Farmers Market First Date

I was invited to the Salt lake City downtown Farmers Market.  It was a fabulous first date idea!  The weather was perfect.   I am ashamed that I have not yet brought my children to a farmers market in Utah.  Maybe I've been afraid of being disappointed.  I mean, Vermont is like the cradle of locally grown, locally-owned, organic, cottage industry and I just couldn't fathom how in the world, Salt Lake City could replicate Vermont's farmers markets.

Plus, I've been known to come home from farmer's markets with kittens.  Yes - I was practically the victim of a crime back in Vermont - When my older children were toddlers, I innocently walked down the stoney pathway admiring the fresh peaches and corn on the cob in the market booths - children in tow- when I was TARGETED by this elderly woman holding a tiny cute orange kitten and a tiny even more adorable black kitten. "Free kittens!" Substitute kittens for the apple in the Snow White photo here and you will get the gist of my story.

They were apparently born in her barn.  Feral.  She showed them to my children.... I was open to taking the orange kitty, but then my son whined that we couldn't possibly leave the black kitty who was clearly the brother of the orange one.. I was duped.  Suckered.  I brought them both home.  I have to be careful at farmer's markets. I'm really NOT A cat lady. I swear. They kept the mice at bay in our country log home. I happily no longer possess animals.

The Salt Lake Farmer's market did not disappoint.  I was blissfully without my children as I was invited by an unfamiliar male.  It was a mellow morning where I could listen to whatever tunes I wanted on the drive there, as the five usual voices clambering to dictate what tunes are played were not present.  I had no idea what I wanted to listen to.  I pondered what would be best to get me in the mood en route to a farmers market, so I opened up Tracy Chapman "Talkin' 'bout a revolution"  {What better way to get in the mood to protest Walmart and Costco for the day and support local growers?}  I also broke out some James Bay.  A friend introduced me to James Bay in another outing... I had never heard of him or his music, but I immediately downloaded some and fell in love with the Coffee House-type tunes.  The kind of tunes I listened to ardently before my kids hijacked my radio, my time and my playlist.  Big girl music.

I'd like to see what Mr. Bay looks like without the hat and his hair tucked fully behind his ear, but he seems to dig this look in every video, so that's cool.  His music is great.  I'm hooked.







Parking was more difficult than in Vermont, but on the walk from my car to the market, I admired vintage signs and walked past some of Salt Lake's homeless taking refuge along the buildings.  It was all kind of urban and artsy.  Wait, I just re-read what I typed...












My date was really nice.  Fun.  Good conversation. I was impressed with his idea to hit the farmers market together.  It was a unique way to get to know each other for a couple of hours.  He bought me a strawberry lemonade and we shared some Pad Thai and sat on the grass and conversed.  We browsed the produce and the pottery.

















We ate some juicy peaches, picked up honey stix for the kids left behind.  I picked up some turquoise pottery I've been coveting for the shelf over my kitchen sink.  It felt great to get out and about.














The visit recharged my social batteries and I'm inspired to take my children there for breakfast next Saturday morning.  I plan to hit this breakfast booth for biscuits and gravy ...check it...

Ciao!

We are One Year Pioneers In Utah

Candlelight & Wisteria has crossed 20,000 views! Might be time for a new platform. Thank you!

I sit on my porch in a faded sage green wicker sofa, which adorns this cute light brown brick 1940s brick cottage.  I hear birds chirping and landscaping on the golf course nearby, I hear the far away sound of I-80 which is oddly busy for an important Utah holiday.  The sky is this exotic blue grey, but starkly blue and so typical of the desert sunrise.   My little son thinks I-80 sounds like a waterfall, and I close my eyes and think he's right - maybe Niagara Falls - its drone is like white noise.   I contrast the difference between desert city life and small, quaint, quintessential Vermont life with rolling green hills and white church spires that I left behind a year ago.

I fell asleep on my front patio last night, drifting off to the sound of my wind chime in the light breeze and the quaking of the young aspen overhead.  And of course the distant I-80 waterfall.  I felt content.  I might have stayed outside all night - the temperature was perfect - but I don't yet have a masculine entity to watch over me in my home - so as I startled at the sound of a critter in the rustling bush nearby, I was reminded of that fact and sulked to bed, anticipating the day I might feel safe to stay outside.

