How a Table Inspired Me

The other day, my friends, Amber and Joe, delivered a one-of-a-kind coffee table that Joe had made.  I loved the story of the table--the window was from an antique shop in Columbus, the hinges from an interior door at their house, the drawer boards from a pallet, the sides from "throwaway wood" from Joe's work, the legs from an old stair railing, and the intricate pieces of oak supporting the frame, pieces of wood from a bed Amber's artist dad had built.  It was truly a gift that actually inspired much of this post as I sat and looked at it this morning. 

I feel extremely lucky to have grown up in Iowa, and even more lucky to be raised by my parents.  As an independent adult, it is easy for me to look back and recognize the moments and life lessons learned from my time in the Hawkeye State.  Today, I share two of those lessons.

Lesson #1: This is all we have.

Time and time again I consider the value of land.  Not in dollars and cents though (clearly, being in Iowa--land of big corn and soybeans, there could be a lot said about this.  But I digress).

I think about the old house on Hickory Street with its apple tree that my sister, brother, and I climbed, the lilac bushes with a fragrance that makes me smile to this day, the grapes grown on the vines turned into sweet jam, and the pride with which my father cared for his garden.  To this day, his garden is like a piece of artwork, each year producing an abundance of vegetables, flowers, and herbs.  As an adult, when I visit my parents in the summer, I love hearing stories of the rabbits and squirrels and critters that dance around the garden as if it was their playground.  I love coming back in the winter and making chili with the frozen tomato sauce Mom made with remainder of the summer's harvest.  And I love watching Dad with his cup of coffee marveling at the different birds making their home in the yard. The connectedness to the land, for Dad, seems almost spiritual.

And I see the value in that connection.  Growing up, my siblings and I were fortunate to have parents that encouraged us to play outside, dig in the dirt, skip rocks, and enjoy the woods.  I remember Dad pointing out a bat in the night's sky one time ( I, of course, was looking for something shaped like a baseball bat).  As  a kid, on a dare, I remember kissing a garter snake in the woods behind Grandma and Grandpa's place, following the creek to see where it flowed, and hiking through Hartman Reserve and George Wyth as Dad pointed out the deer (and as adults, my sister, the ornithologist, helped identify the birds).

I think, for my siblings and I, this type of connection resonates with us.  The idea that the Earth and all that is in it, is truly a gift that we must protect, is a lesson that must be sustained for future generations.  This lesson has taught us to bring a bag on our hikes in the case we see trash to be picked up, to stop and take time to observe and listen, to consider the interconnectedness of the plants and the animals and the insects and the birds and the soil and the humans, and to not take these resources for granted.  And I think the greatest lesson in this is the joy of those moments with family and the content of time that is simply being in this world-being grateful for the stuff that is nor purchased or advertised or built.  It is the raw uniqueness of being part of nature that is experienced by every person differently that weaves a world that is alive and whole.  My brother and his wife are raising two boys who know the way through the woods to the creek, know the sound a woodpecker makes, and can appreciate the vegetables from their own garden.

In the wise words of Mr. Wendell Berry, "What I stand for is what I stand on."

Lesson #2: Beauty is in the HANDS of the beholder.

I love hands.  Maybe that is a weird thing to say, but I love them.  For awhile, I obsessively drew hands--with pencils and charcoal and even attempted (rather unsuccessfully), using a sharp knife to sketch a hand on scratchboard.  I just love hands.  I love what they symbolize.  I love what they can do, what they can create, what message they can send, what energy can be shared through them.

When I think about where this love comes from, I can distinctly recall two places.  First, I remember holding my Grandma Edie's hand when she was staying in a nursing home.

She had a stroke when I was in 5th grade.  My mother spent much time flying back and forth to St. Louis on a puddle jumper of a plane to care for her mom and be with her dad.  At Christmas and in the summers, we visited my grandparents.  I played Christmas carols on my viola in the nursing home and we recalled the beautiful gift of voice my Grandma had prior to the stroke, vivid images of her smiling from the choir loft sharing this gift.  To see her in the nursing home was hard on all of us.  The smells.  The roars of people in pain.  The uncertainty of the food being served.  Frankly, it was sad and it was scary.  It was the first time I truly recall seeing how much my mother loved my grandparents.  She was patient. And kind.  And caring.  The day I remember holding my Grandma's hand was Mother's Day.  The nursing home was having a Mother-Daughter Tea, and I remember all of us with our "hat broaches" on listening to a fairly entertaining program, and recognizing Grandma's hands.  My mom's hands were so similar.  The way in which the skin looked on her delicate hands was the same way in which Grandma's looked.  Her long fingers extended  out to mine, clasping my own hand, squeezing me with such gentle love.  I was overwhelmed.  I could see my mother and feel that sense of connection and love.  To this day, I love looking at my mother's hands.  My sister's are nearly identical too.  Those hands represent so much life and energy and history and love that fills me with joy.


