Sand Between My Toes

     I have been in San Diego since the 11th. I am taking a spur of the moment trip with one of my best gal pals, and it is glorious. The weather here is like summer all year long. It is February and we are spending the majority of our days lying on the beach in much too little clothing. I can no longer go anywhere without leaving a little trail of sand behind me, and I just love it!
     The funny thing about going to different places is the attitude of the locals. Really, I have found for the most part that it is the same wherever I go; most specifically in regards to the weather. When our Moms taught us to only talk about the weather if there was nothing better to talk about, it would seem that we all took that very much to heart. I guess the part that is funny about this is that people say the exact same things, and have the exact same complaints as everywhere else when talking about the weather. Even in San Diego, the place with the most beautiful weather year round I have ever seen, people talk as if there is something to complain about when a cloud dares to come across the sky. I cannot help but find this amusing coming from a place with a very distinct four seasons, the longest season being a frigid winter, but I guess it is all what you're used to. For myself, this brings up the thought that we should all be more grateful for what we have been given; even if what we have been given is seemingly never-ending snow. At least the snow helps us appreciate the summer so much more.

http://listen.grooveshark.com/s/Impossible+Soul/3cdRhd?src=5
Impossible Soul by Sufjan Stevens
-The entire song is a work of art, but from minute 22 on is pure tragic bliss. I don't know if I will ever get enough of this song. (on a side note, seeing Sufjan live in concert should be added to your bucket list if it is not there already. Phenomenal. Just saying.)

Gypsy Spirit

     I have been a bit of a nomad as of late. I have always joked that if my chosen career path did not work out, I would choose the life of a gypsy; and I feel as if I have gotten a little taste of it now. This past year I moved over 1,000 miles from my small town home to the Big City. I found a reasonable place to live, and obtained the glamorous day job of a hostess at a restaurant not too far from my place. I slept on the floor for 3 months before I bought myself something of a mattress. It took me that long to buy a mattress because I felt hardcore, like I could write an epic biopic about the experience in years to come. Mostly I am flattering myself in my new brazen independence which is both exhilarating and terrifying, admittedly I feel a little high and mighty knowing I can fend for myself even in a world unknown (ie. the hustling and bustling of a Big City).
     My time as a Gypsy Spirit is coming to a close, however. I have one last whimsical hurrah coming at the end of this week - a whirlwind trip planned with my best gal pal to California where we are sleeping on her friends floor and planning on laying on the beach every day to soak up the golden rays- and then I am moving 1,000 miles back to my small town in the middle of nowhere. My sentimental heart is heavy for the friends and experiences that I will be leaving behind, but inside I know it is time to put an end to my wanderings and ramblings, and stay put for awhile. Hopefully I will actually pursue that chosen career path, maybe hit some of those important milestones, and then, if all else fails, resort to the life of a Gypsy once more.

A Kindred Spirit

That First Friend

            I feel like it is a universal truth that we have all had significant childhood friends. For better or for worse they not only helped to shape who we are today, but also how we interact with our friends now. They were our first big break into a social life. They may have taught you how to ride a bike, or helped you (watch your Dad) pitch a tent in your backyard for a camp out, or dressed exactly like you to make like the Olsen Twins and switch places with each other’s families (unsuccessfully).

            With the phenomena of Facebook, questions such as “I wonder whatever happened to [insert long lost friend’s name here]” actually have the very real possibility of being answered along with a handy profile picture to determine whether [insert long lost friend’s name here] was ever able to tame that nasty cowlick.

            I had such an experience regarding my childhood friend (and first crush), Declan*. The thought crossed my mind one late night, “I wonder whatever happened to…” and I facebooked him. The first Declan on the search engine – which made my life easy, and I was content to know that he looked exactly the same as he had when we were 8 years old; except taller. And that was that.

            Or so I thought.

            Several weeks later, living in a new big city a few provinces away from home, I decided to grab a coffee before work at the Starbucks across the street, and as I was waiting in line, rating the cuteness of the clerk out of 10, out walked my childhood friend. At least I think I was sure it was him. I was still four people away from the till, and too stunned to say anything. As I finally approached the counter, my first crush walked back out of sight just before I had worked up my nerve to speak. While paying for my Tall Decaf Cinnamon Dolce Latte, I was still too dumbfounded to ask the 7/10 clerk, “Excuse me, was that Declan? The boy I was a sheep with in our Sunday School Christmas Play? Who would wear plaid button up shirts and rocked a mean bowl haircut?” I was certain his answer would be yes. I just knew it had to be.

            The next morning I flew back home for Christmas. I swore to myself that as soon as I came back to the Big City, I would go and accomplish this feat of reuniting with this first friend. In my mind’s eye I saw us jovially laughing together over a coffee, or a movie, or some quintessential picnic in a charming park about the coincidence of it all; it was going to be a magical movie-esque moment.

            I came back to the Big City on January 3^rd. For 17 days I gave myself a new excuse of why I could not go buy a coffee at that Starbucks. I was “too broke” or “too late for work”, or had had “too many calories” for the day already. During this time I had also come upon the information that his family was moving from this Big City on January 20^th. I knew I had to make it to that Starbucks before that date, or never.

            On January 21^st, I went to Starbucks, and I bought myself a Tall Decaf Cinnamon Dolce Latte. Declan was not there, for obvious reasons, but I still wished he would be; by chance. I don’t know what held me back from going until I knew I wouldn’t run into him. I don’t understand because I know I actually wanted it to happen. Maybe it was the fact that if I had gone back knowing already, it would have been a staged reunion, and would have lost its magic. Or maybe deep down I was just afraid to find out that it wasn’t him at all, just some unfortunate look-a-like working at one of the countless Starbucks. I don’t know why I didn’t man up to the task, but I hope that in the future when life hands a similarly uncanny event to me, that I’ll grab it and make the most of it - whatever it may turn out to be. 

*not actual name

Back in Business

     My amazing, genius cousin mailed my computer back to me earlier this week! All is well in my world, and I will pick up the Blogging adventure where I left off.

     Here's to a virus-free future!