Morning Meadows

"Wildflower Field" print by Wild Orange Studio

I am obsessed with meadows.

That's an important fact about me.  I love meadows surrounded by trees and full of wildflowers, and I have for as long as I can remember.  My first distinct memory of a meadow that truly affected me was in the 6th grade, during my week at Exploring New Horizons Outdoor School along the central coast of California.  Aside from the gorgeous and towering redwoods that have always been natural beauties to me, there was one particular hike that our naturalist took us on that led to a wide, round, tree-lined meadow.  We were given an assignment to sit in the meadow in silence and write a poem.  No further instruction, just... write.  Write what we felt; whatever "a poem" meant to us, write it.

I have no recollection of what I wrote, but I remember my 6th-grade-brain thinking it was pretty darn good.  That poem is one of the very few "long lost things" of my childhood that I would do anything to see again.

Six years later, I re-visited that same meadow in the redwoods of Loma Mar—this time, as a camp counselor.  Even though I wasn't able to experience the calm and silence that I did in the 6th grade (no poem assignment this time) due to a crowd of rambunctious 11-year-olds, it was still as beautiful and inspiring as I remembered.

"Summer Solstice" by Ann Wilkinson

Sometimes I think that the idea of meadows, and what I've come to associate with them, is what led me to the Pacific Northwest.  Silly, of course, because there are meadows everywhere—absolutely beautiful ones all over the country.  But they mean something to me that's a little more spiritual than what they might signify for most people, and there was something idyllic and natural about the landscape of the NW that held a lot of sway over me after years and years of using meadows as my "mental happy place". (C'mon, we all have one.)

Plus, I suppose reading (okay, devouring) Twilight and The Time Traveler's Wife when I was 21 didn't help matters either.

I can't say I've run across a lot of meadows in the two and a half years I've lived here.  However, I haven't really been searching, either.  Meadows are rather elusive in my eyes, like four-leaf clovers or liberal Christians.  You'll find one when you find one.

But that all may change this weekend.  There are tentative plans to celebrate the 4th of July with a rowdy romp to Mt. Rainier... the meadow haven of the Pacific Northwest.  Who knows, maybe I'll get lucky!

Lupine Wildflowers, Mt. Rainier National Park, Washington by Daniel Ewert

There is a distinct difference between a meadow and a field.   Maybe not in definition, but I personally view fields as vast, public and loud.  They're what line the highways outside the cities, and where horses and cattle graze.  But meadows... meadows are small, private and calm.  Often, they're hidden and secret.  At least, the perfect ones are.

Meadows are my church.  They symbolize a physical space in the world that is designed for meditation and reflection.  Even without being physically in the middle of one, it is easy to mentally put myself there.

I can't imagine anything more peaceful.

"Through" by Linn Photography

"When I first open my eyes upon the morning meadows and look out upon the beautiful world, I thank God I am alive." — Ralph Waldo Emerson

Pride

Since 2003, there have only been two years where I didn't attend a Pride parade.  One year I was in Santa Barbara for summer school; the other year I was studying abroad in England.  Now, living no more than two miles and as little as one block from All Things Seattle Gay Pride, it is interesting to look back at my high school and early-college days when taking a 45-minute BART ride into San Fransisco was no inconvenience at all.

So much has changed over the years, but one very important thing hasn't:  I'm still as supportive of equal rights and marriage for all who want it as I've ever been.

Last Friday night, New York officially legalized gay marriage, becoming the most populous state in the nation to do so.  (Well, that is, unless you count California which is currently appealing the passing of Prop 8 at the federal court level.  I'll just have to wait to officially celebrate that accomplishment.)  While I may not be a resident of NY, I have many friends who are—many of which this directly effects.  When I heard the news on my way to a friend's apartment, I just couldn't contain myself!  Living in Capitol Hill, you could feel the excitement that this country has taken one more step towards true equality.

Lovebugs.

For those who don't support gay marriage (or civil unions, for that matter), the mention of "equality for all" is probably sounding a lot like a broken record.  Just remember this: over 50 years ago, when African Americans in the south were finally allowed to step foot in "white" public schools, there was outrage against them... same as the outrage against gays and lesbians today.  Now, looking back at that dark-yet-inspiring time in history, who is remembered for their courage and strength?  And who is remembered for their hate and violence against others?

I want to tell everyone still standing against gay marriage (like those who stood for segregation, and against interracial marriage): When you look back on today, 50 years from now, which side do you want to say you were on?

Okay, that's the end of my soapbox.

Pride weekend, every last weekend of June, has since its inception been a time for celebrating one's personal and social freedoms.  And despite its commercialization over the years, there is love there.  People accept everyone, without judgement or pause.  That is special, and that is the feeling I look for when I attend the Pride Parade each year.

For the second year in a row, I've had the pleasure of exploring Pride festivities and people-watching with the love of my life, and I'm thankful every day that I've been blessed with such a supportive, accepting and open-minded partner.  That's what growth in love and life is all about, right?  Learning to accept the things that simply are, and focusing on your happiness and that of those around you—without it being at the expense of others.

Seems simple enough, right America?  Only time will tell.

Sending love and good thoughts to all of my friends (gay or straight or otherwise), wishing you all a calm and safe summer of excitement.

* Flag image by Ludovic Bertron via Flickr


EDIT: Amazing quotes from the anti-miscegenation (i.e. anti-interracial marriage) Wiki page that Jon commented with...

Judge Leon Bazille of the Virginia trial court, 1965, defending a ruling against married interracial couple Richard and Mildred Loving

"Almighty God created the races white, black, yellow, and red, and he placed them on separate continents. And but for the interference with his arrangement there would be no cause for such marriages. The fact that he separated the races shows that he did not intend for the races to mix."