My second love for hands stems from my father.  As an artist, his hands are one his greatest gifts.  He takes good care of them.  They are the tools through which he expresses himself.  I love the ruggedness of his hands--the way in which he can transform a piece of wood or a stick into a lively caricature or an abstract representation of something in his mind.

I love that his hands created the coolest bean bag toss board when I was kid.  Or that almost every drawing or sculpture or painting that adorned our walls at home was created by him.  I love the fact that my dad is not afraid of hard work, that his hands not only represent his artistic craft, but his ability to fix things, to solve problems, to transform materials.  I love that his hands are resourceful and strong.  I love the fact that he read a book on how to build a canoe and did it!

I love the fact that his handshake is as firm as his bellowing voice.  And for some reason, when I think of his hands, I think of the way he turned pages reading books to us as kids.  I remember watching him read a book this past Christmas to my nephews and recognizing that familiar way with which he held the book, turned the page, and read the book with such great voice inflections.  I even wrote the following poem for him as a Christmas present a few years ago that is almost an ode to his hands.

Father

Creatively expressing his inner thoughts

Carving out his place in this world

He chisels away at life, quietly thoughtful

Smoothing out the rough edges with a firm hand

Continuously striving to improve and grow

An artist who loves with his whole heart

A mystery of sorts, a complicated puzzle

A fine line he carves with precision and decisiveness

Yet often unsure of where the hand will lead him

Letting his mind reach out and his heart take control

Pumping ideas and thoughts

Observantly taking in the world

And releasing it through his work

Update: My dad was just featured in the WCF Courier (complete with a picture of his hands working):  Artist Finds the Zen in Carving

I find myself truly thankful for the gifts that people possess that reflect some of what I have learned as an Iowa girl.  I consider the gifts of the many hands that I have witnessed help build and repair houses that are warmer, safer, and drier.  I think of the hands that have penned memorable stories or played notes, strummed guitars, and controlled a bow.  I think of the hands that helped girls tie their shoes before their first Girls on the Run 5k.  I even think of the outstretched hands that danced together on a porch in Jonesville, VA. 

Today I am thankful for the natural world, for the connectedness across generations, for the gentle life lessons learned, for the time to reflect, and for the gifts of hands that can work and create and protect and reach out.  

And to think, the inspiration comes from a table.  

Time Suck Numero Uno (With Lots of Fun Links)

A dirty little secret of many graduate students is the amount of time spent watching TV.  Between actual TV's, Hulu, Netflix, Amazon Prime, Cucirca, and network-based apps, it's pretty easy to get Lost in the sea of entertainment.  It's a break from reality for some, a mental reprieve for others, and a distraction for many. I don't think TV is a bad thing at all, and I am certainly not on a soap box calling out TV-watchers.  So much quality writing, creative storytelling, and interesting character development is happening nowadays.  And for some of us who teach different age groups, using pop culture and modern media is advantageous because it helps people make connections  and deepen understanding.  (I can find a social justice issue in almost everything if I think about it, which I do think my students appreciate).

During my last three years, I revisited old favorites like Dawson's Creek (don't judge), My So-Called Life, and met new characters like Dexter.  I laughed at the likes of Ron Swanson dancing  and followed Mary Louise Parker on her Weeds journey.  It was my way of vegging out and getting out of my head and the thinking, writing, reading, and analyzing that occurred daily for so much of the time.  And I would not change that at all.

In my new job, I also have to do a lot of thinking, writing, reading, and analyzing.  But I am also trying to lead a more balanced life.  I have found that the doldrums of winter in my fair and cloudy city make it easy to want to plop down and just veg after work and the daily Harlan walk.  My brain is often swirling with to-do lists and ideas and exciting projects and lecture ideas and so on.

