair fashion evolved. Thank goodness that he let his hair grow back to a more acceptable color. Dylan is my sunshine right now. Pardon the cheese factor, but it’s true.

The cold and call to bundle up makes me draw into myself as I make some significant choices right now. Patterns continue to arise and messages of awareness, progress, and confidence in the choice to be brave ease my soul. Sometimes, we have to pause, and to trust, that things are unfolding exactly as they are meant to.

There is a Brian Andreas quote that has been resonating with me this week. Have you seen this artist? His work is absolutely stunning, unique, and soul searching. So much beauty in this man’s perspective. This reflection of the absurdity of life draws me in to his Story People over and over again. One time, Brian retweeted one of my tweets and I just about peed my pants. Brushes with fame, even on Twitter, are enough to make a person incredibly excited.

My mom has one of his pieces hanging up in her kitchen. Its rich colors and rough exterior make me want to drag my fingertips across the surface of the wood. Anyway, the quote taken from one of his Story People says, “this feels like some kind of ride, but it’s turning out to just be life going absolutely perfect.” Look up his artwork. It’s good for the soul.

I want to trust Brian and I want to delve deep into the roller coaster ride. The ride of emotions, of friendships, of connections to family. Of questions and of acceptance of answers you’d wish were different. There is beauty in the ride and I’m asking myself to just “Throw those damn hands up in the air”. Wheeeeeeeeeee!

Biscotti – none ( I see a bad pattern starting here)

Essie Polish: Forever Yummy

The One Where I Talk About “Friends”

When I was growing up it was a Thursday night ritual to watch “Friends” with my family. Don’t judge my parents here, ok. The show started in 1994. I was, well, young. Young enough to not have walked in the halls with the third graders. My shoes still likely had cartoon characters; my leggings definitely had stirrups. I did not understand the complexity of the jokes, or maybe, the simplicity of themes portrayed on the show.

Over the next ten years I grew up with the voices of Joey, Ross, and Rachel drifting up the stairs when I was falling asleep. I’d sneak peeks, getting glasses of water, or brushing my teeth again so I could see what my mom was laughing at. As I got older, I earned my spot on the couch for the 7:30 pm time slot. I started to understand the jokes, and my love for the characters increased, even though I didn’t quite have the life experience to relate to what was depicted on screen. I cried at the series finale, tears rolling down my cheeks as Rachel told Ross, “I got off the plane!” He’s her lobster don’t you know. I think I was a freshman or sophomore in high school.

I was given all ten seasons of the show for various birthdays and Christmases and I took all ten seasons to college. I fell in love with my first serious boyfriend, who is now my husband, in his basement room in the co-ed housing that we lived in. I got “in trouble” too many times to count as I stayed passed the curfew on the boys floor night after night to watch this show with Dylan. We laughed, loudly, and I snuck back up to the girls floor at 2 am most nights of the week. I was young, and very much intrigued by a boy, and rolled my eyes that I even lived in a place that had curfew for college student.

Now, “Friends” re-runs are on “Nick at Night”. “Nick at Night!” I do not have cable, but I do know that the shows they play on Nickelodeon past 10 o clock are old. Like “Cheers”, or “Laverne and Shirley” or something my parents used to watch. Not the shows I grew up with. So, yes, I’m aging I suppose. Now though, I’ve been watching the show on Netflix, and binging. All ten seasons! We started in January and now we are Season 3. I still love the jokes, and the characters, and Dylan and I still laugh, loudly. I’m not sure if it is a stretch to call a ten year series beautiful, but the joy that this show brings to my day to day life now, and through out my “formative years” really is something I enjoy.

You’ve heard the theme song, and you know where to clap your hands. “Your job’s a joke, your broke, your love life’s DOA.” I do not view my job to be a joke, I think we do wonderful work. My love life has had a really successful year. However, there is some crazy truth to watching a t.v. show about a bunch of 20 somethings, even if the show was created, gulp, twenty years ago. You do not always end up where you think you will when you are in the third grade. Your friends move and change and get married too. I just found out a best friend of mine is moving again to a different city. I cried, even though she will only be an hour away. Life is messy right? Sometimes things happen that don’t make a lot of sense.

