Too many choices!

I believe my current gripe can be appreciated by all- rural or urban, young or old, male or female. I recently had the chore of picking out a paint color for our living room. At first I didn't think it was a chore at all, more of a privilege. I was very eager to rid the room of its bright yellow color. Then, I went to the paint store. Then, I went again, and again. At the end of the process I had at least five of those small paint samples and probably two hundred paper swatches. There are so many different colors. Then you go to a different store and there are more. My brain basically exploded. Not to mention that everyone who enters the house has a different opinion on what color the room should be. Finally I just went to the store and said, "give me two gallons of antique leather in eggshell." It was probably the most freeing statement I've said this year.

Introducing Antique Leather

The whole situation got me thinking- can you buy anything without having at least five different choices? Salt? Nope. Garbage bags? Nope. Not even water (spring, distilled, purified, electrolyte-enhanced, sparkling, flavored...). This is quite the conundrum for me: the world's worst decision maker. It's not all bad, sometimes I really like having the vast variety our world offers us. For instance, last week I found a ghee (aka clarified butter, which no longer contains casein) that was made from the milk of grass-fed cows that had only been milked in the spring and fall for the best quality product. Then you were able to choose from five different flavors. I am not sure it gets more specialty than that and I was excited about it. But sometimes you just want to go to the store and buy some salt. Then you start to get nostalgic for the general store like on Little House on the Prairie, "I'd like a pound of sugar and a pound of flour." Period. End of sentence. Luckily, the modern day equivalent, Kwik Trip, is only two miles down the road. I was able to go there last week to buy my salt and there was only one choice.

Operation Househunt Update

We did it! We found a house! And just as I predicted, we drove up to the house I knew it was going to be something special (take that, realtor!). As we walked through the house I was so afraid that my husband would not feel the same, but he did (I guess that is why he's my husband, eh?). On Friday we should close and finally move in. I think banks are guilty of cruel and unusual punishment for making people wait 30-45 days to close on a house. Once you make that offer and it gets accepted you are so eager to move in. You commit to spending thousands (and thousands...and thousands) of dollars with nothing to show for it. Enough whining because the wait is almost over!

As you progress on the journey called life your interests may continually change. In high school I spent endless hours talking about boys (I don't think you could pay me to spend as much time on the phone as I did then, what were we talking about?!? Men are so predictable.). Eventually discussion moves weddings and dissecting the differences between Gerber daisies versus mums, ivory dresses versus white, buttercream frosting versus fondant, and so forth. I never even realized I knew what some of those things were until the ring hit my finger. Now my life is all about houses. Sometimes when I am talking to a friend I think, "Wow, are we really talking about flooring options this seriously? I feel like a mom, wait... I am old enough to be a mom. OMG next it will be exersaucers. My life is over."

So whether you decide to proceed reading my exhaustive description of my new home or not (perhaps you yourself have moved on past houses to babies or even grandbabies, gasp!), here it comes. The biggest selling point of our house is that it is on 7.63 acres. It is nice to know that I have the option of doing outdoor yoga or topless sunbathing if I want to, even though I doubt I will ever engage in these activities. Also, I am embarrassingly clumsy, so mowing the lawn or shoveling snow at our old house on a busy street required a hardcore pep talk to convince myself I don't really care what random strangers think of me. Because, sadly, I do care. The house itself is a bright red Cape Cod-esque one and a half story. The front door leads right into the south-facing living room. It is filled with light and has a bay window for my plants (they are really my husband's, I kill plants.). Down the hall is the kitchen and dinette. There are stainless steel appliances and even granite countertops, hooray! The patio is right off the kitchen. The first floor is finished off by two bedrooms and a full bath. Upstairs is the master suite. To the left is the bedroom and to the right is the bathroom with a jacuzzi tub (I will remove this because after doing an unofficial study of relatives they are mostly used for random storage rather than baths with soothing music, glasses of wine, and essential oils as I imagined.), a shower, and a walk-in closet. Here is the shocker... the whole second floor is carpeted, and I mean the whole floor. Who puts carpet in a bathroom? I must really like this house because that is truly unacceptable. Mark my words: that carpet is out of there within the first three days of my occupancy! After hours of pinterest surfing (does anyone use that word in that context anymore?) I have decreed that the bedroom with either be done in a laminate or hardwood handscraped hickory and the bathroom will have a smaller tub in addition to a tiled walk-in shower (I desire a double-headed shower, despite the fact I question the practicality of such an extravagance). I am thinking earth-toned slate tiling. A girl has to have dreams, right?

So if you had the good sense to skip or skim the previous paragraph, let me put it succinctly- we are excited to move into our new house. Despite the hospitality of my parents, in-laws, and the Comfort Suites of Oshkosh for the past 69 days, I am ready to live out of a house as opposed to a suitcase. "Home sweet home" never sounded so good.

