Opportunistically Pink

I had some time today in between shoveling the apocalyptic amount of snow and obsessively playing the Oregon Trail iPhone app to photograph the infamous pink closet.

I will confess to you that this was an excellent time to take these photos because a) 75% of my clothes are currently sorted into piles on my kitchen floor ready for the laundry extravaganza that will be taking place while I prep my food for the week tonight, and b) Henley was tired from jumping at the snow shovel and she was relatively uninterested in being the star of the show. So, this is really nowhere near how the closet usually looks, but at least this way you might be able to tell that there is a floor, shelves and hooks. Usually it’s just a blur of pink, purple and navy.

The color is a little deeper than the photo above… more magenta-pink than pink-Barbie, if that makes any sense. When I brought one of my favorite winter scarves into Lowe’s to use as a muse for the paint color, the middle-aged guy at the counter looked at me with a raised brow, and said, “What exactly are you using this for again?” I definitely got the vibe that he didn’t understand my vision.

My vision was this: I figured this was the only time I’d be able to do something like this… unless my future husband happens to be super laid-back or color-blind, which now that I mention it would be awesome.

The rest of the room has some bookshelves, my desk/office area, a spare bed and dresser, which I’ll photograph when it’s … clean. J

My brother built some shelves into both sides of the closet. When I moved in, it was white and empty. I already had the little turquoise bins and shoe organizer from my previous apartments.

My dad hung some hooks. Here is the (admittedly ridiculous) thing about me: Out of sight, waaaay out of mind. I like to be able to see my clothes, my spices, my shoes. Otherwise I cook the same things and wear the same things. My mom used to get so frustrated with me whining, “There’s nothing to eat!” when all I had to do was look in the next row of the refrigerator. In this house I’m just embracing it and making sure I organize things so that I can see all my options.

I got the straw baskets from Big Lots on super sale and risked my life spray painting the hell out of them in my basement. This is when I really wish I had a garage.

The rest of the day will consist of quinoa-making, trips up and down the stairs for laundry, and nervously forging the river on Oregon Trail. Wish me luck.

Seven.

This week my inspiration comes from Rebecca at www.girlsgonechild.net. (Go there now and read, read, read as far back as you can. She's wonderful.)

She wrote a post (http://www.girlsgonechild.net/2012/03/thirteen.html) about how she feels thirteen, even now at 30, seven years into her marriage, with 4 kids, including baby twins. It's easily one of the most beautifully written pieces I have read in a very long time.

I too used to communicate with my mother by writing her letters. She'd find a poem on the kitchen table after I left for school in the morning, my way of saying sorry, we're in this together, I don't know why I get so sassy when you ask me if I think we should make another appointment with the dermatologist, I know you're just trying to help but it makes me upset. I just don't know how to tell you that. Four verses, in perfect rhyme, painstakingly written in my special blend of print and cursive, folded into eighths. "Mom" written on the outside, the 'o' a heart colored in with purple marker.

I too used to write letters to boys (earlier in my twenties I sent them, now I just have a file of letters that I'll never send to the ones I've let go of) in lieu of being able to say it out loud. I was never really good at saying it out loud.

But I've been trying, I really have. I powered through the phone anxiety and called my aunt, who was recently diagnosed with breast cancer, to arrange to come over and cook for her.

You guys, I was anxious about it all day. I don't know why, it's so silly. So silly. There could not be a more accepting, laid back, loving woman. I know it meant the world of her that I wanted to come over and visit, but my hands were clammy and my chest was tight.

But the thing I have learned about anxiety is that you just need to let it surround you, let it overwhelm you and then say, no thanks. No thanks, I will not give in to you, I will not feel bad about your presence. I will not allow you to stop me from calling or cooking or laughing. No thanks. It does not serve me to get upset about you showing up. No thanks.

I made cheddar chicken with Daiya cheese and gluten-free crackers, and gushed on and on about how giving up gluten has taken away most of my pain, and most of the tingling and tightness in my hands. I gushed and laughed and I felt like I was seven. While reading Rebecca's post, not a question in my mind, I am seven. I will always be seven with a little bit of pragmatic 42 mixed in.

One of my goals for the year is to celebrate those things that make me feel like Bobbi, the things that have always made me, me. The simple things that bring me back to myself with very little effort. In fact, the magic in it is that it really takes no effort at all.

