What to say about Santa Fe

May 12, 2021 - Some reflections after one day here.

Adobe! I was unprepared for the pervasiveness of adobe buildings. Kudos for their all-in dedication to this theme. It sets a tone like few other cities have.

Red or green chiles? This question is a whole thing here, apparently. I ordered enchiladas for lunch but wasn’t prepared with an answer to the red-or-green chiles question, so I asked for both. Our server said, “ok, a Christmas tree for you” and I’m still not sure if he was making fun of me. 

The “Santa Fe” song from Rent runs through my head on a continuous loop. Although I think my ignorance about red and green chiles precludes me from actually opening up a restaurant here.

Fun facts. Santa Fe sits at an elevation of 7000 feet. Seven thousand! This city is higher than Denver. In elevation. But legal pot is coming next month, so, you know, game on, Denver. 

Santa Fe is the oldest capital city in the states (established in the early 1600s) and their capitol building doesn’t have a dome but instead they made the whole frickin’ building round. Seriously, it’s a circle. With walkways extending out in four directions. Like a compass. TURNS OUT, the overhead view makes it look like the ancient sun emblem on their state flag. Oh my gosh New Mexico you are so clever. 

There’s a lot of art here. It’s kind of their thing. Along with the adobe. We had planned to visit some art galleries so we drove to the art-centric Canyon Road but weren’t really feeling in the mood. Instead, we went to a pickle brinery and I stand by this decision. Art comes in all forms.

Our first day here has been relaxed and chill, like Santa Fe itself. We super love our Airbnb house (adobe!) -- it’s full of good vibes and artwork and plants. The plants! Like, enough greenery we could stick a sign out front and open our own plant shop. Guests are asked to water the plants, and I’m considering whether actually opening a shop and selling them might be less work than watering all of them.

Tomorrow we head out of town for some hiking and old cave dwellings. Get excited.

May 14, 2021 - Wrapping up Santa Fe

Yesterday we opted to seize the day with an early start, driving to Bandelier National Monument. An hour from Santa Fe, Bandelier is in a canyon area that used to be inhabited by the ancestral pueblo people, and you can explore what remains of their dwellings in the cliff faces. We arrived when the park opened, so it was quiet and peaceful, and we enjoyed a few miles of trails without many people around. I loved seeing the ancient cave nooks, which didn’t seem all that comfortable if we’re being honest. But, their average life expectancy was only 35 years, so their youthful backs and joints could probably handle it. 

After Bandelier, we took our own non-youthful backs to a spa for massages, enjoyed by D and endured by me. Massages aren’t my thing but I’m a team player. 

Our seizing-the-day ended by seizing pizza and beer on a rooftop in the Plaza while watching the sun dip. Rooftop Pizzeria has best wild mushroom pizza I’ve ever had, and I don’t say that lightly. 

We browsed some shops in the Plaza area but it turns out that Southwest art/jewelry/pottery just isn’t my style. I kept waiting for something to speak to me, and then when finally something did -- a storefront showcasing colorful, gorgeous glass lamps -- I got excited and then looked up to see “Istanbul Bazaar” on their sign. Damn. I’m sorry Santa Fe. I’m super charmed by you even if I’m not bringing back turquoise jewelry or a Southwest weave blanket. (I’m not bringing back a Turkish lamp either. That would’ve been just offensive.)

Today, final morning here, we got notice that our train was delayed, so yay! We had time to visit the Meow Wolf “House of Eternal Return” immersive art experience that’s been closed the past few days. Sometimes things work out! This cool, trippy place has dozens of rooms to explore and interact with, and I think something like 150 artists collaborated in developing it. It’s not a boring art gallery.

OK. Time to head for the train. We returned our Prius rental car, which spent much of the past three days screaming at us for every perceived threat. This car lives a very paranoid life, worrying about imminent disaster at every turn. But, we drove all over the place and only spent like $1.87 on gas, so I guess it was a good trade-off. 

Now waiting at the Amtrak station, and our train is 5 hours late. I get updates about every 15 minutes that it’s another 15 minutes delayed. Ah sweet Amtrak, you lumbering soul. This antique of a train station is a half hour south of Santa Fe, in the middle of the desert, and there is NOTHING here. A guy sitting here just told us that this station was bought last year by Game of Thrones author George RR Martin, who plans to restore it and develop the area around it. (Railroad IS his middle name, after all.) We’ll probably get to watch all this development happen while we’re still sitting here waiting for the #3 train to arrive. If you don’t hear from me again, look for our dusty skeletons sitting here on the old train station bench. Maybe Mr. Martin can name this a national monument and charge people to hike here and ponder how uncomfortable it would have been to live here. Archeologists will certainly have some questions when they find our empty wine bottle and pickle jars, which we can probably live on until tomorrow. 

Signing off from the desert. “Tumbleweeds... Prairie Dogs...”

