Dog Day...Evening?

Last night, as the air was clear and the sidewalks relatively traversable, the Notorious D.O.G. and I ventured forth to the dog park for a much-needed outing in the snow. Normally, the Regrade park (Seattle's smallest off-leash dog park, at 0.3 acres) is a little bit sketchy due to its proximity to the bus line and ultimate dive bar located across the street (the kind that you steer clear of, not the kind that yuppies like me deem to have "character" and make it their new favorite divey haunt until some entrepreneurial investor sees an opportunity for an upgrade, purchases it, revamps it, offers better food and a mixology menu and ultimately folds because all the yuppies who frequented the establishment in the first place have determined that the old character is lost with the new management and have moved on to their second favorite dive, where the process begins all over again). However, in the snow, the park seemed less like a suburban enclave for druggies and the homeless and more a wintry playground for canine companions.

Baylor loves the snow. Upon being released in the dog park he peed on everything (this has nothing to do with the snow, of course) and then happily brought a tennis ball to me for a long game of fetch, which I tired of before he did (largely because I forgot my gloves, making searching for the ball in the snow a cold and unappealing process). Here, he took a break from our game to check out the other activity across the park:

Despite my freezing fingers and the fact that I was tromping on yellow snow with every step (much as I attempted to avoid it), I think I had as much fun as Baylor - more, perhaps, because I realized that sometimes my mangy little menace is just the medicine I need to snap me out of a funk. Watching him bound through the snow in his red fleece jacket brought the biggest smile to my face, and put me in a much better frame of mind for the rest of the week. At the end of the day, I know he's just a dog...but he has a way of bringing me back to the things that matter: love, selflessness and simple joys. Thanks, Baylor, for a dog day evening - it was a good one.

Reset Buttons and Other Frustrating Simplicities of Modern Technology

My heater is fixed.

Before I tell you how, it IS noteworthy to mention that I did try to fix the problem myself (it's that little bit of unapologetic narcissism that allows me to think that I am capable of such things) by unscrewing the grill cover (turning off the power at the breaker first) and peering intently at the complex coils, fans and wires that comprise my heater. Immediately upon removing the cover, I realized I had no idea what I was doing and spent the next 15 minutes trying to put it back on, as the screw holes in the wall are conveniently located juuuuuuust a few millimeters off from their cover counterparts and thus requiring a tremendous amount of patience for the cover's replacement (which I, naturally, do not possess).

So this morning I answered a knock at my door wearing my best (read: threadbare but warm) fleece bathrobe to discover Mr. Maintenance Man on the other side, having come at the most inopportune time to fix my heater. This is exactly the situation I was trying to avoid (read previous posts below). He stumped into my place, toolbelt jangling and making pleasantries in an unrecognizable but heavy accent, fiddled with the knob (duh) and in two deft turns of a screwdriver had the grill cover of the heater on the floor (damn him). "Ahhhhh," he said knowingly, "it needs to be reset."

Who knew wall heaters had a reset button?!

A tap of the finger and - tada! - heat was flowing into my apartment once again.

Damn the simplicities of modern technology and all the complications that ensue as a result of them. In the words of Judge Smails, "The world needs ditch-diggers too"...or in this case, maintenance men.

Snow Day!

I know today's snow is wreaking havoc on most people's lives, but I can't help but marvel at the way it changes my downtown environment - and crave more. After all, I'm fortunate enough that this truly feels like a "snow day", the kind you have when you're in grade school and you wake up to a white blanket outside and discover shortly after that - miracle of miracles! - your district is closed! It happens so rarely as an adult as to feel like a novelty (even if I was already going to take today off). Miracle of miracles - a snow day for me! Here, a shot of 4th Ave & Vine St looking toward downtown:


And even more than I do, Baylor loves the snow. He leaps, he bounds, he burrows his face deep in the drifts, rooting along for any scent buried beneath the flakes, then flings his head upward in a dramatic and joyful gesture, finally shaking his body free of the icy crystals in the way that dogs do, beginning at the head in a staccato movement down to his tail. I always wonder what dogs see, and think - and I think that they must know more than I give them (read: Baylor) credit for, because in the snow Baylor seems to look and truly survey his surroundings, taking in the familiar shapes as they are covered with mounds of white. Somehow, he always manages to look reflective (though I doubt he's reflecting upon much more than the next pure spot of snow upon which to lift his leg).

