Green is My Fav-O-rite Color

I can't say that title without thinking about Aerosmith. Irregardless, after 29 years I have finally found an answer to the ever-ridiculous question, "what is your favorite color?" Unless you say black, no one cares.

Although no one cares, I was walking today under a canopy of blossoming spring trees, and I finally identified my favorite color. It is the bright, translucent spring-green that blankets the greyish-white branches of the trees, creating a beautiful forest out of the parks in Manhattan. In the winter, everything is grey. The grey sidewalks become a familiar sight, head down with each rapid step to slice through the wind that whips fiercely between stone cold silver buildings. The leaves are lost like fallen soldiers in the fall months, leaving the trees naked and exposed in their shades of grey. The sky is grey. The clouds are grey. People become grey. I wonder if Adam Duritz gained his inspiration from a New York winter for so many of his lyrics... grey guitar and play... something about the shades of grey...

Perhaps that is why this vibrant green lights up my soul each time I step outside. It's the end of May, and spring is just now settling in on New York. The initial blossoms have come and gone, and in their wake they bestowed a gorgeous spectrum of green that symbolizes life, renewal and change.



I have always loved trees. I grew up on 5 acres of pecan trees, free to roam with open space around me and my imagination gushing forth in the sticky Texas summers, fireflies dancing at dusk. As I've gotten older, they have become so symbolic of life. In the wintertime they look dead, barren. But they always bloom, and their buds bring hope and beauty.



I have never endured a winter comparable to my first winter in New York. The cold set in around late October and didn't relent for seven months. Spring brings a unique and intense energy to New York City. People have been couped up in their shoebox Manhattan apartments for over 200 days. When the Lady sunshine finally makes her grand debut, New Yorkers literally gush onto the streets, sitting out on sidewalk cafes and lying in the green grass of the many parks of the city, basking in the rich sunshine on any patch of earth on which they can bask.

Spring, I am glad you're here. It's been a while since I've seen you, and I've never experienced your splendor quite like this. Continue to bring hope to my spirit as you show me how in time, all things become new, once again.

Where Would I Be If Not For These Women?

Hats of to the mothers of the world. Today, hats off to the mothers in my family: my beautiful mother Carla, my grandmothers Florence Cora "Flo" and Doris, and my beautiful sister, Jaime, now a mother of her 2 precious boys, my nephews Lawson and Peyton, who are the loves of my life.

I got to spend the week with my family this past week, and love is gushing from my heart with gratitude for the 'tribe' that I was so graciously put in. Of course no family is perfect, but I am thankful daily for the family that is mine, and I ponder on how I got so lucky to have such a family when so many people don't.

I could talk about my beloved dad, Jim, and how I adore his jokes and how he'll chuckle heartily under his breath for 5 minutes after telling a joke because he thinks it to be so funny. I could talk about his love pats and adoring eyes when he looks upon his 2 daughters and 2 grandsons, but this time is devoted to mothers.

I will always treasure this picture. To have my young mother and dear grandmothers so attentively participating in my Fisher Price cooking school warms my heart and brings little flicks of tears to my eyes. I was so loved as a child. I still am so loved.

The powerful love of my mother set a foundation of love and kindness in my life. Every morning she gently opened my door, glided to my bed in her blue floral bathrobe and quietly sat down next to me, stroking my back with her graceful hands as she brought me from my slumber. "Ashley, sweetie. It's time to wake up," she would speak almost in a whisper as to not wake me too abruptly. She picked me up and carried me downstairs and was so tender in all of her ways. I loved how she made my favorite breakfasts, either teddy bear pancakes or 'egg in a frame.' Moms know how to love in such a way that they show you the worth of who you were created to be.

She was always there. Cheerleading and gymnastics practice, watching me in the stands at pep rallies and football games, at every award ceremony. I knew that I could count on my mom. As I've gotten older, I've seen how much I took that faithful love from my mother for granted. I didn't know at the time that it was special. That not all moms loved like she did. I never had to look into the crowd with a sinking feeling in my stomach wondering if she would be there or not. She just was. Always.