Staying Grounded on Earth Day

It can feel daunting to find ways to love our planet. Hell, it can be confusing and frustrating. You recycle and then learn that a lot of that lovingly sorted paper and plastic ends up with the trash anyway. You buy biodegradable trash bags and then learn that they go into a sealed vault at the landfill where it’s very difficult for them to ever break down. You eat a diet with little meat and then learn of environmental conundrums with the production of your beloved avocados or almonds. You try to drive less, or carpool, or even walk (gasp!), but then have to travel long distances in airplanes for work. 

At minimum, it’s easy to question whether our well-intentioned choices ever really make a difference. At worst, we can be made to feel guilty and hypocritical for not practicing what we preach at all times and in all situations.

I experience all of these things, feel all of these things. 

And yet, I still think it’s worth it to make the effort. Clean air and clean water are vital. We literally can’t live without them. So, let’s continue to look for ways to love our planet, whether through small actions or with big changes, focusing on what is within our control. It doesn’t have to be all-or-nothing. *It doesn’t have to be all-or-nothing.* You can cut back on meat without going vegan. You can reduce your paper use without ditching your printer. You can compost your kitchen scraps without bringing a worm farm into your home. 

I think of it more like a dimmer switch than an “on-off” proposition. Make one sustainable choice, and when that becomes habit, turn the dial just a little. What’s the next step I can take? Maybe a little less consuming, maybe a little less waste, maybe a little less plastic. And maybe just a little more getting outside to look at the flowers, walk the trails, breathe the air. 

It’s a beautiful world we’ve got. Happy Earth Day 🌏 

Parenting is hard: Empty nest edition

August 23, 2016

It's been almost a week since we dropped off the "little one" at TCU to begin his freshman year. It was difficult taking the oldest to college a couple years ago, but this time, coming back home to an empty house? This is hard. Takes-my-breath-away hard. I'm still processing it all, but here are my thoughts at five days post drop-off.

It really helps to hear encouraging words from parents who have gone through it before me, who reassure that it really will be okay. I believe you. I just don't feel it right now, but I trust and believe you. Thank you. I never would have made it through the past 21 years without parenting mentors, and I feel like your words now are more important than ever.

The best advice I've received puts the focus more on being happy and excited for the kids than being absorbed in my own sadness. I'm working on this. But it's hard.

I'm trying to reconcile coming to the end of two decades in which I identified first and foremost as a mom. Here's what really gets me in trouble -- thinking back too far into those 20 years. Remembering how Trevor used to mispronounce a word in a really cute way as a preschooler, or looking at Nate's first-day-of-kindergarten photos. I decided quickly that I had to stop this. Because it's enough to grieve that my 18-year-old just moved 12 hours from home. I can't also grieve the parts of their lives that really ended years ago. That is too heavy, too much to bear right now. I'll look at our family photo albums another time.

When we said goodbye to Nate last week, I left words of love and encouragement and faith in a card on his dorm room desk. It took me about three days to realize I should be telling myself the very same words.

But it's hard.

2015: My Year in Music

My favorite way to start a Saturday morning is to hunker down on the couch and watch VH1’s The 20. Two hours of the week’s top 20 music videos. Don’t judge. Of course, I’ve been a little pissy about the weekly countdown since they ousted Jim Shearer as host a year ago, but I can suffer Shannon Coffey to get my weekly dose. This morning, to my dismay, an SNL documentary is in the place where The 20 should be. I’m more than a little thrown off. But the house is quiet and the electric fireplace* is on, so I’ll do my own best-of lists this morning. It’s a good time to reflect on the past year. I love music and I love documentation, so here we go. Best of 2015.

*My birthday gift! It’s bringing me so much joy.

My favorite songs of 2015:
“Can’t Feel My Face” – The Weeknd. No secret, best song of the year. It just burrows in your brain.
“Shut Up and Dance” – Walk the Moon. Best feel-good song of the year. If this song was your introduction to WTM, go back and listen to their self-titled album from a few years ago. Anna Sun. Tightrope. They are so young and yet so 80s.
“Uptown Funk” – Mark Ronson with Bruno Mars. Honestly, I was kinda ‘over’ Bruno Mars. And this song brought me back.
“The Next Storm” – Frank Turner. I’m obsessed. When it gets to the “rejoice, rebuild, the storm has passed” line, my whole body soars a little.
“Love Me Like You Do” – Ellie Goulding. Her voice is so sweet and haunting. I like everything she does.
“Drag Me Down” – One Direction. Heaven help me, I don’t want to like One Direction. I don’t. But their songs are so damn catchy every time. I only know Harry’s name. If you find out that I’ve learned the others’ names, please stage an intervention.
“Stressed Out” – Twenty One Pilots. Trevor says it’s good I like Twenty One Pilots, says it keeps me in touch with the youth.