I have been paying attention to this and letting it lead me in my actions and decisions. I have learned that the reason I love my brother, my dad and my grandfather so intensely is that I become seven in their presence. They are the only people who calm me, who ground me, who take away any doubt or insecurity or fear that I have learned and collected every year since I was seven. They bring me back to seven, when I was just a little girl who loved purple, laughed with abandon, and loved to write. The little girl who was not afraid to try new things, who gushed to her mom about making new friends, who thought the most important things in the world were Labrador puppies, mystery novels and friends who made you laugh.

My mom used to make us 'surprise snacks', which is just a sneaky way of using the element of surprise to fancy-up whatever was in the pantry and thrill my brother and I. Graham crackers and peanut butter were magical. Slow-cook vanilla pudding on the stove with raspberries was show-stopping. Vanilla ice cream with frozen strawberries was the end-all. She was a genius.

There are times when I am at my parents house that I still request a surprise snack. It's one of those things that brings me back to simpler times, when I would love whatever she came up with.

This feeling is what I want in a husband, too. I know that whenever he pops into my life, I will have that feeling that I have been working on noticing. I know I will instantly feel at home, I'll feel quintessentially Bobbi without wondering what it means and what parts of myself I should amplify and what parts I should smother. I'll feel seven.

I am still that girl, and I will continue to let that feeling lead me. The pragmatic 42-year-old side of me says maybe that's just me considering the idea that maybe I don't have to be a tough, independent woman all the time, maybe that's just me becoming more comfortable with accepting help, feeling more at ease with giving in and letting things be. Maybe sometimes it's okay to be vulnerable and feel like I'm seven. But that thought is far too deep for seven-year-old me, so for now I will curl up with my fuzzy puppy, crack this mystery novel and nibble on my own surprise snack, an apple with homemade peanut butter.

Notes for the Universe

I got inspired by Kathleen at www.jeremyandkathleen.blogspot.com (you should all read her blog, by the way) when she posted yesterday about things she "explicitly need[ed] to put out into the universe".

I've been feeling that way lately, too. Lots of ideas, concepts and realizations drumming around in my head and no satisfying way to deposit them somewhere in an organized fashion. (Is anyone else as annoyed as me about the fact that I studied writing for 6 years because it calms my soul and brings order to my life but I can't seem to REMEMBER to do it when I'm frazzled?! It's so annoying. I need a sticky-note reminder: Write, you blithering idiot.)

Here's my list of things that I need to put out into the universe:

1. I GET IT, universe, oh wise teacher.
When I started my 30-Before-30 list, my main goal was to get movin' on some stuff that I'd been dreaming of and not pursuing. To put a deadline on it. One of those things was to come to terms with aging, but realize that I might not always meet milestones when I think I will (kind of a paradox, yes?). Well, the universe provided. In the form of an injury that has affected every facet of my life: physically, emotionally, socially, and financially. So I just want to let the universe know that I GET IT. INFORMATION RECEIVED. POINT TAKEN. Moral: Do the things you love because one day you might not be able to. (Like that 5k? Probably not going to happen.) Moral 2: When life "happens", change your course. (So you can't do the 5k. Become a swimmer.)

So, I get it. Lesson learned. Appreciate what you have and get things done. Pema Chodron says that nothing ever goes away until it has taught us what we need to know. I know that I've only learned the beginning of that lesson, but listen here, universe: I GET IT. Please heal me, thanks.

2. I'm grateful for my recent boost of gratitude.
(Is this post getting too meta?) I have always been a sentimental person and have cherished my relationships. But recently I've kind of put two and two together: You can appreciate the lovely things or people you have around you, but you can also take it a step further and actively ENJOY them. That's the step you have to take in order for it to be gratifying. You can't just feel grateful for people, you need to make it a verb. See them. Ask them how they are doing. Hug them. Write them a letter. Make them smile. Compliment them. Make them feel good about who they are. Interact, dumbo.

I've never been great at reaching out. It might be the phone anxiety. But recently I have reached out to a cousin, asked my grandparents to lunch and emailed an old friend. And I realized how good and blessed it makes me feel. If I haven't gotten to you yet, I will. This might also be a product of my recent injury, but it makes good sense: with things, your body, your people: you really use it or lose it.