I Need a Home for my Books

Some girls have an obsession with shoes, I have an obsession with books. Much like an obsession with shoes, I don't really need to utilize the books (aka read), I just need to have them. I have this voracious appetite for new titles. If ever someone mentions a book, I want to be able to go home and start it. If I ever suggest a book, I want to be able to offer them a copy from my personal library. I want to run my fingers over the volumes of books and sigh with satisfaction. I have fantasies about being snowed in all winter (too bad they're phasing out winter) and having to read my all books over and over until they are worn and yellow. When I get sad or bored (which happens more when you're homeless) I go to thrift stores and peruse the shelves. Yesterday, I left with two novels and two cookbooks. I used to keep my books in the spare bedroom upstairs. I would often just go up there to be with my books. I'd reminisce about how much I enjoyed reading the old ones and the perfect scenarios to start the new ones. On pinterest my eye is always caught by libraries with sliding ladders and nooks with filled bookshelves. I'm what they call a bibliophile.

Do I need these books? Will I ever read them all? When is someone really going to ask me for a copy of Farewell, My Subaru or Only a Gringo Would Die for an Anteater? This is hard to say (really, I'm not kidding) but I don't really need them, I won't get to them all in my lifetime, and I won't put my money on any urgent requests for my titles. I curiously also love libraries. I should probably focus on my love for putting books on hold and forcing transfers from distant libraries to my own.

If I don't really need all my books what other things don't I need? My vast rubber stamp collection? Maybe my odd pleasure in knowing I have stamps of snails, trolls, squirrels, monsters, ostriches, centipedes, tarantulas, porcupines, and owls isn't worth the untold amount of money I have spent. Maybe. Then there is my kitchen. I have been told that I have the best stocked kitchen in the world in terms of equipment. Most of it is green. My green KitchenAid stand mixer is one of my most treasured possessions. I searched for the best price on my collapsible green salad spinner for weeks. I haven't used it since the first week of buying it. There is also the avocado slicer that tried to slice my hand... and the mandolin that actually did slice the tip of my pinkie finger off. I suppose I could give up a few of those things... but only if you told me they were going to good homes.

The idea of wanting things that aren't really needed is an epidemic. If you want to get real serious about it, consumerism is the basis of capitalism. We have been trained to be buying machines, to constantly crave the newest and shiniest gadgets. If you don't believe me then just go watch the television for a few minutes. I wish I was stronger against this force. I know I don't need these things, but something just takes over my body (lack of willpower maybe?) and forces me to fork over the cash.

A few dollars here and a few dollars there for a used book, a rubber stamp, or a green kitchen utensil probably isn't going to be the end of me. The real reason this is all bubbling up is because of the largest task at hand in my life currently: househunting. Every househunter starts out with a requirement list (HGTV is the handbook of my life). The plan is to just want those few core things: a nice yard, updated kitchen, and a bigger garage. Then you see the first house which has a teeny yard but a great kitchen. The next has a great yard, but a tiny garage. Soon you want to combine the first house's gourmet custom kitchen with the next house's 2 acre yard and the next house's 4 stall garage and the next house's jacuzzi tub and the next house's wet bar and the next house's sauna until your main requirements add up to a 1.4 million dollar house. Side note: I have actually been shown houses with all these things. How could I possibly just be happy with an average yard, kitchen and garage after all that? How did I go from trying to convince my husband to start a Tumbleweed home commune to "needing" granite countertops? Does everyone become a spoiled monster while looking for a home, or is that just me?


I keep thinking I am just going to walk into a house and know it is right. I asked my realtor if finding a house was like finding a wedding dress. He didn't really think it was like that (I don't think he really appreciates my random questions, but I think I will continue anyways, just to make him work for it). I think I will know though. It is really my only hope at this point. As long as I can keep my head on straight and remember that the absence of a kitchen appliance garage isn't a dealbreaker I think it will happen. With a semi load of my stuff and a few gallons of paint I'm sure I can make anything feel like home... well, as long as it has stainless steel appliances ;).

And the thunder rolls

There are few things more exciting in my mind than to really experience a thunderstorm. One of my fondest memories is sitting on the front porch of my best friend's house, perched above the neighborhood, watching rain pelt down on the street and lightening illuminating the sky. We would run to the grocery store while the winds built before the storm came and get a roll of pre-made cookie dough. We got two spoons and shared it the while rocking in the big swing together. We would chat about first kisses and crushes during the lulls of the storm. The feel of thick summer air vibrating with energy always brings me back to that spot.

In Texas, dark clouds would build over the mountain range over the course of hot, summer days. If you were lucky, those clouds would build and build until they exploded into a fury only nature can create. The hard desert floor couldn't swallow the sheets of rain fast enough and the ground would quickly flood. It was so alien to hop between these small lakes of water in the hot and usually, dry, Chihuahuan desert. One day the clouds exploded while a friend and I were on the side of the mountain. We were on the steepest trail in the park, making our way down. The steep grade was a crumbly, rock substrate that we had to scurry down as quickly as possible. That is, as quickly as possible, without slipping into one of the threatening agaves, waiting patiently on the side of the trail. We found a huge boulder off the side of the trail that gave us shelter from the rain, and more importantly, the lightening. From this spot we could enjoy the show until the clouds disappeared further down into the desert.