Albums, wonderful albums. My favorite and most-listened-to this year:
Nate Ruess – Grand Romantic
Hozier – Hozier
The Decemberists – What a Terrible World, What a Beautiful World
Frank Turner – Positive Songs for Negative People
James Biehn – James Biehn

I can listen to any of these on solid repeat. All day long.

Let’s talk about concerts. Live music done right is so heady and addictive. I was looking back at the concerts we attended this year. We saw 30 or so bands/artists, more than half of them for the first time. One of my very favorite things in life is when a band I’m not familiar with makes me fall in love with them instantly. This is what happened when I first saw Carbon Leaf open for the Goo Goo Dolls about ten years ago. So it’s fitting that I would fall in love with a band that opened at a Carbon Leaf show in Minneapolis this fall. The Accidentals from Traverse City, Michigan, are an indie-folk trio with beautiful voices and an arsenal of stringed instruments. Talented, clever and quirky. Irresistible.

Another concert that caught me by surprise was Cage the Elephant. High energy, super fun, great live band. I’d also never been to the Westfair Amphitheater outside of Council Bluffs, which turned out to be an excellent venue. Trevor and I were just gonna hang back and sit on the grassy hillside “bowl” of the amphitheater, but midway through “Ain’t No Rest for the Wicked,” we were all, “ain’t no way we’re staying back here.” If you go to one of their shows, plan to move in closer.

I can’t decide what my favorite concert of the year was, but Nate Ruess is among the contenders. Frontman of the band Fun, he’s in his element as a solo artist as well. I don’t know that I’ve seen anyone else command the stage like he does, and nobody has a better sense of the downbeat. His whole body drives the beat, and I love that. Dude burns some calories.

Even though I said I can’t decide on my favorite, there was one show in which I might have proclaimed, “This is my favorite concert EVER!” about a hundred times. I can’t believe I finally, FINALLY, got to see Duran Duran. My junior-high crush band. At RED ROCKS. Maybe it was the altitude that contributed to my absolute delirium that night. Transcendant.

Other concerts that bubble up to the top as I think over 2015 include The Decemberists, who always bring perfection in sound and artistry and wit. There are perennial favorites Carbon Leaf and Matt Nathanson, who I have to see at least once a year just to stay alive. I missed seeing Ingrid Michaelson this year, who ranks right up there as well, and I think I might have actually died a little from that omission.

One thing I specifically wanted to do this year was catch more local bands. I’m especially glad I finally got to see Christopher the Conquered at the 80/35 Music Festival. What a great show he put on. Also at 80/35, I wouldn’t have missed seeing Boh Doran. OK, so she no longer lives in Central Iowa, but we still count her as one of our own. Her set still brought the local touch with Will Locker and Ben Mars joining on stage. We also caught James Biehn a couple times – he is an amazing musician and person, and does so much to develop our next generation of musicians. His album was one of my favorites of the year.

I feel a little sad in wrapping this up, because of what is left out. There were other great evenings spent with incredible music, terrific friends, venues both spectacular and seedy. But it’s all good. When we share a glass of Christmas cheer, we’ll talk more about it. And start outlining our concert calendar for 2016.

Can memory foam fill an empty room?

It's been one year since Trevor graduated from high school, and I'm shocked at how quickly he's "flown the coop." He hardly comes home from college -- and yes, I know this is a good thing. In his break between the end of semester and his summer camp job, he scheduled a 10-day trekking trip in Peru. Cool. This is a good thing too.

He told me a couple days ago that he probably won't come home from camp each Saturday night like he did last summer. "But, you have to wash your clothes sometime," I objected. But apparently they also have laundry facilities in Boone, Iowa. Or maybe the clothes won't get washed. Worse things could happen.

In August, he's planning to head back to college right after his camp job ends, because of a fall internship and campus job that could use him back a little earlier. This is... you know, good and all. 

sigh.

But today, I went to the Mattress Firm and bought him a new bed. For his room here. Because I want to make sure he has a more comfortable bed to sleep on when he's home. I did this against Dennis's skepticism, who was like, "But he's hardly here." 

I know.

I don't care. I'm buying him a more comfortable bed. Maybe it's a desperation purchase. And it'll be delivered in two days, so there ya go. So if you want to stay over, I'll have a new bed for you. It'll likely be available. 

Laughter is an instant vacation. -Milton Berle

I was on a city bus today and overheard a conversation between two apparent drifters who hadn't seen each other in a while. They were all, "Hey!" to each other, and then Guy One said he's staying at the shelter now.
Guy Two: Oh, is that right? So, how's life going for you?
Guy One: Well. Not so good.
<pause>
Guy Two: I guess that was a stupid question.

And then they both laughed.

I love shared laughs, even under sad circumstances.

Or, especially under sad circumstances.

Word hoarding

It turns out I'm a hoarder of journals, and now blogs. I collect my own thoughts and words. There, that sounds better. 