So, last night after, literally, wasting two hours watching a reality show that is generally an embarrassment to women, I unplugged my TV (you can read about my feelings on this nice refurbished TV in another post) and put it in the basement.  I found myself feeling much freer, more creative (hence, a new blog post not too long after the previous one) and getting excited about working on some mini projects.

Don't get me wrong.  I will watch my shows and movies (I do have those iPad apps), but the move to the basement reminded me that sometimes you have to actively get yourself out of those winter blahs and keep on moving forward.  So, I will save my TV viewing mostly for the gym for now.

Thich Nhat Hanh reminds us each to be mindful of moments, to open our eyes, to listen around us, and engage in the miracle of life.  Word.

"People usually consider walking on water or in thin air a miracle.  But I think the real miracle is not to walk either on water or in thin air, but to walk no earth.  Every day we are engaged in a miracle which we don't even recognize: a blue sky, white clouds, green leaves, the black curious eyes of a child--our own two eyes. All is a miracle."

And now for which book to escape to (oh boy, I am NOT moving the books to the basement) or project to begin....

Peace,
Michelle

A Rebuilding Year or A Rambling Journey

In sports, we often hear the term "rebuilding year." Some experts determine that the potential "success" of the team (the term "success" here is, of course, equated with wins and fame and money and all that jazz) is not likely because of changes in team composition, coaches, or more often than not--nervous newbie rookies outnumbering the mature, cool veterans.  Some hear the term "rebuilding year" and quickly roll their eyes, shake their head, and launch into a heated debate about how, if the coach/manager had been good at his/her job, then no year could possibly be a rebuilding year.

Some lean on the idea that the team has been benched on the sidelines---there to simply get through the game/seasons, not do anything to get themselves injured, and learn from the experts on the field/court/etc.  Being on the sidelines means taking the time to learn and grow.  It's being told and expected that during one season or one year, there is no expectation for "success."  It is like having a free year to take it all in, moment by moment, without anyone watching you carefully, eyeing your every move.  Flying under the radar means that there is ample opportunity to be creative and to take risks.  If no one expects much and no one is dissecting the calls the coach or the team makes, then it is the ultimate chance to try new plays, learn which roles are best played by which people, and set internal goals.  It is a time to really live in the moment while considering the sustainability of the future of the team and the program.  It is a time to allow the natural abilities to be massaged and improved by trusted coaches without the external pressures of everyone else's opinions and ideas about what should be done, how it should be done, and what is wrong with ways things have been done.  It's a chance to just have fun!

I think a lot about what it means to live a healthy, sustainable lifestyle.  Much of what I think and believe and hope that I continue to work to do in my own life is to strengthen my connections.  This means being connected to food and land and water and animals and plants and people and on and on.  And while I would like to think some of this comes naturally, I also think it takes conscious effort.  This brings me to my own idea of a "rebuilding year."

Looking back at the last three years of my life, like a lot of people I know, I can say that I was "busy."  We all are.  Busy working.  Writing.  Studying.  Maintaining relationships.  Being good family members.  Taking care of the mundane details of life.  Setting goals.  Etc. We are all busy.  The last three years I was back in school again.  I consciously made an effort to focus during my three years at several tasks that have lead me to where I am at today.  I always believe that all decisions lead you somewhere, but I can confidently say that where I am today and what I am doing today (in my work life, especially) is a direct result of how I spent my last three years.  Busy.  Working Hard.  Focusing.  But I often consider how sustainable this is for me as a person who wants to feel connected, who believes strongly that actions DO speak louder than words, who feels the need to be a good citizen, who needs to be working in and with my community, who wants to explore new arts, pick up the viola again, try new recipes, find news hiking paths, and tackle the list of the amazing ways life can be spent when you live consciously.  On a day-to-day level, I struggle with how to get the most out of my day without trying to cram the day.  I am nagged by the very real possibility of "not being good enough" or "failing" in some way.  I look back at my focused three years and know that I gave up a lot to be able to be "successful" in the ways that type of success is measured.  I, of course being critical of myself, can look back and say--"The bike sat in storage.  The three boxes of art supplies were covered neatly with a tapestry.  The viola and guitar remained on the top shelf.  The books-to-read were replaced by textbooks I did read.  The container garden did not grow."  And it makes me sad and a bit empty.  That's just the short list. And while I readily admit I am hard on myself and was able to pursue my passions in other ways (and hopefully, at the very least, be a good person and friend), I kind of felt the need to set aside parts of what make me who I am to be able to be where I am.  And it is a weird thing.