Iowa always had amazing storms. Something about all those wide, open spaces made storms even stronger. The wind would whip and the sounds of thunder would shake the house. I knew I should be scared, but I was too excited. Before we moved I was waiting for just one good storm before I left. I watched the forecast (ok so I checked the weather on my phone, but religiously) and each day the little thunderbolt appeared for the upcoming day. Every day came and then went, without a storm. I really thought, aah, the storm gods are just building anticipation and they will come through with a  great one  for me right before I leave. It didn't happen. It was such a disappointment. I'll try to be an optimist and say that now I can remember the storms in a way that was probably better than they ever were in reality (but really Iowa is just disappointing).

For me small things, like thunderstorms, are some of my favorite things about life. I enjoy what I can often miss if I am too busy. The feel of a warm towel from the dryer, the sight of green leaves swaying in the wind, the taste the first sweet watermelon of the season,  the sound of hooves hitting the pavement, or even the smell of tires when you first enter Fleet Farm. Sometimes big things I really look forward to end up letting me down in the end, because I have built them up so much in my mind. It is when I work on being in the present, not ruminating about the past or anticipating the next day, but really experiencing life in that moment, that I am happiest. Maybe sometimes I am guilty of getting too wrapped up in being present and forget to make long term plans, but I feel like I am truly living life when I am in this mindset. No one can predict what tomorrow can bring. If I spend all of my energy sorting out the future, won't I regret not experiencing what is right in front of me? I find myself more content in activities that I used to think of as chores. I can find joy in matching socks (I pretend it is a game of pick up sticks and try to match a pair without touching any others) or slicing vegetables for supper or sucking up dog hairballs with the vacuum. Of course no one who is human can always be in the present, but the more work towards it, the better I feel. I'll keep striving for the right balance, but if you see lightening, don't be expecting me to be doing much other than looking out on the storm.

Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes...

I stink at change. It is probably one of my least attractive traits. I have had this problem for as long back as I can remember. I am in the midst of change now. As I write, movers are packing my things. The boxes are starting to accumulate. One would think I would welcome this change. We have been talking about leaving Iowa in the dust for years. We are happy to be moving back to Wisconsin. Yet this tightness in my chest and rolling in my stomach is building. Even good change is hard.

My dog left last week to make the move ahead of me. On our last afternoon together we sat out on the deck and I watched him sit in his favorite spot watching traffic and squirrels. I mourned the loss of this favorite spot for him. I clung to the familiarity of this image. The dumb thing about it is that the dog could care less. He just needs food, water, and a walk. Maybe a bone to gnaw on. I was making up stuff to freak out about.  Next I am going to worry about my plants missing the exact angle of sunshine they receive at their window here. I am a special kind of change-hater.

Moving from one state to another is a considerable change. Most people would understand having a moment of nostalgia. I am much worse at change than that. I get sad when my husband leaves for work every morning. Then I get anxious when he comes back from work. Yes, even the small, familiar shift from him being gone, to being here again irks me. Then there is leaving to go to Wisconsin for the weekend, going on vacation, even going to run errands-  all these changes make me uneasy. The prescription for Xanax has not been wasted on me. Don't worry too much, I haven't become a hermit yet- I lure of magical "finds" at TJ Maxx and Thai food will keep successfully calling me out of the house.

I don't know what it is that makes change so hard. Is it the fear of the unknown? Do I actually secretly like the places and things I leave so much that it causes this heartache? Am I just a baby that embraces any chance to feign distress?

I tried to live a life that changed all the time: a new apartment every year of college; studying abroad and becoming a seasonal park ranger. It never got easier (one year I literally puked everyday in rebellion against the change.) I always counted the days until I could go back home while in in these situations, yet when the time came to leave I worried that it was too soon. Even now I pine for places that I didn't really embrace while actually there. I suppose I will make up things to miss about Iowa too.

I know that memories live on inside me, not in the places I leave. Yet I ruminate about all the special moments that occurred here and somehow feel like I am losing those memories. My husband proposed here. This is where we adopted our dog from the shelter. This is the first real home I had since leaving my parents' place. I could go on with stupid, little things. It doesn't matter, I can remember these things from Wisconsin, or Tahiti even, it just doesn't matter where I am. So, why can't I let it go?

Thankfully there are a few things comforting me this time around. I always moved alone, a lone ranger if you will. Now I have my husband and my dog. These things are a constant. I know that wherever I land next they will make it a home. Now I just have to figure out where that place to land is...

Hello Aldo? It's me, Betsy...

A certain man in a sweater vest got the best of me today. He is not the first of his peers to do this. I also have a bone to pick with a certain man with two first names. Before I lose readers due solely to political reasons let me explain that I am neither Republican nor Democrat. My opinions do not conveniently fit into those neat boxes. One of my biggest priorities, our planet, used to be a pinnacle of conservative agendas. We've all seen the iconic pictures of Teddy Roosevelt surveying western vistas with John Muir at his side. Sometime between now and then the liberal side of politicians picked up the environmentalists and then proceeded to mostly ignore them. So, I won't say that I feel much love from either side of the table. I am most certainly not saying one person should win over another. This is a call for others to consider the implications of their sound bites.

