Shoelaces for Josie

I have spent the last couple days moving this blog to a different site. It’s really nothing special - the move that is. And I certainly hope I don’t lose readers over it…

But I think in the long run it will be a successful venture on more than one front.

And the moment you’ve all been waiting for: http://shoelaces4josie.blogspot.com

Same blog, different host. Actually I hope to do a better job with this blog - do some photos - some better posts - be funnier?  Who knows but check it out - http://shoelaces4josie.blogspot.com - to find out.

So for the final handful of days in 2007 and to start the new year, Shoelaces for Josie is making a change in its life. Add the new link to your favorites and visit often!

I haven’t posted in a few days, and it’s mostly because I am in the process of transferring my blog to a different site. I figured the less I posted here, the less I would have to move later.

But then I decided that was a pretty lame excuse for not continuing to update. A little extra work? Pooh, my readers are worth it, I say.

Yesterday was Christmas, as most of the world is aware of. I think it was sufficiently one of the most awkward holidays I have spent thusfar but it was good. I met some very interesting people and - it was fun. Nothing like pushing yourself out of your boundaries to experience something new. In fact, that’s all this trip has been.

And today, I felt like I was a child again. We went to the Monterey Bay Aquarium. Sting rays, sharkies, all types of fishies, good seafood…it was awesome. I love the days I revert to childhood. It needs to happen more often.

I looked back and realized I hadn’t blogged since Thursday. I haven’t fell off the wagon that badly since I don’t know when. I extend my apologies.

I don’t even have a good reason for my lack of blogging. My family is alive and healthy - as far as I know. I haven’t been deathly ill although I may be in the process of damaging my ears (seriously - five minutes taking pictures by a speaker at a little concert may have me in hearing aids by the time I’m 30 - but there are worse things). I haven’t even been working really.

No, my only excuse really is that I went totally tourist on myself at the end of the week. I tramped all over the Bay Area, walked across the Golden Gate bridge, rode on a trolley car, did a bit of shopping and watched Superbad. The movie wasn’t part of the tourist regimen but I thought I would throw it in there. It had its funny moments but overall it was a bit unneccessarily raunchy. With a flimsy plot - aka lack of one.

But really, I wanted to talk about Hugville today. I went to church with my sister this morning and I’ve never been hugged by more strangers than I was today. I walked in the door and this tiny old lady, after greeting my sister and my brother-in-law with a hug turned to me and said, “Oh, come here! Just look at you - let me have a hug.”

Let her have a hug? She was saying those words as she already had me enfolded in her arms. I have my own personal bubble. It’s a pretty big bubble. And it was completely annihalated within two seconds of setting foot inside the church today.

I grinned and bore it but I think God could see my grumpy insides.

There are what…six billion people on this planet? Maybe the population has gone up. I don’t know and for the context of this blog, it really isn’t relevant so we’ll keep it at six bill for usability.

Each of those six billion people has a life. They have their routines, their residences, their families, their histories.

Yesterday, my sister and I went into San Francisco and she pointed out her apartment when she first moved to the Bay area and we stopped at a park to tramp around a bit. She pointed out Treasure Island where she lived for three years (Argh, matey!) and we drove down the alley where the studio she worked at used to be.

Seeing all the different neighborhoods, hearing her talk about what her life has been like the last eight years in a place such as this - it’s really kind of awesome when you stop and think about it. And it reminded me again how every person has a story. Even the most mundane people who have worked the same line job at the local factory for 20 years have a story.

Maybe I’m just nerdy (and I know that I am) but getting caught up on someone’s life is a neat-o adventure.

It’s the city. Of course everything is bigger. And faster. And busier.

I went shopping today in downtown San Francisco. Oooo. Ahhhh. Yes, I know. I’m big-time. I’ll be signing autographs at a time and date to be released later.