US Supreme Court ruling in the case of Loving v. Virginia, 1967, which made it unconstitutional for a state to outlaw interracial marriage 

"Marriage is one of the 'basic civil rights of man,' fundamental to our very existence and survival.... To deny this fundamental freedom on so unsupportable a basis as the racial classifications embodied in these statutes, classifications so directly subversive of the principle of equality at the heart of the Fourteenth Amendment, is surely to deprive all the State's citizens of liberty without due process of law. The Fourteenth Amendment requires that the freedom of choice to marry not be restricted by invidious racial discriminations. Under our Constitution, the freedom to marry, or not to marry, a person of another race resides with the individual and cannot be infringed by the State."

WOW!  I mean.  WOW!  How are we still struggling with this issue?!  And how is GOD still being used to govern the laws of the state?  What year is this?  Who's running this country—Bloody Mary?!? 

My neck is aching from all of this constitutional whiplash. Oy.

West Coast Whimsy: Roxanne Daner and Jill Bliss

Roxanne Daner via her blog

::sigh:: It seems like just yesterday I was writing to you all about how lovely it was up here.  Well, psych!  I fooled you!  It's not lovely.  In fact, it's damn near apocalyptic.  Seattle is entertaining us with its usual game of back-and-forth, warm-and-cold, dry-and-wet, and it's citizens are running around like hipsters with their skinny jeans cut off.

But the fact of the matter is this: it's almost July.  It's so close to July, I can taste the coleslaw and hot dogs, and you know what?  I'm so fucking tired of talking about the weather.  So I'm making you a promise:  No more weather talk.  That's right!  I'm done.  From this point forward you will not hear me complain or rejoice about what the weather is or isn't doing up here.  This is a HUGE promise, you guys, because the weather is all anyone thinks or talks about right now.  But still, no more.  Donezo.

You're welcome.

"All of the Girls" by Roxanne Daner via her blog

So!  With July quickly approaching, I am thinking a lot about art and artists I love, mainly due to the upcoming Urban Craft Uprising—a free, weekend-long event where artists and crafters of all kinds gather at the Seattle Center and sell their goods.  This event happens twice a year (summer and winter) and it's probably the Seattle-thing I look forward to most, because the idea of discovering new artists to ogle over fills me with tingle-y glee.

But more on the UCU after I've gone and spent too much money.

I've purchased several art prints before and as my taste in art slowly develops, the more eager I am to invest in some original pieces.  (But why art gotta be so expensive, yo?)  I've written a lot about the kind of art I'm most drawn to (here and here, mainly), but when I look at the items I've actually laid down money for, I tend to see a trend around charm and whimsy. 

"The Market" by Roxanne Daner via her official site

I want to talk about two artists in particular today, starting with Roxanne Daner, an illustrator/designer out of LA.  (That's all her work ^ up there!)  If you're a regular reader of Design*Sponge like I am, you might have seen this little piece yesterday about Daner and her lovely art centering around hair.  Well, I saw the article and have been obsessing over all of her other art for the past 24 hours.  She has a lot of different sources for her work (blog, Web site, Tumblr, Dribbble, the only place to buy prints, Society6, and a separate site for her design work, Ludlow Kingsley), which made searching through her portfolio quite an adventure!  (Plus, it took me about .78 seconds to recognized her boyfriend, Adam Goldberg, from his stint as Eddie on Friends—Joey's wacky, goldfish-eating roommate.  Teehee.  Aww, celebrities.)

"Lion" by Roxanne Daner via her Tumblr

There's a kitschy-ness to Daner's style that I absolutely adore, and I was seriously this close to writing her a Twitter message yesterday saying I would send her $100 for an original piece of art that could be of ANYTHING she wanted... but I chickened out, 'cause I don't wanna seem cuh-ray-zee, ya'll.  But I digress...  She is lovely and her work is lovely and I'm excited to see her breadth of work as it grows and grows.  I'm looking forward to having something of hers framed on my wall, and if I could ever find her at an art show selling her original work, I would be most pleased indeed.

"Portland Homes" by Jill Bliss via BuyOlympic

Next on my obsession list is Jill Bliss, who captured my heart a year ago when I met her in person and bought the above print at the UCU.  Not an original, but she did sign it for me.  Like Daner, her work is all over the Web (official site, blog, Flickr, Etsy, and third-party sellers Buy Olympia, to name a few), and her personal and artistic style has been featured on Design*Sponge and Apartment Therapy, among others.

"Pacific Octopus Shoreline" by Jill Bliss via BuyOlympia

She so totally rocks, and her art encapsulates the things I love about the Northwest and the West Coast.  Plus, she has her art available in prints that are meant to fit inside a cheap IKEA frame.  (She told me this and it was one of the things that officially sold me.)  I mean, who has the time or money to go and get a $20 art print custom framed?!  Not me, that's for sure.   I'll get to see more of Jill's work at the UCU this summer, and I'll definitely be writing about whether I walk away with another print.  My current yearning and nostalgia for California means I've been eyeing this print for several months now:

"California Poppies" by Jill Bliss via her Web site

Are there any particular artists or art prints that are your favorites?  Have you gone to any art shows recently and thought about purchasing something way out of your price range?  (Jon and I almost spent $200 on a painting of a naked Native American child in a canoe at a charity art show—true story!)  What kind of art (if any) do you like having on your walls?

I will definitely be sharing more deets about artists I love in the near future.  Apparently that's where my brain is at.  So be it.

Little Boober and Da Peekay Say Goodbye to Spring

The sun came out yesterday AND it was warm.  I know, I know, you're probably as tired of hearing about the weather as I am of talking about it.  But I simply had to express my excitement at getting out of work and finally feeling as though it were spring.

Or, as was the case, the last day of spring.

I literally could not get home and back outside into the sunshine fast enough.  It was quickly decided that we would run home, grab the dogs and two beers (from Jon's new favorite brewery, 21st Amendment—the perfect-for-sunshine-y-weather Hell or High Watermelon, to be precise) and head over to Volunteer Park for some relaxing time in the sun.