I've always loved journals. I currently keep journals for myself, for both of the kids, and a travel journal. I have inactive past journals focused on what books I was reading, what prayers I was saying, dreams, health, wish lists, free writing, random scribbles, whatever. And then there's the blog you're reading now... and the past vacation blogs... and the phone app for daily gratitude lists. Oh, the lists. I keep lists of what bands I've seen, what bands I still need to see, my favorite books/movies/concerts, places I still need to visit. There's also the list of things I've misplaced, so I don't forget to keep looking for them. With that, I've probably shared enough.

SO. I just started a new blog, and I'd love to have readers! I'm calling it On My List - Des Moines. I'm just planning to write about things I enjoy doing in Des Moines, and the restaurants, pubs, places and events I'm finally checking off my list. (Again with the lists. Have mercy.) I decided to try Tumblr for this new blog. I haven't yet figured out how one "subscribes" to it, but I started pages on Facebook and Twitter that will show updates. Follow along if you like!

Harmonize this.

Here's the thing about saying your goals out loud, as I did in the early hours of Jan 1. (See post here.) Sometimes the universe takes you to task.

I started my harmonious year by putting on sneakers and heading to our brand-new downtown YMCA with the family to play racquetball. 10am on New Years Day and we were starting it off right! Getting it done! Yeeehaaa!

About 15 minutes into a match with Nate, I was startled by a hot rip on the bottom of my foot. Torn plantar fascia. I knew immediately. I've worked through some plantar fasciitis over the past few years, nothing that couldn't be overcome with some stretching and occasional rest, but I knew I had just stepped it up a notch. There's no walking when this ligament is torn. It's not a big deal, and the body is fully capable of doing the miraculous work of healing the tear on its own. But it needs full rest to do so.

And so now I find myself in a boot and crutches. No weight on this foot. Because it needs time to do its thing.

So, I have my first challenge in living harmoniously. I'm super frustrated because I was ready to join some classes at the Y and start finding my rhythm there. Guess what. That's not the prescription for this month. Instead, it looks like I'll have time for more writing, reading, thinking, praying, meditating... and maybe making some progress on the graduation blanket I started knitting for Trevor more than a year ago.

January isn't shaping up to be what I hoped, but I'm going with it and it's okay. Of all the months this could happen, January might be the best. Farmers market, outdoor concerts and festivals are all on winter hiatus. Our bikes are hoisted up on the garage ceiling. It's okay.

AND, I should be healed up and back to normal still with some winter left, so I can wear my OTHER new boot, which is far cuter. (I thought it was the most expensive pair of boots I ever bought, until my visit to the urgent-care clinic, where I got just ONE boot for TWICE the cost.) Serenity now.

Manifesto '15. A River Runs Through It.

I'm super looking forward to 2015. I have a few goals/resolutions, some related to the ole' writing hobby and to a possible business venture. These are specific and measurable, as all good goals should be. But the real excitement is saved for my Big Goal, which is neither specific nor measurable. It's more of an "umbrella" thing:

To live more harmoniously.

Side note: I recently took one of those online quizzes that supposedly told what my real birth name should have been. I got "River." So, yeah.

What do I mean by "living harmoniously"? I mean finding a natural cadence, living organically -- not forcing things, but allowing everything to unfold as it's supposed to, in its own time and manner.

Consuming less, wasting little.

Pausing. Breathing. Listening.

Paying attention to where my food comes from. Not mindlessly accepting the artificial and processed. Eating real food.

Valuing health -- my own health, my family's health, my community's health.

Walking places. Riding my bike. (April might be a better month to start that one. Back to the "in-its-own-time" thing.)

Supporting local stores, businesses, events, artists.

Connecting in relationships.

Living with my eyes open -- observing, reflecting, bringing wonder into my days. I'm hoping this can be an antidote to the jadedness and cynicism that I fall into so easily.

Earnestly seeking answers to some of my plaguing spiritual questions. 

 

This whole thing invites charges of hypocrisy along the way. I'll have to give myself an ounce of grace on that, because perfectionism just brings stress. Which is not harmonious either. 

Idealistic? Absolutely. 

Attainable? Never.

Worth attempting? 

I think so. 

The sweetest little Christmas gift

Christmas is over. Bells have been rung. Carols sung. Gift wrap flung.

December 29. We arrived home last night from visiting extended family. I was just sorting through some of the gifts left strewn around our house, and thinking about the items that were given and received this year. It was a pretty sweet Christmas, with simple and thoughtful gifts. The best kind. 

A few quirky ones too. I totally love this giraffe TP holder:

There was another gift. A little background: Since we moved here and realized that our trash regularly gets rummaged by vagabonds, I started putting our redeemable cans/bottles in a separate bag on top of our trash each week on trash night. Without fail, this bag vanishes. It's a win-win, really. It saves me a trip taking the nickel cans back to the store, and the money certainly means more to the person willing to dig through garbage for it. There's no need to dig. I've seen my trash, and it's disgusting. 