Lately, those chasing each other's tails to get their names on the big ticket have had considerable success in eliminating large sectors of prospective voters rather than gaining them. Anyone loving "America the Beautiful" is likely part of the turned off crowd. Mr. Sweater Vest has decided that anyone that does not wish to have dominion (definition: sovereign authority or complete control) over the earth is now a radical environmentalist. Fine, I'll be radical if that is what it means to believe that mountains are more than the elements hidden in their crevasses, rocks are more than the oil under them, and prairies are more than the loamy soil amongst their roots.

Mr. Two First Names is calling for the elimination of the Department of the Interior, who controls a little subagency called The National Park Service. What will happen to the national parks? Well that is yet to be seen, but suggestions do include selling them to private entities. As a former park ranger (always in my heart) I take real issue to this. National parks are more than land to be partitioned off to the highest bidder.

Maybe these two men and many others would feel differently if they had had the experiences I have had. It is a common phrase amongst park service employees to say that they get "paid in sunsets." The sunsets are great, but I believe I was always paid in moments of visitors having true engagement with nature. Perhaps the only thing more beautiful than watching small salmon swimming in the freshwater streams of the Hoh Rain Forest is to watch a child spot one for the first time and squeal with delight. Or watching an adults' rusty gears turn in their head after setting themselves to the doldrums of daily routine over the amazing survival capabilities of a kangaroo rat in the desert. Or seeing an indifferent teenager sincerely interested in the slime and slither of a banana slug as opposed to an electronic device. A naturalist witnesses small miracles everyday.

The breathtaking views from a mountain, the crisp, clean taste of water from a freshwater spring, the wonder of encountering a wild animal in it's element- these things will not last without protection. They barely do with it. Most hikers have encountered the water bottle on the path, graffiti on the rocks, and toilet paper in the bushes. Yet these are small threats compared to the pierce of an oil drill, the scar of fracking, and the sting of acid rain.

We need a voice of reason to set our priorities straight. Someone to stand up and say some things in this world are worth more than having the lowest gasoline price possible. I wonder what Aldo Leopold would say about this (do it, look him up...). I am what you might call a Leopold-phile. Interning on the land he once called his own and that inspired A Sand County Almanac was one of the greatest honors of my life. He didn't wear tie-dyed t-shirts, listen to jam bands, or eat tofu. No, he was good ol' boy and he loved this planet too. One of his greatest quotes was "a thing is right when it tends to preserve the integrity, stability and beauty of the biotic community. It is wrong when it tends otherwise." Selling the national parks and having dominion over the earth seem to tend otherwise in my opinion. Have all the leaders willing to say this come and gone? Where is Leopold, Roosevelt or Muir now that we need them?  Now that the greed of consumerism has its eyes on nature's best jewels.

We can live and find a way to adapt without the use of finite resources (we are still determined, intelligent, and inventive Americans, right?). However I am not sure that I could truly live without nature's resources and the beauty, adventure, and hope it gives to my life.

The Haters

Have you ever found yourself sucked into one of Joel Osteen's inspirational "messages" on late night television? If not, this is the time to open a new tab, and google him... maybe make sure you are alone first. He is a spirited, smiley Christian minister. I myself am not religious, and usually born-again types can scare me (i.e. If I blink too long I might end up in a mega-church with the doors locked and on a plank above a Baptismal pool, but that's my issue, not yours) yet I cannot deny that he is an amazingly captivating speaker and his topics can be universal. On this particular night he was talking about ignoring those who do not support you and choosing your battles. If people do not celebrate you, be nice, but move on and stay the course. I cannot argue with that and in fact, I love that!

I am often so worried about other people think. I'm probably even guilty of letting it drive some of the important decisions in my life. I no longer want to allow myself to do things just to please others or to impress others. I have to remember to keep true to myself. Sometimes I know I should just step out of the influence of others and listen to the voice inside of me. I know I have a lot of soul searching in front of me and probably a lot of mistakes but I can't let the fear of being judged by others stop me. I told my husband tonight that I want to try out for the television show The Voice. If you haven't seen it, you may just want to skip to the next paragraph because this is going to get specific. I have it all planned out in my head. I am going to sing The Thunder Rolls by Garth Brooks and it is going to be show-stoppingly great. Then, all the judges are going to turn around and fight for me. I am going to wobble between Blake and Adam, but I am ultimately going to choose Blake because I think Adam and his tattoos will distract me too much. Of course my husband laughed because he has never heard me sing beyond a whisper tone unless I am doing a parody of Josh Groban or Mariah Carey or someone. And in all honestly, I'm probably not what the show is looking for, but maybe I should take on one of those crazy dreams in my head. Who cares if no one turns around their chair?! At least I tried.