I think I am the first one up in the neighborhood and I'm back out on my beloved tattered second-hand outdoor wicker.  Today is Pioneer day in Utah and I rose at dawn to place American Flags in front of seven homes on my corner - a boy scout / church tradition that lines a handful of Salt Lake neighborhoods on certain national holidays and Pioneer Day.

Pioneer day is a celebration of the Mormon pioneers who settled the valley around 1847.  It's a day where everything stops for parades and fireworks, pool time and barbecues.  It also represents the approximate anniversary my children and I arrived in Utah.  We arrived on July 19th, 2014.  We remember it was a Saturday evening because we rose early Sunday morning, and in hasty chaos inside the U-Haul trailer parked in the street out front, located semi-wrinkly Sunday clothes to make it to church.  It was the day we met the people that would become our closest friends and take us under wing.

Unlike most of the people we are friends with here, I do not have pioneer heritage in my lineage.  I am from the northeast and with the exception of one family in the 1800s who traveled to Missouri, then Illinois and back to New York, I can't find anyone who made it to the far west.  I realize my children and I are now the pioneers in my family -  how fitting that we rolled into Utah just in time to experience Pioneer Day.  

I am grateful for the 1840s pioneers who tarried across the Great Plains, suffering hunger, death of loved ones, blistered feet and hands for walking the way pulling handcarts, illness, stillborns yet they came together as brothers and sisters and carried each other's burdens to make it all the way.  My dear friends are likely descendants of these brave souls who left everything behind, and I feel enormous gratitude to their heritage.

Ciao.

Life's Beautiful Surfing Mess

I have been in deep thought about my mother's passing on July 3.  This piece is an attempt to organize my thoughts.  If you knew what a jumbled chaotic mess my brain is at any given moment, you would realize what a smoke screen my exterior is.

My mother died of liver disease.  Cirrhosis.  The kind related to misuse of alcohol perhaps combined with too much acetaminophen.  It is a ten or 15 year progressive illness, so this history of hers dates back to almost when I left home for University.  Her drinking began also close to the time her own mother - the family matriarch - passed away.  Her diagnosis however, only came into my awareness about a year and a half ago.  Precisely the time when I was home with a newborn and came to understand my husband had chosen a different course for himself and the family that would lead to divorce. I have handled both of these events primarily alone or sometimes with close friends to whom I am grateful they were willing to simply bear witness to my suffering.

We all have different coping mechanisms when we are faced with grief, loss or really intense emotions.  My mother was an incredibly sensitive woman, and I believe life on Earth was emotionally painful for her.  She chose a couple different vices to cope with the intense feelings that she did not have the tools to process or understand.  

I believe addiction touches every single American family in one way other another.  We each handle the perceived shame of it differently.  Where some families want to push it under the rug or keep it discreet, I'd prefer to blow the lid right off the sucker and call it for what it is.  In this season of my life, I wield a very large metaphoric floodlight and shine it on that which wants to remain hidden.  Shining light on it reduces its power over one's life.  

Pushing emotionally charged things under the rug, killed my marriage and my own family.  That in and of itself is some people's coping mechanism - pretending an issue does not exist.  I believe we give it more power, though, when we try to deny it or push it away.  Eventually it will find a way to rear it's head.  It will find a way to surface.  And in that extra time, lies suffering and reduced relationships with others.  

I realize my mother's tendencies to deny and cope by dulling with substances, followed by my own marrying into a family with substance abuse issues, must have subconsciously created a need in me to FULLY FEEL EVERYTHING.  I gave natural birth to my children  - one of the most intense forms of suffering a human can experience on this earth - and then I became a midwife, so that I could bear witness to others' suffering on a regular basis.  I am articulate about my feelings, and then publish them.  I give power to my emotions and feelings rather than seek to dull and chase them away. It is in this process that I find some semblance or order in my life and bring order to my feelings.  

As a youth, I was never overly drawn to experiment with drugs and alcohol - okay there was that one season....  but for the most part, I'm fascinated enough with the intricacies and mysteries of my own mind, emotions, and heart that it actually scared me to alter my natural state at all.  The experiences I had when I was offered and partook in alcohol or other means of coping - really frightened me.  I was aware at a young age that I was interesting enough as it is, if I just spent enough time with myself naturally.... it was like a recreational activity or adventure. 

My feelings and emotions are always shifting, never the same for more than a few days or even hours.  Much like in childbirth, the less we meddle with our body's natural chemistry, the sooner the feeling passes and we emerge slightly changed.  Different.  Herein lies spiritual and emotional resilience and growth.