Thank you, mom. You loving kindness has helped to shape me into the woman that I am today. You have built a legacy of love that has already started to be passed down to your grandsons through Jaime, and I hope that same legacy of love will be passed down to my children in the future.

To my grandmothers, you lived in a different era, and era when women had to be superwomen. Thank you for the sacrifices you made to be all things to your family in order to show love and provision. Summers spent at your houses are childhood memories of adventures that lie dormant in the volcano of my mind, always bubbling and reminding me of the foundation on which my life has been built. As you soon turn 85 and 90 years old, I treasure each moment we have together and grow more thankful for you each day.

So I reflect on this Mothers Day with a full heart, grateful for the women in my life who have mothered and shaped me in to the person and woman that I am today. With love and gratitude in my heart, I thank you.

I Stopped Should-ing on Myself

Right now I should be at the gym. On the stairmaster. Step after step, sweat dripping down my fair-winter complexion. Instead, I've chosen to eat a vanilla cupcake frosted in baby pink buttercream deliciousness rolled in an outer layer of vibrant, playful sprinkles as I watch the people meander by outside my window. I must say, I am quite content.

I have found that it is so refreshing to live life from my own heartbeat. I believe I spent my first twenty-five years 'shoulding' on myself. Yes, I did say shoulding. Yes, it is an expression that I picked up during my time in counseling. And no, I am not afraid to say that I was, in fact, in counseling. Everybody needs a little help sometimes.

I have always heard that your 20's are a time period of figuring out some things. Getting comfortable in your own skin. For me, this decade has been precisely about that. Life is about balance, and more and more I have found that the 80/20 rule holds true. 80% of the time, it is important to stick to the 'should' of eating a plate of organic veggies and lean meat from Whole Foods and going to by Bikram Yoga class. But, the other 20% of the time I love the freedom to eat decadently and sit on a park bench, bask in the spring sunshine and watch people scurry along and squirrels nurse their winter's stock of nuts. And I love that I finally feel the freedom in that balance instead of punishing myself for never doing enough, for eating too much sugar, for not being so efficient enough today... blah ... blah-blah ... blah-blah.

Today was a damn good day. A bit chilly, but good. Worked a bit, enjoyed time with a dear friend in Brooklyn, went to a Russian nook for some traditional lamb dumplings and homemade puree of carrot-ginger soup. I took time to see today. To look at the architecture of the buildings as I walked. To take joy in children as they skipped down the street. To savor each rainbow-colored sprinkle on that cupcake. Enjoying the small things in life and cherishing them as life's delicacies is a beautiful thing. I might just go and pour myself a glass of wine.

Rocking Into the Sunset

My dear friend just took his own life. Normally this blog is about life experiences, the richness in seeing something new and majestic, but tonight it is about sorrow. The kind of raw emotion and shock that enters the heart after hearing such news. How anyone ever begins to absorb such a sorrow, I do not know.

He was one of the most kind, gentle human beings to grace my life and the lives of so many. The loss of his presence will be a blow to his community and is truly a loss to human-kind.

What saddens me most is the degree of loneliness and sadness that he must have felt to come to such a decision. And of course being human, I wonder how I could have touched him more than I did to make sure he knew that he was loved. That he was important. That his life being in mine meant something to me. But I cannot reflect on those things. They don't bring him back.

My mind keeps seeing a rushing river. I don't know if it is because water brings all things- purity, life, clarity, renewal, movement, change, constancy. I want to feel this rushing river flow over my immense sadness. I want this river to bring him back to me. I want there to be some kind of cleansing answer to why and how something so tragic has happened.

And that might be the hardest thing. Even when you know what the 'why' was and the source for his immense sadness, to actually wrap my mind around a why that could make sense of something so painful is beyond what I am capable of.