Often the ones who judge you are the ones you are judging yourself. I can be distracted by others that rub me the wrong way instead of being inspired by those I admire. Another late night led me to making a list (with my trusty 50 pack of Crayola markers) of the traits of those not so favorite people along with those who make my heart hurt because I think they're so amazing. I found that I don't enjoy those who are two-faced, loud (bad loud, not good loud, you know what I mean) and selfish. Most of my favorite people are reflective, intelligent, confident, and caring. I can tend to waste a lot of time thinking about those not-so-favorites. For instance, do you ever find yourself in the shower reliving a moment from a month ago that still makes your blood boil and you're rehashing all the things you should have said (but really shouldn't have) and then realize you've been standing there waaay to long and the water is getting cold? I want to show them how they are wrong, force them to be the people I want them to be, but this is completely not my job. People are going to do what they want and I can only control myself (and thank goodness for that because the world should not be filled with multiple Betsys- there would be a real shortage of kitschy forest animal trinkets). I need to focus on aspiring to be more like those I do admire and avoiding being that two-faced, loud, selfish person I don't much admire. I can lead by example. Anger is energy I could be using towards more useful endeavors. At the end of the day, no matter what those haters say about me, offense is taken, not given. I choose whether or not I am going to let their issues affect me or let it just roll off my back (brush your shoulders off, right?). I can't let the negative energy control my life.

I might start small and finally wear those cute over-the-knee socks I have been scared to bust out before I move on to more daring goals like speaking up for myself amongst a tough crowd or trying something I might fail at, but I know I'll get there. I am the one stuck with me for the rest of my life, so I might as well focus on liking myself instead of trying so hard to make others like me.

My Jungle

Have you ever noticed something and then you start noticing that same thing everywhere you go? It's like a sign? Let me explain. I was driving the other day in Waterloo and there is a "highway" with about fifty stoplights on it. I kept getting stopped right next to this semi truck hauling livestock, despite my attempts to slow down, speed up, change lanes- just about anything to get away. I couldn't escape it and when we stopped at those fifty stoplights I saw piglets... adorable, peach-fuzzed, pink piglets. Then, the next day, in Dubuque, I had the same thing happen, this time it was some big-eyed, hairy cows. Then, three days later, again. See, I have this history with livestock trucks. When I was 12 years old my mother and I were driving across the Tower Drive bridge (in Green Bay) and we passed a similar truck. I looked over and there was this cow sticking his head out one of those little holes. He was letting the air whip across his face, just like a dog does when you open the car window. It was so cute and then it stuck me... this cow was on his way to Packerland Packing. It only had a few minutes left to see sunshine, feel that breeze, and just simply be alive. I never was the same. I stopped eating red meat that day. Soon I stopped eating chicken, and then fish. (Note: I believe that this choice, coupled with my lack of nutritional knowledge and love for only bean burritos has caused my ridiculously short legs). I relapsed into my carnivorous ways during college, because despite my feelings, I do love meat. A couple years ago I read this great book The Kind Diet by Alicia Silverstone, and decided to reinvest in my beliefs and become a vegan.

It is one thing to think you are going to be a vegan and it is a whole different thing to be a vegan. It requires a lot of sacrifice. After a week or two, you don't really mind not eating meat or dairy. Even despite everyone's cries, "Oh, but I could never give up cheese, oh I love cheese so much!" it isn't so bad. And it is a lot healthier. The real challenges set in after those initial couple weeks. After withstanding the never ending eye rolls from dining companions and heckling servers about the preparation of those steamed veggies, you realize, I want to eat something actually off the menu, that I wouldn't make at home. Vegan-friendly restaurants do exist, but it is hard to convince the average person that in fact, Thai and Indian food is good and isn't going to make them smell funny.  The other real sacrifices are time and money. Almost every meal needs to be prepared from scratch, using ingredients that usually cost considerably more than conventional ones. You can be that hippie who soaks their own beans, cooks their own seitan and avoids mock meats, but even being a housewife, I find that difficult. I love to cook, but there are those nights you just don't want to cook this gourmet meal. (To be clear though, I think all of these sacrifices are worth the cost in the long run.)

So you cheat now and then. I let myself eat eggs that come from a local farm, where I can actually see the chickens. I buy bison burgers from a lady at farmers market from the next town over. I occasionally make the perch that my husband's grandfather catches for us. I actually order something off the menu at restaurants. It starts off innocently enough and then you realize, wow, I've been eating an animal product every day this week. Maybe I did sneak a little cheese while chowing down on green enchiladas in Santa Fe, add a little real milk to the mashed potatoes, eat that slightly burnt bratwurst that summer day. Even though it was a choice I made to avoid animal products, I still feel like I did something wrong when I let down my vegan guard.

I think what disappoints me the most is I am not a good example of a vegan. Just the other day a friend tried to bait me into a debate on the harm in eating dairy products- I didn't even try to explain myself. I try to be approachable to others and don't tell the whole story. I tell people I am a vegan for health choices, but that is only part of the story. It does make you feel light, energetic and free, but it's also great for the environment and for the animals. I don't think it is right to stuff a cow full of corn, which isn't meant to digest, and then violently slaughter the animal at poorly run facilities. Same goes for pigs, or hogs as we call them in Iowa. I don't think it is right to squish chickens in a crate way too small for them and cut off part of their beaks to make them egg-laying machines. I don't think it is right to take a calf away from it's mother to feed it powdered chemicals, just so humans can drink that milk meant for them. I truly don't think it is worth the amount of money saved to buy factory farmed meat instead of local, grass-fed meat. I think if we were forced to see the truth and really think about it, more people would feel this way. Maybe if I fought harder for my values and didn't shirk away from tough conversations I could be a better model to those around me and it would make a difference. I won't be discouraged by the fear of being seen as a frenzied, PETA card carrying lunatic, because maybe I am just like one of those people. I definitely don't always agree with my friends and family on issues, so I can be free to do the same. It is okay to not go with the flow if it means I am standing strong on what I believe.