3. I love cooking.
I've known this about myself for a long time, but after college I tended to make the excuse that it was "just for me" so why spend the time? This lead to some mediocre repetitive meals and too much take-out. Then I got with it and realized if not now, when? If not for me, the most important person in my life, then for who? Also, there is never "no one to cook for". I have TONS of people to cook for. People who love to be my guinea pig for a new recipe, people who forgive me when I get over-ambitious with the main course and have to wait an extra 20 minutes just to eat a cold side dish, people who graciously agree at the last minute to pick up an important ingredient on their way to my house. (You know, like the ground chicken for the chicken burgers... Thanks Anna!) I have tons of people to cook for, but it's also just as important to serve myself.

4. My creative side is knocking. And she's about to start hollering.
Oprah says that the universe will whisper, and if you don't listen it will get louder and louder until it is screaming in your ear. Well, my creative side is starting to get mad.

In fact, the more I feed her (with house projects, with small design projects at work), the louder she gets. Universe, we really need to appease her before she boils over, or worse, loses her voice.

5. Thanks for giving me Henley.
That big pile of slobber and brown fur is easily the best thing that has ever happened to me. She's my blood pressure medication, my cuddle buddy, my very own commedienne, and sometimes even my therapist. She's also a reminder to be specific and go after what I want, even if I have to drive to Po-dunk, Wisconsin to find it.

6. Life is good, universe. But it can always be better.
You've been good to me, universe. But I just wanted you to know that no matter how many messages you send telling me to enjoy what I've got or to slow down and be still, that I will always, always keep reaching. I will never be fully satisfied, and I quite like that about myself.

Nurturing strength of spirit

Well, 8 months into my list and I'm making progress. I'll have pictures very soon of house-related projects (getting an iPhone at the end of the month! yee!) but here's a quick update on the rest of my endeavors.

I've had some health challenges in the past 6 months or so--a bulging disc/pinched nerve that has caused my legs and feet (most prominently my right) to go numb. It's caused all sorts of issues--loss of balance, 2 falls, knee pain. I haven't been able to work out or in the worst of it even walk Henley or do my laundry. It's been tough. I've had to dig down deep and find ways outside of exercise to deal with stress--and facing this as an otherwise healthy 27-year-old who lives alone has been a giant ball of stress in itself. I've learned that you cannot for a moment take your health for granted--it is a cliche and it's what people say after freak accidents or at funerals, but I mean it in earnest. To have my legs slowly go numb, to have my doctors look at me like its in my head, to have to fight for diagnostics has been a nightmare, but I have learned to rely on myself, trust myself and advocate for myself.

I'm getting my second steroid injection a week from now and I am hopeful that I will continue to have good results. After that, I will have 1-4 more injections and head back to physical therapy for another 8 weeks. It's been frustrating not being able to do stuff around the house or get outside, but I am hopeful that I am on the mend. Once again, the Desiderata has been running through my mind--

...Nurture strength of spirit to sheild you in sudden misfortune. But, do not distress yourself with dark imaginings. Many fears are born of fatigue and
lonliness. Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself...

That being said, no matter how good my results are over the next 6 months, it is pretty likely that I will have to revisit my 30-before-30 list and replace a few goals with others that are more in line with where I will be at physically in the next year or so. In the words of my wise mother, we'll cross that bridge when we come to it.

As for my progress to date--

6. Buy a great sofa. Check! This summer I found a leather couch and chair on Craigslist. My parents and I drove to Iron Mountain to pick it up, and a couple hundo later, my living room has a lot more style. It's still a disaster in there, but Henley is loving her new chair as she watches passerbys during the day while I'm at work. I call it the Cadillac of dog beds.

7. Hang old family photos and create a space for new memories in my stairwell. Making progress! Pictures to come. I have one wall complete and a LOT more space to fill. Currently scouting places to find cheap frames. :)

11. Teach Henley a new trick. Check! My baby can shake! Now my task is teaching her when it's NOT appropriate to shake. Such as, when meeting someone for the first time or playing with a 2-year-old.

21. Go vegan for 4 months. I've actually done better--I've incorporated veganism into my lifestyle. For about 2 months now, I've eaten about 80% vegan. My friend Allison gave me some great advice: give yourself a break! So, I give myself a few cheater meals a week, usually when I'm in a group setting and it would be hard to eat vegan. My digestion has improved dramatically and my skin is brighter and clearer than ever. I feel great and I have really enjoyed finding new recipes and challenging myself in the kitchen. This has been key to getting through long evenings when I cannot physically do much else. I'm sure I'll write a lot more about this, because I am very excited about it.