I've lived about 2 blocks away from Seattle's Volunteer Park for just over two years now, and this area in North Capitol Hill is still one of my favorite places in the city.  On the absolutely gorgeous days, the main two fields can definitely get crowded, but it's the kind of park where you can go and find a quiet nook somewhere and experience little-to-no interruptions.

There is also an eclectic mix of artists and wealthy folk, almost all of who are locals, that use this park as their playground, which really creates the vibe of a small town, community park.  And look!  Janky, outdoor amphitheater!

Bender art

Aww.  Someone's a Futurama AND Buffy fan.  Cutes.

Our dogs really are like kids in candy store when they're exposed to a combination of sunlight, grass, and open space.  My littlest boober, Ennis, pulls and pulls and pulls his way through the park, certain he'll get let off leash to play... which is just silly, people, because I've never illegally let him off leash in a public park to play with other dogs who were also definitely not off leash... really.

Peekay, on the other hand, becomes a bumbling fool with no idea or comprehension of where he is or where he's going.  His vacant expression only helps him look more confused-yet-somehow-happy, and even though he runs into us and trips over himself, he sure is adorable while doing it.  Ennis wants to rub himself all over the grass (read: bird poops); Peekay just wants to rub himself all over you.

Like most Seattleites, exposure to the sun for more than an hour tends to cause weather-amnesia, where all of a sudden you forget how absolutely horrible the majority of the last eight months have been.  (The hilarious blog, The Oatmeal, lays it out best in this all-too-true comic.  The constant presence of a coffee cup is maybe the most realistic part.)  Our dogs deserved some good ol' UV exposure as badly as we did, and the opportunity to get out-and-about even more so.

If I've learned nothing else from this tediously depressing three-season winter, it's that there's no end to amount of positive thoughts I have when it's nice out.  A bit of a cliché, maybe, but as I sat there on our beach towel, drinking watermelon beer and cuddling with our furry boos, I was a bit overwhelmed with how many things I all of a sudden wanted to do and accomplish.

And my first must-do of the new season?  Fancy BLT and white wine on the patio to give a proper welcome to summer...

... and a good riddance to spring (::cough::winter::cough::).  Happy maximum sunshine day, everyone!

* All images property of The Sleepy Peach

Just Drive

Life has been moving at an icy, glacial pace up in these here parts, and you'd never guess that the illustrious First Day of Summer was so near.  (Where was spring?!)  And I must admit, it's been difficult to find the energy to do pretty much anything.

We experienced another very wet, very cold weekend here in the Northwest, which resulted in several naps, too much money spent, and not a single ray of sunlight felt.  It got to the point where I convinced myself that it was actually November and winter was upon us, and this was something to be excited about: tea, pajamas, movies, and inside fun with the dogs.  This only kind-of worked.  Mostly, we just snacked and slept and bemoaned our absent sun.

Oh, but we did go out for a drive on Friday night.

All week I knew I wanted to get out of Seattle—I didn't care where or for how long.  Friday actually got clear and warm (if you can call 68º warm, which we do) for a few hours in the evening, and I knew this was our chance.  After a rather lethargic and slow-as-snails start, we finally hopped in the car around 7:30pm and just started driving.  I gave Jon the first option: north or south?  He chose south, so I made my way to the I-5 South entrance and hopped on with no particular destination in mind.

My iPod was fully charged and packed full of new songs.  Jon picked the playlist, I did most of the singing.  In between squeakily belting out the lyrics to The Smith's "A Push and a Rush and the Land is Ours" and Naya Rivera's rendition of Fleetwood Mac's "Songbird" from Glee, we decided to aim our course for... Tacoma!  Anti-climactic, I know, but hey—we weren't driving to get somewhere, we were just driving to drive.  (Plus, even though I made a stop there on our road trip a few years back, I've never actually visited Tacoma in the 2 1/2 years I've lived in Seattle.  For shame.)

And you know what?  For the hour and 20 minutes we were actually in the car, the drive was nothing but bliss.  I miss driving so much, particularly on the road with other drivers who know what they're doing.  This last Friday, I kept thinking back to high school and college, remembering the drive between my hometown of Castro Valley and where my parents currently live down in the Bay Area, and the drive from there down to Santa Barbara for school.  The smooth roads, the lights, the calm, the music, and the ability to reflect on things in peace.  Driving was my meditation, and it's something I rarely ever do anymore, and never for very long distances.

When you're confined to a city where you live, work, and play, it isn't so easy to just get out and go driving.  And here, in Washington, there's really nowhere to go.  Or, more importantly, no one to go and visit.

So, for now, I will play "Asleep" by The Smiths and dream of being back in a place where I can feel infinite again, with more of the people that I love.

(Oh, and with The Perks of Being a Wallflower movie coming out in the next year, if you haven't already, you should probably read it in anticipation of many more references from me.  They're inevitable.)

* Image credit: Pirate Vixen via Etsy

Left Brain, Meet Right Brain

DIY Whirl-It Lampshade via Pickles

I am not a very crafty person.  Not to suggest that I lack artistic merit or creativity, but I simply never learned to sew or knit or crochet; I was never great at using paper or glue or wood or ribbon or beads; I'm completely inept at painting and drawing, and I'd be at a loss if someone handed me a camera with more than two photo options.  It isn't that I'm incapable of learning, but the idea of it in the past has stopped me in my tracks.  Why?  My best guess is that it's because I am a chronic over-thinker and second-guesser.

While I have an eye for beautiful things, I can't seem to bring them into fruition on my own... you know, without a tutorial, using only my imagination, hands and a set of tools.  I'm astounded at the things I see online that people make, and always wonder how on earth they even thought to do it in the first place!