Maybe this is a new years resolution that came one month late, but I am going to try harder. I want to be the change that I want to see in the world. I won't be perfect, but at least I will be striving for a goal. I hope the next time one of those trucks passes me by I'll know I tried my hardest to keep those animals out in the breezy sunshine.

Ready or not...

I woke up this morning to a fresh blanket of snow. Wait, let's be more specific. I woke up this morning to the clattering of my dog's toenails on the hardwood floor. I groaned... rolled over and swallowed the fact that I was going to have to get up and let the dog out long before I was ready to wake up (the truth is once I am awoken all I can think about is how I really have to go to the bathroom and if I am up to go there then the guilt that I should just be a good dog mom and let him out weighs me down until I do it). So, I trudged my way to the back door, inevitably tripping over my over-eager dog only to find that once the door was opened my dog refused to go outside. I looked out and everything was white- I thought it was beautiful. Yet my dog had somehow forgotten what snow was over the course of the previous three seasons. My now awake husband finally pushed him out of the door against his will. The dog sniffed the white substance, licked it and then ran out into the yard, tail wagging again. I smiled and then laughed as I watched him. I imagine it was similar to how a parent feels after being awoken in the middle of the night only to find their baby grinning at them from the crib, wide awake. I could not help but be touched by my silly dog's "new" discoveries.

I am excited about this snowfall. I will admit that it is entirely possible that it is because I know that this snow won't last. This isn't the snow that will form the constant tire boogers behind my car wheels. It isn't the grey snow that lurks in every parking lot come February. It also isn't the snow that I will have to shovel in the driveway while battling the temperature disparity between by extremities and my core (oh yeah, that's me wearing a ski mask, boots, gloves and just long underwear shoveling away on my very busy street). It is just a temporary reminder of things to come. A warning to get ready because while you were trying to wait until the very last minute to rake those leaves, winter was still making its way to you.

This snow is beautiful, white, and clean . It covers everything in sight, creating an alien landscape. Unlike any other season, winter has the power to change your surroundings in such a short time. The buds of spring take weeks to bloom, the heat of summer builds slowly and the leaves of autumn turn gradually. Snow is different. It takes a view that you have gotten used to, maybe even resigned to, and makes it brand new. It gives you the energy to keep going because somehow things feel fresh again.

Winter is a season that I need to bring me back to center. Other seasons are filled with chaos, but winter is more of a constant which allows me to turn inward. It also allows me to bring my awareness to the small things. I was excited to take the dog for a walk today, because it suddenly felt like a new adventure. We went down to a bike trail that follows the Cedar River. It was quiet, not a single biker, jogger, or morning speed walker to distract me. Just the trees, the river, the snow, and us. I noticed a hawk swoop above the trail ahead of me, which is something that would have probably been camouflaged by leaves just a week earlier (or even more likely, that I would have been too distracted to notice because I was trying to stop my dog from running in front of a biker, while they are ringing their annoying little bell and my dog is running circles around my legs and I am just trying to keep upright). Even more special to me was that I again noticed the chickadees flitting from branch to branch. Chickadees remind me of my late grandmother and listening to their familiar song brings me back to forests of Wisconsin. I am lucky that a species so common is so dear to me. I can have a piece of home almost anywhere I go, as long as I have the consciousness to notice them.

Winter is a cozy season. I think one of the best compliments I have ever gotten is when a friend once told me how "cozy" I was. At the time I think it made me feel like a grandmother, but now I have come to appreciate and embrace this trait. I am looking forward to a season filled with knitting scarves, drinking hot tea, wearing fuzzy sweaters, and reading Laura Ingalls Wilder by the roaring woodstove. Maybe my winter-loving husband is wearing off on me, but I can't wait for that next layer of white.

The Question

I really despise "the question." It comes up too often and people give it too much worth. One form or another has been asked since I was a child. You've been asked this question and we have all likely asked it ourselves.

"What do you do?" and when I was younger, "what do you want to be?"

I get it, I do. I know it is an ice breaking question and we ask this question to help us understand people. It is just that I don't think it will help anyone understand me. I think there are much better questions to ask someone to get to know them, but we are afraid that those questions are too personal, serious, or deep for simple conversation.

Maybe this just bothers me so much because of where I am in my life now. In order understand that though, I am going to back up a bit...

When I was kid, I answered the question with a variety of answers. Some days I wanted to be a singer like Mariah Carey or Whitney Houston. I'd find the highest surface I could climb up to safely as a kid, grab a comb, convert my turtleneck into a tube top type contraption and belt out "and I willllllllll alwaaaaaaays love youuuuu!" My grandparents were always a very supportive audience, but I never did make it to any larger venues.

