Happy Trails

The Air Smells Good

I woke up this morning and the windows were open. I didn't remember forgetting to close them last night--but who often remembers what they have forgotten? That sort of defeats the purpose, right?

Anyways, the windows were open and it was cold but not too cold, and finally, FINALLY the sky was blue and the sun was shining. And suddenly I had the most vivid memory of my childhood--waking up on Saturday mornings in the early spring, and Mom or Dad or both had opened the windows in the house, and the birds were singing. And the smell of sausage. Or bacon. Or both. I would roll out of bed, grab a blankie, and claim the ugly (but comfortable) orange rocker chair, right in front of the television. There was Smurfs, Land of the Lost...and...well, those are probably the only two I remember. And there was breakfast made to order, and it was awesome. 

Later on there would be early morning bike riding through the neighborhood on my cherished hand-me-down steed, Sunshine, and the smell of freshly cut grass and soap suds as neighbors washed their cars and took care of their lawns. Life was good. I miss that. But I think I'm lucky too to have memories like that to make me smile on mornings as I'm nearing 30 and the windows are open and it's cold but not too cold.

 

Speaking of nearing 30, I have a birthday this month. I'll be 27 soon. It never bothered me, the thought of getting older. Salmaan was upset that he was nearing 30 on his last birthday, last month. I made fun of him, said he was being silly. What's the big deal anyways? 

Well, this past week I went into a shoe store by myself...you know the kind--where there's a 17 year old behind the counter, with iPod earphones in his ears, and piercings all over his face? While I don't normally frequent these types of establishments, I've been wanting a pair of converse all stars for a long time now. Probably because they remind me of riding Sunshine at a time when life was simpler, and a pair of shoes could make you feel cool and important. (I mean, who doesn't feel that way about bright pink hand-me-down high top converse all stars?) Anyway, seems like those funky joints are the only places that normally have them, so I went in and tried them on. And suddenly I felt silly. Like, you're going to be almost 30 soon, and you want to buy shoes you wore when you were 8! It was the first time I thought about my age that way. I didn't buy the shoes--but only because that store didn't carry half sizes. I need an 8.5, people! 

And now it's back to real life: Saturday morning, I have slept in, and Salmaan has of course completed a ton of stuff given how early he gets up, even on the weekends. A strata came out of the freezer last night, and is now baking in the oven, filling the house with the smell of sausage. Or bacon. Or both. And Salmaan is going to mow the lawn while I wash the cars. And, the air smells good. Happy memories, happy Saturday. 

A Different Kind of Stash

Lately I've really been thinking about how awesome it would be to buy a house. We've been renting the same place now for two years, and we're both really ready to move on. The following phrases lilt beautifully through my daydreams...quiet neighborhood...tree-lined street...double vanity...hardwood floors without 1 inch cracks between the boards...patio furniture...backyard...respectable herb garden...driveway and/or carport and/or garage...*sigh*. I feel relaxed and at home already.

And that isn't to say that our current place hasn't been great. It IS great. It has a ton of character, it's huge, historical, and total unexpected for the rent. However, the glow of a fast-food restaurant sign invades our bedroom at night, the cops won't come by to disperse the drunk people that congregate on our street in the wee hours unless an assault is taking place (as one did last weekend), and the bars on the window, while comforting, probably shouldn't be. We're not students anymore, meaning we're not excited about the raving bar scene or the convenience of drunk food practically at our front door. We're professionals, and we want to live like the hum-drum suburbanites that we know we are inside.

Given that my job future is pretty uncertain right now, and the fact that Hubster has to pass a tough exam before he starts getting reasonably compensated for his work, it looks like house-buying is not in our immediate future. I'm a saver, but...there's gotta be something to save.

So in lieu of house hunting at the moment, I have decided to feed my need to move with creation of a different kind of stash. If I see a sale, or have some extra bucks and see something that I would love to have in our new house--I'm going to get it. And then I'm going to put it away, save it, and not use it. I'm also going to start knitting some houseware patterns I've been saving and stashing some great yarn for. Then, I'm going to put them away, save them, and not use them. I know, you're probably thinking--"Live in the moment, Laura! Enjoy it now!" And I hear you, I really do. I just...think this will help. Maybe it'll extend the efficacy of my daydreams just a little longer until they can become a reality. And think how cool it'll be to not only have a new house, but unique, half forgotten comforts to add to the novelty of it all, when all of our hard work finally comes to fruition...

