It's hard to believe it's been a year since Grandpa left us. Sometimes it seems like it was just last week. I still miss him so much and have not yet been able to get used to going over to Grandma's house and not seeing him in his chair in the corner. Every time I take a photo of flowers, I wish that he was here to enjoy it with me. Grandma's garden just doesn't look the same without Grandpa's loving care.
I realized that I never did get around to writing up an entry about how wonderful and special he was. But it's so hard to decide what to focus on. He was a great man and lived many wonderful years and there are so many things to say about him.
He loved his family very much. He especially loved his wife. He loved her long before she was willing to love him and he waited patiently for her to be ready to marry him. According to my mom and her siblings, he was an especially loving father. They rarely had babysitters because he always wanted the whole bunch of them with him. As his children grew up, got married and started having children of their own, he dreamed of somehow getting everyone into houses on his street so that all his kids and grandkids would be in one central location with him right in the center. He loved having us all together.
He was a fishing and hunting man. I have vague memories of sitting out on the small boat with him, waiting and waiting for a fish to finally take my bait and allow my grandpa to help me pull it in. I hated having to touch the fish, which he thought was terribly funny. But I loved it when he would cook those scaly creatures up with bread crumbs and lemon juice. Grandpa's fish was probably one of my very favorite meals ever. Followed rather closely by his biscuits and gravy, which I also remember eating at a young age.
Grandpa preferred to wear flannel shirts all the time. He had a whole bunch of them. Many of them were ones that I picked out for him for Christmas. As much as I love Christmas shopping, my very favorite part was when I would go to the men's department and locate their flannel shirts and spend great amounts of time trying to decide what color and style would look best on my grandfather that particular year. Every year he knew he'd be getting one from me, every year he would be very happy to get it, and every year he would be sure to wear it the next time I saw him.
There's so many stories I could share, so much I could say about him, but I don't think I'd ever be able to find the right number of words. Instead, I think I'll share a video we made for his memorial service last year. It shows so well the grandpa I remember, the one who loved his family, loved his dogs, loved his home, and loved his life.
Jun 6, 2010
Writing the Next Chapter
I'm so hesitant to write about this because of how quickly things turned ugly for me the last time I introduced a leading man into my story, but I'm getting scolded for not keeping up on my activities, so I guess I'll give it another shot.
When I had last left off, the cute ice cream guy had mentioned getting together again "sometime". The casualness of the question, mixed with the slight awkwardness of him getting it out left me thinking that he would chat with me at Bible study next Friday and then maybe bring up something causal we could possibly do together later the next week. I was not at all prepared to receive an invitation on Wednesday to do something that Saturday.
Saturday arrived and he and I went to Oaks Park to go roller skating. How fun! We bonded over shared memories of the 80's music and the old all-school skating parties we used to attend in elementary school. I knew we had attended the same high school, but I was surprised to learn that we also went to the same jr. high and elementary school. Turns out we were practically neighbors in our childhood days. Weird.
Roller skating was a fun and original date idea. And very smart. We were able to talk but during those times when we were not talking, we weren't sitting in awkward silence looking around the room wondering what to talk about next. Instead we had crazy 80's music and the desire to remain on our feet to keep us distracted. I think it's truly amazing that I can run around in vertigo-inducing heels like they are tennis shoes, but throw eight wheels on the bottom of my shoe and I become a total klutz.
After roller skating we went to a nice little family-owned Italian restaurant and discovered a shared fondness of pineapple on our pizza. He's more traditional with his pineapple, pairing it with the customary Canadian bacon, while I like to flirt with a more daring side and throw on pepperoni, but the common pineapple bond was a happy discovery.
Sunday was church and the "Party Because None Of Us Have To Work In The Morning" thrown by his roommates, which I happily attended and enjoyed. Terry and I taught him to play Kings while other partiers watched "That Thing You Do" or played Cranium games in the other room. At least, I think that's what they were doing. Terry said that a few of them seemed almost more interested in watching our game and the silly banter going on between me and each of the guys. I'm kind of glad I didn't notice that part.
