A Decluttered Life

I am the baby of my very large family, the youngest of six brothers and sisters. It’s a great position to have if you can get it and it’s one I’ve always enjoyed. After all, my parents were older and wiser when they had me. No longer quite so strict (I didn’t have to deal with a mother who believed that Fig Newtons were as far down the cookie train as anyone should be willing to go as my brothers did), no longer forcing their kids to wait to learn things at the appropriate age (I got to learn to drive and light matches at the same time as my big sister, much to her chagrin), and no longer as cautious (a frequent refrain in my childhood was “Go spend the day outside and just make sure you’re back for dinner.” A safe directive when you live on 40-acres in the middle of nowhere). My parents had relaxed quite a bit by the time I came around and I reaped all the associated benefits.

However, the position of “baby of the family” does come with some very serious responsibilities as well. I am the last. There are/will be no more children after me. Anything that my parents love about raising children has to be enjoyed to its fullest extent with me. I grew up always aware that I was their last opportunity. So if my mother mentioned that she loved styling my hair just so or dressing me in certain clothes, then I had better let her ‘cause taking that away from her before she was ready would just be cruel. After all, there was no younger sibling to allow her to continue practicing on.

I don’t think this sense of responsibility or obligation is anything that my parents forced on me or even mentioned explicitly or implicitly. In fact, I’m really not sure where it came from. I just remember from some of my earliest childhood memories having this sense that I had to tread lightly on asserting my independence because my growing up and becoming an individual meant I was taking one more aspect of raising children away from my parents. Of course, there were some aspects they were happy to have me take over for myself. I’m sure potty training their last kid came as a great relief and I know that my finally getting my act together in school (no longer “failing to live up to my potential” as my teachers were so fond of saying) so that they no longer had to remind me to take the time at home to do my homework was an excellent day as well. But there were other things that I just instinctively knew would somehow hurt them to take for myself. And so I developed a policy of allowing them to hold onto those aspects instead. (This is how I ended up with a perm.) After all, it wasn’t such a great hardship for me and it did seem to make them happy. (And thinking back on it now, I think it’s something my siblings encouraged. After all, they could assert their independence at will. If my parents raised a fuss or made sad sounds over it my sisters or brothers could just point to me and say “but you still have Lauren, she’s your baby.” In fact, I remember my next oldest sister being extremely angry when I started staying up later than 9 pm, telling me that I was too young to stay up that late and I should still be in bed. I was in high school.)

And going hand-in-hand with this sense of obligation as to my personal independence was a sense of responsibility and obligation to physical objects as well. I quickly became known in the family as the sentimental one, the child that keeps things around and retained the trappings of childhood long past the traditional expiration date. I think that quality was fostered by my status in the family. If I was given an object or item from a family member and no longer wanted it there was no one below me on the food chain to pass it along to. Who would take it if I said goodbye? It would be donated to Good Will, lost to the family unit forever. I was the perfect recipient to receive hand-me-downs, but there was no one below me to continue the practice. I was and am the caboose. If something gets to me and I say no more, then it is leaving the Moser family train altogether. That’s it. Done. Finito.

From a very young age, therefore, I began to attach great sentimentality to all belongings. If a family member didn’t want something anymore I would become its keeper; storing the item faithfully away so that it was not lost to the great void of the world. All belongings were anthropomorphized and I would hear a voice in my head saying “You’ll hurt the bear’s/box’s/shirt’s feelings if you let it go. It’s been so good to this family and you saying you’re done means you don’t value its’ service. You’re saying you don’t care.” I’m not saying I was/am a hoarder by any means. I wasn’t and am not surrounded by mountains of cast offs from my family. But if I received a gift from someone, I had to keep it. Getting rid of the gift was like saying I didn’t love the person. And if I had a great memory attached to an object that a family member was getting rid of or felt they should have that memory attached to it then I would take the object for myself and protect that memory. This all meant that I never had to buy many belongings because my room was filled with things that had meaning, even if that meaning was not always mine.

Unfortunately, I’ve never been able to tell when to let go. There’s nothing wrong with saving the items that remind us of good times or putting cast offs to new use, but there does come a point at which you need to let it go. To say sayonara to something that served you well in the past, but serves no purpose today.

And this all links to another aspect of my character, which is organization. I love organizing. I love for things to have their spot and to be in that spot. I am someone who lists The Container Store as a happy place. All those wonderful bins, baskets and organizing paraphernalia lined up so neatly on shelves makes something inside me all warm and giddy. In fact, it’s been mentioned by quite a few people over the years that I might be just a little OCD about organizing. A favorite game of my college roommates was to shift the salt and pepper shakers on the dining table slightly out of place and wait to see how long I could stand it before shifting them back. (I usually lasted about 30 seconds.) And when I first moved to Oregon my mother would start each visit wandering around my house and casually moving knickknacks around while I would follow behind and move them back. I think this went on for her first three or four visits until my Dad finally noticed and told her to stop as she was clearly driving me nuts. (I think there was an implied “and isn’t she nuts enough” in there at the end. He may be right.)

And though it’s been subtle and almost completely unnoticed by me, these two aspects of my character have been at war for years. That sense of obligation toward people and objects which has caused me to save and retain so much has been slowly but surely butting up against the need for organization and keeping everything in its place. Because it’s a truth that should be universally acknowledged that at some point…you’re just going to run out of room. I managed to stave off that day for quite a while by putting my love of The Container Store to good use, signing up for Martha Stewart’s home emails, which regularly feature entire walls of bins and boxes (storage made art), for inspiration, and reorganizing on a regular basis. But there comes, of course, a tipping point. A point at which you can no longer tamp down the feelings of anxiety that say “Maybe, just maybe, you have too much stuff. Maybe, just maybe, this is the time to let some of it go.”