25. Have 50 lunch dates. I'm only 8 months into my 3-year challenge, and I've had 21 lunch dates. It's helped me to check in with my friends and make sure I'm seeing a smiling face during my work week. Nine of the 21 have been with my friend John, so I think this means I owe him Border Grill for helping me reach my goals. :)

I haven't made New Years resolutions in a few years, but this year I felt strongly that I wanted to focus on the things that I love and have always loved. Get back to my roots, so to speak. I feel like when you become an adult, you are pulled this way and that, always needing pay this bill or take care of that errand. By the end of the day I am usually exhausted and with my physical challenges added on top of that, I've been drained in the spiritual department as well. These are the times I remind myself of the small, simple things that have always made me happy. Like quotes on sticky notes. Or reading by lamplight, well past bedtime, even if its just reading the Times in bed on my Blackberry. Like a messy kitchen. Like getting my thoughts down on paper.

It's kind of nuts--I always forget to write, mostly because I do it for a living. But it always surprises me that I forget that I love to do it. This was my worst fear in college--that making it my job would cause me to neglect the therapeutic side of it, the creative side, the only act that seems to straighten my head out completely.

What I'm trying to say is that I hope to be here on this blog more often in the coming year. I've avoided it because I've been frustrated that I couldn't blog about the things that I have been dying to do, but I realize now that I've avoided the very thing that brings me back to life. I know that there are good things in store, and in the mean time I am being gentle with myself and working on my spirit, with a few gallons of paint, a labrador that won't stop trying to shake my hand, and the Desiderata by my side.

30-Before-30 Update: #16 Join a Rowing Team

After two years of talking about it and hmm-ing and haw-ing about how it wouldn’t quite fit my “schedule”, I finally joined a rowing club. My good friend Anna and I often talked about how fun it would be to try, but it required two weeks’ commitment Monday, Wednesday and Friday for 2 hours at either 6am or 6pm to learn the technique. May and June are especially busy months at work for me, but this year I decided that, since I am happiest when I am doing something for me, the added stress of fitting the Learn To Row classes into my busy schedule could possibly be mitigated by the added joy of learning something new.

Can I just say I love it when I am right?!

Rowing is a team sport, and before we begin I have to admit to you that I have never engaged in a team sport—at least not after the age of 8. I played t-ball and coach’s pitch (I should really post those photos... 7-year-old Bobbi knew how to rock a jersey with a side clip and a pony tail!) and I was involved in ice skating and dance until 7th grade or so. But I don’t really have a competitive bone in my body (except when it comes to Scrabble) and I tend to buckle under pressure so once I hit junior high, I quit anything that involved competition or people watching me. In high school, I was the yearbook editor (which, let's be honest, better suited my bossy nature) and I always pulled out the big guns in a friendly game of I’ve Never with my friends, who all played basketball or football: “I’ve never… played a high school sport.” Bam, drink up, suckers.

Anyway, once I got into it, I really fell in love with rowing. It’s an awesome full-body work out (did you know that about 2/3 of the row stroke is actually done with your legs? You only follow through with your arms), but what struck me is how mentally engaged you need to be. I swear, when I am on the boat, I am too busy thinking about where my hands should be, whether I’m keeping up with the pace, or where my oar is to think about anything else. Two hours where I’m not thinking about work, relationships, money, responsibilities, world peace, or the apocalypse? Sign me up, Sally. (I think I just coined a new phrase!)

Many of the things I learned over the two-week course can be applied to life in general. Here’s what rowing taught me:

1. Take Care of Your EquipmentRowing boats cost $20,000 or more. Each oar is over $300. So, I make no exaggerations when I tell you that rowers respect their equipment. One of the first rules they make is you never step over your equipment, you always walk around it. There is an extraordinarily regimented way in which the boats are picked up, hauled and placed in the water.

They do this because it’s expensive, but also because when treated correctly, the equipment does a lot of the work. Without boring you with mechanics, the rowing boat is an awesome piece of machinery. The boat is extremely light-weight and so delicate that there is a small X marked in front of each seat—it’s the only place in the boat you’re allowed to put any weight on when you get in and out, and you’re only supposed to use one foot to do that. Even the oars are impressive: if you let an oar bob in the water, it will go to the perfect depth it needs to in order to be most efficient.