There are five feet of snow on the East Coast and I wore flip flops in Colorado yesterday. I think global warming is real. A loving father of four was in an accident this week – he died and his high school aged daughter walked away unharmed. That’s not fair. We want to be healthy and make good choices, and yet our food makes us sick. Kids are abandoned, parents leave, opportunities are stretched and prohibited based on privilege in ways we can’t even begin to solve. I think about these things. Too much.

In the midst of those warbled social issues and situations that make us scratch our heads, or hurt our stomach because they don’t make sense, we need to find things to clap at. We need to laugh, and to be surrounded by friends. We need to joke. We need continuity and history, and connection. That is where I find beauty when situations lack solutions, or when anxiety overtakes.

And I need Ross, Rachel, Joey, Monica, Phoebe and Chandler, in ways I am embarrassed to admit.

No biscotti or nail polish this week. Sorry.

Along for the Ride

They. The infamous they. Don’t you know how they say all kinds of things?

This week, “They” say that your partner enriches your life and that they reveal things to you that you never thought you would do. You spend time invested in their interests, and they spend time in yours, and your hobbies grow and morph, and perhaps become one in the same.

There are two areas where I spend my time now, that I can say with 100% certainty that I did not spend it on 7 years ago. As a result of being in a relationship with a very creative, smart, and driven fellow, I find myself, quite often, in big spacious rooms filled with the noxious odor of fresh rubber and spandex. Or our weekend jaunts are filled with the cacophony of chimes, rhythmical patterns banged out with wooden sticks on metal, strumming wires to create some harmony. I never once imagined that I would spend as much time as I do going to bicycle or music shops.

Now Dylan and I do a pretty good job of dabbling in our own interests. I’d say one of the strengths of our relationship is giving each other the freedom to pursue what we want to pursue. Sometimes, that means doing things on our own. We often joke that I will play video games with Dylan when he comes to yoga with me. We smile to each other, our eyes smirk, and we both know, “never going to happen.” However, I have come to enjoy my time wandering around music shops, even though my last musical pursuit was quitting piano at the age of whenever my parents would finally let me quit. I sang in choir all through high school, but have almost let that part of me go into hibernation. Going back into these stores, and watching my husband’s passion for these amazingly beautiful instruments ignites a different kind of interest in me. This weekend we went to a used instrument store and I so very much wanted to shell out $300 for a used ukelele. It was pink, and delicate, and beautiful, and I thought to myself, hey this could be a new hobby. Let’s not forget that I only know the G cord and the C cord finger placement. Look at me talking that musician talk. I did not buy the instrument.

On our second stop this weekend I was wandering through one of the larger stores and pretended to be looking at books of sheet music as Dylan looked at drum heads. I’m pretty used to the loud rhythms that come at you with a blast when you walk into the drummers room in these stores. What I am not used to is seeing a young child produce those beats. I looked up as I heard a pretty good basic little beat coming from the practice kit. A little boy, probably five or six, with bright red hair and freckles, and a toxic green Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle sweatshirt was sitting on the drum throne, cranking out his beats to his hearts desire. His dad looked a little embarrassed as he stood in the corner wearing cargo pants and a ragged sweatshirt, watching his son. Maybe he was worried about this little guy bothering the other customers in the store. I wish I could say the dad was standing there beaming with pride, maybe his heart was full, but he quietly moved his son on to the next section of the store. The boy was in no way misbehaving, but instead was polite, and curious, and just needed a little bit of direction.

I went back to pretending to know what I was looking at while Dylan got what he wanted. Within a few minutes the boy was back with his sticks, this time staring fascinated at the set of chimes. Over and over he ran those wooden sticks through the metal rods creating loud and obnoxious renditions of chimes being mangled. To him, though, those instruments brought awe and a sense of purpose and something he could control and create in the moment. I watched this little boy for a good fifteen minutes until Dylan was ready to go, and my heart was warm.