That point came for me a little over one month ago. It was a normal Friday afternoon and I was chatting with my coworkers about our weekend plans. My coworker Erin mentioned that she was working on her new project to declutter her house. As a hardcore fan of organizing, I quickly requested more information. She said that she had read this book on decluttering your house and she was starting the project this weekend with a purge of her clothes. The book is called “The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up: The Japanese Art of Decluttering and Organizing” by Marie Kondo. It’s a book I had heard about before as it appeared on several bestseller lists in recent months and I had even read an interview with the author. I had planned to read it, but ultimately decided against it in the end as reviews showed it was an extremely polarizing book.  But on this Friday afternoon I changed my mind. Erin began describing Marie Kondo’s decluttering philosophy to me and it just clicked.

Keep only those things that speak to your heart. 

So simple and, yet, so profound. We surround ourselves with objects that bring us no joy. Objects that our rational brains tell us we should keep for one reason or another: it may be of use some day, it was useful once, it used to bring me joy, it still has so much wear left in it even though I don’t ever wear it, it once meant so much to me or someone I love. (Clearly, my rational brain has been in overdrive for years.) And (if you’re in the same place that I was) all these joyless objects that surround us cause stress and anxiety. For a long time my house has made me anxious. I didn’t feel at peace when I was at home. Instead, when I really stopped to analyze how I felt, I realized that I felt like I was surrounded by mountains of items that were growing and growing until they would one day topple over and crush me. (Let me reiterate here, I am not a hoarder. There are not literally mountains of belongings in my house. Except books. There are mountains of books. Dang it.)

And on that Friday afternoon, hearing that simple statement that I should only keep objects that “spark joy,” I knew I had to do something. And so, I went home and did two things: 1) I ordered Marie Kondo’s book from amazon; and 2) I began my purge, the first step in decluttering my home and my life. I have now read the book (and I’m currently reading her second book) and drunk the Kool Aid. I am a Konmari (her method of decluttering) convert. For the past month+ I have been going through my house and purging. I have taken 6 car loads of belongings to Good Will to donate and sent a full car load home with my parents of items (mostly bedding, towels and kitchen accessories) to pass along to other relatives.

Multiple all this by 6!

But of even more import than the physical changes this process is making in my home are the mental changes it’s making in me as a person. I’m learning how to let go. I’m learning how to release myself from that sense of obligation that told me to hold on tight, that I was the last stop and, as the caboose, I couldn’t let anything fall by the wayside. Instead, I am learning to thank these objects (yes, they are still anthropomorphized) for all they have done and all the joy they have brought and send them off with gratitude to their next stop in life. I am learning how surround myself with only those items that spark joy so that my home is a place of pure happiness and serenity, my oasis of calm from the chaos of the world.

I will always be the baby of my family. And I will never mind taking the process of growing (not “up” at this point as I’m now 29, but we never really stop growing) slowly in order to get my parents and family used to the idea. I will never fully outgrow the feelings of responsibility and obligation that come with my coveted position, but I am so happy to be taking this step of personal growth. Of melding those two aspects of my character that have been at odds for so long. Of learning to let go of that self-imposed sense of obligation to keep, store, and hold the objects related to memories fast. To enjoy my love of organization for the way it makes my life tidy, not out of the sense of necessity that it’s been in recent years as I have been forced to find new and creative ways to store and, yes, hide the joyless. To just let go.

Not everyone will understand and I know a lot of people will read this or listen to me speak on this subject with unbridled enthusiasm and think “whoa, she’s really lost it” and that’s ok. Not everyone feels this way. And not everyone needs this. But I know that others will hear and feel the click. And I hope that if you too become a Konmarian, that it does for you as much as it’s done for me. I feel sure that I am not just on a path to a decluttered house, but on a path to a decluttered me. And it feels really good.

Tips for Fellow Bookworms Abroad

The intrepid explorer off on her
adventures.

I, by no means, consider myself an expert on international travel. There are certainly more well-traveled people out there (the entire staff at Lonely Planet and author Bill Bryson come to mind); however, my three trips to Europe during my high school years and my three months living in Southeast Asia during law school certainly gave me some basic knowledge on how to survive and, dare I say, even flourish when travelling in foreign countries. Through those experiences I have picked up a number of tips and tricks that would serve anyone well when travelling in exotic and far flung locations, particularly when travelling in third world countries, which is an entirely different kettle of fish than travelling in first world countries.