Later on I became obsessed with bottlenose dolphins, clownfish, and killer whales. I had a tie-died whale t-shirt(that I still wear and I look hot no matter what you say), stacks of scientific ocean books, an obnoxious holographic framed picture of a whale, and watched The Little Mermaid too many times. We visited Marineland in Florida (A low budget version of SeaWorld with peeling paint and a lot less people) and I was the chosen volunteer for the dolphin show. I fed the dolphin slimy fish and tossed a football back and forth with it. I was in love.  So, I decided I would be a marine biologist. This was great for awhile, I thought I had found my calling. I imagined myself moving to the West Coast for college and completing groundbreaking studies on sea life. I'd be famous and my name would be in all the scientific journals.
Then my parents told me something I should have realized sooner. Marine biologists have to spend a lot of time in the water. I hate water. I don't even like showers much. I cannot stand having my face wet or my head being immersed in water. I begged my mom to allow me to schedule an elective surgery during the swim unit of gym class to no avail. I refused to go under water for class. I got a "C" in gym class that quarter (that is like an "F" in my world). So, needless to say, the marine biologist career path was cut short for me.

I spent most of my adolescence and young adulthood skipping from one aspiration to another. I would convince myself that I would be the best interior designer ever and once my major was declared and I started taking courses I realized I hated drawing. The pattern continued to repeat itself. I find myself being really interested in new things for a short period of time and then losing interest. I got more satisfaction with shocking my family and friends with my new plans than actually making any progress towards a career. I am not a slacker and I am actually quite smart. I was on the Dean's list most of my semesters at Madison. I just don't have direction. My fiance and most of my friends were the sort of people that knew since they were a kid what they wanted to do for a career.  I, on the other hand, fumbled through college. I ended up with a Bachelor of Arts in International Studies with a certificate in Environmental Studies. That sort of degree would probably lend itself towards a job in Washington D.C. or with a multinational corporation but I never wanted to live in a city for the rest of my life.  So, now it just sounds impressive on paper without being of much use.

After college, I did seasonal stints at National Parks. When people asked me "the question" I was happy to answer "Oh, I am actually a Park Ranger." It was a great conversation starter. I was the envy of most middle-aged men. I felt like my profession at least matched a portion of my personality and values. I loved that I helped people appreciate nature and I felt like I made a difference in the world. I hoped that when I answered "the question" people envisioned me in the green and grey standing tall on top of a mountain, chest high. It just wasn't a sustainable career for me. I missed home and civilization and the consistency of a normal life. When I ended up in Iowa I had all those other things, but no career.



Now I have to figure out a new answer to "the question." The problem is I don't have an answer. I don't know what tomorrow will bring. My fiance and I have decided that having me home is the best place for me right now. Everyone is happier. The house is clean, the dog isn't running around chasing his tail because he has too much energy, a complete meal is served most nights without stress, I have a Y2K stash of strawberry jam in the freezer and I greet my fiance with a smile and hug every day after work. I have a good thing going.

It is funny though that as soon as you are happy others want to find a way to bring you down. They ask me what I plan to do with my life, hint to my fiance that I may be a gold-digger, and want a run down of what I do all day. I don't fit into their box. Or maybe it is just that they are jealous. I realize I am extremely lucky to have such a supportive fiance and family. I know that everyone does not have this choice available to them.

So until further notice, if you ask me "the question" I am going to tell you that I am a stay at home dog mom. I am still bouncing around ideas for my future. Maybe I'll be a naturopath or a website designer or a pilot or a policewoman. Heck, maybe I'll try out for the next season of The Voice. You just never know where life is going to take you next and I am okay with that, I just hope everyone around me is too.

I live in Iowa.

I have had the pleasure of living in and visiting many beautiful places in my 26 years of life.  As a child, I fell asleep to the sound of a chorus of spring peepers and the occasional hoot of an owl. I actually have an alarm clock with a "forest" sound setting that is eerily similar to those spring nights of home. One morning I was awoken by the sound of crunching while living in the Hoh Rainforest of Washington. I looked out my window to find a large elk butt blocking my view. In West Texas, I never knew if the Guadalupe Mountains would be standing tall when I walked out of the door or if  wispy clouds would be hiding them from my sight.  Oftentimes storm clouds would build all day and explode in the afternoons with monstrous thunderstorms. The dry, compacted earth could not swallow the sheets of rain fast enough and it  transformed the desert into a giant kiddie pool, if only for a few minutes. While I studied in Cape Town, I had an amazing view of Table Mountain from my window and my apartment complex was surrounded with exotic plants like birds of paradise and a shrub that looked like it would produce bananas if given the right attention.

Despite the endless memories I have of these places and countless others, I have a sad confession. I have always had an awful case of "the-grass-is-greener-on-the-other-side" syndrome. Growing up I could not wait to live somewhere that allowed me to have neighbors and cable television.