Union Square was pretty cool. The whole shopping district really was pretty neat-o. Lots of people dressed a lot nicer than I was but that’s okay. My little stint in Europe had me prepped and ready for today’s journey so there really wasn’t many moments where I was standing there with an open mouth in awe.

It was fun though. And I found out some things. Like Old Navy’s can have three floors. And so can Urban Outfitters. Heck - almost every store I walked into was more than a single floor. Praise the aerobic gods for showing mercy and providing escalators.

Some of the best moments of my time being un-chic in a chic urban setting:

- trying on “Eskimo” boots…not Uggs though, gross. Fairly close but much cooler.

- being descended upon by a man trying to give us directions. I guess we looked like tourists? My sister has lived here for eight years - not many elements of tourism can be left after that amount of time.

- Virgin records store. ‘Nuf said.

- a store called Anthropologie - it was probably one of the coolest stores I have ever been in - it was like walking through my mom’s closet of clothes she used to wear when she was my age. Seriously vintage; seriously amazing. (Also serious cash which might be why I just did some serious looking and no serious buying.)

- sitting on the toilet at Old Navy and having the automatic flusher active while doing my business. Awk-ward.

- and the best for last - dessert at the Cheesecake factory. Despite me ordering the one type of cheesecake they were out of and nearly blowing water out my nose from laughing to hard, it was good. And the waiter was hot. Mmm, cheesecake and hot men; what else is there really?

An urban Christmas tree and a country Christmas tree are two totally different things. I didn’t really realize that until today.

In my first full day in the “biiiig ciiity,” I went Christmas tree shopping for my sister’s house. Ex-ci-ting. No really. It was interesting. I’ve never bought a citified tree before and new experiences always have something to be taken from them.

After tooling around the Bay area in search of Christmas trees, we went to Home Depot. We passed up a small piece of shrubbery sitting in a pot and settled on a Douglas fir (not to be confused with any other type of fir. or fur. hahaha…I thought it was funny).

And long story short, we got the Christmas tree man to whip some string around it, we lashed it to the top of the car (yes, we mere women managed to secure a Christmas tree securely enough to cart it home) and erected it in the room of living.

This story really isn’t all that interesting except it reminded me of my last encounter with the getting of the Christmas tree - a country Christmas tree.

Bumping around on the backroads of nowhere, searching out ditch trees to grace our living room, my father asked my opinion of the tree he finally decided on. I told the truth - that I didn’t care.

Apparently that wasn’t acceptable and I was chastised for my bad attitude and my lack of caring. Ironically - or not - I really didn’t have a bad attitude about it. I just really didn’t care. It put a whole new meaning into forcing the holiday cheer on someone else and slanted my view of the hunt for the Christmas tree ever after.

For all those who didn’t know, I decided to hop a plane and travel southerly to the state of California. You know that cliche - sunny California?

Yeah, it’s not sunny. Today it was cloudy. Living proof that cliches are stupid.

So far it’s - you know. It’s a city. A large one surrounded with water. Judgment sits until the two weeks are up. I’m not going to say yea or nay concerning my opinion of the city until I’ve given it a fair and fighting chance.

I think that’s the problem with a lot of people in this world. They don’t give anything a chance - not a fighting one. An opinion is formed and judgment is passed immediately and that’s the end of that. Sometimes - a lot of times - it takes places and people time to really show you all they’ve got to offer. What if - in that quick judgment you passed - you didn’t really see all they had to offer? Wouldn’t you feel like a real jerkizoid when you find out later who truly awesome and cool they are?

Because let’s think about it. Let’s solve this question mathematically. What are the chances you are seeing a person - or a place - for all that he/she/it truly is? The shorter period of time you’ve given said object your attention the more likely you’ve missed something extremely important and potentially bloody awesome.

So. Leave the judging up to God and just let the people you meet and the places you fall into work on you in their own way. If they turn out to be less than savory specimens of this world, then kick them out of your life but don’t give them the boot until you’ve offered up a duelin’ fightin’ chance.