Same goes for the rowing form. Once you learn how to get your body to complete a stroke with good form, you're set. The proper rowing form is efficient, so it's meant to allow to you exert the least amount of energy and apply the most amount of power via the oars. The only trick is actually learning the form and being consistent.

2. Be Flexible (Or Step the Heck Up and Lead)In a rowing boat, there is only one person that sets the pace: the stroke seat. That’s the first seat in the boat from the bow (front), sitting directly in front of the cox, who faces the back of the boat and helps guide the rowers by physically steering them and giving them verbal commands. Everyone else in the boat follows the pace of the person sitting in the stroke seat, and let me tell you, you better keep up. (Or, you better slow down, depending on their preferred pace.) Everyone’s bodies are different and therefore what feels natural to you, timing-wise, is different. For instance, a taller person with longer legs has to take a longer time “recovering” from a stroke in order to stay in sync with someone who has shorter legs.

This is especially frustrating when you’re learning. Like I said, there are so many other things to be concentrating on, so trying to hone each piece of your stroke while you’re trying to fit yourself in someone else’s perfect pace is frustrating. You have to learn to be flexible. You can only work on improving one thing at a time, and you have to realize that it all will come together, but tonight you can only make so much progress.

This is a part of my personality I’m working on in my everyday life as well. Young adulthood is hard for me, because I don’t like to be new at something. I especially don’t like to bad at something. I don’t like when my front yard looks like a complete mess because I’ve spent all my time and money making other improvements to my house. I don’t like feeling like a bad friend because I forgot to ask about a special event or let too much time go by in between lunches. I don’t like that there are still 5 pages on my organization’s website that still, after months and months, say “Under construction…” because it's grant season and deadlines abound. I constantly remind myself (pretty much every time I pull into my ghetto driveway, open my work calendar, or look at my checking account balance) that all things come together in time. You can only make so much progress at a time.

The other part of this, when it comes to rowing, is realizing that if you want to set the pace, you have to step up and lead. You have to volunteer to sit stroke, which means that when you make mistakes, everyone knows and it affects the whole boat. And it also means that at any given point, one of your seven fellow rowers is going to be cursing your pace.

I run into this a lot in my work setting. I hate when people sit around and complain—I can’t tell you how many times I heard “if you’re not part of the solution, you’re part of the problem” while I was growing up and it’s ingrained into my work ethic. I often bring up problems at work (and offer ideas or join groups that come up with solutions) and I’ve learned that being a leader sometimes comes with a risk. Not everyone is happy with change, and not everyone likes your ideas or even the fact that you’re brave enough to offer them. But, while that criticism comes with the territory of being a leader, it also includes the benefit of having a say in the pace. So, you step up and lead or you become flexible and shut up. :)

3. Don’t Grip the Oar Too TightlyDuring the Learn To Row course, the coach is often in a small motorboat (lovingly dubbed ‘Crabcakes’ by club members—can’t wait to learn the story behind that!) and she will circle the boat offering tips and constructive criticism about each rower’s form. She often told me I was gripping my oar too tight (which can cause blisters and just messes up your form in general).

I couldn’t help but see the symbolism: My 30th goal in my 30 Before 30 list might as well be Don’t Grip the Oar Too Tightly. I want to be free of negative thoughts about ‘time running out’ or ‘where I should be vs. where I am’ before I hit the big 3-0. I want to loosen my grip on life, so to speak, which, I’ve learned from rowing, is guaranteed to better your form.

4. Perfection is Impossible; Strive for ExcellenceLike I’ve said, so many small things (placement of the oar, timing, body position) affect the way you row. External factors are sometimes at play as well: waves (“rollers”) from a passing speed boat or wind can work against you, no matter how on point you are. Then there’s the inconvenient reality of 7 other bodies with their own techniques, timing, worries and challenges. Perfection in a row boat is hardly attainable for the pros, let alone a group of novices.

(I don’t think you need an illustration of how I, as a 27-year-old type A personality, am smacked in the face by this lesson day after day in my everyday life.)