Our trash night last week was on Christmas. I put our trash outside of our garage door, cans and bottles separated on top. and then remembered I had extra Christmas cookies. I'm going to put cookies out for our foraging friend.

 

Dennis wasn't so sure. "Is this what we really want to start, leaving food for the homeless? ... Wait. That sounded bad." Har.

Jesus's words about "whatever you did for the least of these, you did for me," crossed my mind, and I thought, would I hesitate to leave cookies for Jesus? I put a plate of treats in a large ziplock, and set it out on top of the trash can lid. I'm classy like that. Only the best for Jesus. On his birthday. The three wise men got nothin' on me.

That was around 10pm, Christmas night. At 8am or so the next morning, we were packing up to head out of town, and I popped open the garage door to see if the cookies were still there. (Or if there was one bite taken and the rest thrown in the trash. Whatever.) The lid was open and the trash was empty. The trash truck had already been by. Shoot. I'll never know.

As I turned and pulled the can back into the garage, I saw a blue envelope propped against the side of our garage door frame. I picked it up and opened it to find a Hallmark thank-you card inside. Not the kind that might come a dozen to a box, but an individually purchased card. Unsigned. Nothing written in it at all. Just Hallmark's printed sentiment. 

I have some questions about this. Did this person just happen to have a thank-you card on them? Or did they go somewhere to get it -- in the overnight hours of Christmas night -- and come back? Who knows. 

I'll just consider it a sweet Christmas card from the Bethlehem Babe.

2014 in moments

Life is made up of moments--often very ordinary moments--strung together to form days, months, years. I'm thinking about my moments of 2014, and in particular, those that interrupted my breathing in one way or another. Here they are, without the context, without the full story. Sometimes moments are enough in themselves.

February, Baylor Medical Center, Dallas. Dennis had been hooked up already for several hours, donating the stem cells we hoped would save his brother's life. I stepped out for something, and came back to see Tom standing at the foot of Dennis's bed. Big brother had gotten up the strength to come down several floors from his own hospital room and check in on his little brother.

April track meet, watching Nate hand off to Trevor in the 4x800 relay, the only time they've ever run on the same relay team. It was a Schmitty handoff.

May, Paris. On a work trip, I learned that Tom's health had taken a serious turn for the worse, and I was in our hotel workroom packing my things to return back to the other side of the world as quickly as possible. I was crying. My friend Wendy sat there and cried with me. 

May, Trevor's graduation party. "Oh noooo! We're out of cake! WE NEED MORE CAKE!! STAT!!"

July, our house was newly listed on the market when a nest of yellow jackets erupted into our basement. Dennis and I ran upstairs, slammed the basement door, stuffed towels in the gap under the door. And then looked at each other. oh shit.

August, University of Northern Iowa. Leaving Trevor in the rearview mirror and finally allowing the tears to spill. I've relied a lot on waterproof mascara this year.

September, Red Rocks Amphitheater, Colorado. I kept turning to take in the concert lights bouncing off the massive rocks, not even able to grasp the transcendence of the experience. I guess that's the thing about transcendence. 

October, moving into our new place downtown and opening my eyes in the morning to see this out the bedroom window:

October, praying for God to guide me in getting involved downtown, and literally getting a phone call the next morning at 5am. Salvation Army mobile breakfast canteen. Is there any way I could possibly be there within a half hour to cover for a no-show volunteer?? Okay. Got it.

November, Royal Mile pub, the place we started going every Thursday night in hopes of making it our Cheers spot. On week six, the waitress welcomed us, looked at me and said, "Guinness, right??" I am home.

Thanksgiving weekend, Becherer Farm. We pitched in to help my sweet grandparents get the outside of their country home decorated for Christmas. The cold wasn't the only thing stinging my eyes.

December, Von Maur jewelry department, helping Nate shop for a Christmas gift for his sweet girlfriend. My little one, now standing taller than me, asking my opinion on what he should get for the girl who has stolen his heart.

"Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath away." -Bob Moorehead

Tattoo Eulogy

Today I pay tribute to a tattoo that apparently wasn't meant to be. I've been pondering a wrist tat for maybe 5 years, and the actual concept started coming to life about a year ago. 

First I forced my offspring to ink their fingers and give me their fingerprints. (Having brought these two into the world to start with, I figure I'm part-owner of their prints anyway.) I scanned the fingerprints, studied the curves and shapes, then played patiently with different combinations, waiting for something to click. Eventually the right prints morphed into the right shape. (I was originally aiming for a tree design, but never got it to look like anything other than the Keebler Elf tree.)

Nate’s print on the left, Trevor’s on the right. I only wanted the tattoo to be about 1.5 or 2 inches wide, so I knew the fine details wouldn’t translate. No problem.