Monday was Memorial Day and as such, a free day for those of us who work for the government. And Derrick (because Monday's are always his day off). I was planning on going to see Iron Man 2 on Tuesday and wanted a quick refresher, so I had asked if I could borrow the movie and somehow along the lines ended up agreeing to letting him come over and watch it with me. Yikes! Derrick assured me that we could get the house cleaned up enough for me to feel okay with this new interest of mine to come over without worrying that he would get eaten by monsters. I can't say I was at any point ever perfectly happy with the house, but at least Derrick was right and he made it in and out all in one piece.
*Bonus points for the guy: he came bearing popcorn, Coke, and a small ball to distract Jade from barking at him. Very sweet and very smart.*
On Tuesday he sent me a note asking if we could get together during the week and talk about "our relationship". To me, this is right along the lines of saying "Deema, we need to talk. . . ." Nothing good could come of this! For the rest of the day I pondered what on earth I could have done already to scare him off. No, not pondered; I obsessed. Maybe it was a bad idea to introduce him to my brothers so soon. But then again, he was the one who wanted to meet them. Maybe it was something I had said? Or something I didn't say? Did I forget to do something that is vital in this stage in a relationship? He was doing the pursuing, so it couldn't be that I was chasing him off by being too aggressive, and I thought I was being receptive enough to not give the impression that I wasn't interested. . . At this point, I reverted back to my standard postion that dating just SUCKS.
But I agreed to get together with him anyway. I figured it was better to get it over with sooner rather than drag it out. Like peeling off a band-aid: fast and with little mercy. We agreed on dinner at his place the next day. That struck me as an odd way to have the "talk": "Here, let me make dinner for you at my place. Oh and by the way, I've decided that I'm not interested in pursuing this any further. Have a nice day."
Actually, only a small part of me thought that. In reality, I realized that I hadn't had a chance to do something wrong and it was very unlikely that the conversation was going to go like that. That's dramatic Deema taking the control and I decided to reign her in before she went too far.
As you might have suspected, I had nothing to worry about. The conversation was nice and honest and very positive. I found him to be very different from any other guy I've ever known. There's no indecsion or hesitation with him. He doesn't seem to be running the customary tally of pros and cons on me. He seems to have no desire to hide me away or deny any kind of relationship with me. And he hasn't needed me to do anything to convince him to move forward. In fact, if anything, I'm the one stepping lightly and cautiously and each time finding it an unnecessary precaution.
At this point I realized that I'm going to have to give him a name in my blog. I could continue referring to him as "the cute ice cream guy" but it seems rather clear that he intends to be involved enough in my activities that it would get a bit tedious writing that out each time. But like I said at the beginning, I was still hesitant due to the last time my leading man got a real name.
Still undecided about the name issue for my blog (by the way, I hope this also explains a little of why it's taken so long to write all this stuff up), I agreed to go with him to play miniature golf for a birthday party. I thought it would be a good way to see how he did this dating thing when other people are around. He's very sweet and attentive when we're out together, but how will he be with me with his friends around? How would he deal with me in a crowd of people I don't know? I gave myself permission to leave him nameless in my story until I observed the answers to these questions.
He's just as sweet and attentive in a crowd of people as he is when we are alone. He didn't make me play, but allowed me to take pictures instead (I hadn't told him how much I really HATE miniature golf, but did express a hesitation about playing). He would come over and stand with me if I seemed to be lingering back from the crowd (which I actually didn't do as often as I normally would) and wait for me to feel comfortable enough to jump back into the group. And he held my hand without even a little trace of embarrassment.
And if that wasn't enough, the next day he met most of my family. And he still seems to like me!