5. In the Scheme of Things, the Bad Days Don’t MatterRowing is friggin’ frustrating at times. Sometimes, the person in front of you is having a bad day and it throws you off. Sometimes, you’re having a bad day and while you’re flailing and in a seemingly constant state of self-correction you have that overwhelming guilty feeling of throwing someone else off. Sometimes, the people with oars on the opposite side of yours are neglectful and let the boat tilt to one side and instead of being ‘set’, it leans to one side, making it impossible to get your oar out of the water between strokes. Sometimes, you want to tell the stroke seat to ‘slow the *%!# down!’ or tell the cox to shut up so you can hear your own thoughts. Sometimes there are waves that grab your oar and make it do the exact opposite of what you want it to do.

I’m not going to lie to you, friends: There were a few times during the Learn to Row classes that I got out of the boat at the end of the night and thought to myself, holy crap, get me out of here before I hurt someone. It crossed my mind that maybe this wasn’t as awesome as I thought. Or worse, maybe it was not a stress-reliever but instead something that had the potential to wind me up even further.

I will admit to you that there was a time during our final class when the coach was watching us closely so she could offer some final advice and the boat was NOT set. The people who were supposed to be keeping the boat nice and even were… not. I couldn’t get my oar out of the water, so I kept missing a stroke here or there. I literally could not get a rhythm going. It just kept catching and catching, no matter how hard I tried.

“Can we set the freaking boat?!” I blurted out, and immediately hoped that no one would be able to tell which person said such a hasty comment in such a nasty, impatient tone.

Luckily, the coach and the cox burst out laughing and my fellow rowers immediately set the boat. The rest of the night was great. We had all 8 rowing, the pace was great and the water was really smooth. That moment of pure frustration, along with my little outburst, was quickly forgotten.

6. When It All Comes Together, It’s PricelessThere are occasional moments (and I really do mean occasional, as in every 4 or 5 rows) where things come together—for maybe 10 minutes. (Of course, this is just my experience as a first-year rower who’s gone out a dozen or so times after the Learn to Row course, mostly during rows when other newbie rowers sign up. So I’m sure it happens more often with more experienced groups.) But it’s magic when it all comes together: everyone is following the same pace, the boat is level, the water is calm, the sun is shining and oh-holy-crap-look-at-me-mom!, you’re living in the moment and gliding right along. It’s a unique experience—that extra oomph of speed you get when all 8 rowers are plugging along. That’s a lot of power and the boat is flying.

I find that those moments in life are rare too (see number 1). I’ve spent the past two years getting used to the 9-5. Add in a high-maintenance Labrador, a job with lots of responsibility and a huge house to keep clean, and it’s odd to find a point in time when the dishes are done, the dog is tired, there are no deadlines looming, the laundry is clean, my friends are over and, literally and figuratively, my glass is more than half full. But when that happens, it’s well worth all the time spent actually working for the paycheck that paid for the dog, the house, the dishes, the washing machine, and the vodka that allowed to me have that one blissful moment in time. (Luckily, the friends are free and can often be persuaded with booze!).

The challenge for me is to just enjoy those fleeting moments in life without wasting it by a) worrying about what comes next or b) becoming sad about the very fleeting nature of these moments. Case in point: a recent sob session at my cousin’s wedding, where for 10 minutes I sat and watched my family dance while crying to my dad about how fast life was going before he told me, ever-so-gently in the way that only dads with sensitive daughters can, to get off my mopey butt and start dancing and enjoying it.

I’m working on that. I hope some day to be able to feel what I feel on a rowing boat when everything is going smoothly in life: how very lucky I am to be in this moment and only in this moment.

Thirty before 30

I recently celebrated my 27th birthday. Nothing like a jarring suckerpunch from my old friend reality (what? how has it been 5 years since I graduated college?! and where the crap did these grey hairs come from?), but I'm starting to feel a sense of calm about it.

My parents, brother and I went out for the customary birthday dinner at the Casa tonight (travels and work pushed it back a few weeks). Over a dirty martini, I groaned that I was in my late twenties. My dad took a swig of his Busch Light and said, "Babe, I wish I was in my late twenties." He said it lovingly, shaking his head at his headstrong daughter, the one that has a habit of wishing life away and yet remains the most sentimental girl in any room.

Anyone who knows me knows that I am a Daddy's Girl. So it's fitting that a simple comment my dad made would put my mind at ease about something I've been obsessing about. My dad recently retired at the age of 50, not because he wanted to but because that was the hand he was dealt. He hurt his back very badly at work and, long-story-short, has permanent nerve damage in his feet, making it very difficult to be on his feet for very long, or really do any of the things that he loves to do. And it breaks my heart.