Deep breath. Go time. I submitted the artwork to Skin Kitchen, a local studio I've used before. Problem. Their response: cool design, but fingerprint tattoos don’t really work, because over time the ink spreads under the skin and would close it up. They couldn't recommend proceeding. Props to them for caring about quality over the long term.

But dang. It would have been a good one.

thankfulness. ugh.

Sunday night, post-Thanksgiving. Trevor has headed back to college. It's pretty quiet here, so I'm catching up on a few DVR'd shows, hating myself for having had no self-restraint with pumpkin pie the past four days, and thinking about thankfulness, and how sometimes it comes with a cost. There's always plenty to process after visiting family over holidays.

I am in my mid-40s and still have a set of grandparents alive. My mom's parents, Ernie and Agnes <smile>, are in their upper 80s, still living on their own, and in another month, will have been married for 67 years. Think about how long 67 years is. I love Grandma and Grandpa more than life itself. I grew up living near them, actually with them during my earliest years, along with my then single-parent mom.

Grandma is sassy and feisty with a touch of ornery. She likes music that reminds her of her dancing years. She now has some trouble connecting thoughts and recalling names, but she can still remember details from the years when she was a teenager in love, waiting for her man to return from the War. She makes the best sugar cookies on the planet.

Grandpa is the sweetest person I've ever known, and the first man I ever loved. I didn't get a dad until I was six, so Grandpa's strong hands were the ones that held me while I was learning trust. His blue eyes still sparkle, and he's quick to smile and laugh. I remember a few years ago when I greeted him on a visit with "how are you??" and his reply was, "better since you got here." That's Grandpa.

I am so thankful to still have my grandparents. The flip side of that is how painful it is to watch them get old. Grandma now deals with dementia and mobility issues. Grandpa is in pretty good physical health... except for the bladder cancer which he and his doctors continue to do their best to hold off.

A couple days ago we helped put Christmas decorations out in their front yard. They LOVE having a holiday display, and their huge collection includes lighted reindeer, snowmen, angels, a big plastic nativity scene. It's difficult for Grandpa to get these decorations set up, you know, because he's pushing 90 and all, so it was a no-brainer when the suggestion got floated for us to join in this project.

You never know what's around the corner, and this could very well be the last Christmas the two of them get to spend living independently in their country home. This possibility wasn't lost on me as we strung extension cords, checked lights, and made sure the inflatable Santa Claus was secured properly. I think it's the happiest and saddest I've ever been putting out decorations.

Last night before we hit the road to return home, we stopped at their house to say goodbye, and our car met theirs as they were pulling out of the driveway. We got out of our car. "Where are you headed?" I asked. Grandpa was just taking Grandma to drive the road in front of their house and see how their decorations looked from the street.

I am so thankful. In a punch-to-the-gut sorta way.

My mom and Nate, with Grandpa behind

"no room at the inn"

I come from a family of exuberant gift-givers. This isn't necessarily a bad thing. But from an early age, Christmas meant gift boxes stacked high and wide around the tree. Before ransacking the whole scene, we would stare in awe, and take pictures of the mound of presents, shiny paper reflecting twinkle lights from the tree.

The season was about the Christ Child and God's redeeming love for the world, but on Christmas morning, you couldn't see the nativity for all the stuff it was buried under, giving a whole new meaning to "no room at the inn."

'murica.

I've spent my life a full and willing participant in our consumer culture, but still a little voice inside, underneath, has cried out for simplicity. Our past two moving decisions have been made under the advice of that small voice, going against the grain and moving to smaller homes rather than larger, forcing us to get rid of things we don't need. 

Before this past move, I thought we had done a good job of cleaning things out. Two garage sales, many drop-offs at Goodwill, one Salvation Army truck pickup, many Craigslist sales, countless overstuffed trash bags... and yet when we moved into our no-basement, no-attic downtown home, our garage was still filled with boxes. I wanted to cry. I did cry. 

And so I went through it all one more time, even more ruthlessly than before. Do I use it? Do I love it? If not, "I fare thee well."

And now, two cars fit in our two-car garage. We're getting there. Don't get me wrong; we're not "there," and there's still more we could live without. But here's the beauty of living smaller: I love the things that surround me. The pictures and artwork hanging on my walls? They stir something in my heart. The books on my bookshelves? They hold significance. The knick knacks that survived extreme culling? Souvenirs from our most cherished moments, relationships, places.

Clearing out the stuff has created space for wonder. Living in simplicity and wonder is the prayer of my heart (and hopefully reflected on my shopping list!) this Christmas season.

Sorry, I can't talk, the AMAs are on.

Tonight, the AMAs! Oh my goodness I do love the American Music Awards. Always have. When I was in college, they were held on a Monday night in January, and kicked off the winter awards season. I always seemed to have a night class on Mondays, which I would skip without hesitation. We didn't have DVR then, and no way could you trust the VCR recording. If you missed one detail of manually setting the VCR date, time, length, channel, and ALSO making sure you had a tape inserted that was rewound with ample recording space left... "NOOOOOOOOO!" You could easily miss your one chance. For the AMAs, it simply wasn't worth the risk.