International travel is a topic that is never far from my mind (I dream daily about all the wonderful countries I would visit if I only had the funds. *sigh*), but it is humming particularly loudly today as a friend from my yoga studio recently returned from a two month trip abroad. She spent an entire month in India (one of the top 5 countries I want to visit) and she hated it with a fiery, burning passion. I must say, I was surprised. From everything I’ve seen and heard India appears to be a beautiful country with a vast array of cultures and the food is top notch. (Of course, a great deal of my information comes from watching dozens and dozens of Bollywood videos, which I’ve been told, don’t always stay 100% true to real life. I find this hard to believe. I mean, it sounds perfectly logical that two best friends from childhood would go to the same college where the boy meets and falls in love with a new girl – Girl B – who happens to be the headmaster’s daughter, never realizing that his childhood friend – Girl A – has been secretly in love with him for years; so in love with him, in fact, that upon realizing the boy is going to marry Girl B, Girl A drops out of school on the fictitious excuse that her mother is sick and then cuts off all communication with the boy and Girl B who eventually do get married and have one daughter. But then Girl B dies from causes unknown and on her deathbed tells her husband goodbye and leaves secret video messages for her 8 year old daughter telling the daughter to help the boy find Girl A because Girl B always knew that the boy and Girl A were soul mates, but Girl B just couldn’t resist loving and marrying the boy, but now he deserves to be with his true soulmate. But Girl A has moved on and is now engaged to be married to a new guy through an arranged marriage and there’s just not enough time! However, Girl A is doing one last summer of teaching at a basketball camp before her wedding and the daughter of the boy decides to enroll at the camp in order to get the boy and Girl A together before the wedding so that they can fall in love like they were supposed to years ago. And luckily the boy realizes he does love Girl A – who is no longer a tomboy, but a very beautiful and composed woman – after some pretty epic basketball fight/flirting, right before her final engagement ceremony on the last day of the basketball camp and they all live happily ever after except for Girl B, who is dead and the poor, jilted fiancé. Doesn’t that sound perfectly plausible? But I digress.)

There are perks - like delicious drinks!

After yoga, my friend went on a rant about her issues with India and her disappointing time abroad and it didn’t take long for me to realize the issue with her trip wasn’t the country, it was her. As lovely and smart a woman as she is, my friend went to India clearly unprepared for what it’s like to travel in a third world country, which is a very different experience from travelling in a first world country. Unfortunately, this is a pretty common mistake and it’s really too bad. With just a little research before you travel to a third world country and some mental preparation for the differences you are about to face, you can have the time of your life and discover some of the most beautiful countries and cultures on earth.

The ultimate piece of advice that can be offered to intrepid explorers who plan to travel in third world countries is to accept that you’re going to have to do things a bit differently and be open to new cultures and new experiences. It’s crazy to travel to certain parts of the world and expect a 5-star hotel experience that you would find in the United States. It’s just not going to happen. Remember why they are called third world countries rather than first world countries – they are not as developed and they are monetarily poorer (well, that’s one definition for “third world countries” and the one I will use here). Additionally, the cultures are likely very different from your own. Expecting the creature comforts of home is a good way to be disappointed fast. But that doesn’t mean you’re going to have a bad experience travelling in these places. Travelling through countries like Thailand, Laos, Cambodia and Vietnam (all places I have visited) can be hugely rewarding if you open yourself up to the possibilities of the places. Yes, you are probably going to have to do without toilet paper at some point (it doesn’t take long to realize that you’d better carry some with you if you can’t bring yourself to use the cup and bucket of water in the corner). Yes, you are going to have to be very careful to never drink the local, unfiltered water. No, you will probably never find a guesthouse to stay at that doesn’t have some prostitution going on within the building (just follow your guidebook and pick one that is clean and safe). Yes, people will try to rip you off if they can (remember, these are poor countries filled with poor people, if they can get you to pay 4x the going rate for a tuk tuk ride, they will do it. You should have known better and if you didn’t, well, now you’ve learned the hard way. And, let’s be real again, it’s just $4 to you – one Starbucks latte – but it’s worth four days of food for them. And take this as training for bargaining. In many of these countries it’s standard practice to bargain for everything. The listed price or opening price you are quoted is a starting point for negotiation. Learn to love to haggle or be prepared to spend a lot more money than you should.). But you shouldn’t let any of that stop you.

Yes, that is me eating snake in Cambodia.

To truly enjoy your travels in third world countries simply let go of your expectations, dismiss your longings for the familiar and immerse yourself in the surrounding culture. Eat the local food (a good practice is to go to the place where the locals are eating – these places are less likely to give you any stomach troubles). Shop the way locals shop (sometimes this means buying fresh fruit from carts with mountains of pineapples and durian on the side of the road after work). Learn at least some basic phrases in the local language and start honing your charades skills (it’s amazing how well you can communicate through a word here or there and pantomime). Be friendly to everyone you meet (international travelers, particularly Americans, can have a pretty bad reputation. Don’t react poorly if you’re initially judged based on your country of origin. Instead, show them that you are better than the stereotypes they expect.) Show your interest in the local culture (some countries, like Laos, are filled with very humble people who don’t expect you to be truly interested in them. Be sure that the locals know that you want to get to know them and their culture specifically.) And, if you want to see the true local life, make it happen. Often you will be shown the tourist traps. While these areas can be amazing, they are often geared toward travelers and don’t give you an authentic experience in the culture. It’s 100% ok to travel to foreign countries and just hit the highlights and tourist destinations. But if you want a deeper and richer experience, work hard to ensure you’re given a glimpse beneath the surface.

Vientiane, Laos, Southeast Asia

Travel in general and international travel in particular can be an immensely rewarding experience, but only if you go into with the right frame of mind. Prior to my travels in SE Asia I had never wanted to travel to any third world country. I had only ever been to Europe and my top 5 places in the world to visit list was generally comprised of other Western countries and first world nations. After my SE Asia experience, however, my perspective changed completely. Now I daydream of backpacking for months through India, camping in the deserts of Morocco, exploring the archaeological sites of Egypt, and travelling to Easter Island in Chile. To be sure, first world countries still make the list – I long to travel through Japan, visit Greece and eat amazing food (and take many siestas) in Spain – but now that I’ve travelled through SE Asia, I know that I can travel anywhere, so long as I keep an open mind and remain open to the possibilities. And I promise, so long as you approach your travels in the same way, you are guaranteed to have the time of your life.