That brings me back to my own rebuilding year.  Despite the really easy possibility of continuing on the path of "success" using a method that works, for me, I just know it is not sustainable.  But I like the idea of a "rebuilding year" for two reasons.  First of all, it gives me every opportunity to try new things, to fail, to make mistakes, to figure out my role, to listen and observe, to seek out those people that are doing things I want to emulate, to take the time to get back in touch with myself.  This may sound self-serving, but it is the opposite.  I strongly believe that in order to be the best friend or employee or sister or daughter or partner or dog owner or community member, you need to have a full heart (well, to steal a quote from a favorite show of mine: "Clear eyes, full heart, can't lose!!").  The times in the last few months that I have smiled the most or felt my heart burst with joy or the creative space to think or write or dream or plan, are the times I have been surrounded by conscious people taking action, trying to be better, continuing to improve their own selves so that they can be the best people to others, laughing loudly, appreciating music and art, or serving.  That is why it is part of a sustainable healthy lifestyle.  And it may seem like a luxury to take time for ourselves, but I am pretty sure the people around us would be grateful.  For me, the most freeing part is the idea that if you call it a "rebuilding year," it means that it is the best time for those risks, not over thinking things too much, and just taking every opportunity to get better.

My old pal, Abraham.  Crazy laughing.

The second reason I like the idea of a "rebuilding year" takes a different spin on the concept.  It's really about the idea that after a "rebuilding year," it is likely that the next year will be better--in whatever ways that is defined.  I have witnessed several friends this year declare rebuilding years of their own--friends whose physical bodies have been starving, friends whose organs seem to be magnets for tumors, friends whose lives have been impacted by divorce and death of loved ones.  In life, we all have our own triumphs and tragedies, each impacting us differently.  But the idea that we have the opportunity--when we are ready---when no one is necessarily watching you or no one is expecting much or no one is telling you what you should or should no do, than we can pay attention to what makes us feel fulfilled.  And just do it.  Make time for it.  Figure out a way.  Focus. Have fun!!

So, I declare this one of my rebuilding years.  I am not coming from any hard times and am extremely grateful for my last three years.  But I also know what I need to add to make life better.  But I need to do it.  Besides the actions being taken that I do not know if I will share, I do know I will do one thing.  Slow down and enjoy the moments.  When I do, I feel myself emanating a warm glow.  And I like that feeling.

Last week I had a chance to be in San Diego--away from the clouds and cold of winter in the Midwest.

My friend and I took some time to wonder around, walking 9 miles back and forth across an island, feeling the wind and the warm sun as we traveled the bay by ferry, and noticing the tingly sensation dipping our toes into the cold sand and ocean.  I was playing around with my camera and thought about how awesome it would be if we all went through life like we do when we notice enough to take a picture.

                               
The funky tree in front of the house.

The bushes leaning away from the sun.  The animal tracks we spot on the path.  The friendly smile of someone passing us by.  If only we lived our lives framing our world in the beauty and amazement that if offers, I think many of us would find ourselves more joyful and at peace.

The great aspect of one's own journey is that it can be taken at one's own pace.  It can meander back and forth across time and space.  It can backtrack and jump forward, seem misguided or lost, and then feel comfortable yet again.




This blog post was meant to be a blessing for a great year ahead to each and every one of you.  May you seek your own path, find what sustains you, and be the best you can be in this world.  May we not be too hard on ourselves!  May we treat the earth and all that is a part of the world with respect and love.  And may we be bearers of hope for the future ahead.

Peace,
Michelle

Rejuvenation

I have been feeling completely mentally, physically, and spiritually exhausted during the last few weeks.  My work life is very busy, and I am still learning how to find that balance I know that I need to lead a healthy and sustainable life!!  Every once in awhile, I honestly feel like Jessie Spano....You know the reference, "There's no time!  There's never enough time!" which is then followed by the infamous caffeine pill freak-out.  I had spent last weekend nearby at the High Banks Metro Park, which provided temporary relief.

But I knew I needed a weekend away!  I decided to "make the time" to drive and see my sister in Ithaca, NY, which was an 8-hour drive away.  I was forced to not do any work or make lists or adhere to a specific schedule for the 16 hours in the car.  I caught up on NPR, several podcasts, some great bluegrass and old tyme stations, and listened to some new tunes.* 

I even turned the radio off and just thought...and then did not think....for many hours, witnessing the beautiful mountain landscape that was pixelated with the most extraordinary autumn colors illuminated by the gray skies as the backdrop.  Harlan and I meandered down the road, stopping every once in awhile to take it all in.  I had almost forgotten about my favorite time of year, was letting those moments pass me by, and recognized I had not been living in the present. 