And so I picture him on a white rocking chair, with his stylish black glasses, his designer blue jeans and his warm smile that always touched me to the core. He's rocking into his later years, the years that should have been his, with the sun displaying a magnificent canvas behind him. Years that were taken from him by the dense fog of sadness that had to have filled his heart. Years that, in the end, he took from himself in order to get to some place that was brighter than what he could see now.

Marion, I will miss you. I will always hold you in my heart and cherish the time that we did have together. You truly were special. A gift in my life that I will cherish for the rest of my days. And one day, when many seasons have come and faded on, when I hopefully reach a ripe old age with a crown of grey, I will sit on a white rocking chair and think of you, rocking in your memory and for those lost years that you didn't behold. Truly, may your soul rest in peace.

Knick Knack Nostalgia

A guy from Craig's List is coming tomorrow morning to purchase and cart-off my bookshelves, and I should be happy about it. I'm not. He is paying me for the bookshelves that I decided to sell, yet I feel as if he's taking them from me. Like I'm a debtor handing them over with reluctance to the person who's collecting my debt.

I think this anxiousness comes from my next move coming up in just 2 short weeks. This will be my 8th move in 8 years. Quite a track record. When I moved to New York, I sold about 75% of the stuff that I owned, and that 75% that I did have was exactly 50% of the stuff that I used to own. At one point I had a home that looked like it was straight out of a Pottery Barn catalogue. It actually was. I believe 85% of the possessions in the home were Pottery Barn. And although I believe I am a more interesting, eclectic kind of person than someone who has a house furnished with 85% Pottery Barn, the fact is that at one point in my life, I had a really nice, beautiful place to call 'home.'

I like the idea, and the practice, of living minimally. But, the truth is that I am too nostalgic of a person to do so. I am selling these coffee-colored bookshelves tomorrow, but what about the Harvard books that I bought to decorate them? I remember being in that bookstore, full of excitement as I furnished my first home. What about the canisters that I got in Maui that are hand-etched? The teapot from India that I picked up as I strolled through the dusty, mountain streets of Darjeeling? The gemstone rock that I got on a road trip during a season of my life when I needed to be reminded that sometimes, things don't look like much on the outside, but have jewels of tremendous beauty on the inside. What about that? Although those things are just 'stuff,' that 'stuff' is a part of me. It's been a part of a journey and I can't seem to let it go.

I realize this is totally an impractical emotion, living in a New York apartment. There is no space, and I'm about to decrease my bedroom by 50% with this next move. I rolled up to Washington Pl. last year with a 14 and 1/2 foot U-haul truck that I had driven by myself cross-country. Somehow, very carefully, I managed to pack it all in. But with each move comes a cleansing, and although I believe that simplifying life is an act of cleansing, it sometimes still brings a sadness to me.

In my mind I romanticize the idea of giving it all up and only keeping one suitcase filled with what I need to take off and travel the globe for 2 years with what I can carry on my back. That thought is great in theory, and maybe in the realities of some in this world, but not in mine.

Maybe a girl can have it all. I can de-clutter, simplify, know that there will be a time in the future again when I will truly have a space of my own... a space to breathe, to rest, to furnish... But, until then, climate controlled storage will have to do.

Life's Lessons from Lost Earrings

It's official. I now have enough widowed earrings to constitute an earring graveyard. From the regal collars of winter coats and tightly wrapped scarves, they have fallen to their demise, un-noticed on the slick winter sidewalks.

I got home last night, unlaced my snow boots, my shoes of choice as of late, and headed into my bedroom where I began to slip into something more comfortable. Watch off, necklace off, earrings-- and then just a feeling of, "oh, sh#&. Another one bit the dust." Another lone range earring, separated from its twin and mourning the loss of the camaraderie they once shared.