I loved this year's performances from Magic! (Canadian reggae?? a big YES to that), Imagine Dragons, Lorde, and 5 Seconds of Summer (I always want to say "30 Seconds to Mars," who I wish would have also been on tonight). I'm learning to tolerate Taylor Swift, since there seems to be no getting rid of her anyway.

I thought it was sweet when Iggy Azalea won her first AMA and said it was the first award she's ever received in her life. This got me thinking about awards and recognition. Good timing, because Trevor was just going through some boxes in his room earlier tonight and was deciding not to keep some of the trophies he's had since grade school. They just didn't mean that much to him. Most of these were of the "participation" kind, the same as everyone else got. He did show me one award he's definitely keeping, made for him a long time ago by a swim teacher. The teacher repurposed another trophy, writing Trevor's name in marker on the front of it. Pretty funny. But it was repurposed for him, and it only took a small amount of effort on the part of the giver. And it meant something.

Isn't it powerful when you are recognized specifically, by name, for something you've put effort into, whether it's doing your best in a swim class, or making it to the top of the music scene?

Even with all the inflated egos at Hollywood awards shows, I think it probably still means something significant to the artist to hear his or her name read from the stage. This is part of the magic that keeps me hopelessly addicted.

And also the glitz.

My improvement suggestion for social media

When you post something for sale online... eBay, Craigslist, whatever... you have to pick a category for your item. Maybe your item doesn't fit perfectly into a category, but you still need to choose. Put a label on it.

I'd like to assert that social media would be better if posters would have to select a category for the nuggets we share with the world.

I love Facebook for so many reasons. SO many reasons. But it's also exhausting. Yes, I know I can unfriend or (more tactfully) unfollow people. But here's the thing. I don't want to miss the photos of your kids. I want to laugh with you at the silly moments captured and shared. I don't want to be unaware when life drops tragedy on your doorstep. It's just that I'm just not always in the mood for all of the posturing, proselytizing, pontificating.

Have I been guilty myself? Absolutely. This is why I think categories would be good. Then we all can simply filter our news feeds to fit our moods, our thresholds for the day.

Some suggested categories:

Where I am / What I'm doing
These posts are the reason I can't ever break up with Facebook.
Bragging in these categories? BRING IT. If I can't be happy for your kid's Ivy League college admission or your spectacular marathon finish time, maybe I should rethink whether I'm really your friend.

Humor
With sub-categories for your own humor vs. the outsourced/shared variety.
(There's enough humor in each of our daily lives... more of that, please!)

Political/Religious
On second thought, let's go ahead and include anything where you tell the rest of us why your viewpoint is the right one. This can just be our generic "Opinions" section.

Inspirational
Mostly good and uplifting and all that, but let's be honest, on my grumpier days these are so "oh, barf."
Let's also include cute animal pics in this category.

There. I think that's a good start.

Well that was weird.

Today was the day when I tried to use brownies to get in with the door factory people next door, hoping for a tour of their four-story warehouse building.

Next to their loading dock, I found the door marked "office." There was nothing inside the entrance except a stairway going up, with bright-yellow handrails and a few nautical-themed pictures on the walls. Interesting. Upstairs... through a door... down a hallway... through another door, and there I was, inside the operation. Meaning, in front of the receptionist's desk. I put on a smile and introduced myself to her, presented my goodwill offering, and said I was really interested in their business and building... thought I'd come over and see for myself... <still smiling>

She was friendly enough, told me their business is mostly commercial, and many of their contracts are for schools and government buildings... jails, courthouses, etc. They've been in that building for a long time, about 50 years, and yes, they use the entire space. She then segued to asking which brownstone we live in, and noted that their employees used to be able to park where I now live, "which was good parking," but now they have been relegated to the north gravel lot, which the city just required them to pave, so they have been once again pushed like refugees [my words] to park elsewhere while the paving project is underway, "even though it's winter now, so this could take a while."

While she was talking to me, she was still working on her task-at-hand, and looking up at me just intermittently.

It was at this point I realized the vibe wasn't right to ask for a tour. What we've got here is more of a long-game scenario.

She thanked me for bringing the brownies, and said she'd put them in their break room. This became a slightly awkward moment, as she didn't reach to take them from me, but there was no clear space on her desk for me to set the pan. I sized up my options, and then placed the pan gently sideways on top of her in-tray, thankful that I opted for an aluminum pan rather than one I'd have to go back for.

"Okay, have a good day!" and I turned to head out. We were probably both thinking the same thing.

Well that was weird.

I wonder if she took the brownies to the break room, or just threw them right in the trash.

I'll be back in a few weeks with Christmas cookies.