The drive was stunning, but time with family, for me, really helps me stay grounded.  I mean, Sara and I have known each other since Day 1 and know each other often better than we know ourselves. 

Between a few hikes through through "Gorges" Ithaca, some great homemade food (yes, of course, pumpkin was involved), a taste of local brews and local food, I felt re-energized and reconnected.  This is what I needed to sustain me for now.  A walk in the woods.  A lot of laughs.  Shared meals.  The beauty of nature.  I wish I had taken a picture of the twin deer(s)** that always hang with their fam in Sara's front yard.  There's such peace in witnessing life, taking a moment to listen, and truly feeling in tune with yourself and everything around you.

With that, here's a nice poem I always return to:

THE PEACE OF WILD THINGS
When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children's lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.
— Wendell Berry


Bel Canto Farm


Peace,
Michelle

*No these guys were not in my car singing to me (I wish!)....picture from an Alpaca farm near Ithaca.
** Inside joke for Sara.

Movin' on Up (Summer Leftovers)

There's something about the change of seasons that brings about a parallel time for reflection.  I find this to be especially true during autumn, when in the midst of the most glorious colors dotting the landscape and the earthy, sweet smells of pumpkin spices embracing us, we begin to shift to our hibernation modes.  We bulk up on root vegetables, rediscover our favorite flannels and sweaters, and feel no guilt when cool weather allows us to stay in our pj's, curl up with a good movie or book, and sip hot beverages.

I created this blog as a space to write freely, but have not felt that my head has been in the space to write freely.  Moving and starting a new job and coming down from a year in which things still seem a bit fuzzy, has created a sort of distance from the creative, centered, relaxed, spiritual side of me.  So, even though there are about a million things I *need* to be doing right now (not to mention the articles I *should* be editing and drafting for work), I am making time for me.

After a morning walking in the woods with my favorite canine companion, I have found a glimmer of light peeking out from some source within allowing me to share a few thoughts related to the move.  I am actually continuing a blog post started a few months ago, so it is a bit outdated and overdue.

During the summer, as I packed up my apartment and unpacked what did not break in the move, I was reminded of all the stuff I had, which I wrote about in another post.  During the packing and moving process, so many well-meaning friends and family members wished me well, reminded me that I could be in a more "grown up" space, could eventually ditch the flip phone and upgrade, could afford to replace my futon from college, and even use that spare bedroom as a bedroom.  I appreciated the support and encouragement of friends and family, during this process, but it made me think a lot about what was wrong with having old stuff.  Was there something wrong with me for still having a futon?  Was there something about being a "grown up" that equated to having nicer things?

My personal space has always been important to me.  My decorations may not match or look like a picture perfect photo a la Martha Stewart, but the majority of the items in my home have some sentimental value.  I have painted dishes from Grandma Pat, drawings from Papa John and Dad, intricate wooden dishes and boxes from Dad, a quilt made from my ASP t-shirts, plants from friends, and photos from all parts of my life.  I feel like everything else is secondary.  The feeling that because I am older and in a stable job (again), it's an opportunity to upgrade.  When I asked a friend about this, she said that I should consider it more as a chance to own quality pieces of furniture--ones that will last.  I do agree with that statement and I appreciated her point (I think she had a bruised rear end after sitting on my futon).  But I also believe that knowing items can be fixed, refurnished, or dressed up can also provide a sustainable solution.  I am less inclined to believe that some of the stuff that is made nowadays in mass production is truly of higher quality, but who is to say what quality even means anyways.  I still have mixed feelings about the fact that I decided to spend money on a television, rather than something else of greater "value."

I go back and forth between this idea of moving up in this way.  As we get older, we get more stuff.  We buy new cars, houses, kids' toys, vacations, etc.  I just wonder if there is a way to move forward, but in a way that is less of an impact on our resources, and gets away from the waste cycle we go through with our stuff.  I don't know.  I do know that, for me, the memories made playing in the park, taking a field trip to a U-Pick farm, walking in the woods, or filling my kitchen with the savory, sweet, and spicy sensations from my finest chili and pumpkin bread, create more long-lasting joyful memories than the time spent on my new (used) couch in front of my fancy (for me) television.