So, I guess that means he's proven himself worthy of a name. Meet Jeff:
I'm a little excited to see what kind of leading man he turns out to be in my story. :)
When I had last left off, the cute ice cream guy had mentioned getting together again "sometime". The casualness of the question, mixed with the slight awkwardness of him getting it out left me thinking that he would chat with me at Bible study next Friday and then maybe bring up something causal we could possibly do together later the next week. I was not at all prepared to receive an invitation on Wednesday to do something that Saturday.
Saturday arrived and he and I went to Oaks Park to go roller skating. How fun! We bonded over shared memories of the 80's music and the old all-school skating parties we used to attend in elementary school. I knew we had attended the same high school, but I was surprised to learn that we also went to the same jr. high and elementary school. Turns out we were practically neighbors in our childhood days. Weird.
Roller skating was a fun and original date idea. And very smart. We were able to talk but during those times when we were not talking, we weren't sitting in awkward silence looking around the room wondering what to talk about next. Instead we had crazy 80's music and the desire to remain on our feet to keep us distracted. I think it's truly amazing that I can run around in vertigo-inducing heels like they are tennis shoes, but throw eight wheels on the bottom of my shoe and I become a total klutz.
After roller skating we went to a nice little family-owned Italian restaurant and discovered a shared fondness of pineapple on our pizza. He's more traditional with his pineapple, pairing it with the customary Canadian bacon, while I like to flirt with a more daring side and throw on pepperoni, but the common pineapple bond was a happy discovery.
Sunday was church and the "Party Because None Of Us Have To Work In The Morning" thrown by his roommates, which I happily attended and enjoyed. Terry and I taught him to play Kings while other partiers watched "That Thing You Do" or played Cranium games in the other room. At least, I think that's what they were doing. Terry said that a few of them seemed almost more interested in watching our game and the silly banter going on between me and each of the guys. I'm kind of glad I didn't notice that part.
Monday was Memorial Day and as such, a free day for those of us who work for the government. And Derrick (because Monday's are always his day off). I was planning on going to see Iron Man 2 on Tuesday and wanted a quick refresher, so I had asked if I could borrow the movie and somehow along the lines ended up agreeing to letting him come over and watch it with me. Yikes! Derrick assured me that we could get the house cleaned up enough for me to feel okay with this new interest of mine to come over without worrying that he would get eaten by monsters. I can't say I was at any point ever perfectly happy with the house, but at least Derrick was right and he made it in and out all in one piece.
*Bonus points for the guy: he came bearing popcorn, Coke, and a small ball to distract Jade from barking at him. Very sweet and very smart.*
On Tuesday he sent me a note asking if we could get together during the week and talk about "our relationship". To me, this is right along the lines of saying "Deema, we need to talk. . . ." Nothing good could come of this! For the rest of the day I pondered what on earth I could have done already to scare him off. No, not pondered; I obsessed. Maybe it was a bad idea to introduce him to my brothers so soon. But then again, he was the one who wanted to meet them. Maybe it was something I had said? Or something I didn't say? Did I forget to do something that is vital in this stage in a relationship? He was doing the pursuing, so it couldn't be that I was chasing him off by being too aggressive, and I thought I was being receptive enough to not give the impression that I wasn't interested. . . At this point, I reverted back to my standard postion that dating just SUCKS.
But I agreed to get together with him anyway. I figured it was better to get it over with sooner rather than drag it out. Like peeling off a band-aid: fast and with little mercy. We agreed on dinner at his place the next day. That struck me as an odd way to have the "talk": "Here, let me make dinner for you at my place. Oh and by the way, I've decided that I'm not interested in pursuing this any further. Have a nice day."
Actually, only a small part of me thought that. In reality, I realized that I hadn't had a chance to do something wrong and it was very unlikely that the conversation was going to go like that. That's dramatic Deema taking the control and I decided to reign her in before she went too far.
