Construction Paper & Hearts…

Taking Valentine’s Day Back!

It came as a shock last week as I was conducting a bit of grocery shopping. Turning down an aisle while focused on my list, I stopped dead in my tracks as I realized I had been completely oblivious to the fact I was traveling down the once dreaded pink aisle.

I’ve been writing about it for the past few years. The dreaded pink aisle filled with heart balloons and chocolate filled boxes that read, “Be Mine,” or “True Love,” or something of the like. Typically, I spend months stealthily maneuvering to avoid it. And then, there I was—completely taken unaware.

An “OH!,” did get vocalized, but I stood there and realized I wasn’t scared of it anymore. I started thinking that maybe I should give Valentine’s Day another look. I decided to take Valentine’s Day back!

Back to the old days, that is. Remember in elementary school when Valentines was all about the amount of pink, red, and white paper you could stick to a shoebox. You hoped the Elmer’s glue would at some point get off your hands (or you just spread it all over your hand and then carefully pilled it off to have a perfect replica of your hand, prints and all). Valentines was the time for treats and laughing with your friends on the playground.

So I decided to honor that old school tradition and celebrate by making a few treats to celebrate the love and happiness those around me give everyday. And low and behold construction paper just happened to be in my craft draw (because yes, I am that type of girl). And then I stepped back into that dreaded pink aisle to purchase a little something for others.So I get to play the kid. Dropping off Valentines to friends. I wish I had a cup of sprite with lime sherbet scooped in to add a bit more ambiance, but coffee will have to do.

The more I think about it, Valentine’s Day isn’t about the couples dinner, the thought of a passionate kiss, or all the other stuff that comes with it (I’m talking of balloons, chocolate, and teddy bears here people…don’t let your imagination run wild). Valentine’s Day is a day to celebrate all the love we have in our lives. So to my family and friends (and even to all the guys I’ve dated in the past), I say, “Construction Paper and Hearts…Happy Valentine’s Day thanks for the LOVE!!!

Chance Encounters II...

And Salt Lake City is blanketed in white....

Again!!!

I'm going to say it. I'm truly looking forward to January being over. For the past four days I've been chiseling sections of ice off the alleyway that is the driveway to my house (and surrounding neighbors). Each day, two hours of slamming ice with a plastic snow shovel in the hope I won't slide into a neighbors car. I'm waiting for warmer weather, for walks in the Spring night air. For a walk in general. This month has been one of those where I feel like a trapped animal. Only, I have hot coco mix to keep me from going insane.

But every now and then, I escape. Escape to the local coffee shop and sit mingled with others looking for a warm place other than their home. Looking for conversations with real people versus the glowing characters on a T.V. screen. And every now and then you get one of those moments where the snow, grey skies, and inversion all melt away because of the simple act of interacting with other human beings.

As I walked into my coffee shop today there was a young girl, no older than three, getting bundled up by her mother. Puffy-warm jacket on, mittens in place, and knitted winter hat being adjusted. The girl pointed at me and said, "I like that girl." As her mom didn't respond, she pointed and stated again, "I like her."

Sometimes that's all you need. Someone you don't know telling you that you're alright in there book. And so I sit in the warmth of the coffee shop, as the snow descends on the roads and sidewalks, smiling. Someone likes me. :)

A Chorus Line of Kickers...

It's been in my head lately. Maybe it's because of all the employment sites I've been searching, signing up with, and the mass of lingering silence from the multitude of applications sent into the Ethernet. Whatever it is, the song is on repeat in my mind. You know the one:

"Who am I anyways?

Am I my resume?

That is a picture… of a person I don't know..."

Repeat people. Wherever I go, whatever I'm doing, the lyrics of "I Hope I Get It" from The Chorus Line kicks into my thoughts and starts singing. It's driving me crazy, making me constantly question who I am, what I want, what I'm doing…at every moment of the day. It’s exhausting. So instead of finding answers, I curl into my bed, pull my hoody over my head, and sleep in the attempt to drown the voice in dreamland. 

Now I get this is not the most productive practice. But I figure, configuring a line of friends and doing kicks in unison wouldn’t really help either (it might be fun, but I don’t think my knee joints would appreciate the minute of laughter I would get out of our non synchronized dance moves). Instead of high kicks in this depressing January inversion--known to all Salt Lake citizens--I kicked myself in the *!*, and got out of dodge.

A three hour drive in mountains with blue skies, home cooked meals from the Mom, and a lot of laughter over the conversations (I swear) only my family has, got me out of the smoggy-foggy-funk. In other words, I got out of bed—took off the hoody—and started some movement with a few pushups.

Lets face it. I don’t have the answers. God “I Hope I Get It” is in high gear. I’m still searching; as always—if you’ve read any of my other posts. 

But I figured out something. I’m not a follower. Whatever I do, I want to do my way (and yes, I’m hoping Frank Sinatra will demand a smack down with the chorus line of kickers in my mind and take over the tune stuck in my head). 

Dear Santa...

So it's Christmas Eve here in the Beehive state. I wanted to write to you and wish you good travels, filled with hot chocolate, freshly baked cookies, and no fires left burning in those chimneys you have to shuffle down. And of course I thought I'd send you a line to let you know what I want for Christmas.

This year was a difficult one Santa. I was desperately trying to find the spirit of Christmas. It was difficult with the limited funds I had accessible to me. I watched all the commercials and realized I wouldn't be able to purchase that soft body sweater for my friends, nor would my father be getting the new car that I know he would highly enjoy. No diamonds or gift certifacates for the Ma. And well, chocolate was just out of the question. So I sat gloomy, thinking where did the Christmas spirit go?

I thought back to being a kid and tried with all my might to think of a new toy I would want from you. It went between a slinky to hop down my bedroom stairs to a replacement of the Rock Star Barbie you gave me back when I was eight. But neither really seemed right.

And then I put together my cookie party and something unexpected happened. I realized it wasn't the gifts that made Christmas, but the feeling that you want to do things for the people you care about in life and being able to sit and share in a bit of celebrated conversation with them. It's not the need to boost the economy, but celebrate in all the gifts given to you through out the year that aren't purchased but merely the joys of living.  It's doing the best at what you can do, and not feeling as though you need to push things. It's about the laughter--the laughter friends have that makes them laugh so hard they cry (miss b. you know I'm talking of you).

So Santa, I just want to say thanks. Thanks this year for the gifts you gave me before the day of Christmas. Thanks for the time with my family, for the the experience of showing them the city I live in during this lighted season. Thanks for the giddy laughter over dinner as my Dad extended his fork to my Mom with a pecan on it saying, "Just try this, it's delicious, it's soft... It's impregnated with sugar." Where that line came from, I'll never know, but I cherish those moments. I cherish the images too. The photos of my family (wishing of any gift, that my sister was with us here too--though I'm sure she is giddy with the two boys in California's warm weather). Thanks for the memories of past Christmases and all the family comedy that has followed. Thanks for awaking my heart to tell the people I care for how amazing they are (because lets face it--you all ROCK), and how much I value each and everyone of them in my life. And thanks for somehow letting my parents cats and my cats know, that a cat fight in my tiny apartment would not be a good way to show the Christmas spirit. Thanks for all you do Santa. Thanks for the gift of the season.

Safe travels tonight. I'll be listening for your sleigh bells as I always do. And just so you know, no matter how old I get... I will always believe in you.

Merry Christmas to all out there, may you have sugar plum dreams...

D.dot