(Case in point << awesome-tastic pendant lamp.)

There's no question that I am equally right- and left-brained, which I think makes this particular issue especially frustrating for me.  I am such a day-dreamer and long to live my life being creative and artistically productive... but I also get bogged down in logic, attention to detail, and perfectionism.  Battling between these two aspects of my personality literally causes me mental strain, and as a result, I tend not to try anything at all.

The truth is, I'm feeling the itch.  The itch for freedom and space and money to finally take some risks and start making things.  This desire has made me realize the bright side to my affliction, such as it is:  I follow instructions really well, I have a good eye for balance and exactness, and I'm passionate and eager to create something that I can touch with my own two hands.  So what do I do?  Luckily, I actually have an answer to this question:

Furniture.

Earlier this year, through the maze-like world of design blogs, I stumbled across furniture-building genius, Ana White's Web site and it has literally changed my life.  It's changed my life, and I haven't even built anything yet!

Ana not only builds things, but she creates step-by-step plans on how you (meaning I) can build DIY furniture that costs next to nothing, and are comparable to the Pottery Barn/Restoration Hardware/West Elm pieces in which they are (usually) based.

What that means is that instead of paying $1,100 for this:

Furniture Factory Cart via Restoration Hardware

You pay just $75 and build this:

Factory Cart Coffee Table via Ana White

Considering my blooming interest in furniture and design (on the cheap!), I freaked out a little, and what I thought might be a passing phase has become a full-blown obsession.  The only problem is that I have a) no space, and b) no tools. 

As a result of this discovery, I posted a link all over the place knowing that someone would be as excited as I was.  Turned out, my friend Shane from down in Los Angeles was equally if not more excited and began taking on building projects right away.  I have been unabashedly living vicariously through her for months now, because she has the tools and the space and the house to really get her hands dirty.  Also, she is insanely talented.

Image credit: Shane Strickman

Outdoor lounger made out of IKEA bed slats, people!  Can you handle it?

When I grow up, I wanna be like Shane.  I want to see what I want in my mind's-eye and make it, with no hesitation and full confidence in my abilities to do it.  I'm getting more and more anxious having to wait for the ability to build something—anything—and I am counting down the days until I have a patio or garage all to myself so I can revel in seeing wood and nails and paint and saws all strewn about.  Safely, of course.

Until then, some pretty things I want to make or build in my dreams, from Ana White and beyond...

DIY sliding barn door via House*Tweaking

DIY woven pendant lamp via Poppytalk

Reclaimed wood headboard via Ana White

Leaning wall shelf via Ana White

Vintage yardstick side table via PatinaWhite

The Magic of Pooh

Yesterday, on the last official day of the Seattle International Film Festival, Jon and I were privileged to see an advanced screening of Disney's new Winnie the Pooh movie—one month before it arrives in theaters.

Let me first say this: I love Winnie the Pooh.  I love him, Christopher Robin, and all of their friends.  I love absolutely everything about the stories, the television cartoons, the movies, and the Pooh-related mayhem that has surrounded this beloved bear for 85 years, with children and grown-ups alike.  (And, it must be added, "The Many Adventures of Winnie the Pooh" ride at Disneyland might be the most drugged-up, psychedelic, visual freak-out ride in the whole of Theme Park Universe—and I love it, too.)

Original story sketch for Winnie the Pooh (2011)
by Burny Mattinson, color by Paul Felix

I personally don't believe that there is any story (movie or book series) better for children than A.A. Milne's Winnie the Pooh.

And what makes the stories of this Pooh Bear so special?  Aside from the obvious kid-friendly themes and accessibility to audiences worldwide, I think you would be hard-pressed to find an assortment of characters who better portray what it means to be a child, growing up and discovering emotions that are essential to the human experience.

In watching or reading these stories, a child learns that it is okay to be scared (Piglet), wise (Owl), nurturing (Kanga), playful (Roo), confident (Tigger), sad (Eeyore), organized (Rabbit) and—of course—not very knowledgeable about the complicated ways of the world (Pooh).

Plus, we all get really hungry from time to time.

So.  How does the new movie live up to the Pooh legacy?  Disney gets a lot of credit from me here, because they could have chosen to make this film bigger, longer, and more kick-butt than all of its predecessors.  They could have taken the route that all "remakes" and "retellings" are taking nowadays, which is to assume that audiences need/expect visual eye-candy, lots of new characters, and high-stakes narratives in order to be entertained.

But Disney doesn't do this.  Instead, they stick to a simple, old-school philosophy: Don't fix what ain't broken.

The plot of Winnie the Pooh revolves around three major issues, and only three major issues: Eeyore's missing tail and the need to find a replacement; the rescue of Christopher Robin from a monster that Owl calls The Backson (which he misinterprets from a note from C.R. with the phrase "back soon" written on it); and, as usual, Pooh's rumbley-tumbley and his desire for honey.  The movie is only 65 minutes, and on a scale of 1-10 scores a '0' for suspense.  And yet, despite it's simplicity, I found that I could not stop laughing; I could not stop turning to Jon with my face clenched tight, overwhelmed with the cuteness and creativity; I could not stop drowning in the nostalgia of being young, and remembering just how exciting and scary learning new things can be.

The writers capture A.A. Milne's playfulness of words and narrative beautifully, with a warmth and humor that rivals any comedy out this year.  The typical ways in which Pooh stories break down the 4th wall is heavily featured in this film, with Pooh often talking to the narrator (voiced by John Cleese) and the visual presence of words never letting you forget that—above all else—you are being told a story.



Viewers who are naturally more cynical will likely watch this movie and say, "This is nothing I haven't seen before," in which case, they'd be right.  There's nothing really surprising or enlightening about this movie, and really, it doesn't matter one bit.  Disney writers and animators use these familiar narrative devices with such care and devotion to the original stories and animations, it feels like Disney has gone back to its roots and created the perfect introductory Winnie the Pooh movie.  No Gopher, no Heffalumps, no adventures outside of the 100 Acre Wood.  Just a simple plot, with simple character motivations, and lots of heart.