As you might have suspected, I had nothing to worry about. The conversation was nice and honest and very positive. I found him to be very different from any other guy I've ever known. There's no indecsion or hesitation with him. He doesn't seem to be running the customary tally of pros and cons on me. He seems to have no desire to hide me away or deny any kind of relationship with me. And he hasn't needed me to do anything to convince him to move forward. In fact, if anything, I'm the one stepping lightly and cautiously and each time finding it an unnecessary precaution.
At this point I realized that I'm going to have to give him a name in my blog. I could continue referring to him as "the cute ice cream guy" but it seems rather clear that he intends to be involved enough in my activities that it would get a bit tedious writing that out each time. But like I said at the beginning, I was still hesitant due to the last time my leading man got a real name.
Still undecided about the name issue for my blog (by the way, I hope this also explains a little of why it's taken so long to write all this stuff up), I agreed to go with him to play miniature golf for a birthday party. I thought it would be a good way to see how he did this dating thing when other people are around. He's very sweet and attentive when we're out together, but how will he be with me with his friends around? How would he deal with me in a crowd of people I don't know? I gave myself permission to leave him nameless in my story until I observed the answers to these questions.
He's just as sweet and attentive in a crowd of people as he is when we are alone. He didn't make me play, but allowed me to take pictures instead (I hadn't told him how much I really HATE miniature golf, but did express a hesitation about playing). He would come over and stand with me if I seemed to be lingering back from the crowd (which I actually didn't do as often as I normally would) and wait for me to feel comfortable enough to jump back into the group. And he held my hand without even a little trace of embarrassment.
And if that wasn't enough, the next day he met most of my family. And he still seems to like me!
So, I guess that means he's proven himself worthy of a name. Meet Jeff:
I'm a little excited to see what kind of leading man he turns out to be in my story. :)
May 25, 2010
Sniffles
Oh well. I guess I'll make the best of it by making some white tea and loading my dinner with antioxidant-filled blueberries and calling it a night.
I suppose that's what I get for playing hooky from the flu season.
May 23, 2010
Saturday: A Story
I had a really bad headache on Friday night. As the Bible study wore on, it steadily (and rapidly) grew into a full blown migraine. I'm talking tightening-vice, squeeze your eyeballs out, sensory overload, sick to your stomach migraine. I managed to make it through the study, but I couldn't stay for the hang out time afterwards. I was just in too much pain. So, I don't have anything interesting to give you guys about Friday.
Saturday morning I woke up to a completely silent house. Everyone else was asleep in their rooms, dogs included, and I had free reign of a silent, video-game-free living room. So I wandered downstairs with my very slight migraine hangover to start flipping through the TV, searching for the right Saturday morning animation to wake me up.
I was still in the process of enjoying the quietness of my extra-full apartment when the phone rang. In an unusual act of good will, I actually answered the phone. It was one of the guys from my community group checking on my head. After establishing that I was feeling much better, he invited me out for some ice cream to finish a conversation we had intended to pick up after Bible study the night before.
We decided on Ice Cream Renaissance for our visit. It's this cool, artsy ice cream shop that makes the most delicious ice cream art. Really. The even call themselves ice cream artists. For them, it's all about the presentation. The fact that the ice cream is every bit as tasty as it is artful is just an added bonus. I've been there a few times and really like it, but I had never been there on a Saturday afternoon before. Apparently that's the time to go because there was one, MAYBE two, other people besides us in there. The perfect place for two non-coffee drinkers to meet for a chat. We talked for awhile about lots of things: church, ministries, our families, our friends, movies we like or absolutely despise. It was a lot of fun.
I'll be honest, though, my favorite part of the afternoon was at the end when we were walking back to the cars and he tried to find the right words to gauge my interest in getting together with him again sometime in the future. I can't say I've ever seen anyone fumble around for words like that before. Then he said "I'm so bad at this" and gave it one more try. It was rather cute. I told him yes, I'd like that. Then we said we'd see each other at church tomorrow and headed off to our other Saturday activities.