My first stashed items:

George Carruth, how I love thee...

You can never have enough fabric napkins! Until, of course, it comes time to iron them...then it always feels like you have plenty...

 

I *heart* World Market--it's like Pottery Barn for people who hate Pottery Barn. And they're into free trade, which rocks my consumer-driven world.

If a Hobbit Wore Shoes

Last Friday I left work early to go make soap with some co-workers (post to follow). Of course, you don't want to wear work duds when you're making soap, so I had changed into some scrungies right before I left the office.

My friend, Sangy, works in an office downstairs in my building. She's really quite fabulous. Not only is she fun to be around (she's smart, talented, and funny), she has also been keeping her ear to the ground for me regarding any job openings. I've really appreciated it.

As I was heading to my car in my scrungies, I saw her walking towards me.

"Ya know, maybe if you dressed more professionally, we'd be able to find you a job."

I glanced down at my scrungies.

"You make a good point."

She glanced down at my feet.

"Nice shoes, Frodo."

We were both in a hurry, so I just laughed and walked on, lost in the wondrous possibilities of soap making. But later, when I had some time to reflect, I looked down and thought, "Nice shoes, Frodo?"

And I said aloud in my most know-it-all voice, "Hobbits do not wear shoes, Sangeeta." Alas...too little, too late...but it did get me to thinking...if a Hobbit did wear shoes, they would most certainly be in an earth tone--much more like this:

And then I wondered even further, if a Hobbit wore shoes, would they have taste as awful as mine? You see, I have an...inner tendency...an inclination, if you will, toward certain types of footwear. Basically, I am attracted to ugly things. My shoe wardrobe runs the gambit from items that are totally acceptable (work heels *sans stinkers* and Chacos), to less "mainstream" styles. And here they are, from better to worse.

The Platypus Flippers. Soft, comfy, and very...paddle-ish.

I like to call these "The Stompers". I have very narrow feet, but these shoes are incredibly wide. They're so chunky that I lose all sense of where my feet are when I wear them. It's like trying to type with rubber dish gloves on. Many have suffered, few have survived...

I no longer wear these for three important reasons:

Back to the Tour de la Peds: These are the cornerstone of my collection. Gum ain't just for chewing, folks.

Funny story: I wore these to class once. It was snowing or raining...I don't remember which. Either way the weather was perfectly appropriate for my handy-dandy gum boots. Then one of my arrogant classmates had the nerve to make a snide remark about me wearing Gumbos--he asked me what I was thinking, wearing these heinous things. I replied, "They make me feel taller." (Crucial background: this guy was about 5 feet tall, was bald, and had a serious short-man complex. Every day he wore Doc Martins--you know, the ones with like five inch thick soles? AND *drum roll please* this is SO sweet: his last name was Inch. I love it when God has a sense of humor.) Anyway, I'm normally not mean to people. I'm really not. But he pushed me. And he never commented on my footwear again. Which is really saying something, as you'll soon realize.

And now I introduce you to my obsession with Keens:

These are the Oliphants. They'd be perfect if I had a summer job training elephants in 90 degree heat. Why the frick else would you need a toe-bumper that big on FLIP FLOPS?

I actually don't think these are that bad...is that bad?

I refer to these as Mutant II. It's like having teenage mutant ninja turtle feet, without having to deal with the glowing gelatinous nuclear goo. Or the talking rat Sensei....I couldn't deal with that, either.

Another L.L.Bean wonder. I've had these since high school. According to Hubster, they may need replacing soon *sniff* as they have apparently reached the level of "medium Ajeeb".

I don't even know what to say about these, other than Zappos can pretty much make me buy anything. I assure you, these are even uglier in real life. I still wear them.

 

And finally, the piece de resistance: Mutant I:

Sometimes the look from classmates would start to get to me, and I would go home and change my shoes. One day when I did this, my friend Tim turned around and asked, "Hey, what happened to the mutant shoes you were wearing earlier?" And I had to say, "Which ones?" Probably not a good sign. However, I was heartened to receive an enthusiastic inquiry about these worst-of-the-worst when we were at the Nantahala Outdoors Center. At least I belong somewhere...

Anyway, to sum it all up, I think if I were a Hobbit, I would fit in quite well. I have a very keen love for green and growing things,

as well as an appreciation of good ale.

Maybe I'll head on down to Middle Earth and take a look around. And if Sauron makes a fuss--no worries. I'm bringing The Stompers. Let's hope for convenience sake he has a tail.