But I have time. That's what I came here to say. I have time to do all the things that I love to do. I have time to do all the things that I keep saying I'd love to do. Being 27 just gives me a little bit of wisdom about the things I want and the resources to do them.

So, behold, thirty things I will do before I turn 30:

1. Work for someone with vision. (If this turns out to be myself, then so be it.)
2. Re-learn French.
3. Get microdermabrasion.
4. Take guitar lessons.
5. Learn to sew.
6. Buy a great sofa.
7. Hang old family photos and create a space for new memories in my stairwell.
8. Teach at the college level.
9. Pay off my debt to my parents (and therefore become debt-free, other than mortgage and student loans).
10. Get a tattoo.
11. Teach Henley a new trick.
12. Watch the sun rise and set consecutively with someone special.
13. Plant something in my yard.
14. "Study" photography, get a half-decent camera and learn Photoshop.
15. Go on a backpacking trip.
16. Join a rowing club.
17. Donate my hair to Locks of Love.
18. Sell a piece of refinished furniture.
19. Create a "studio" in my basement.
20. Take a graphic design class.
21. Go vegan for 4 months. Bonus points for completely organic.
22. Run a 5k and not die.
23. Plan an awesome 30th birthday celebration trip.
24. Visit my 6th country outside the U.S.
25. Have 50 lunch dates. That's one every 21 or so days.
26. Shoot a gun.
27. Do something creative with the huge piece of drywall in my living room.
28. Put off dying my hair. Embrace the grey before I start to cover it.
29. Buy a kayak.
30. Be completely at peace with turning 30, well before it actually happens.

I know myself well enough to know that preparing for the next step is going to be a big part of this one. I also know that I have a lot of work to do before I just relax and let life take the wheel. I have a feeling #30 is going to be the hardest to achieve, and yet the biggest achievement on the list. I better get moving...

Bathroom Before-and-Afters

Almost anyone who came in contact with me from September to December last year got an earful about how much I hated my latest apartment. And it was awful--to say nothing of the awful storage, complete lack of workable outlets and doors that didn't stay shut, I had gallons upon gallons of water in plastic storage tubs in my bathroom for weeks on end due to a leaky roof. My slumlords (yeah, I said it) apparently didn't think it was a priority to fix, despite my constant, angry middle-of-the-night "my ceiling is now on my floor" play-by-play voicemails.

But once the roof was fixed, I loved that bathroom. The walls were a saturated teal, and it looked so fresh and clean next to the white pedestal sink and subway tile. I took many long baths in the clawfoot tub.

So I knew even before I closed on my house that I wanted to design the bathroom to match the one from Hewitt Street.

Here is the awful Blackberry before:

There was a dried-out, peeling-at-the-edges wallpaper border around the top of the room and also in the middle. The plants were blocking all the natural light that came in from the window. The worst part about the bathroom, though, was the brass sliding shower doors, one of which was just a big mirror. I like mirrors, don't get me wrong, and I especially like big ones in bathrooms, but I don't think there should be huge one when you get out of the shower or are, ahem, on the toilet.

I left the vanity the same, as well as the wood floors, and the whole room got two coats of saturated teal (which is Sherwin Williams' "Lakeshore"). Here is the after:

The mirror is from my parents's bathroom when I was growing up. I asked them to save it for me, so we dug it out of storage and I gave it a quick coat of paint to match the cabinets.

Speaking of the cabinets. They were this odd DIY-looking built-in that had been left unfinished with no handles. They were kind of a bear to prime and paint, but I love the outcome. I had my brother drill some holes and add handles. They provide a ton of storage!

Like I said, they were completely unfinished, so I picked up a quart of green paint that contrasted nicely with the teal and painted the edges of the cabinet and the insides of the doors:

I added some glass shelves to keep essentials on. I bought some glass votives from Michaels for cotton balls, hairties and q-tips. The corner shelf houses my glasses and a flower candle holder that I have had forever.

The cotton shower curtain is from Walmart, and the framed poster is something I had in my bedroom on Rock Street. I love how the silver frame looks with the teal. My dad also added hooks for some towels:

It's been really fun to be able to pull the things I loved best about all my apartments and put them together in a way that is permanent.