My point is this: for the 5th time last night, I made the same thoughtless mistake. After I lost my first earring just a few months ago, I thought to myself, "I need to not wear earrings without stoppers on them during the winter months when I wear coats and scarves because I'll lose them like I did this one." And then it happened again. And then for a third time. And then a fourth. And finally, last night, a fifth. How many times does it take to learn a lesson and make an actual change to a behavior pattern?

Insanity is defined as doing the same thing over and over, but with expecting a different result. I am convinced that in some areas of my life, I am completely insane. This got me pondering other lessons that I should have learned that perhaps I have not learned. What are the blind spots in my life, those places where I should be able to see what's coming around the corner, but I don't? Are the blind spots simply the result of lack of care or attention, or rather, just the process in which life chooses to teach us, sometimes through painful repetition so we truly learn and grow?

I do know for certain that I have made mistakes in my life that I have learned from. Mistakes that are painful enough that I am self aware to not repeat them. But, were there warning signs- the yellow lights- leading up to those mistakes that could have saved me and others so much grief that I simply could not see? Are some things in life only learned and truly absorbed through difficult experiences?

Human nature is sometimes very resistant to change. I do not want to lose another earring in life, metaphorically, so it's time to wake up and really see what lessons I have chosen not to see. I would rather it not take me being slapped in the face each time.

Just some food for thought from my overflowing plate.

How is it possible for 58 days to flash by so quickly? 58 days ago, I was moved to tears by that sweet man struggling on the subway. I wonder what he's doing right now and how he's making it in this New York winter. It is not that I have not been moved or touched to write since that evening. Many things have touched my spirit. It is simply that the days if life sprint by, which is what has been filling my thoughts this evening.

This is my first true experience of winter, and I now understand why bears hibernate during these chilling months. Although experiencing snowstorms and four distinct seasons for the first time in my life is thrilling, 75% of the time I would simply prefer to crawl into yoga pants, fuzzy socks and under a blanket; comfort and warmth have been my top two priorities as of late. I have never lacked so much motivation to do... well, about anything. Go to the gym, go out to dinner, walk downstairs and outside to do my laundry or even make a quick trip to the grocery store. The winter has somehow turned me into a messy bachelor with a heap of laundry and nothing filling my fridge but old, past-expiration boxed tomato soup and a bag of whole grain flour. Springtime, I need you to come and rescue me! Put a little flush in this snowy skin, ignite a bounce in my step and amaze me with the beauty of your splendor. Inspire me as you teach me, once again, that all things in life regenerate themselves with time and become fresh and new.

I have been thinking lately about the wonder and brevity of life. In a flash, ten years pass. I'm approaching my 30th year in 2011. While I recognize how young that is, as well as how thankful I am for all of the life experiences that I have had in my years, my upcoming 30th birthday is already a thoughtful one. It is the first decade I have entered in to with a deeper realization of how precious life is, how quickly it goes, and how I just have one. One life. One chance to make it all I desire it to be.

I'm living in New York City and experiencing new things each and every day. If I had 300 more years to live, I might

be in Sydney two years from now, or Paris, or Argentina... and while all of those are probable trip destinations, there is not enough time to make all of them a home. To form true relationships with those who live there. To learn and become a part of the culture. To plant roots. So, when it comes down to it, a contented soul is the canvas for a breathtaking life masterpiece. To choose well, with thoughtfulness and intention, and to wake each day and choose to be present in my own life, in my own body, in my mind and in my spirit and to make that day memorable for what it is. I work to remind myself that once a day has passed, I will never again behold it.

2 years

9 years

17 years

22 years

28 years

So, with that realization, I am going to leave this toasty apartment tonight and venture into the frigid Manhattan air. I'm going to take in the quaint, magical Village that surrounds me in the lower west side of New York. I'm going to peek in candlelit restaurant windows and watch lovers laughing and talking. I'm going to savor a glass of red wine in the company of dear friends and create a memory on this night. And then I'll sleep, and like a morning glory reaching out at dawn to embrace what the day will give, I will awake, open to the beauty that lies ahead in the day that is tomorrow.