Plus, it's hard not to love the new Pooh theme song, sung my Zooey Deschanel.  She's totes adorbs, ya'll.

If you were a fan of Winnie the Pooh growing up, or you have young children of your own, you will absolutely love this movie, and so will your kids.  I found myself gearing up to cry many times (though there was no ocean of tears like when I watched Pooh's Grand Adventure: The Search for Christopher Robin over 10 years ago—that movie was just cruel), and the film really managed to make me feel like a kid again.

~ ~ ~

P.S. Be sure to stay for the credits.  They're easily as adorable and sweet as the movie.

P.P.S. If you do stay for the credits, keep your eyes peeled for my friend, Erin Senge (of Growing Up Senge), whose name appears as the Assistant to the Producer in the production staff.  Her daughter, Alice, is also featured under the list of "Pooh Babies"!  So cool!

* All images property of Disney Enterprises, Inc.—found via Stitch Kingdom

A Crazy Little Thing Called Motivation

Image credit: Garance Doré

I have a confession to make.  You know that diet I started ranting about two months ago?  You remember how enthusiastic I was about switching from Atkins back to Weight Watchers?  Remember how I made it seem like losing weight was easy and I'd be a skinny hipster in no time??  (OK, maybe that last part wasn't in there.)

Yeah... I haven't been doing so well.  As usual, I can't resist the temptation of carbs and fried foods, and Hawai'i proved to be a week of terrible eating, lots of drinking, and absolutely no working out.  I even took Jillian on vacation with us!  Not only did I not workout while down there, I didn't pick it up again until this last weekend.  And obviously, our love for cocktails doesn't work in my weight-loss favor, either... in fact, I think it is very much to blame.  Well, that and my lack of willpower.

I thought for sure that wanting to look sexy in a bathing suit for our trip in April was going to be enough to get those 20+ lbs off.  I kept thinking that the impending summer and desire to wear my dresses and shorts would illicit enough energy and motivation to get me moving and shaking and all that jazz.

Photo source unknown, found via this tumblr

What I've finally figured out is this: Simply wanting to look hot is not strong enough motivation for me to lose weight.  Just looking at that >> photo should be enough to make me never want to come within 100 yards of a carbohydrate ever again!  I mean, damn, amiright?  But if it were, I'd already be a slim size 4/6 with lots of full-body photos to share and I would never use the word "diet" again.

So what's the secret?  What is the thought-formula that will snap me back into a healthy mindset and restore the self-restraint that I had senior year of college?

I don't really have an answer to this; I don't know what my Ultimate Motivation for losing weight.  But I know I want it and I'm tired of struggling.  I'm sick of feeling like I have to choose between being thin and enjoying life.  That's silly, obviously.  I absolutely love healthy food, and I revel in the way I feel when it's all I'm eating.  But junk food is a drug, and it's one I haven't quite been able to quit.

But I'm trying.  My best friend, Cassie—the one who just had a baby four months ago—has been actively dieting for the last three months... and in that time, you guys, she's lost 46 lbs.  And it's still coming off close to a pound every one or two days.  She's a  total rock star, and she looks amazing.  And what better motivation than bringing a baby into the world?  One who will soon be crawling, then walking, then running...  She's inspired me to take a look at the way I've been eating and get back to basics: calorie intake versus calories burned.  Seems obvious, but to someone who has been a fad-dieter her whole teenage/adult life, it's almost too simple of a concept.

So we'll see how this goes; just another approach to get me to my goal.  I'm collecting inspiration-pictures now, and trying to get myself motivated with plans for extreme activities and summer-fun-times.  Jon has dropped the words Warrior Dash more than once, and I fear I may be swayed by his grizzly charms.

Good night, friends.  Off to dream of eating a giant hamburger while looking hot in a bikini—which is, let's face it, my ultimate goal.

This Happy Life of Mine

"I think I'm in love" watercolor by RosieMusic

I'm really, really happy, you guys.

Sometimes, with everything going on in my life (the stresses of work, weight woes, this never-ending winter), it's easy to forget how truly fulfilled and blessed I am to have gotten as far as I have and to be in the place I am now.  The last three years post-college have been a very scary, frustrating, and emotional journey, which makes right now all the more remarkable.

I am madly, hopelessly, irrevocably in love with an incredible man.  Even more remarkable: he is in love with me.  These are the most significant and important facts in my life.  Not to say that it's always easy (it's not) or that I think it can't get better (it will), but the knowledge of this love throws me into a tailspin of joy each and every day.  Even if I'm not showing it, I'm feeling it.  Sometimes, I just can't contain it and I feel as though I'm going to burst.

How could weather or weight or worries ever overshadow a happiness as intense and real as this?  Though, I admit, I often have to remind myself not to let negative thoughts take me over...

Recently, my friend Shannon of Toes Over the Edge wrote a blog post that poses some issues and questions I think so many 20-something, post-college grads can understand.  Unless you graduated from college with a clear career path and a monster starting salary, you're probably feeling a little lost as to where you're going to be in five or ten years.  What am I going to do with my life?  Didn't I have the answer to this just three short years ago?  Or did I ever really have the answer?  How have things gone so awry?  Can I really be happy without a plan for the future?

I have Shannon's questions to thank for me coming to my own conclusion about these issues in my life.  In sharing with her my "outsiders" perspective, I realized that the very same advice needed to be applied to my me; I needed to readjust the way I prioritize what is most important in living a healthy and happy life.

If you're struggling with similar questions, ask yourself these questions: When am I not happy?  What am I thinking about that causes me stress or worry?  What happens if I stop thinking about or doing those things?