My family and I have done little things for those less fortunate today - my brother giving a stranded couple and their baby a ride home after their car plowed into a snow bank off the freeway, and me giving much more than the requisite dollar to the tenacious Real Change agent outside my local RiteAid. I know it's not much - and I write this not to seek a "pat on the back" but more to remind myself and others of our fortune, abundance, and joy. A "snow day" for me has served as a reminder of all I have, and all that I have still to give.

At the end of the day, I hope that many people, in some way, have found small wonders in today's weather. After all, who doesn't love a snow day?

Chilly Fingers, Toasty Toes

My heater is broken.

I just had it fixed. Okay, several weeks ago now. Somehow I've managed to lose track of time and it feels like it was just yesterday. But that's probably because just yesterday I told myself I would take care of it (just like the day before, and the day before that, and...).

So tonight I come home from a brisk walk on a chilly evening with the dog. and race to rip off my now-sweaty layers with red, claw-like fingers and immediately open the window, breathing deeply the fresh, crisp air I had run upstairs to escape just moments before.

I putter around my little apartment, on the phone and completing various domestic tasks - in other words, absorbed enough that I don't notice the cold fingers of night air creeping into the relative warmth of my humble abode.

I sit down to type an email - and find that my fingers have already cramped with December chill that now pervades the apartment. I turn to my wall heater (which provides enough heat for hamster-sized individual, by the way) only to discover - alas! - my procrastination has bitch-slapped me once again.

Reluctantly I drag myself to the bureau for warmer layers, where a mental debate ensues over several outfit options: warm and cozy or fun and sassy? As I run through the pros and cons of each in my mind, I realize I've been standing there for 10 minutes deciding what to wear for the dog, as it is highly unlikely that anyone of importance will be knocking on my door in the few remaining hours before bed that I even need to make this decision. Ideally, in the event that my fire alarm goes off and a barrage of fire fighters comes to break down the door, I'd like to be dressed in outfit #2, if for no other reason than to avoid the complete mortification of being seen by strangers in my favorite worn and torn pajama pants and T-shirt. So I laugh (somewhat derisively) at myself and select a comfortable (but presentable) outfit - just in case.

And then I realize I'm still freezing and curl up on my favorite chair with the dog for warmth, and make a mental note to call to have the heater fixed - tomorrow.

Inspiration

I met with a truly amazing, SUCCESSFUL woman last week, whose energy and vision and zest about her company has completely motivated me to be more fresh, unique, passionate, lively, outgoing, forthcoming and risk-taking than I've felt inspired to be in a long time.

One professional mantra that struck me: she said, "Be distinct." Find what it is you do well, and focus on it, and promote it, and own it and never compromise your distinction for the competition.

I dare to make this a personal mantra as well: to find what "it" is about me - what makes me distinctive as a friend, professional, significant other, family member and woman - and be true to it.

I always want to be doing more, but listening to this woman - this real-life, funny, practical, dedicated and successful woman - truly inspired me to greater ambitions for myself.

My success is a rolling wave on the open ocean, slowly headed for shore, about to crest in a crescendo upon glistening sands. I'm almost there. I will be there. At the end of the day, I just needed to be inspired.

Keeping Up With the Joneses

I am almost 28. Okay, in 2 and a half months, but even so, it feels like it's right around the corner. And I'm starting my countdown to The Beginning of The End of My 20s now because if I don't, I'll be 28 without having thought about the number and the meaning behind the number at all, and will be completely depressed about it. Why does 28 matter? Well, it's rapidly nearing the end of what feels like it should be the best time of my life. Young. Single. Urban. Skin still mostly intact in all the places it ought to be. However, at the end of the day, none of these things truly contribute toward this so-called "best time of my life" because I still feel strongly as though I'm not quite where I "should" be at this age. And most of where I "should" be is based on what I perceive to be the greater successes of my similarly-aged friends. So, in essence, I am just trying to keep up with the Joneses. Or the Rodriguezes, or Shannons, or Halls, or any of my other real-life Joneses who have done rather well for themselves, if you ask me.