And for those of you who are ready to go and just need a little more practical advice, this is for you…

1. Do your research before you go. This may seem like a gimme, but it’s surprising how many people will go somewhere without reading anything about the culture before they depart. How do you even know what to pack if you don’t know anything about the culture? For instance, SE Asian countries are more conservative than many around the world and they prefer it if people wear shirts that cover their shoulders and longer shorts. Additionally, you should never wear shorts into a temple (it’s considered disrespectful), only long pants. Doing your research as the first step of planning your trip will ensure that you are at least packing correctly and have some basic idea of what to expect.
2. Buy appropriate luggage. There’s a reason that when you think of a “backpacker,” you imagine someone with one of those huge backpacks on their backs that extends over their heads and somehow manages to carry all their belongings inside and has no convenient wheels on the bottom. It’s because those backpacks are lifesavers in third world countries. You are travelling in places that are largely undeveloped. Dirt roads will be common. Mud will be even more common. The best type of luggage you can take is the kind that you can strap onto your body in some way and just carry. While there will be times you will miss the convenience of wheels, those times will be few and far between. Most of the time you will instead be thanking your lucky stars you invested in your backpack and don’t have to struggle to carry an awkward suitcase in places that clearly had never seen those contraptions before.
3. Get your meds. Always, always look up medical alerts for the areas to which you are travelling. SE Asia is known for yellow fever, dengue fever, malaria, intestinal parasites and myriad other ailments that are just waiting to take you down. Don’t, however, let this discourage you from your travels. With some proper preventative measures and a good dose of common sense, you can have a wonderful and (mostly) illness free trip. Get any immunizations you can get before you go (yellow fever is no longer an issue), learn what meds you can buy in the country you are visiting (anti-malaria medication is enormously expensive in the US, but available like vitamins in Thailand), get prescription strength doses of anti-diuretics and laxatives (let’s be real, your stomach is never going to be normal while you’re travelling in a third world country), and pack some DEET, which you should apply every day after you shower (more protection against malaria and now that dengue fever won’t be a problem either).
4. Make and take photocopies of your passport – NEVER, EVER give your passport to anyone besides government officials, airlines, etc. and then get it back immediately. NEVER give your passport away. You hold on to it until death. If someone wants your passport, say you will give them a copy, but that is it. I once had a guesthouse in Vietnam request that I give them my passport for “safekeeping.” I categorically refused and after some additional requests on their part and further protestations on mine, I told them I would leave and find a different place to stay if that was necessary. They finally caved and let me keep my passport and accepted a copy. While it may seem like I made a fuss over nothing, you must keep in mind that you are a foreigner in a foreign land. That passport is what got you into the country and it gets you out. It is what says you are there legally. And in a country like Vietnam where you have to apply at least 3 days ahead of time to get on a special list saying you can come into the country and also have a letter from a government official giving you permission to enter the country for a limited number of days, it’s a really good idea to keep hold of the document that ensures everyone knows you are there legally. Additionally, if you do somehow lose your passport, a photocopy will ensure that you get a replacement much quicker. 
5. Trust in Lonely Planet. I cannot recommend the Lonely Planet guidebooks highly enough. “Lonely Planet’s SE Asia on a Shoestring” was an absolute life saver. These guidebooks give you insights into the culture, recommendations on how to travel between countries, lodging and restaurant recommendations, and ideas on where to go and what to do. These are also excellent books to tell you how to get to see the real country, not just the surface that so many people see. These books are worth their weight in gold when you’re travelling and they will not steer you wrong. 

This is only a small dose of all I learned through my travels in SE Asia. I hope that it serves you well in your travels. Happy trails to you all! 

Snorkeling in Thailand

The Lost Art of Letter Writing

When I was a little girl, nothing excited me more than getting a letter in the mail. The envelope addressed with my name (possibly with the addition of “Miss” to make me feel grown up and fancy) and sent via the United States Postal Service to my house. The stamp in the upper right hand corner with the postmark covering it, letting me know that it had been posted from far off places like Los Angeles and Eureka, California (I really only got letters from my older brothers and sisters, so the destinations were rarely too exotic, but in the mind of a seven year old, these were far flung destinations indeed). And the best letters were those that came between special occasions. Not the obligatory “Happy Birthday!” or “Merry Christmas,” but a letter or note that came for no reason at all other than to say hello. Everyone in my family must have known about my love of letters because my brothers and sisters would send one to me fairly often and sometimes even wrote a message inside that basically said, “Dear Lauren, I’m writing this letter because I know how much you love getting mail. Love, Your Favorite Sibling.” (I must admit that this was a viable method of becoming my “favorite.” Of course, that also meant that the next sibling who sent me a letter immediately usurped that position, but…them’s the breaks.)

To this day, I still love receiving letters in the mail. A miserable day can instantly be made better by the sight of a personalized envelope sitting in the mail. On those days it doesn’t even matter what the letter says. The fact that someone cared about me enough to take the time to put pen to paper makes my day just a bit brighter. Unfortunately, the art of letter writing is swiftly being lost.