I thought of Dylan being the same age, and having his passions being sparked with such potential. I thought of the beauty of a free space where a little boy could have some free reign and participate in something greater than himself. I thought of the beauty of his father, who was doing the best he could to expose his son to the beauty of a musical instrument. I thought of the unanticipated gifts of participating in the interests of others. Would I have preferred to stay home on Saturday and read my books rather than chase around town to music stores with Dylan? Quite honestly, yes. Think, though, of the gifts I would have missed by not going along for the ride.

I’m going through some interesting transitions right now, and it is easy for me to feel some tough emotions. This weekend I was reminded that while we do have the potential to hurt one another, we also have the amazing lightness of enriching one another simply by observing the precious moments of interest, pursuit, and awe that are all around us.

Dylan, thanks for making me go with you. I’m thankful you continue to go with me too.

Essie Color of the Week: St. Lucia Lilac

Biscotti: None – but I did make these cookies

He lives on

Let’s start out with some updates shall we?

This week’s Essie color of choice: Guchi Muchi Puchi with a coat of As Gold As it Gets

Biscotti: None – was replaced with Birthday Cake

Look at this beautiful cake! The raspberries. The rosemary. The dusting of powdered sugar! My wonderful mother made it for me for my birthday. I have two women in my life who are marvelous bakers and love to make me cakes for my birthday. I love to eat cake for my birthday. It really is a win-win. This was this year’s selection. I am spoiled, I know.

I’ve never been one for surprises, and I am very adamant about knowing what to expect (not my finest character quality, I admit). However, my friends and husband pulled of a surprise birthday dinner the night before my actual day and delighted my heart with their presence. We shared overpriced Italian food, and free champagne, and laughter. I need laughter right now. I need it a lot. It warms the heart to see people you love come together to celebrate you. Basic concept, I know, but it’s not something I ask for very often, and I was filled with joy at the coming togetherness of it all.

On Thursday morning I woke up early, threw off my covers, and ran around my house yelling “It’s today! It’s today!” I love my birthday. It comes but once a year, you know, it has reason to celebrate, to bask in the wonder of a whole new year ahead, Birthdays are much better because you get to eat cake rather than have social pressure of improving yourself that comes from the fresh start of New Year’s. I have a co-worker who came into my office with cupcakes and danced, my family made me dinner, I receieved cards and gifts and roses. I bought myself a latte and I settled into a weekend of celebration.

Celebrate we did. Dylan and I headed off to Las Vegas for a celebration splurge. Usually, this is very unlike me. I like to scrimp and save and go to bed by eleven, so heading off to the smokiest city with sparkles and ding ding dings was perhaps a little bit out of character for me. Maybe characters can change. I loved our weekend at a nice hotel, with a show, and an afternoon by a pool. I think you learn quite a bit about someone when you travel with someone. Dylan and I quickly learned we are travel compatible years ago, but it tickled my heart this weekend when we finished dinner not too late, went to a show, and got excited about the idea of watching “Friends” in the hotel rather than go out clubbing. We are not cut out for gambling – we lost ten dollars in a matter of about three minutes. We slept in and walked through the crazy polarity between obscene extravagance and the staggering reality that there are so many who are not as fortunate as us.

As I was walking through the casinos all I could think about were the rooms that were unoccupied at the moment, and the countless number of individuals on the street with signs. What if we created a lottery program to offer up those empty rooms to those who need it? Never going to happen when a roll of sushi costs $35, but hey a girl can dream. Beautifully composed and delicious sushi, I might add.

I am touched by those who joined in to celebrate me this past week. I am encouraged by the reminder to take time to bask in the beauty of celebrating myself. And, check this out! An Essie Nail Polish vending machine. Does anyone else want to stroke their hands across the beautiful colors of that wonderfully marketed nail polish? Only in Vegas.

I leave you this week with a photo of some Elvi (that’s the plural of Elvis right?) He lives on, and so do we. That my friends, is worth celebrating.

Thank You Notes

Inspired by my on-line friend Chelsea, I am following in her footsteps, or rather her blog steps, and writing a thank you note to the things currently sustaining me. You can check out the post that I’m copy catting right here. Do you watch Jimmy Fallon? Imagine I’m writing these thank you blurbs, Tonight Show style. Can The Roots come play the “Thank you Note” tune?