I know it's all perception - I have quite a number of positive things going on in my life that I AM grateful for, and that make me very happy. But I so want to be the laughing girl in photos enjoying every moment of an abundant life with friends surrounding me and a circle of people who thrive to be around me and my energy. I want to look back through the memoirs I've kept through the years and smile and weep, and currently I feel as though there are several years of my 20s which are completely devoid of truly great memories, which makes me panic about the time I have left in which to truly enjoy being young. I always wonder: do my friends wish for less than I, or is it simply that my expectations for myself are more than I can hope to achieve? Are the Joneses more content with the twists and turns that life gives them? I think the latter, and that is a serenity that I can only hope to find within myself.

And so I am counting down the days until I turn 28, focusing from this point forward on making the last two years of my 20s truly amazing and memorable. At the end of the day, it's all in my hands to make it so, and the challenges I have to overcome are only those in my own mind. Keeping up with the Joneses? No thank you. I'll just focus on keeping up with me.

Cleaning House

I've been doing a lot of cleaning this week, both literally and figuratively. There's something wonderful and relaxing (as well as affirming) about coming home to order. A clean and organized home makes me feel as though my life is on track. I'm always amazed at the way in which a sparkling sink and neatly folded laundry can do wonders for my state of mind. There's nothing mysterious about it - really, it's simply that if one can find things more easily and doesn't have to spend time on menial tasks, one will have the time to focus on other parts of one's life. (This may not be applicable to all, so in this particular case, "one" refers directly to me). Today, as I sit here blogging with laundry almost complete (there must be something in my subconscious that makes me deliberately leave laundry to do, always - secretly I think I enjoy it) and with the smells of green cleaning products and a vanilla-scented candle surrounding me, I feel completely prepared to tackle the week ahead. It's important to note this, as I'm sure I will need to refer to this feeling during times in which my dishes are piled haphazardly into the sink and I am running crazily through the apartment on a weekday morning looking for my keys (which, after 5 minutes of frantic searching, I will discover have been in my hand the whole time).

My figurative cleaning house has been more exhausting, but more exhilarating than I could have imagined. Suffice to say that I've allowed some negativity in my life because I've allowed others to influence too much my opinion of myself. So this week, I decided it was time to get rid of all that. I pulled some old emotion off the shelf and threw it away upon realizing it had expired. I tied a few loose ends, and swept out the door some toxic items that were beginning to be dangerous for this house. At the end of the stay, I stand proudly in my little apartment with clean hands and a fresh mind, and feel prepared to welcome whatever life may bring in the days ahead.

And So It Begins

How appropriate that I should begin this blogging journey on a Sunday: the day of reckoning. Not religious reckoning, mind you - I'm not answering to Jesus, but to myself, and from what I hear, He is much more forgiving than I will ever be. Not that I have much to answer to. Despite being a young, single urbanite, I often find myself wishing I was living someone else's life (Carrie from Sex and the City? Rachel on Friends?) in lieu of truly enjoying my own. So, Sundays tend to be the worst days, as I find that after I've walked the dog and purchased my venti brewed with room, I have little left to do but wonder how and why I've let one more week go by without really living. And what is "really living" when you're in your 20s? Is it being at the bars every Friday and Saturday? A string of dates outside the door? A fat paycheck and a yearly week-long vacation to Mexico or Europe? A close-knit group of friends who have known each other for years and bolster each other up with their friendship? According to my television alter-egos, it is, and I become more deeply entrenched in Things I Haven't Done and Stuff I Don't Have. And then I become completely restless, unable to face another day in the office and unable to face another week of much of the same self-imposed apathy as the week preceding and wanting, willing myself to making The Big Change, one that promises to be The Right Choice and more importantly, one that will ultimately lead to The Life I've Always Wanted.

Then my coffee kicks in, and I look around my apartment that I love, in the heart of a city I adore, and tell myself that I'm already in the middle of The Life I've Always Wanted. I kick back on my couch with a book/magazine/favorite music/Meet the Press and/or Design on a Dime, call a friend, reflect upon all that is good in my life and revel in the simple fact that I have the luxury to enjoy everything I have.

And at the end of the day, rejuvenated by my Sunday reflections, I vow that this week will be different.