And now a few logistical moving tips:
-Use Craigslist to search for free boxes and then post there when you move so someone else can benefit from your free boxes.
-Take the time to recycle all of those boxes.  I don't know how many times I walked by huge garbage bins full of boxes (often not even broken down) that are perfectly usable and could be recycled.
-Take the time to look into e-cycling in your community.  In the haste of moving, we often throw out hazardous materials and electronics that we never quite got fixed or donated.
-Consider consigning items or donating to stores like Goodwill that serve multiple purposes in communities.
-If you are remodeling anything, look for a Habitat Re-Store near you.  They often pick up building materials, resell them, and proceeds go to funding affordable housing in your area.
-Plan ahead so that the above ideas can be implemented, hassle-free.

I (Don't) Like to Move It, Move It

I am in the process of moving.  For the past month or so, I have been wading through stuff at my apartment deciding whether to "toss or take."  I wish I could say it has been as fun as Carrie Bradshaw and her gal pals had cleaning out her closet.  Whenever I move, I am amazed at the amount of "stuff" that has crept into my apartment's inventory (and I am not even a person who enjoys shopping).  I, literally, have taken at least six boxes/bags of this "stuff" to Goodwill.

I am by no means above consumerism, as much as I'd like to think I am.  Every time I move, I get a swift quick in the rear reminding me that, I too, have contributed to the consumption epidemic that plagues our society and contributes to massive environmental problems, like deforestation, polluted water, and energy use.  Yes, little old me, who would like to think I am an environmentally-minded, thoughtful justice seeker, is part of the problem.

It always makes me a little sick, knowing that this "stuff" that at one point I felt was important enough or cute enough to buy, for the most part, has no real meaning to me, and does not bring any sort of added joy to my life.  And in some cases, sadly enough, that "stuff" was never used.  There was that expensive dress that I just had to buy with the matching shoes, in hopes that I'd have some occasion to wear it, but only once has it been worn (when I let a friend borrow it).  There was that piece of exercise equipment that was going to help me get those six-pack abs, but after trying it a few times, my lack of coordination rendered it worthless to the illusion that I should want or need six-pack abs in the first place.  There are other things that come in packs of six that come much easier to me and I think I'd rather enjoy, thank you very much. But I digress.  The fact is, apparently I bought into something when I bought this stuff.  Next time I move, I hope that the only "stuff" I get rid of is stuff that's no longer usable (but hopefully recyclable) or not fixable (but perhaps can be transformed into something else by someone very clever).

Care2com's article about non-consumption on Mother Nature Network is a great guide to begin the venture into conscious living and conscious consuming.  Whether it is the concern for purchasing fair trade items or ensuring that the product you are purchasing was not made with toxic chemicals, conscious decision-making means not giving into impulses, getting past advertisements promoting stuff that is guaranteed to make people happy, and finding a balance between living comfortably, within our means, and with more attention paid to what makes human life so unique.  Easier said than done, right?  Nancy Cook wrote a piece called the "Corporate Pursuit of Happiness" that I recommend.  Then you be the judge.

As I think about the move ahead, I think about the ease of which I helped my sister move a few years ago.  Somehow, her stuff, had managed to fit into the smallest of storage spaces (I'll save some thoughts on these storage units for another blog).  In her multiple cross country moves, she had managed to rid herself of the excess baggage.  I only hope that the new "stuff" that I accumulate in this next apartment, is "stuff" that does not fit into boxes, but rather fills pages of photo albums, creeps into conversations and creates long-lasting memories.

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Thanks for reading.  I have some more blogs ahead regarding the wonderful world of boxes, the tug-of-war I have with moving past my dorm room style decor (yes, even though I graduated in 2001) because of feeling the need to "upgrade," and places to recycle in your neck of the woods.  I also have so many fun sites and videos and ideas I have saved over the years that I hope will be of use to others seeking similar simplicity in their lives.

Time to Start Over

Okay, well I was seriously unsuccessful at maintaining a blog....but I think I am going to start a new one.  I read so much information about simplicity, sustainability, and health, so I think the next one might be a dumping ground for sharing that information.  As I navigate my new world in Ohio, I hope to return to more conscious living and live the simple (but meaningful) life once again..... :)

UPDATE: Not that I have any readers rushing for updates, but the new address is simplykaisersustainableliving.blogspot.com  :)