As I told Shannon, I only seem to be stressed about my present and future when a) I think about where I once imagined I'd be now, and b) I compare my life to other people my age who seem "further along" in their lives than me.  When I'm not wrapped up in this useless crap, I'm happy.  And why shouldn't I be?  My past and other people's lives do not affect mine, and I am grateful for every joy (and obstacle) that comes my way.

Because it's brought me here.

Jon and I are in the process of setting up an amazing life together.  We have the world's most awesome dogs, the coolest kitten, and a cute little apartment that we've decorated and planned out as a team.  We dream the same dreams for our future, and we enjoy the same silly and exciting things in our day-to-day life.  We talk about everything... all the time.

Also, I am fortunate enough to have the same best friends now that I did when I was in high school, who are all smart and talented and, most importantly, know me for who I really am.  I have a job that I don't hate, a little cash in the bank, and a family who has been nothing but supportive of me through all the difficult and exceptional times.

Despite the uncertainty about my fickle little future, I'm happier now than I've ever been.  And if you ask me, that's progress.

"I Like You..." print by LuciusArt

An Introduction to Two Boozehounds

• booze [noun] - an intoxicating drink; hard liquor
• hound [noun] - a person who avidly seeks out or collects something

It would be an understatement to say that we enjoy drinking at our apartment.

Actually, scratch that.  Let me rephrase:  It would be an understatement to say that we enjoy cocktails at our apartment.  That's an important distinction.  There's a big difference between being known as the "office drunk" and being known as "the resident cocktail expert" (which, I'm humbled to say, is how my co-workers mistakenly refer to me when the topic of spirits comes into play)...

I would not call myself an expert.  I wouldn't even put myself on the intermediate level of bar knowledge!  But I'm a very eager beginner with a strong appreciation for taste, balance and creativity.  That's true for everything, but particularly cocktails.  Jon is the same way.  What this means is that there is no cocktail we won't try once.  There is also no way of expressing just how much we love a good bartender, and how you can learn so much from them just by asking questions and telling them about your personal tastes.  It only takes drinking a few exceptional drinks from a truly exceptional bartender to result in you placing the bar (har har) so high that you become extremely picky about what you're drinking and how your drink is made.

A little trick when getting drinks from a great bartender: sit at the bar, compliment the hell out of him, pick out a liquor you can see on the shelf and say to him, "How is the [insert liquor here]?  I've always wanted to try that but haven't gotten around to it."  Chances are, if you're already getting good vibes from him, he'll give you a sample for free.  This has happened for us many times, from multiple bartenders and different bars.

Plus, if you love something you're drinking, ask for the recipe.  They're usually happy to share it!

Mint Julip, with 100 proof Knob Creek Kentucky whiskey, a favorite of bartender Craig deBolt, Suite 410 in Downtown Seattle

If Seattle has done anything to us, it's made us cocktail elitists.  I hate to admit it, but it's true.  I've said it before and I'll say it again: Seattle is the absolute best city for affordable cocktails.

That being said, the most important thing I've learned from trying every "top bar in Seattle" is just how different Jon's and my tastes are from each others.  It's pretty much guaranteed that if Jon LOVES something, I will most likely hate it—and I do mean hate it.  This is not a testament to the cocktail itself, but rather the incredible way taste buds can differ.

Jon loves a cocktail that is head-shakingly strong.  One that will take nearly an hour or more to drink.  He loves the complexity of putting together obscure liquors and how a simple sip can knock you on your ass—but in a delicate and subtle way.  He doesn't need mixers, and he doesn't need sweetness.

I love drinks that are balanced from top to bottom; the perfect blend of sweet and/or sour and/or strong and/or light.  I, too, love the complexity of various liquors and liqueurs, but prefer to enjoy them in a way that goes down smooth and with a kick.  Nothing too sweet, but nothing too bitter.  Strong, but not straight booze.  A hint of fruit is also highly desirable.

What this comes down to is that if you're hanging with us, most likely one of our tastes matches yours.  Plus, it's always more fun to drink with friends.

I'm hoping to be sharing some of our favorite recipes with you soon.  How about you guys?  Any favorite or go-to cocktails that you love to make at home or get when you go out?

Hiking on Tiger Mountain: The Importance of Foresight

Moss-covered trees, NW Timber Trail, Tiger Mountain State Park

This last Saturday, we in the Pacific Northwest experienced perfect weather.  It's almost impossible to comprehend that we could have been so fortunate as to have a beautiful day fall on a weekend, but we did.  It's just another reminder that the heaviness and gray moods of the last seven months are side effects of flat-out shitty weather.

To celebrate, Jon and I had our first "family hike" of the year on Saturday, which means the dogs came along for the fun.  Coincidentally, unbeknownst to me, Saturday was also National Trails Day!  We didn't have any particular trail in mind leading up to the weekend, but once we knew it was going to be clear skies and 74ºF, we just knew the day had to be spent outside.  It's been too long!

Trees lining the slopes of the NW Timber Trail, Tiger Mountain

After a bit of research, we settled on Tiger Mountain State Park, which has several trails to choose from, and is only 20 minutes outside of Seattle on I-90 leading out towards Issaquah and North Bend.  From what we'd read and heard, it is one of the most popular hiking areas around Seattle.  Since it was going to be our first hike with the dogs since last July, we figured it'd be best to take it easy for the dogs' sake and stick to a trail that was well-maintained and well-traveled.

Let me just start off this very long run-down of our hike by saying that Tiger Mountain could really use a site map at the entrance to the park... Really.

We parked in the lower parking lot (there are two), just off of Hwy 18, and—with no planning, map, or knowledge of the trails routes—we picked the first trail we came to on our right: the Northwest Timber Trail.  At 2.3 miles, this "beginner's trail" weaves through dense, moss-covered trees and rocky, open slopes.  It was a really beautiful hike, and exactly what we had wanted heading out there.  Not to mention, the dogs were thrilled.