Thank you Dylan, for embarking on this journey called life with me, for always making me laugh, for dancing, for being the person who I can binge watch “Friends” with, without judgement.

Thank you Mom and Dad, for being a continuous stream of support for my venting, my processesing, my laughter, my sustenance.

Thank you Mike and Cathy, for embracing me as your own, for lots of wonderful dinners, and access to cable football. Go Seahawks.

Thank you coffee, for being my constant comfort in a cup. Whether served up Starbucks style, or out of my fancy miracle coffee maker mentioned here, you always know what to do to make me feel so much better. Add a little vanilla please.

Thank you friends, Tegan, Maile, Ashley, Katie – for walking through these 20 something days with honesty, accountability and trust. I’m lucky to continue to have sustained relationships with those who know my heart.

Thank you slippers, for keeping my feet warm during these frigid winter months. Even when it is not frigid I love me some slippers.

Thank you sunrise, for reminding me that the world spins madly on.

Thank you January, my birthday month, for reason to celebrate and love myself.

Jimmy Fallon is a bit more funny in his delivery, but these are the things that are keeping me grounded this week.

There is beauty in the practice of gratitude. The exercise of focusing on the good and what we have, rather than the bad and what we want to change. What are you thankful for?

Community Done Right

When you hear the word “community” what do you think?

– Neighborhoods – people borrowing cups of sugar, police officers, libraries, free recreation centers

– Bible studies – singles groups sharing meals and prayer requests on Tuesday nights or sanctuary on Sundays

– Friends at work – departments, structures of support, co-workers to joke with

– Friends with history – no religious connection, but maybe instead a love of beer, or the outdoors, or writing, or art

Does your heart relax into a safe space of comfort or understanding? Or maybe, perhaps you tense up and think I’m not sure I’ve ever experienced something like that?

I think for me, growing up in church environments and having chosen a career in human services, community is a buzz word that I perhaps take for granted. We talk about it so much that at times, it becomes abstract. Something we are always striving for, but not quite sure how to grasp. As a sociology major, the observations of demographics of any group situation overtake my brain, and I start to think, more often than not, about who is NOT sitting at the table, rather than who makes up the voices of our “community”. Community is imperfect, it’s messy, at times we hurt each other. It is throbbing with desires, and interests, and progress, and hope.

That’s what I love about authentic community. When all the ism’s and opportunity, or lack there of, melts away, hope and raw humanity remain. That’s what keeps me at my job, and what fuels my thoughts, and my efforts to make eye contact, or smile at people when I am uncomfortable. This can be challenging for my introverted self.

This week, my beautiful thing, is acknowledging the amazing work that the people at FOCO Cafe have accomplished. A new non-profit near me offers lunch to the community on a “pay as you can” model while offering healthy lunch options to the community at large. If you can contribute for your own meal, you pay your own way. If you need a meal and don’t have the means, you can volunteer your time to earn your lunch. Healthy, organic, delicious options. I know this concept is not unique as others across the nation have similar models. However, this little gem is new to us, and this lunch spot is near my work, an easy walk. My co-workers and I have enjoyed stopping by more than once.

After getting my soup, and paying what I could this week, I sat down to eat, and looked around in awe. Glossy wood floors and cheerful yellow walls welcome you in from the cold. The rustic brick makes you feel like you a part of some local history. By simply walking in the door, you get the choice to participate in something that is not there to indulge my needs, but to make me recognize I can choose to be part of something. At one table I recognized a local city council member eating his lunch. Across the room sat two other social workers clearly in thought and discussion about their day. At another table a family with an elderly woman sat and ate, and two homeless gentleman sat to get warm. My co-worker had her little one with us and his two year old smile connected with many others. This my friends, is a true representation of everyone at the table. The hard work of two brave visionaries created something wonderful. Something warm, and homey, and worth celebrating. Worthy of beauty and of recognition, and of your lunch hour.