Now, I am not the type of person to wax nostalgic for a prior period of history. I don’t think there has ever truly been a “Golden Age.” Every era comes with its own problems and hardships and no time period has been (or probably will be) perfect. But there are standards and qualities that fall to the wayside over time that probably shouldn’t and I think letter writing is one of them. Prior to the invention of the telegraph, the telephone and email, writing letters was the major, and outside face-to-face meetings, only way to communicate with family, friends and acquaintances. People would write long, multi-page letters with everything from business transactions to daily gossip. And those letters became a part of history. So much of what we now know about a time is based on letters that were written between people in positions of power and ordinary people that history would otherwise have completely forgotten, but which reveal so much when we’re looking back hundreds of years later wondering what life was truly like for people in all levels of society.

In a recent interview, Doris Kearns Goodwin, well known biographer and historian who has written books on several U.S. presidents, lamented the loss of letter writing. In her interview, she stated that true histories such as those she’s written about Lincoln, Johnson, the Kennedys, etc. will not be possible in the future because that fundamental cornerstone of historical documentation, the letter, almost no longer exists. Instead, our society has turned to the immediacy of the telephone, email and texting to communicate. Some will argue that emails and texts leave a record, so communications are documented somewhere. To this, I can only laugh. Emails rarely include extraneous information. In fact, emailers often forgo even salutations, preferring to get to the point as quickly as possible. Very few of the elements of letters that made them so historically useful appear in emails. (And don’t even get me started on the travesty of text messaging with its bastardization of the English language.)

But more important than this general loss to society, however, is the loss to me personally. Few people write me letters anymore and that is so disappointing. My most faithful correspondent is my friend Torrie. We met in law school and quickly realized we shared a love of receiving mail. Upon discovering this fact, we declared that we would write each other letters regularly, each doing our part to keep the USPS alive. I’m happy to say that after 7 years of friendship, I now have two shoeboxes full of letters and postcards from Torrie and she has an equal number from me. Even when we lived less than 5 minutes from each other through law school we kept up a regular correspondence schedule and now that she lives half-way across the country in distant (and exotic) Chicago, IL we send each other at least two to three letters per week and care packages filled with small goodies every couple of months. We still call each other on the phone, send emails and text to share news as well, but a great deal of our life updates comes via old-fashioned, hand-written letters.

I’ve tried at various times to start similar correspondences with others (even going so far as to send thank you notes for thank you notes), but eventually they all peter out as my letters go, increasingly, unanswered. When meeting new people, if the subject of letter writing comes up (as it did with all my co-workers one day two months ago when it just so happened to be National Letter Writing Day – a British holiday, but one that I feel I can celebrate as well – a fact that I quickly reminded them of) I gently (forcefully) reminded (insisted) people write letters to their loved ones. Most people don’t understand why I feel so passionately about the subject of letter writing. I, in turn, don’t understand their apathy. I pity those people who have never felt that small surge of joy at seeing a letter waiting for them in the mail, knowing that the writer cares enough to take the time to put pen to paper. That is a feeling that can buoy your spirits just when you need a pick-me-up and surround you in a small bubble of warmth and happiness, the perfect remedy to many of your minor ills.

And so I urge you all to write a letter to a loved one or a friend. It might be just the thing they need. And if that doesn’t convince you to give letter writing a try, think about the fame. In just a few short centuries those letters may be priceless. 

An Unexpected Day

Hello Everyone and welcome to 2016. Sure, we've been here for 18 days already, but better late than never. ;)

The year started on a good note (for me at least, and I hope for you as well) as January 1st landed on a Friday and I was at home in Northern California with my family (in the illustrious Volcano, CA - look it up if you've never heard of it before. I swear, Wikipedia does have an entry for it.). Three glorious days into 2016 before I had to return to work and everyday life. Honestly, I was pretty ok with returning to my usual routine, but I had a lingering sense of disappointment that the first holiday for Nike wasn't until sometime in May. No three day weekends coming up for me. At least, that is what I believed...

You see, in preparation for the coming year and during a time of flight deals with Southwest, I had looked at Nike's 2016 holiday schedule to try to plan out some trips to visit family well in advance. And I vaguely remembered that there were no holidays for quite some time. Certainly Nike was not giving me Martin Luther King Jr. Day free (which I considered a huge oversight as it is a very important holiday). I won't deny that I felt a little disgruntlement about that. And so, I got up this morning at my customary 5:15 am, got ready and headed off to Beaverton for my morning hot yoga class. Class was amazing, as always, (if you haven't tried yoga, hot or cold, I highly recommend it) and after getting ready for work at the studio I headed over to Nike to start my day.

I drove into the usually somewhat crowded parking lot at 7:30 am and found it suspiciously empty. I began to have an inkling that something was off here. Was everyone late? Was there a lot of traffic on every road to Nike even though I hadn't encountered anything of the kind? Was everyone else crazy? Or (and I was beginning to suspect this might be the more rational question) was it just me? Being the cautious type, however, I decided to check it out. I parked, gathered my bag and my laptop, put on my coat and headed toward the front doors. Which were locked. Locked up nice and tight. Yup. Nike had given us the day off. I just hadn't realized when I looked at the schedule because it was in January and I was looking for free days in later months of the year as a January holiday was too close to my recent Christmas/New Years visit to warrant a return trip. Whoops!

Now, many of you are probably now laughing (and I'm going to assume it's with me rather than at me 'cause that makes me feel a bit better), but in my defense...in my defense...eh, forget it. I have no defense. Haha! But this small faux pas did give me one great gift - the glory of an unexpected free day. The best kind of day you can hope for. Most of the time a three day weekend is taken up in some way with activities meant to maximize the free time. I travel to friends or family or they travel to me. I have extra errands to get done. I spend all day reading in bed, consumed to the point of even forgetting to eat. (I am a bookworm, after all. What else would you expect?) But today I was give the great gift of having an unexpected free day. The world was my oyster and I was up early enough to appreciate it. The lazing period had already passed and my assumption that I had work meant that it was entirely mine.