I have never surfed, but I imagine how I feel as I ride the waves of my own human emotions, and I think this is how surfing might feel. 

Grief

Over the past year, I've gotten to know myself better through grief.  I have had moments where my entire body - especially my heart -  hurts and aches.  On my darkest days, precisely at the point where many people in our culture might have sought an addiction to cope and avoid, I pulled the covers over my head for a few hours and just let it ride over my body.  After observing myself and this powerful feeling that originated outside of me yet occupied my total being, I learned that it would reliably pass in 4-6 hours.  I grew to the point where rather than run to my bedroom, I could notice the grief when the wave washed over me.  I'd stop whatever I was doing and just notice it and then close my eyes and feel it.  I learned to deeply breathe, placed my focus on where it felt strongest in my body.... and then focus all the love for myself I could muster right there - to that spot.  And it would pass.  

I grew resilient enough that when grief came knocking, I could stop what I was doing, actually speak its presence out loud to whoever happened to be with me or just to myself, and notice how it took my breath away for a few moments.... Since it's desire was to choke and paralyze me, I instead started to deeply breathe in and out when it came.  And sometimes within moments, it would pass.  My coping skills became sharper, as was my ability to feel and put words around the feeling.  This is how I moved through the grief of my divorce and my mother's illness and passing simultaneously.  

Anger

This is a tricky one... Anger is one of the more complex feelings for me to comprehend.  My understanding of it though, is what lies beneath anger, is grief.  Something unmet.  I have had some anger.  Some normal and related directly to the events in my life over the past year.  Sometimes I feel anger with people I love when their words or actions elicit frustration.  I feel frustrated sometimes, by circumstances and situations.   I'm learning what best cancels it, is patience and faith.  With anger and frustration comes a great deal of passion.  Passion - in it's bridled form - is something I'd like to hang onto.  Someday, when I am married, I will have significant physical expressions of my grief and anger to manifest intimately, with a man who is equally in touch with his emotions or wants me to help him get in touch with them.  I'm curious if this will equal fireworks. 

Love

I am on a walk to be able to love someone correctly, and be able to receive love willingly.  I am learning to establish greater boundaries and manage expectations.  I feel love every single day.  I feel love for my children and for my friends.  Following the horrific grief that I have allowed to work change in me, my heart today feels like this open and expanding canvass upon which my future will be written.  It has no bounds.  Love knows no bounds.  

I realize that my intense feelings, emotions and expressions of them will be too much for most men to handle.  It may take a some time to partner with the one emotionally and physically available man who fits with me like a puzzle piece at precisely the right time for both of us, and who wants to go surfing with me.  I can wait.  God is suggesting that I wait a bit longer - not to rush.  

Joy

Sometimes I get glimpses of joy.  More and more moments are coming every day, where the joy overrides the sorrow.  I love and appreciate my life, my moments with my children.  Moments with my friends.  I can feel the permanent joy filling up my heart as things are observed, heard, smelled, felt and I guess you can say even tasted.  I believe all five or six senses are to be used to feel joy.  It's that sixth sense I am most interested in listening to and developing further.  It's pretty active in me. 

Gratitude

I have gratitude to my mother, whose own vices and life choices have ironically made me the woman I am today.  Without her particular life course, I might not want to fully feel life as I do.  Every day I open my eyes feeling gratitude for a new day and a new shot at Life and feeling it all.  

This... is Life's Beautiful Surfing Mess.

Ciao!

Restorative...the word.

So....{twirling my hair....avoiding eye contact....staring at the ground....fidgeting my feet like a smallish child}.

I've met someone.  A man.

I've met a man...

Isn't that what grownups say when they are hinting around that they've met someone...different?  That a relationship may be underway?

I've met a lot of men...this one...I keep saying "Yes" to for some reason.  I haven't put too much thought into it.  I just notice that I keep saying yes to his invitations.  It's been a couple months.

He's representing a ton of first hurdles for me to get over in dating... I tend to "freak out" when I get to a new place..like that first date.  First meet of the kids...first kiss...first outing in public....first meet of my friends....

I-just -totally-freak - out.... and then I'm fine.  He's been super patient and tolerant.  Available. That's important to me.  He checks in with me most days.  We've had a couple hiccups and moved past them.  We've taken some space then returned to normal.

He landed himself the Chewbacca ringtone for a week or two, then ended up with his own ringtone. This took some effort.  I noticed.