Happy boober-frog on a log!

We learned very quickly that—despite the perfect weather—there weren't too many hikers on the trail.  There were however many, many mountain bikers.  If you were new to the Seattle area and immediately went hiking on Tiger Mountain, you would think that people in the Pacific Northwest were the nicest, friendliest people in the world.  This, of course, is not true at all (beware the Seattle freeeezzzze), but there is a sense of comradery, courtesy and community on the trails that I have not experienced since living up here.

As the bicyclists passed, they nicely warned us of oncoming bikers in their riding party: "Two more coming up!"  "Five right behind me!"  "I'm the last one!"  It was great to see people 'following the rules', such as they are, and sharing the trails so graciously with us and each other.  Given the way people drive up here, I would never have expected this.

Anyway, as we came out of the NW Timber Trail, we were faced with a dirt road leading in two directions.  The sign read:

==> 1.0 mile to Hwy 18
<== 2.3 miles to Preston Railroad Trail

Hmm... Well, we weren't quite ready to pack things in yet, and we couldn't be certain if "Hwy 18" actually meant it would lead us back to our car, so we thought Sure!  Another trail sounds great! 

It was about 2 miles up the road that I started to panic.  Where we were going? What if we end up in the wrong parking lot?  What if we walk 8 miles and then have to back-track another 8 miles??

Luckily, we had full cell phone reception and Jon looked up the map online.  Great.  Now we had a semi-clear visual of what our position was:  the lowest P on the bottom is the parking lot where we started; the lower right-hand blue line is the Timber Trail; and at this point we are the furthest from the parking lot we can be, at the upper-most point of the East Side Road.  Yikes!  OK, not to worry—at least we knew where we were.

Jon near the end of the Preston Railroad Trail, Tiger Mountain

Since it didn't make any sense to take the road back, we decided to take the Preston Railroad Trail, which looked as though it would loop around to a road that would lead us right to the parking lot.  Hurray!  Despite not knowing how many miles the Preston route was, we soldiered on!

This particular trail was absolutely idyllic as far as forested trails go.  The ground was lush and soft, there were streams coming across the trail, the air was crisp and cool, the sun shone through and provided lovely moments of warmth.  The bicyclists kept coming (almost all of which were coming down the trail, while we were walking up it), but we never saw a single hiker.  At one point I just let Ennis off-leash.  He is the perfect hiking dog, and never wanders away from us, so I thought it would be a nice treat for him to have some freedom.

By the time we hit the third (and last) switch-back on the trail, I was feeling the strain.  Still not fully understanding the map, I was so relieved when we finally reached the Tiger Mountain Road.  Just at the trail head, we met a group of bicyclists who were sweaty and panting, and yet clearly waiting to start their ride on the trail.

This made me very nervous.

We asked how many miles the Preston Trail was, as there was no mile marker.  "About four miles," one of them replied.  Wow!  Nice!  Go us!  As I was silently patting myself on the back for a good 8+ miles hiked already, he followed up with "Yeah, we just came from down the road.  It's about 3.5 miles and change to the parking lot."

Gasp!

Excellent.  So our "short hike" had turned in to a monster of physical strain and endurance.  Lovely!  And this is where things went downhill—literally.  While the scenery is beautiful, the road leading down to the Tiger Summit parking lot was pretty steep, with loose gravel rocks along the way.  And while my Merrell hiking shoes are absolutely perfect trail shoes, they simply aren't made to withstand the impact of hard roads, so my feet and knees were absolutely killing me.

View into the valley from the Tiger Mountain Road

I have no idea how people are able to ride their bikes up this hill!  100 feet would be tiring as it was, but several miles?!?  Insanity.  I also noticed that Peekay wasn't faring too well either; he was limping a bit and had trouble keeping his balance while navigating the rocky road.  Guilt kicked in, and the last mile was pretty excruciating, for me and Peekay at least.  (Jon and Ennis were fine, those jerks!)  It was definitely about 4 miles of downhill backroad before finally (and joyously!) arriving back at the parking lot.

Just in case you haven't done the math, this hike was approximately 12 miles round-trip.  Definitely not what we had set out to do, but I admit that it sure felt nice to accomplish such an intense hike without any preparation!

If you have found this blog by way of researching these trails, and you're looking into doing a SHORTER hike here, I recommend taking the NW Timber Trail from the lower parking lot and then turning around and coming back once you reach the end.  If you are prepared for a LONG hike, take the route that Jon and I did—it really was an amazingly gorgeous hike, and would have been perfect if we had brought more water and different pairs of shoes for the trails/roads.

Also, Peekay needs hiking doggie booties.

Looking forward to more sunny weekends and warm weather; there are many more trails to explore!

Food Friday: Brave Horse Tavern | Soft Pretzel

I need only say two things in addition to this photo:

1) Fresh out of the oven
2) Accompanied by an assortment of homemade mustards

Thank you, Tom Douglas.

Fry

So I realized last weekend that I have yet to post anything here about the most recent member of our family.  In fact, it's been a while since I've talked about any my furry kids!  How very unlike me.

World, meet Fry.

Just ignore his crazy mutant eyes. He's a cat and can't help it.

Fry's full name is Philip K. Fry (after the infamous Philip J. Fry; the "K" stands for Kitty, duh).  His nicknames include Cat (me), Chapeaumelon (Jon), and Fatty (after Roscoe "Fatty" Arbuckle).  He is a 10-month-old kitten that we adopted back in January from a no-kill shelter in Seattle called Animal Talk Rescue.  Our uneducated guess is that he has some Maine Coon in him (looks), possibly Ragdoll (behavior), and rounded off with some good old fashioned tabby cat.  Also, he's maybe the cutest/sweetest cat alive.  I know a lot of people say this about their pets, but it's true.  I have never met a cat so utterly chill and cuddly than this orange ball of fluff right here.