A few hours later, I drove up to my Grandma's house. As I walked in the door and tried to keep the barking, jumping, miniture dogs from using their freshly groomed nails to shred my new nylons, Grandma looked at me with delighted surprise and asked what I was doing over there. "Meeting you and mom for dinner." I replied, very matter-of-factly. Grandma was very excited; she didn't realize that mom had invited me to join their "girls night out, dinner and play" evening.
We went to Taste of Asia for dinner. What can I say, my family is rather fond of those yummy Chinese dishes. Mom and I are especially fond of the assortment of sushi that they carry. I had my first Coke in two days (which may account for the sudden migraine attack the day before) and all felt right with the world.
After dinner, we headed up to the college to get our tickets for the play. It was called "Doubt: A Parable" and we were curious to see what questions it was going to raise and then not answer (because you can't really expect something called "Doubt" to leave you with any kind of certainty in the end, can you?) Colynn would be meeting us at the college, so we wanted to get there early enough to get four seats together.
When mom went to the box office to purchase the tickets, she found out that they had no ushers for that showing. So being the financially-savvy woman that my mother is, she volunteer herself and her daughter to help usher (and thereby get the two of us into the show for free!) I had never ushered before, but it was pretty simple. Rows 1-3 by the door, 4-13 in the middle, 14-16 on the end, no row A, rows B-M in order going to the back of the theater. Mom and I each put a couple in the wrong seat only once. All other seat mishaps were their own faults.
The play was interesting. Just as suspected, there was no clear answer at the end. It left the story so ambigious that we were able to have a discussion afterwards about whether we believed the priest was innocent or guilty of the crime he was accused of (for the record, I prefer to still believe the best in the religious leaders, and feel confident that he was innocent. Mom, on the otherhand, was convinced that he was guilty. Interesting indeed)
After the play, I mentioned ice cream to my fellow show girls and we decided it would be fun for them to try something new and different, so we all went over for my second helping of Ice Cream Renaissance. YUM!
By the time I got home, it was late and I was too tired to write up the blog as I had promised Colynn I would, so instead I promised myself I'd "do it tomorrow" and quickly drifted off to a land filled with Chocolate, Honey Vanilla, Peanut Butter, and Strawberry flavored dreams. And I shall leave it up to your brilliant minds to determine the nature of those sugary sweet dreams. :)
Saturday morning I woke up to a completely silent house. Everyone else was asleep in their rooms, dogs included, and I had free reign of a silent, video-game-free living room. So I wandered downstairs with my very slight migraine hangover to start flipping through the TV, searching for the right Saturday morning animation to wake me up.
I was still in the process of enjoying the quietness of my extra-full apartment when the phone rang. In an unusual act of good will, I actually answered the phone. It was one of the guys from my community group checking on my head. After establishing that I was feeling much better, he invited me out for some ice cream to finish a conversation we had intended to pick up after Bible study the night before.
I'll be honest, though, my favorite part of the afternoon was at the end when we were walking back to the cars and he tried to find the right words to gauge my interest in getting together with him again sometime in the future. I can't say I've ever seen anyone fumble around for words like that before. Then he said "I'm so bad at this" and gave it one more try. It was rather cute. I told him yes, I'd like that. Then we said we'd see each other at church tomorrow and headed off to our other Saturday activities.
A few hours later, I drove up to my Grandma's house. As I walked in the door and tried to keep the barking, jumping, miniture dogs from using their freshly groomed nails to shred my new nylons, Grandma looked at me with delighted surprise and asked what I was doing over there. "Meeting you and mom for dinner." I replied, very matter-of-factly. Grandma was very excited; she didn't realize that mom had invited me to join their "girls night out, dinner and play" evening.
We went to Taste of Asia for dinner. What can I say, my family is rather fond of those yummy Chinese dishes. Mom and I are especially fond of the assortment of sushi that they carry. I had my first Coke in two days (which may account for the sudden migraine attack the day before) and all felt right with the world.