He is super reverent and weaves scripture into many of our deep conversations- which freaks me out in its own way.
He instigates meaningful conversations with me and doesn't shirk from my exhuberant expressions and responses.
He throws a mean spiral.
He is kind to my children and working toward creating a bond with them.
We laugh.
He's "jacked up" ~ according to my son.  In my son's lingo, this means he's got musculature.
I like what happens when he kisses me.  "Restorative" is the word brought to mind.

I'm not saying this is SERIOUS or anything.  I mean...that would totally freak me out to say that out loud or put pen to paper on that.  So we continue to date other people and be okay with it and laugh about it. What that means, I'm not quite certain. But I'm enjoying what's there in this season of my life.  I am grateful.

Ciao.

Daydreams of an Immaculate Lawn

I wish I could say I've mastered the landscaping to date. I'm CLOSE.  Just not quite there yet.  I reside in one of those neighborhoods where the lawns...immaculate...kind of like everyone's lives here.  Immaculate.  The families...immaculate.  I feel...kinda messy.  But aspire to be immaculate.  This next month, I'm taking on the tasks of rehabbing my lawn to immaculate status.... in hopes that it will transcend into my emotional life.  Yes, I think I'd like to be more emotionally...immaculate.

Sprinkler system turned on...check.
Lawn mower and trimmer repaired...check.
Lawn mower and trimmer repaired AGAIN...check
Weed and Feed operation underway...check.

I burned out about 25% of the lawn with the above weed-n-feed operation.  Dead grass patches.  I spilled some and was curious what would happen.  Would the grass become like a lush jungle with a little too much weed-n-feed?  Or would it kill it.  The latter.  Totally killed it.

Need to take lawn mower back into the shop for the same belt, cord issue I had it repaired for a few weeks ago.  This invariably involves burdening some neighbor to help me transport it by use of a truck.  I actually loaded it into my SUV once.  I like being self-sufficient.

I love that I have elder male neighbors who are not afraid to chastise my teen son if they see me doing too much around the yard.  Everyone seems to look out for me....and my children.  I feel protected here.  Loved. I want my lawn to fit in and be worthy of those it abuts.  Could take years...

This photo is not me, but a terrific piece of art depicting how I feel.

Trimming... Back in rural Vermont, people called these things "Weedwackers".  Here they are more refined and called "edgers" or "trimmers".  I have not yet mastered trimming.  I think my head almost exploded when I had to search online for the proper oil to gas ratio.  Was it 50:1 or 30:1.  Figuring this out and executing it took me an entire afternoon.  I think I had to take a nap after.  Then a friend came and edged my lawn anyway.   Said person came back to restring my trimmer head that was missing a doo-hickey making it not really string-able.  More head explosions....

I was off the hook for another couple of weeks, though.  My edging is looking a little ghetto right now, so it's time to buck up and just do it.  I'm kinda scared.  Will report back.   I do love the feeling of getting the trimmer started.  I feel so...capable.... kinda like....

  But I'd really like to outsource trimming eventually.

Ciao!

Chewbacca Ring Tones

Dear Outer Space: It's been so long since I've written!  I'm sorry.  I've been a bit preoccupied on a number of fronts.  We are almost to 20,000 views on our blog!  Maybe this post will knock us over that hump.  I'd love to know more about what people like that I'm writing, so that I do more of that.

My mother passed away this weekend.  I'll write more on this after I have time to understand all the feelings I'm having.

I'd like to update about my dating but I'm not ready yet.  First let me digress into the sphere of ringtones.

As I look back on my marriage with some time and distance,  it has been helpful to set some personal guidelines in my dating, so as to not repeat any cycles or draw in that which I had experienced before.  I found that it helps to use special ring tones to serve as triggers and a reminder that I am to hold out for that one alpha male who is really...well, really alpha.  Willing to stand up to me and not put up with any of my nonsense, but also willing to go the distance and be...well... ALPHA.  Anything short of full-on display of that, well....he gets a special ringtone.  Meet my special friend, Chewbacca.

I'm quite serious... It's a helpful reminder that when Chewie lights up my phone, there is a reason to not get swept up by the contact.  This is the ringtone assigned to the fallen soldiers who by either their choice or mine opted out, sexted, wanted me to sext, texted way too late at night for last minute plans or other behavior that I feel cautious around.

I love Chewbacca, but he doesn't speak English.  He doesn't speak my language and I don't really want to marry or be intimate with Chewbacca.  He's so nice and furry, but he's always second in command to Han Solo {swoon}.

Ciao!