I promise: I did not pose them like this. (And please excuse the blurriness. Pictures with no movement and demon-eyes are hard to come by.)

He absolutely adores the dogs, and they love wrestling and cuddling with him.  He's floppy and silly and kissy; he will let you do almost anything to him.  You can toss him across the couch onto one of the dogs, and he will just settle and sleep wherever he lands.

Getting a cat on top of two highly energetic dogs may not have been the smartest idea, but it was obvious from the moment that Jon moved in that he just wasn't complete without a cat around.  I had wanted a cat for Ennis, before getting Peekay, but the presence of my most favorite embroidered armchair made me hesitant.  Cats are evil and they destroy everything in their path!  But when I saw this little man advertised through the shelter's Web site, well... I couldn't help myself; he was the exact cat we'd been waiting for.

Cut to now: Fry has made my favorite chair a scratching post; he's started knocking things off of the counter/fridge for Peekay to eat or chew up; he stays up all night and plays with the blinds or our feet, and his little mouth smells infinitely of fish.  We're almost certain he has brain damage, because he sees things that aren't there and has no concept of object permanence.  He's loud, he's rude, and he doesn't listen to me when I scream "Cat!!" at him.

He's absolutely nothing but trouble, but oh my goodness he is the cutest most awesome kitty in the entire world, seriously, I could just smoosh his little face forever.  And when he's old and lazy, he will be absolutely perfect.

Happy Fry-day, everyone!  (Heh heh, yeah I did.)

"Everything was beautiful at the ballet..."

"Moon Light Purple" by BalletArt

One of the perks of Jon's job is that we get a chance to do, eat, and see things that we would otherwise never be able to afford.  It's made the stress of his job somewhat more bearable, and it's made Seattle a whole lot more fun.

Tonight, as a member of the Concierge Guild of Seattle, Jon got two tickets to see Pacific Northwest Ballet's production of Giselle in its last night of dress rehearsal.  It would have been perfect except I was having a What does one wear to the ballet?! crisis, and with the added difficulty of parking, we were 20 minutes late.  Whoops!

Turns out, not a big deal!  Know why?  Because if you know the synopsis of the show, there is pretty much nothing you can miss in a ballet performance.  Its very root is based in tradition and precedence, which means that virtually every professional performance of the show prior has been exactly the same, give or take a few mavericks.

"The Ballerina" by BalletArt

The story of Giselle is, I guess, a love story.  Personally, I think it's a pretty depressing look at a girl who has really bad judgement.  The synopsis reads romantic, but in reality, this is what I got from it:

Giselle is a poor farm girl who meets a poor farm boy she thinks is named Loys, but is really a duke named Albrecht.  Albrecht has escaped to the forest, basically to get some cute-dancing-farm-girl action before his big ol' royal wedding to some chick-princess named Bathilde.  Meanwhile, Giselle's previous suitor and real farm boy, Hilarion, is all kinds of jealous.  Poor Hilarion, in an attempt to save Giselle from heartbreak and win back her love, reveals the truth only to have her drop dead (after lots of dancing) from a broken (and apparently weak) heart.

Later, Giselle is a ghost floating around with a gang of bitter ghost-brides, called the Wilis.  They lurk in the forest at night, seek out unfortunate men, and make them dance until they die.  (Of course, it's ballet, so there isn't really anything sinister about it.)  Enter Hilarion, who very quickly gets entangled in their pirouetting web and dies a very anti-climactic, off-stage death.  Meanwhile, Albrecht is in the forest bemoaning his lost mistress when the Wilis find him too. Luckily, Giselle's ghost saves him an awful fate... 'cause, you know... she loves him.  Even though he's a liar.

But it was a good show, really!  The sheer skill involved is astonishing; their feet move soooo fast, and I would literally have to start breaking things in order to be as flexible as the dudes in this show.  And what's not to like about flow-y dresses?  And big dance-miming arm movements?  And men in tights??  OK, in all seriousness though, watching great dancers always makes me think about whether I could have ever been a dancer too.  Maybe not for ballet, but some kind of dance—contemporary, maybe, or jazz.  I certainly missed my window there, but it's nice to imagine exuding a feminine poise that is both strong and delicate.

But I like french fries and cocktails and chocolate too much to ever hope for a future of waif-like proportions.  Ah well, c'est la vie.

I suppose that dance has been on my mind a lot lately, thanks in no small part to a certain impressive animation.  Maybe also 'cause "So You Think You Can Dance" just premiered again, which means it must be summer! Oh wait...

Also, these paintings:

 all three tutu paintings by Laurence Amélie

A few weeks ago, Rachel Ashwell of Shabby Chic brilliance dedicated a post to her friend and painter, Laurence Amélie, and I still cannot get enough.  I keep trying to placate myself by thinking They can't be that expensive, right?? which just makes me wish for an original of hers even harder.  Apparently there was a showcase of her work last month down in Santa Monica, at Rachel's flagship store.  I seriously considered for a split second that it was definitely necessarily for me to spend my birthday down in LA with my sister... with a quick trip to look at some stunning art work, of course.

Photo credit: Rachel Ashwell, paintings also by Laurence Amélie

Such simple subject matter, but with such stunning depth!  The pastels, the natural colors, the haphazard girlishness!  It makes me wish that professional ballet could adopt some of this spontaneity and vibrancy, which might make for some really engaging and startling visual spectacles.  But I guess that goes against the whole point of it, amiright??

::sigh:: See, here I go again, you guys, starting off a post about one thing and ending on something completely different.  My blog posts have turned into Simpsons episodes!  But really, this post was simply an excuse to talk about these paintings, and Lord knows I can't just post pictures—I have to write stuff.  It's a sickness.