The play was interesting. Just as suspected, there was no clear answer at the end. It left the story so ambigious that we were able to have a discussion afterwards about whether we believed the priest was innocent or guilty of the crime he was accused of (for the record, I prefer to still believe the best in the religious leaders, and feel confident that he was innocent. Mom, on the otherhand, was convinced that he was guilty. Interesting indeed)
By the time I got home, it was late and I was too tired to write up the blog as I had promised Colynn I would, so instead I promised myself I'd "do it tomorrow" and quickly drifted off to a land filled with Chocolate, Honey Vanilla, Peanut Butter, and Strawberry flavored dreams. And I shall leave it up to your brilliant minds to determine the nature of those sugary sweet dreams. :)
May 11, 2010
Growing Up
I imagine everyone has one of those moments at some point in their lives where something causes them to stop and look at their life for what it really is. Maybe they realize how far they have come from whatever situation they started with; perhaps they wonder how they ended up so far from where they had intended to be. Whether they are pleasently surprised or surprisingly disappointed, the moment is usually accompanied with the question "how on earth did I end up here?"
My moment of reality came a few weeks ago in the form of a pair of pants.
No, this isn't a story of a magical pair of pants that binds me closer to my girl friends as we all move into new adventures and learn of life and love. That story has already been written (and quite well, by the way). Mine is a story of a 30-something woman who realizes that she is not who she once was and no where close to who she wants to be.
A few weeks ago, I went to put on my favorite comfy jeans when I realized there was a hole in them. Not the trendy kind of hole in the knee that I could wear with a colorful pair of leggings and pass off as the hippest fad. No, this was a frayed hole made of frequent wearing and washings and it was in a location that is neither trendy, nor hidable. I sighed a sigh of deep regret and went back into my closet to find a different pair. Unfortuntately I realized why those jeans were so often worn: since I crossed the 30 threshhold, I located some of the weight I had always managed to avoid in the past and none of my other jeans fit me anymore.
Well, except for one. One pair of tomboy-ish, super casual, blah colored pair of blue jeans.
I hate these jeans. I have no idea how they even ended up in my closet. There is nothing feminine or "cute" about them. The only shoes that work with them are my old, worn tennis shoes. Pairing them with a sexy top and high heels would just look ridiculous. And I have no other choice at the moment.
But it soon became apparent that this was not going to be a problem for me. As I started going through my closet, looking for tops to go with my blah-ish jeans, I realized that I was having little trouble finding equally blah shirts. It seems that lately, completely without my conscious knowledge of it, I had started defaulting to the blah casualness of my invisible junior high years.
And that's when the question slapped me in the face: How did I get here??? In college, I used to wear dresses all the time. In fact, just four years ago I was constantly looked at as the "fashionable" friend. When did I lose all that? When did I decide that it was okay to tuck my beautiful heels in the dark closet and be content with one simple pair of black flats? When did that become who I am?
And then I started to notice that it extends further than my wardrobe. My daily routine consists of "go to work, go home, go to bed" and nothing exciting happens between those "big events". I don't hang out with people anymore. I don't do anything fun, active, or creative. I haven't scrapbooked in ages. My apartment is overly disorganized. And one day, I drove up to my apartment and saw a strange guy playing with a dog in the yard and found out that I've had a new neighbor for about two months now and had NO idea.
This stuff does not make me happy.
So, what to do about it? I guess I have to make changes. But changing is so hard sometimes. And I'll be honest: I don't like doing it. Ever. But it must be done sometimes.
It's time I start acting like the responsible adult that I'm supposed to be.
My first major change has been to set my jeans aside and start pulling my pretty skirts and dresses back out. Actually, that's not too hard to change my thinking about since I do hate the only pair of jeans I can fit into right now, but it is requiring me to put a little more thought and effort in my dressing habits again.
