a white affair

last weekend was definitely one for the books.

the annual LA pop-up dinner, an event that brings people who enjoy food, wine, and dancing together for an evening shared under the stars. part of the excitement was from the event's "rules": everyone dresses in white; guests bring their own picnics and wine; the tables are bare so that we set them however we like; candlelight is required. the location was kept secret until two hours before the start time, which as you can imagine, made us even more eager for the festivities. once we discovered the dinner would be held at the will rogers mansion, we were thrilled to begin the night of eating, drinking, and frolicking to and fro.

at the end of the night, we joined the throngs on the dance floor. it was in that space where every good feeling was captured. we danced like it was no one's business, carefree, and with gusto. perfection. 

i look forward to next year's pop-up dinner: for the people who will be with me, the food that will be eaten, and the memories that will surely be made. 

when water tastes like air

you know you've certainly made the best decision in your life when water tastes like air. when you watch said best decision spend hours squeezed underneath the sink, installing a reverse-osmosis water filtration system. when he cranks and drills, fidgets and hammers without the slightest sign that it is a pain-in-the-ass. when he cares enough about your present and future health, that he will move mountains for you (and replace a water pipe). when, after a frustrating afternoon of handiwork, he pours you a glass of the purest water to ever touch your lips. when he kisses you and asks how you like it.

and then you say to him, with the most respect, gratefulness, and love you can possibly muster: this water tastes like air. 

dedicated to g, the best decision of my life.

hard to part

running in my new shoes today, i felt like i was skipping over clouds, as light as air and as graceful as a ballerina floating on stage. they were invigorating, if you can describe shoes that way. but as i took them off and placed them next to my previous pair of running shoes, i thought to myself: when am i going to get rid of these? and for that matter, when am i going to get rid of the other three pairs of torn-up, overly used shoes that are still piled in the closet?

there's something about my running shoes that makes it terribly difficult for me to let go. they are the physical manifestation of my time spent on the trails - every tear and flattened sole, a reflection of my feet pounding the surfaces in search of clarity. and then there's the pair of shoes that carried me through the finish line of my first half-marathon, and the other pair that helped me beat my race time in my second half-marathon.

i look at all my old running shoes as if they are time capsules, locking in the memories of challenges and triumphs, stressors and newfound freedom. but looking at this pile, i've come to the conclusion that these running shoes are just that - shoes. they are things, not the memories themselves. my heart and mind have already engrained the emotions from my running, and so with that, i'm finally going to let my shoes go.

my dear, sweet running shoes.

zombie

work is kicking my ass. BIG time.

it's just so busy.  crazy-busy.

on my days off, i start the day off with a run, or a swim, or spend some time at the ceramics studio just so i can clear my mind of the busyness.

and then i become a zombie and do things that don't require a life-or-death, on-the-edge-of-your-seat attention span. i do things like...

...listen to podcasts about toast; read articles about families who live in tiny spaces (don't knock 'til you've tried it); laugh way too hard through books written by david sedaris; nap in the morning and afternoon and right before bed; peruse through travel sites for good deals on airfare (something's gonna come up, i know); jam to some tunes as if they were written for me; and, really, my most favorite - be absolutely silent because i can.

i know it's just a season - The Hold-Onto-Your-Umbrellas-Beacause-It's-Raining-Babies Season - but when i'm not at work, dedicating myself to new life (!) and joyful celebration (!!), i give myself full permission to be a resting zombie.