If you've never been given the gift of an unexpected free day, it's really too bad. There's nothing better. So long as you totally commit to it. Today I got a special breakfast, took a midmorning nap with my cat, went to see a movie in the theater ("The Big Short" is a fantastic movie, by the way), read away the afternoon in Barnes & Noble (a definite happy place of mine) and am now trying to decide what to do with my evening. It's a wonderful feeling. Today has been about doing whatever I want and what I wanted was fun. I must say, "Mission Accomplished."

I hope your Martin Luther King Jr. Day was equally amazing and that you made the most of it. And if you find yourself in the position of ever having an unexpected free day in the future, be sure to make the most of it. They don't come along nearly often enough.

Embarrassment

Can someone die from embarrassment? I know that you can want to die from embarrassment, but I really do wonder if at some point it can all build up to a level that actual kills you. Today, I am positive I got close. Today is Friday, October 30, the day before Halloween. It also happens to be the day when I nearly expired from embarrassment and wished that a hole would open up in the Earth to suck me down so that I would be consumed by the hot liquid core of this planet. Honestly, that seemed preferable to my predicament. To really understand we must rewind a bit…

During Halloween 2013 and Halloween 2014 I worked at the Multnomah County Courthouse. A place that required suits or similarly professional clothes be worn every single day of the year. In the back of my mind I always thought it would be fun if there was one day per year we were allowed to wear whatever we wanted. And what better day than Halloween, I thought. Let all the workers dress up in costumes. Wouldn’t it be amazing to see a courtroom presided over by someone in a giant bee costume? Seemed like a solid idea. I was wrong.

In September I left the Courthouse for a job at Nike. Yes, the Nike. I now commute to Beaverton, OR

(not that far of a commute, actually) every day to the amazingly beautiful Nike World Headquarters. It’s actually a really stunning place (or “campus,” as they like to call it). I started when summer still lingered in Oregon and quickly found a favorite bench on which to eat lunch every day next to Lake Nike in the center of campus. I often arrive at work just as the sun is peaking over the horizon and once even arrived minutes after a small shower left an early morning rainbow hovering over the campus. It’s an incredible place, but it’s also taken a lot of adjustment on my part, particularly in regards to clothing. Nike is a very casual place. Everyone (and I do mean everyone, even the lawyers) wears jeans to work every day. Most people wear at least one article of Nike clothing and some are covered in the Swoosh from head to toe. I went from a work environment that demanded the highest levels of formality to a place where that level of professional attire instantly brands you a weirdo outsider, something I learned first-hand. (Let’s just say that my first day on the job was a bit of an eye opener and leave it at that.) Since I started I’ve worked hard and (mostly) managed to conform my wardrobe to Nike expectations, although I think I’m still a little more formally dressed than the multitudes (I still

haven’t come to work dressed like I’m about to head to the gym yet as several of my coworkers are wont to do).

On Friday, October 30 though, I managed to ruin all my hard work. Two weeks ago I received an email from the head of my department (which oversees the entirety of Nike Administration – basically anything that has to do with how Nike actually operates as a company) stating that Nike would be celebrating Halloween on October 30^th this year and that they would be holding their annual costume competition and trick-or-treating event. Each sub-department would need to pick a theme and have everyone dress accordingly. A competition would then be held to judge the costumes and a pizza party lunch provided to the winning group. Additionally, in the late afternoon, kids from Nike’s day care center would arrive for trick-or-treating throughout the campus. Upon reading this email I was moderately excited and started thinking up ways to get my group to agree to go as Captain Planet and the Planeteers (an awesome environmentalist cartoon from my childhood) since I already had a Planeteer costume from years past. Unfortunately, before I could even begin the draft of my email, I received an email that stated our group had decided (without my input evidently) that we would all dress up for sports from the summer Olympics. I should have known it would be something like this. I mean, this is Nike after all. Of course it would be sports related. *Rolling eyes*

A follow-up email soon arrived listing all the possible summer Olympic sports. Now, I am not a sporty person. I don’t enjoy playing most sports and I hate watching pretty much all sports (I will make occasional exceptions for watching in person, which is moderately more exciting, but that is limited to baseball and soccer). But swimming was on the list and I have been a swimmer since I was 9 years old, so I had the “costume” in the bag and wouldn’t have to purchase anything. It seemed like a no brainer.

Well, today was the day and I donned my costume before leaving for work. I wore my swim suit, hair in a messy bun, goggles around my neck, swim cap tucked into the top strap of my bathing suit, a pair of sweats, a fuzzy sweater to zip over my suit, a pair of flip flops on my feet and a towel slung around my neck. I was ready to go kick some butt in this contest. And then I arrived at work. Where everyone was dressed normally. Yes, they had all worn their regular clothes and planned to change later in the day since the competition judging wouldn’t occur until 2:00 pm. *Face, meet palm*

What makes this all that much worse was the fact that on the entire drive to work I felt uncomfortable. Even after two months working at Nike I feel discomfort wearing casual clothing to my work place. And I couldn’t help but ponder how horrible it would be if this was all some massive joke on me – something along the lines of Bridget Jones’ Diary or Legally Blond. But, I figured that wouldn’t actually be the case – I mean the email had come from the head of Admin herself. This couldn’t be a prank of some kind and I hadn’t misunderstood the order to dress up. Well, I figured wrong. I am stuck in my very own Tarts and Vicars nightmare. Thank god I’m not dressed in a skimpy bunny costume. Nope. Just a skimpy bathing suit instead.