There is a song by Garth Brooks called More Than a Memory. It’s a good song - but it’s sad. Tonight I thought of that song.

Moments in life can be replayed over and over again. Ever noticed that? Sometimes they are moments of amazing happiness - like maybe your wedding day. Or when you found out you were pregnant (when you were trying to achieve such a status at least). Other times they are sad - like funerals, break-ups. And sometimes - a lot of the time - most of the time - they are nostalgic, bittersweet.

Tonight is one of those nights. A movie - a meal - the memories.

More Than a Memory
People say she’s only in my head
Its gonna take time to laugh again
They say I need to get on with my life
But they don’t realize

Is when your dialing 6 numbers just to hang up the phone.
Driving cross town just to see if she’s home.
Waking a friend in the dead of night, just to hear ‘em say it’s gonna be alright.
When your finding things to do not to fall asleep cuz you know she’ll be there in your dreams.
Thats when she’s
more than a memory

Took a match to everything she ever wrote
Watched her words go up in smoke
Tore all the pictures off the wall
But that aint helping me at all.

Cuz when your talking out loud and nobody’s there
You look like hell and you just don’t care
Drinking more than you’ve ever drank
Sinking down lower than you’ve ever sank
When you find yourself falling down upon your knees, praying to God, begging him PLEASE
That’s when she’s
More than a Memory

She’s more
She’s more

Cuz when your dialing her number just to hang up the phone
Driving cross town just to see if she’s home
waking a friend in the dead of night, just to hear ‘em say it’s gonna be alright
When our finding things to do not to fall asleep cuz you know she’ll be waiting in your dreams
That’s when she’s
More than a Memory

People say she’s only in my head
Its gonna take time to laugh again

BOO driving.

I’m in Bellingham right now and I’m so exhausted I can barely put a complete sentence together which is why this particular sentence has gone on for an interminable amount of time.

The End.

With the country-side blanketed with four inches of snow and the mercury dipping into the low twenties at the height of the day, it was a natural decision to head out to the ranch for an afternoon of horseback riding.

I borrowed my roommate’s large Fat Baby’s (boots, folks. Western boots.) and Brother Mark’s Carhartt jacket (holy Moses, the man has long arms!) for the excursion. Decked out in such array, we (the roommates and I) braved the elements to do what we love.

You know those deceptive beginnings to dates? Things appear to go well at the beginning. He meets you at the door, you make it the restaurant without too much awkward conversation, and then it all goes downhill at the ordering of the salad and his fifth anecdote about his mother and you can’t wait to escape the ordeal.

Such was the case today. We were saddling up the three horses and after a tussle with the bay mare (which in hindsight should have clued us in) to get her bridle on, the other boot dropped. And what a boot it was.

We were in the middle of the snow-covered road as I was beginning to bridle up my paint. And that’s when things get a bit fuzzy. I recall out of the corner of my eye seeing the bay lunge towards Buster - the third horse - reared up with legs flailing. The next thing I know, one of my roommates has been kicked squarely somewhere (I find out later it was in the thigh but for all I could tell it was her vital organs that had taken the wallop) and was knocked over underneath Buster’s hindlegs.

As my roommate was falling to the ground underneath Buster, the bay somehow managed to kick me as well on the shin. Nothing like a good solid eight or nine hundred pounds of horseflesh behind a steel horseshoe making acquaintance with my shin. It stung a little, you know.

Thankfully Buster didn’t smoosh my roommate’s head that was rolling underneath his hooves. Thankfully the bay settled down after her freak berserk episode. Thankfully the paint had nothing to do with the whole fiasco and merely backed up.

Long story short, I have a huge swelling knot on the front of my shin that looks like a muscle that should not be there. I have named it Pedro and plan on using him as an excuse to not dress up for work tomorrow.

If one must be kicked by a horse, there has to be perks somewhere, right?