I'm also trying to start small daily routines to get my home organized and hopefully keep it that way. This is a little tricky as I have to work around two playful dogs and three other people who have different styles of "cleaning" up after themselves. But I guess small efforts are better than no efforts. Or at least that's what I keep telling myself.
And I'm getting out of the house as often as I can. I take the dogs to the park, go to the young adults ministry at church, and I joined a bible study group. I'm meeting new people and hoping that will help me to find even more opportunities to get out.
There's even a thought in my mind that it might be nice to start cooking my own dinner at home once in awhile. But I don't want to get too crazy too soon. Baby steps.
Baby steps to the grown up life.
My moment of reality came a few weeks ago in the form of a pair of pants.
No, this isn't a story of a magical pair of pants that binds me closer to my girl friends as we all move into new adventures and learn of life and love. That story has already been written (and quite well, by the way). Mine is a story of a 30-something woman who realizes that she is not who she once was and no where close to who she wants to be.
A few weeks ago, I went to put on my favorite comfy jeans when I realized there was a hole in them. Not the trendy kind of hole in the knee that I could wear with a colorful pair of leggings and pass off as the hippest fad. No, this was a frayed hole made of frequent wearing and washings and it was in a location that is neither trendy, nor hidable. I sighed a sigh of deep regret and went back into my closet to find a different pair. Unfortuntately I realized why those jeans were so often worn: since I crossed the 30 threshhold, I located some of the weight I had always managed to avoid in the past and none of my other jeans fit me anymore.
Well, except for one. One pair of tomboy-ish, super casual, blah colored pair of blue jeans.
I hate these jeans. I have no idea how they even ended up in my closet. There is nothing feminine or "cute" about them. The only shoes that work with them are my old, worn tennis shoes. Pairing them with a sexy top and high heels would just look ridiculous. And I have no other choice at the moment.
But it soon became apparent that this was not going to be a problem for me. As I started going through my closet, looking for tops to go with my blah-ish jeans, I realized that I was having little trouble finding equally blah shirts. It seems that lately, completely without my conscious knowledge of it, I had started defaulting to the blah casualness of my invisible junior high years.
And that's when the question slapped me in the face: How did I get here??? In college, I used to wear dresses all the time. In fact, just four years ago I was constantly looked at as the "fashionable" friend. When did I lose all that? When did I decide that it was okay to tuck my beautiful heels in the dark closet and be content with one simple pair of black flats? When did that become who I am?
And then I started to notice that it extends further than my wardrobe. My daily routine consists of "go to work, go home, go to bed" and nothing exciting happens between those "big events". I don't hang out with people anymore. I don't do anything fun, active, or creative. I haven't scrapbooked in ages. My apartment is overly disorganized. And one day, I drove up to my apartment and saw a strange guy playing with a dog in the yard and found out that I've had a new neighbor for about two months now and had NO idea.
This stuff does not make me happy.
So, what to do about it? I guess I have to make changes. But changing is so hard sometimes. And I'll be honest: I don't like doing it. Ever. But it must be done sometimes.
It's time I start acting like the responsible adult that I'm supposed to be.
My first major change has been to set my jeans aside and start pulling my pretty skirts and dresses back out. Actually, that's not too hard to change my thinking about since I do hate the only pair of jeans I can fit into right now, but it is requiring me to put a little more thought and effort in my dressing habits again.
I'm also trying to start small daily routines to get my home organized and hopefully keep it that way. This is a little tricky as I have to work around two playful dogs and three other people who have different styles of "cleaning" up after themselves. But I guess small efforts are better than no efforts. Or at least that's what I keep telling myself.
And I'm getting out of the house as often as I can. I take the dogs to the park, go to the young adults ministry at church, and I joined a bible study group. I'm meeting new people and hoping that will help me to find even more opportunities to get out.
There's even a thought in my mind that it might be nice to start cooking my own dinner at home once in awhile. But I don't want to get too crazy too soon. Baby steps.
Baby steps to the grown up life.
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