The only thing that saved me from actually perishing at this point is the fact that I packed a shirt and undergarments in my purse in case I wanted to change before leaving for work. Upon realizing my faux pas I immediately hoofed it to the bathroom and at least lost the suit for a couple hours. But, I’m still stuck in my sweats, flip flops and other assorted accoutrements of my costume. So, now I’m hiding out in my cubicle, willing the universe to provide me some means of escape: a wormhole, a sudden ability to teleport, or even an earthquake would be most welcome.

Oh yeah, and to make things even more interesting, as soon as I sat at my desk my stomach decided to start rumbling and growling for no apparent reason. I’m fairly certain everyone in the building could hear it. So, while the earthquake itself hasn’t come to my rescue yet, it sure sounds like it has. Now, please excuse me while I hide under my desk until this atrocious and embarrassing day is over. And if Scotty is out there reading this…beam me up already. 

When Friday Let's You Down

We worked all the week and waited so long,
Yet Monday through Thursday dragged on and on.
Garfield taught me when I was a small child,
That Mondays are terrible and not worth your while.
And Tuesdays I know are simply the worst,
Not half through the week yet, but no longer the first.
On Wednesdays you throw your fists in the air,
For at noon you realize you're now half-way there.
But there's still so much time left in the week,
Before you will reach those free days you seek.
Thursday you manage because Friday is near,
So close you can taste it, soon we will cheer.
And then it is Friday, and at 5 you'll be free,
For Friday's half weekend, it's plain as can be.
And most of the time this system holds true,
Friday's the best day and you are renewed.
But at 8 in the morning 5 may be too far away,
Endless time stands still, a steep wall in our way.
What do you do in those terrible times?
When it feels like your sanity is placed on the line?
Today Friday is surely the worst of them all,
Excuse me while I sob under my desk in a ball.

Chloe-isms

Now that my demanding cat has had a taste of fame she has an unquenchable thirst for more. And what can I do but give in? (For the why, see previous post.) And so, here is some more advice Chloe offers to other cats and humans. This will give you a sense of my private hell... (private hell!)

Food dishes should always be filled to at least the three quarters mark. Any lower and it’s too hard to knock a kibble out to chase around the house.

Humans are so gullible. Want to bite them? Jump into their lap and roll over to expose your belly. They can’t resist the kitty belly. When they go in to give you a scratch…

BITE!

Vacuuming up my fur just makes me think you want more. Fine, if you like my fur that much, I’ll shed faster. You’re welcome.

I do know my name. I just don’t like you well enough to respond when you use it.

Occasionally puke for no reason. This will keep the human on her toes and concerned about your health. A concerned human is an easily duped human.

When other humans are around, cower whenever your human comes near. This will make the visiting humans believe that your human beats you. It’s hilarious. 

The most comfortable place to sleep with your human is on their face. Don’t settle for second best. Start off the night at the bottom of the bed to lull them into a false sense of security. When their breathing changes denoting REM sleep patterns, move and curl up in a ball on their face.

An open book in the human’s lap is the best place to sit.

Always sit or lay as close to the human’s face as possible. Then, when they sneeze, give them a dirty look. 

Humans should always remain seated in a location where their lap is easily accessible. To ensure they perform this necessary function to cat happiness, try the following: 1) follow them around everywhere, 2) when they are stopped and standing, stand at/on their feet and stare up at them while telepathically commanding them to sit down; 3) cry incessantly and scratch at their pant legs when they are seated in a location where the lap is inaccessible, such as at a desk, until they move to a location more beneficial to you.

Humans = food dish fillers & laps. They serve no other purpose in this world.

All bugs must be killed. However, the most terrible beast that walks this earth is the spider. Spiders deserve worse than death. They deserve torture. The best practice is to torture any spider found in your territory and then leave the horribly mangled body in a highly visible location as a warning to all other spiders. Ignore the human when it tells you to stop this brutal practice. It is necessary. Give the human the cold shoulder whenever the human interrupts this practice and “puts the spider out of its misery” before you have completed your task.

Glasses and sunglasses are chew toys.

Wisdom & Advice from a Bearcat

This may sound odd to a non-cat owner, but my life, in no small way, revolves around my cat. I'm not entirely sure why or how 6 pounds of fluff rules my house, but she absolutely does. For instance, tonight I was out at a friend's birthday celebration after work and at around 7:20 pm I decided it was about time to leave. This was in part because I was tired after a long day at work, but also because I knew Chloe was at home waiting for me and would undoubtedly make my life hell if I didn't get home in time to spend at least a couple hours awake with her. I caved to the fluff. But I think most cat owners out there will understand my predicament. Dog owners may conform their lives to their dog's schedule because they don't want their pup to pee or poo inside the house, but cat owners don't have that excuse. Instead, we conform to the demands of our cats out of both love and fear. The love is our desire to have our cats continue to love us - and let's not kid ourselves here, if we put one foot out of line it's going to be at least a few days of hell for us as we work to win back our cat's affections. And the fear is at the prospect of losing that love and having our cat treat us the way he or she treats the cable man (or my sister, in Chloe's case). That is something no cat owner wants. And cats are sneaky, they will find subtle, yet profound ways to pay you back for any perceived slight (my mother's cat Julie - Chloe's mother - goes on a hunger strike every time my Mom leaves on a trip). Cat owners know that it's easiest to simply keep the peace and do everything possible to make the cat happy because then we're sure to be closer to happiness ourselves.