When I lived in the Hoh I felt claustrophobic and trapped by the idea of the remoteness. The moss and Sitka spruce seemed to entangle themselves around my chest and it always felt hard to breathe when I was in that valley. I knew it took 12 minutes to drive far enough down the road to where on a good day I might get a cell phone signal, and where my mail or the occasional package would be dropped off. It would take at least another half hour to get to the Ace Hardware-Outfitter-Grocery combination store where I could buy People magazine. I spent all week looking forward to the 5 hour drive along Lake Crescent, through clear cuts and across Puget Sound to Seattle and civilization. I had never felt better than when my car was parked at suspicious angles pointing straight into the water on the car ferry while I let the moist air play with my hair and I looked towards the lights of the city. I knew that those lights held natural grocery stores, Thai restaurants, friends, but most importantly a strong AT&T signal.

South Africa nearly ruined me. A couple weeks after I arrived, itchy red bumps began to appear over my body. I went to the pharmacy and they gave me lotion for scabies and told me to scald my bedding and beloved stuffed animals (Bean and Euklee) in hot water. When that did not work I made an appointment with a foreign doctor, who had a sign out front that simply said "Surgery." He told me I likely had fleas. My African friends assured me this was a normal occurrence amongst college aged kids there. Meanwhile, my mother frantically sent a care package across the Atlantic and the equator, that was stuffed with a plastic sheet to enclose my mattress and concoctions that killed anything that might like to feast on dead skin cells. I sprinkled a blue powder along the edge of my bedroom that I found in a shop near my place that is likely prohibited in the U.S. for its toxicity, but promised to exterminate fleas. Soon after my bumps started changing into scabs and then scars, the cockroaches appeared... I had a countdown written in my planner of how many days I would be on that strange, hostile continent long before I hit the 100 day mark. I stuffed myself with Cadbury Mint Crisp bars, Xanax, and bottles of Savannah Dry to help pass the time.

It is always the same story. I dream up the dream of dreams in my imaginative head. I am going to move to Texas and be a strong, fearless Park Ranger that just looks at rattlesnakes right to make them skirt away. I'll get killer cowboy boots and all the locals will fall in love with me. Sometimes the dreams nearly came true, but it was never enough. I longed for home so much I would make myself sick. I would shut out the opportunity to fall in love with a new place. All those beautiful sunsets but they didn't feel beautiful enough without the people I loved. A few days after I get home and my body is backed up from eating too many squeaky cheese curds and I remember that Wisconsin always smells like cow manure, I start missing wherever I just came from.

These days I reside in the state of Iowa. It isn't really known for anything other than corn. There isn't much to do and there aren't any mountains to greet me when I wake up. If I want to camp somewhere scenic I'll probably drive for hours and once the ice melts it converts itself instantly into stifling humidity. The funny thing is that I am happy here. No, not for the long term, but day to day without thinking about it too hard, I am happy. If I start missing home, I drive 5 1/2 hours and about the time I start getting annoyed with home, I drive the 5 1/2 hours back. I can dream about the banana slugs of the Hoh, the roadrunners of Texas and the giraffes of South Africa without actually having to go there. When the day dreams get too intense, I can open my eyes and drive 2 minutes to buy People magazine. I never do though. I have a garden to pick green beans out of, a dog to teach to play frisbee, a studio to paint/sew/bead/stamp/journal in, and a man that I love more than anything else in the world. We whine about how awful Iowa is but I know it could be worse. The soil is really good here and so the grass is actually quite green.

The Trailhead (and so it begins...)

Starting a blog seems sort of tacky to me. It is built on this assumption that people care about what I have to say or about my life. Seems a bit presumptuous. I am moving past this thought though, because I think it will be good for me.

I watched an episode of Northern Exposure (hello '90's!) the other night. Maggie decides to go camping for her 30th birthday and write letters to all her ex boyfriends (who happen to also be dead). Then she sends them off on a river and in the hope that she'll be freed from her past. In true dramatic fashion she gets stricken with appendicitis and must be rescued from her camping trip and so you are never really sure if it worked... but either way, this blog should be a similar approach. Bundle up all my crazy thoughts and spew them out to the interweb in an attempt to keep growing.

As for Northern Exposure, I am neither recommending or poo-pooing the show. I can only say that it kept me company on many lonely nights during my stint in Hoh Rainforest of Olympic National Park. I also hoped that the theme song played at loud volumes would disturb my neighbor through the very thin government-issue walls. It was payback for having to listen to his girlfriend's bird-like pleasure sounds one too many times.

If this blog had it's description on one of the old trail guides I am not sure what it would say. So, you may want to continue reading at your own risk. And you may ask, what is up with all the trail terminology? I like the idea of a switchback as a metaphor for life. Most of the time you don't feel like you are moving forward in life, but you always are, and then, sometimes you feel like you are taking on much more than you'd like all at once. It all evens out into this steady climb. I also need to milk the whole previous park ranger mystique for all it is worth. Sometimes I feel like it is the only thing I have done in life that sets me apart from the pack and one of the only things that has really surprised me about myself. I don't think it defines me, but it taught me a lot. I could be basing the theme of my blog on my favorite movie Mean Girls, in which case it would likely be called The Burn Book and I'd have to use words like "fugly" and "grool." Oh, but I'll probably use the word "grool" anyways because I think it's useful. Either way, if you plan on reading this, you should be happy I went with the trail angle instead of Mean Girls.