Check it out, it will be worth your time. Well done my friends, well done.

New Years Resolution Update

Week One:

Biscotti Flavor – Chocolate Chip

Nail Polish Color – Bump up the Pumps by Essie

Take Pride in How Far You Have Come

You know that feeling when you set a goal and you accomplish it? How does that make you feel? At first I thought I’ve sort of been one to shy away from making goals – fear of failure, fear of risk, fear of discomfort-not quite sure. New Year’s Resolution season is upon us and goal setting is all around (that’s why I’m avoiding the gym this week people! How many weeks do they go until falling off the bandwagon. I want a spot back in yoga please.) However, when I stop and think back about goals I have set for myself over the years I smile with a small sense of pleasure in my own, surprising determination.

I’m 10 years old and my dad promises me he will give me a dollar for each chapter book I read so that I can have some spending money for our upcoming trip to Disney World. I read 102 chapter books and got some sweet souvenirs.

I’m 16 years old and want an off period in high school. I know, in order to achieve that and avoid dreaded gym class, I have to participate in not one, but two school sports. Focus in on the only other non-cut sport offered and I found myself on the cross country team. I ran each race and quite often finished as the last participant on my team (NO not last, last – just last of the Impalas). I did it though, I ran. Running is hard.

I’m 18 years old and spend most of my first semester of college crying. No, not just crying, bawling my eyes out, not eating, obsessively thinking about a return to Colorado. I dropped out of a small liberal arts school, but made the goal to attend state school. Even amidst terrorizing fear that led to weight loss and trouble sleeping, I took brave small steps to re-enroll in school. I went home each weekend for most of college, but I did it. I did my laundry too.

I’m 23 years old and know in my heart that working for a non-profit must become a reality. Again, through perhaps many stomach aches and trouble sleeping I found a way to return to an organization where I believe very much in the mission and heart of the work we do each day. My resume is diverse from bouncing around in jobs, but my heart was a straight-line to accomplishing a very long term dream.

I realize that I do set goals, and work to achieve the ones that I want. None of this pithy weight loss, make more friends, find a husband, build a career blah, blah, blah goals. Not to discount those working on those goals currently. These, quite honestly, are areas I too have struggled and continue to think about. I just want goals that are more realistically attainable for me. I think we put too much pressure on perfection, on areas to improve and once again set ourselves up for a continuous cycle of “OH MY GOSH I’M JUST NOT GOOD ENOUGH” . You can read more about my thoughts on that topic in my previous post “Stop Trying to Improve”. I don’t want to do that for 2015.

*Spoiler alert – here comes my 2014 reflecting* As I look back on the year behind us I am proud of some of the goals I achieved. WordPress emails out these handy Annual Reports with stats and demographics all about your views and comments and “how good you were at blogging”. I’m not sure if I’m good at this per se’. I have no advertising (interested – I want you!) I only have 3700 views and a few new followers a week. I’m no world wide sensation but I did get views from over 52 countries. I’ll try not to think too long about that. That one kinda weirds me out. I published 53 posts! I met my goal for 2014. I have been able to connect with other women who are similar to me in uncanny ways. This has been a space to heal and express and ask and find some peace and gratitude. I’m proud of myself.

We planned a wedding, I got married, I have grown in a job that continues to challenge me. I’m learning to be a wife, a daughter and a friend all in new contexts. I traveled a little and I read some books. I am not sure what 2015 has in store.

Here are some achievable goals that I hope to accomplish for 2015. Don’t laugh.

1) Continue this blog. I like this adventure more than I thought I would

2) Paint my nails each week. Isn’t a manicure nice. I have SO much Essie nail polish and not enough time to keep up my hands. I’m going to try it. Maybe I’ll share my colors each week. 52 weeks of Essie.

3) Keep chugging on towards my goal of 20,000 pages to read. Hurry up with this Katie. You have reading to do!

4) Travel – even if it is little weekend adventures try to go to a few new places.

5) Make more biscotti. Biscotti is delicious.

6) Continue to be open to what the universe has to offer. Even if that means you encounter hard or challenging opportunities to grow or change or adopt new patterns, build new relationships, or close some out. It is a grand adventure isn’t it.