Buttering up the door people

We live in a section of town among warehouses -- many of them have converted to lofts, but the one right next door is a working door factory. Doors Inc. No, really. That's what it's called.

For some reason, I'm dying to see the inside of their warehouse. Here's my plan: I'll make a pan of brownies, take it over to their office entrance, and try to bribe my way into a little impromptu tour. This is a little out of my comfort zone, but I think tomorrow's the day. Friday, they should be in a good mood. Cold outside, so I'll make sure the brownies are warm.

I'm kinda hoping it looks like Monsters, Inc., on the inside, so clearly my expectations are too high.  If any doors at all are on an overhead-track system, that'll be good.

Sometimes I can smell lacquer fumes on the outside of the building, so maybe everybody's high in there, who knows? Oh. Maybe I should consider making a different kind of brownie.

I'm doing it. Tomorrow. I'll take photos if that seems appropriate. And, of course, if they don't kick me out immediately.

If it goes well, maybe I'll find courage to ask about using part of their parking lot for my bunco group coming over next Monday.

on parenting... and getting out of the way

So. One kid is now off to college. I dreaded it for a long time, and then it happened.

And it's okay.

He's been at University of Northern Iowa for 2-1/2 months now, and he's connected with a church (playing drums there), and a running club, and the "UNI Outdoors" program, which is a group he went spelunking with in South Dakota this past weekend.

On Sunday, I texted him to ask if he knew UNI beat North Dakota State in football the day before, ending ND State's 33-game winning streak (!!).  No, he told me, I've been in a cave. Literally. 

And having the time of his life.

If it had been up to me, he wouldn't even be at UNI, majoring in leisure (which I try to say without rolling my eyes), and taking weekend trips to caves.

It's a good thing it wasn't up to me.

When your kid goes off to college, it makes you reflective as to whether you've done enough to prepare him for what's next. Dennis and I have done some things right, and some things very wrong. But one of the best things we've done is to mostly allow Trevor to choose his own paths along the way.

When I think back to the things that have been huge in his life, and have made him the person he is today, Dennis and I chose exactly ZERO of them. How's that for humbling?

Cross country -- I never would have guessed. When he was little, we signed him up for baseball and soccer. and bowling. :) In 7th grade, he decided he wanted to run. Okay, mister 9-minute mile. And then he worked his ass off until he was a team captain in high school and running varsity.

Drums -- We put him in grade-school band playing trumpet, and also got him hooked up with piano lessons. And then he asked where he could take drum lessons. School band? Yawn. We got him a drum set and an instructor... actually several instructors along the way. He has loved being in different garage bands, and has played some fun shows in Des Moines. He's made his way onto church praise teams, where he has found mentors in the realm of music, faith, life.

Y Camp -- Again, he's the one who brought up going to summer camp when he was nine. It hadn't even crossed my mind. Now he's on staff at the same camp he started at, and again, he's found friends and mentors and fun and adventure there. His camp experiences have largely paved the way for wanting to major in leisure (no eye roll).

College -- We visited a handful of schools, and thought the choices were fairly whittled down by the fall of his senior year, and then Trevor said, "Oh. And I want to visit UNI."

So there ya go. I still tried pulling for my alma mater, Truman State University, but I knew.

I hesitate to give much parenting advice. It's a tough job with constant second-guessing. But here's what I've learned from raising this one: he needed us to give him options and opportunities and encouragement along the way, and then he needed us to get out the way and let him be him.

I wouldn't have guessed. But that's kinda the point.

New View

After 22 years in the 'burbs, it was time for something new. Last month we sold our house in West Des Moines, along with a whole bevy of yard-care equipment (yay!), and moved into Des Moines.

I can't even believe how much I've fallen in love with Des Moines since we moved to Iowa 15 years ago. When we moved here, Des Moines was the boring, nice guy you knew in high school. Friendly but forgettable. And then, at the 10-year reunion, HELL-O, now he's good-looking, funky, witty. 

So I'm in love. 

And so we moved here. 

We're in a brownstone on the south skirt of the city, with a rooftop patio.

Some refections after living here for a month...

I CAN'T WAIT for spring and summer, when we can enjoy walking to farmers market, outdoor concerts, music and art festivals. And enjoy that patio more.

It's difficult to not eat out every night, with so many great places a short walk away. We've decided Royal Mile should be our Cheers, so you'll find us there every Thursday night. 

It was a little unsettling to discover that vagabonds go through our trash regularly. I've started putting our redeemable cans out there in separate bags, for easier rummaging. I'm nice like that.

I miss having a basement for stashing all the extra stuff. And yet I'm glad we no longer have a place to stash extra stuff. 

I don't miss: 

yard work. 

the huge cottonwood tree, with its incessant dropping of leaves, branches, seeds. 

the mean squirrel who lives in the cottonwood tree.

One more thing. Once you see the vodka bottle in the EMC building, you can't not see it.