Tradition has always been very important to me. I stubbornly abide by traditions each and every year. To me, they are something to be relied on and something to look forward to. You know exactly what to expect and disappointment usually only comes when plans change. I am a stickler for upholding holiday traditions, much to the annoyance of my family who like to mix it up from time to time. The night before Christmas has always been dear to my heart, probably moreso than the actual holiday (and you know how much I love that).
One of the selling points when I bought my condo was the large kitchen with ample countertop space. I pictured myself playing hostess to friends for dinner parties, festive get-togethers, and celebrations of all seasons. I imagined yummy foods and delicious drinks atop every available surface. Happy faces would be everywhere and laughter would be the soundtrack of the evening.
I just knew I had to have a party before the year was up.
As I’ve written about before, my dad and I like to go out and do things together. Over the years, we’ve chuckled at plays, giddy-upped on horseback, and felt the wind on our faces while exiting a plane at 13,ooo feet. We always have a good time, just the two of us. So, when Father’s Day rolled around, I knew exactly what I wanted to get him: an evening of murder and mystery. The fact that I checked off #11 on my 30-Before-30 list was just an added bonus.
I have been told over the years that there is nothing more powerful than the love a mother can have for her child. We see it in all walks of life from mama bears protecting their young to moms who would do anything to ensure the happiness of their children. It’s a strong love and one that I hope to experience some day.
For now, I choose to honor three of the most amazing mothers I have ever known.
While my mother is out of town, I am the lucky one who gets to stay with Jake. I relish the days with the little fur ball since I rarely get one-on-one time with him since I moved out five years ago. He eagerly greets me when I come home, snuggles at night, and gives me the biggest guilt trip in the world when I have to leave him.
I spent last week on the East Coast in Massachusetts for my annual pilgrimage to visit family. It was one of the best trips out there for quite a few reasons. One, my mom didn’t have to work and my aunt and uncle from Sacramento were also there (though my uncle did have to work). And two, this was the first time we managed to see the entire family in the few short days we were there without a funeral being involved. Unfortunately, a full schedule didn’t allow me to visit with any fellow bloggers and I’m still disappointed about that, but I’m sure they’ll understand the whole “family comes first” sentiment and I will always be back again next year.
Normally, I stay fairly close to the family, but this time, we stayed in Andover in the Northern part of the state and a mere two miles from New Hampshire. The moment I found out we would be so close to New Hampshire, I made everyone aware that I wanted to visit. The response: “Why?” My answer: “Why not?”
For the last few months, this blog here has been pretty quiet, though I’ve tried to be an active reader and commenter so you all know I haven’t completely disappeared. It’s not for lack of wanting to or lack of inspiration. I could give you all the typical run around of being so busy and focused on other projects, but there’s just more to it than that. A while ago I decided, much like some of my favorite bloggers also seem to have done, to focus on living life rather than writing about it. And boy have I been living! Continue reading
Greetings from the Rhine River, Wonderlings!
We have left Amsterdam and are making our way to Cologne. Luckily, there have been no leaky ceilings or instances where anyone has been thought to have wet the bed. All is good, all is cold.
I wish Jake were here to snuggle with in our cabin. His furry little body always finds the perfect way to get completely tucked into mine, making us both warm. But, as we are on our vacation he is on his.
Now that you all know about the kind of fun things my dad and I do together, it is only fair to share some stories starring my mom. And this is how I stay the favorite daughter. It has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that I’m their only daughter. That’s merely a coincidence.
Getting on with it, my mother and I are freakishly close. Have you seen Gilmore Girls? That’s nothing compared to the antics we get ourselves into. One of our favorite things to do together is travel. We have cruised through Alaska, gambled through Vegas, and hula-ed through Hawaii. My mom works in the travel industry so sweet vacations at even sweeter prices have spoiled me completely. I don’t know what we’ll going to do if she ever decides to retire.
Are there ever times in life where you start to lose faith in your fellow-man? When people’s characters seem so ugly that you wonder how it is we got this far and why we seem to be getting worse and not better?
Today has been one of those days. But before I get into the details, I need to share a little back story.
A week or so ago, I received a friend request on Facebook from someone I went to junior high with. Now, my middle school years were my ugly ones. Quite literally. I was a geeky girl with frizzy hair, a mouth full of metal, skin that made the Proactiv ladies millions, and glasses that took up half of my face. Needless to say, I was not popular and don’t look very fondly on those formative years. So when I got a request from Peter, I didn’t immediately accept it.
I was a little surprised to even get a request from him. He was one of the popular guys who was actually decent and not a total jerk to everyone. We went to the same high school though I rarely saw him and I can honestly say, I haven’t thought of him since I graduated. Since I did have fond memories of him, I went ahead and accepted the request as I figured he was trying to reach out to people from our class in lieu of our ten-year reunion next year. I checked out his profile, found out he was living a few hours away, and put him back in that we’re-not-friends-but-I-don’t-hate-you imaginary box that is reserved for most folks you only see on Facebook and never interact with in real life.
Sunday I learned Peter had been in a fatal car accident. He was 27.