I believe there is beauty in accomplishing goals big and small. Beauty in being proud of yourself. Beauty in setting realistic limits and expectations. Do you have big goals or little goals for 2015? Do you like resolutions? Are you mad too because the gym is so damn crowded?

Three Words

Three words. Paid Time Off.

What a gloriously beautiful week of vacation I had. Time to sleep, time to read, time to laugh, time to eat. And eat. And eat. Time for gifts and family and brunches and egg nog and stockings and celebrations. I am thankful I work at an organization that allows for paid vacation. I needed a break.

Three words. “First Married Christmas”.

I love Christmas and my first married one went smashingly well. What caught my attention this year was that everyone felt the need to point out that this was the first Christmas of significance between Dylan and I. I felt strangely pressured to make the holiday significant. We chose to spend Christmas Eve just the two of us and I made crab legs. Delicious, splurge the budget, crab legs.

We did not go to church (the first year of my whole life). Instead we drove around to look at Christmas lights, and watched “Elf”. It was enjoyable and I very much enjoyed the calm before the family stampede, but in many respects, the night felt no different than the 6 Christmas Eve nights I had spent with Dylan before. There were just less people around. Taking the pressure off of myself, and giving permission to live the moments as they unfold. Traditions will develop for our little family, but this, too, is a process. I get to choose how to navigate this new territory of Christmas traditions as an “us”.

Three words. A White Christmas.

It snowed! And in fact, it is still snowing and winter has arrived. The idyllic flakes of white magic continued to fall from mid Christmas Day until late in the evening. The frozen crystals painted a backdrop that was intended to truly capture our “First Married Christmas” just like the ‘ol days. You know those old, nostalgic Christmas Card scenes that float around with images of the 1800’s on them? The snow flakes are embossed, textured, glittery. The old church gleams and gentlemen in caps and ladies in outrageous dresses that weighed eight tons look flustered because they are carrying packages for twenty? Did Christmas really look like that for them? I want to update those images and include a more picturesque version of today’s reality. What would you put on the cover? I’m still trying to decide. Here is a picture of our “First Christmas”. I am not stoned – I just have deep set eyes. Don’t look at the eyes, it is my hair that looks great. And oh, those snow flakes.

Three words. Christmas Number Four.

Despite efforts to condense Christmas celebrations with a brunch held at our house, we still hustled and bustled our holiday cheer to four different family celebrations. (Did this phrase come about because women in those ridiculous 1800’s dresses had to bustle their apparel before they could move briskly across town? This is all becoming more clear.) With each event or stage in the marathon my heart swelled. How did I get so lucky to live so close to my family, to want to invite not only my parents and brother and his friends to our home, but to include grandmas and aunts and cousins. I am blessed to come up with creative gifts for exchanges and humorous antics to share at the dinner table. I’m spoiled beyond belief and bask in gratitude for the humans that love upon me. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

The need to summarize thoughts and collectively label my experiences each week has challenged me this year. Do I need to implicitly spell out my intentions, or am I doing a good enough job painting a picture that you can follow along? No really, I want to know what you think. This week, there was so much beauty in the in-between space in holiday happenings. I was giddy and to be honest, a little intimidated at the prospect of creating my own family holiday traditions. I have, after all, spent the last 20 or so years participating in Christmas in the only way I know how. The way my mother likes it. I was sad I didn’t come running up the stairs in pajama pants that matched my mom’s. Stockings were opened at 2 pm, rather than 8, and on the couch in front of the fire rather than my parent’s big four-poster bed. (Sharing too much about my family’s personal boundaries?) Yet, each family continued to accept the small, detail oriented changes, that suggest we are all morphing into a new normal. We accept each other with open arms and seasonal joy, while continuing to navigate what it means to be our own little units. Think holiday mitosis. It’s mesmerizing, and yet the split, at times, can be a little shocking at first.

Three Words. Happy New Year.

52 Beautiful Things

An imperfect attempt to find some beauty the world has to offer. One week at a time.