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I’ve discovered a new love.  Just yesterday I was sitting at my desk working away when I had the most delicious thought — wouldn’t it be fun to draw on the windows?  So that’s just what I did.  I took my pack of Crayola (washable) window markers and graffitied to my heart’s content.  And oh was it fun.  I was so pleased with myself.  So pleased, in fact, that I expanded my operation to the kitchen window facing the driveway.  Knowing that my husband would be pulling in I wrote in all caps: DARRELL IS HOT.  I don’t know how amused he was with it, but I, for one, couldn’t have been more tickled with my handiwork.

Here’s to new loves.

Ah, the first of May.  For no particular reason, I like it.  Sort of like how I feel about the produce section.  I just look at it and think, yeah, I like that.  There’s nothing special about it.  Its pretty standard, actually, but I like it.

And as long we’re on the subject of things I like, let me introduce a new one: the smell of figs.  Not necessarily fresh ones (I haven’t tried that yet), but the kind found in a shower gel I received as a gift and just so happened to try today.  It smelled divine.  I never knew I liked the smell of fig.  It makes me even more appreciative of the gift giver — someone who doesn’t know me well enough to know I would never choose fig on my own.  How delightful.

I’m taking it as an omen that May has many more delightful surprises in store for me.  I can’t wait.

Spring has officially sprung in Utah.  (And by “officially” I mean that it hasn’t snowed in over 10 days and the tulips are popping up everywhere.  Oh, and when I go running, I can smell hyacinth.  It’s very scientific.)   The blue sky and floriferous trees fill me with delight.

Of course, the warm weather also fills me with a desire to travel.  (Ok, so nearly everything fills me with a desire to travel, but especially spring.)  Just this week one friend left for a trip to Turkey.  I found out another, who just finished a ph.D, is heading to Europe for 7 weeks.  One is moving to Oregon.  Another to Washington, D.C.  My brother is spending a month in Spain.  And another brother is probably spending the summer in NYC.  Jerks.

Not to worry, I’ve got lots of fun road trips and adventures planned this summer.  Even so, I can’t help but feel a twinge of “take me with you” every time someone goes somewhere without me.  As if it’s inconceivable anyone would go on a trip that didn’t include me.  (Which is funny because I believe a lot of the world’s problems would disappear if everyone traveled more.)

The thing is, if I stay in one place for very long, I start to feel dull.  There’s no need for that, of course.  I’m good at finding adventures and happiness wherever I am.  In fact, one of my favorite poems helps in situations like these.  It’s by one of my favorite poets, Billy Collins.

You can hear him read it by clicking here, or you can just read the text below.

Consolation

by Billy Collins

How agreeable it is not to be touring Italy this summer,
wandering her cities and ascending her torrid hilltowns.
How much better to cruise these local, familiar streets,
fully grasping the meaning of every roadsign and billboard
and all the sudden hand gestures of my compatriots.

There are no abbeys here, no crumbling frescoes or famous
domes and there is no need to memorize a succession
of kings or tour the dripping corners of a dungeon.
No need to stand around a sarcophagus, see Napoleon's
little bed on Elba, or view the bones of a saint under glass.

How much better to command the simple precinct of home
than be dwarfed by pillar, arch, and basilica.
Why hide my head in phrase books and wrinkled maps?
Why feed scenery into a hungry, one-eyes camera
eager to eat the world one monument at a time?

Instead of slouching in a café ignorant of the word for ice,
I will head down to the coffee shop and the waitress
known as Dot. I will slide into the flow of the morning
paper, all language barriers down,
rivers of idiom running freely, eggs over easy on the way.

And after breakfast, I will not have to find someone
willing to photograph me with my arm around the owner.
I will not puzzle over the bill or record in a journal
what I had to eat and how the sun came in the window.
It is enough to climb back into the car

as if it were the great car of English itself
and sounding my loud vernacular horn, speed off
down a road that will never lead to Rome, not even Bologna.

Yesterday I walked into the office for my appointment.  I chatted with the secretary, Pam, who I have become good friends with over the course of my many visits there.  She announced my visit, “Paul?  Beautiful Audrey is here.”  That’s right, beautiful.  I could have kissed her.  I chuckled and said, “Well, I’m not really looking so beautiful today.”  She smiled warmly, “Oh Audrey, you’re a natural beauty.”  That’s right, natural.  Take that Hollywood celebrities.  You might be famous, but do you have flawless skin?  Didn’t think so.

Of course, there are a few things you should probably know.  First, Pam works in a high school guidance counseling office.  She probably lies to children all day.  Second, she is a mother.  She probably lies to children all day.  Third, she’s probably in her 50s (I can never tell), so she’s probably a liar with declining vision.

But I mean, it was one compliment…why should I care?  Am I that vain?

Part of the problem might be that I primarily work from home now.  There are some days when the only other human I talk to in person is my husband.  And yeah, he tells me I’m beautiful, but that’s just so that I don’t throw things at him when he walks through the door.

Also, the night before I happened to attend a lecture/discussion at the library.  I had been to the gym and hadn’t showered and wasn’t really looking my best.  Naturally I ran into a former co-worker I hadn’t seen in nearly a year and felt embarrassed I wasn’t looking more polished.  It’s not that I was trying to impress anyone…I just like to feel that I look respectable.

Why should any of this matter anyhow?  Haven’t I reached a point where I’m secure, if not exuberant, in my own skin?  Publicly, yes; privately, no.  So until that changes, I’ll make sure I shower before going out in public.

And apparently I am too. Yesterday I had someone tell me, “You look like you could have started the Sound of Music!” Thinking that he meant I was somehow rebellious but hopeful, or maybe confusing me with a convent dropout, I asked what he meant. “Well, you’re very pretty and you just look very wholesome.”

This could explain why I never got in trouble in school even when I should have. It could also explain why I’ve always wanted to turn old drapes into play clothes.

Needless to say, I’m adding it to my list of funny compliments I’ve received. And yes, the list is getting very long.

I’ve updated my website to allow comments, so feel free to comment on anything you find here. I have also made it more simple to make posts so more comment will come soon. There is an RSS feed installed for those of you who are included to uber-nerdiness (yes you Elliot)

With spring on the horizon I’ve been thinking a lot about my own process of change and renewal.

Sometimes the wisest people are those who ask for help. Often I think I’m smart enough and intuitive enough to figure things out on my own. And sometimes I am. Other times I have felt like a failure just because I need an extra hand. When it comes to self-awareness, it’s sort of like editing a document. I spend hours and hours poring over every minute detail and draft. I analyze every word and punctuation mark. I feel certain it’s perfect, so I ask a colleague or friend to give it a look. Turns out it wasn’t perfect – several obvious typos, in fact. Somehow I missed them. There comes a point when I have searched and evaluated and considered myself for so long that my eyes go blurry. At those moments, I need a fresh pair of eyes to look me over. There’s no shame in that. It’s common sense. Whether that means confiding in a good friend or seeking a professional’s advice now and then, even the best writers need a good editor. I’m no exception.

I recently got into an interesting discussion about tattoos. Here are the reasons I’m glad I don’t have any:

• No distinguishing characteristics for police sketches or line-ups.
• More money to spend on things and experiences that really leave their mark – traveling, learning new things, connecting with people.
• Random people don’t strike up conversation with me based on my markings. (Comments about height or looking familiar, on the other hand, will always abound.)
• Keeps me eligible to work for the FBI or CIA.
• I could be in a Dove advertisement.
• It’s easier to accessorize.