My inability to keep plant life living has been fairly well documented. It’s a bleak history, and though they say history is written by the winners I’m going to keep it real here today. I am horrible at nurturing plants. They all die. It may take a whole month a little while, but inevitably I kill them off. Dead as a doornail.
So that’s why, on a recent visit to IKEA to track down a bookshelf, I instead walked out with a cactus.
And a throw pillow. As one does.
Hello, you fine folks, we are back with another new month and another 10-on-10 post. I promise there are more updates coming this way soon. Really and truly. But for today, I have to keep it short and sweet. We’ve been working hard around these parts with work and assignments and big projects and little projects and house guests, so unfortunately I don’t have too much time to chat at the moment. So here’s to business!
My youngest sister, Elise, is an ocean expert. In particular she loves sharks. Meanwhile, I am downright terrified of the sharks. They can have their ocean, I’ll keep to the land. The land-locked land. That is, the land of Colorado. But Elise, her dream is to go diving with her fine-finned friends. If you need an ocean fact, she has a wealth of them. So it seemed only fitting to celebrate her February birthday with a visit to the aquarium.
We moved into our little cottage house weeks before we got married. It was in total disarray through the wedding week, then as we traveled around overseas for our honeymoon, then for most of the remaining months of 2013. Such is the chaos of a new life together in a new space. In the last two-plus years however we have made this space into our own. We got our furniture and tchotchkes, books (but still no bookshelves somehow; it’s one of my greatest failings), framed a few photos, and settled in for the adventures ahead.
I love it in this home. It’s warm, simple, we get all sorts of pretty window light, and have just enough space to have some people over for chili and Scrabble parties. But, as with all good things, eventually, one day we will head off to new horizons. The horizon that harkens a move from our sweet rental is not yet upon us, but I decided that while we’re still kicking it here I would photograph a few pockets around the house. A pocket, a still life, small scenes from our abode that one day we can look back at and recall this first home we shared.
But first, here are my fellow 10-on-10 pals.
OK, here we go.
Hello and welcome to 2016! How is this year going so far? Pulled too many “this has been the best [insert thing here] of 2016” jokes yet? No…just me? Well OK!
We are raring to go with our 2016 edition of the 10-on-10 project, so sit back and enjoy the ride.
First, my esteemed colleagues:
And now, for today’s tale. For Christmas this year, Dan and I headed east to visit his folks in central New Jersey. Not far from his childhood home is the grand Delaware River. Have you guys seen this river before, or any river east of the Mississippi? As a child, I was pretty strictly a west of the Mississippi kind of girl. (Which, as far as I can tell from the multitude of times I’ve related this fact to east coasters, means I essentially grew up in the wild wild west lassoing rattlesnakes and performing bandit tricks upon wayward stagecoaches. But that’s another story.) Here in Colorado we do have truly breathtaking natural sights. Our mountains most notably. Our rivers however do not have quite the same grandeur as those to be found out east. Such as the Delaware River.
Now as you students of US history will recall, back in the 18th century there was a small matter taking place called the Revolutionary War. A main character in that conflict was one General George Washington, who did just a few things in his lifetime. One such feat involved the river they called Delaware, and an icy crossing on Christmas Day. Now, 239 years later, teams of reenactors and scores of visitors attend an annual commemoration of Gen. Washington’s historic crossing.
And this past Christmas, so did we.
At the beginning of December I promised a look back at a couple of stories and photos I failed to get up here earlier in the year. Before we say farewell to 2015 and kick off shiny new 2016, here is one of those posts.
The last time we road tripped together, the windshield wipers provided a tempo to our travel. This time around, we mostly stewed in the hot desert sun longing for some rain. When the rain did eventually start — 1,097 miles into our trip as we drove north toward home — we cheered it along. Perhaps it would loosen some of the bug residue built up on the windshield that sheltered us.
A good chunk of my life has been spent driving across desert terrain. I grew up in Colorado, but my large extended family resided west in California. Being one of four, it usually made most sense to drive to visit them, my parents loading us into our old red Ford Aerostar van named Ruby and crossing Wyoming, Utah, Nevada and the northern slice of California to arrive in the Bay Area. We weren’t the rambling sort, instead opting to drive all of the nearly 1,300-mile journey in one stretch. Only a 17-hour trip if you really believe in yourself. At least once a year during the course of our childhood we would make this drive, waving to the likes of Cheyenne and Salt Lake City, reeling past Reno, and feeling our excitement grow as we crossed into the Sierra Nevadas for our final approach into San Francisco. We stopped only for gas, to use remote and sometimes alarming rest areas, and to eat 50-cent ice cream cones at Little America.
I believe this somewhat maniacal family habit still inspires our adult travel adventures. Which is why my sister and I found ourselves at the beginning of May attempting a tour of the southwestern part of the United States with only three days dedicated to the feat. Three days to leave Denver, jaunt through Moab, Arches National Park, the Grand Canyon, walk the avenues of Williams and Flagstaff, Ariz., and then tour the southern corner of Colorado. Three days. No problem.