Now, in order to ensure that this peace continues, it is important for the wise cat owner to get inside the head of his or her cat. Try to understand why the cat does what it does. Unfortunately, sometimes our feline friends are just completely inscrutable. There must be some disconnect on certain subjects between humans and felines, a bridge that simply cannot be crossed. In the hopes of helping you, my (potentially imaginary - is anyone reading this blog?) friends understand your own furry companions a little better, I have decided to start providing you with my insights into Chloe's psyche. Perhaps it can inspire you to better understand your cat or you will see something here that rings true in your own household. Look for posts in the future on "The Wisdom and Advice of Chloe the Bearcat."* For now, here is what Chloe says on the subject of biting...

“Ooooo! What is this new, shiny object? I’ll bite it to find out.” 

Advice: If it’s new, bite it.

“Ooooo! Is this my human’s hand coming to pet me? I’ll bite it to be sure.” 

Advice: If it’s there, bite it.

“I love belly rubs and head scratches! Biting your hand will get that message across.” 

Advice: If you like it, bite it.

*Please Note: The "Advice" Chloe offers here is to other cats. Unfortunately, when she found out I was writing this blog about her, she insisted that I include her advice for other cats on how to behave with "a cat's human." It feels demeaning and I'm not sure I want to send this information out into the world so that other people's cats start behaving like Chloe, but I'm once again caving to the fluff. See the second half of paragraph 1 as to why. And good luck to us all. 

Saying Good-bye (or Out with the Old and In with the New!)

Today was my last Thursday as a clerk at the Multnomah County Circuit Court. It's hard to believe. In fact, it's almost impossible to believe. Like so many of my peers, I graduated law school without a job. In fact, I was unemployed for about 9 months after graduation. And it was horrible. I've never been a super motivated person and I've always liked my downtime, so I assumed unemployment would be just a little too comfortable for me. But as it turns out, when you have nothing but downtime, it's really not such fun. All the things that you love to do when you've earned them at the end of a long day of work (pleasure reading, watching TV, going to the movies, hanging out with friends, even quilting) are just not as much fun when that is all you do every day. I hated unemployment and actually worked pretty hard to try to rectify that situation. In January 2013, having decided I needed more practical experience on my resume, I began volunteering at the Courthouse in downtown Portland. Well, two months later I was hired as a clerk and that's where I've been working ever since.

Now, the clerk job was a pretty good gig and I had some very good times. I made some amazing friends, gained some incredible experience, and began writing weekly Thursday Clerk Lunch reminder emails that have led to a lot of the posts you've read here. But having been doing this job for about 2.5 years now, I've gotten a bit bored. I've known for a while that it was time to move on and have been looking for a new job since last fall. I took a brief hiatus from the job search in the early months of this year when my big sister was diagnosed with breast cancer, but picked the search back up again this summer after she officially kicked cancer's a**. To my astonishment and great joy, I received a job offer a few weeks ago from Nike. The world headquarters of Nike is in Beaverton, OR, right next to Portland, and that is where I will be working from now on. I am so excited and beyond ready for this next step. It's time to move on. But that does mean leaving some incredible friends behind.

Today marked my very last Thursday Clerk Lunch with all my friends at the Courthouse. Below is the poem I wrote for them and that was sent out in my last reminder email as a final good-bye.

How do you expect me to say good-bye to friends held so very dear,
To people I've come to greatly respect, this amazing sea of peers?
For the time has come for me to leave, to go on a separate way,
A new path to travel, a new road to walk, for all the coming days.
Perhaps the Bard said it best, "parting is such sweet sorrow,"
But Romeo and Juliet were fools who didn't live to see tomorrow.
Let's look instead to Winnie the Pooh, that silly tub of lard,
"How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard."
Thank you all for the time we've spent together here at work,
You've made the time pass so fast these two years I've been a clerk.

Now, wish me luck as I head off to this new adventure! I can't wait to see what it brings.

Zombie Apocalypse

Anybody who knows me knows that I am a big fan of zombies. I don't know when my interest/fascination/obsession with zombies (books, movies, 5K runs, etc.) started (sometime in college, I think), but it is one that has endured for many years. In fact, my final senior English seminar paper in college was on the Resident Evil film series and how it's an evolving allegory for our societal fears today. (I'm still not sure how I managed to get that topic past my professor, but I had a great time watching those movies over and over again in preparation for writing.) I continue to read and watch any new zombie books and films that come out (I highly recommend reading Warm Bodies by Isaac Marion and World War Z: An Oral History of the Zombie War by Max Brooks) and enjoy them all immensely (some more than others, of course). It should come as no surprise to learn then that I've also spent an inordinate amount of time planning exactly what I will (note: will, not would) do when the zombie apocalypse finally occurs.  What weapons for protection from the walking dead and humans I will acquire, whether to stay in cities or head for the country-side, how to meet up with my family and which of my family members I think would actually survive long enough for me to meet up with them (I'm sorry to say that

some of my siblings have no hope of making it). I've also discussed this in depth with two of my sisters and taken components of their plans and adapted them to my own while also scoffing at what are clearly some very foolish ideas on how to survive. I'm pretty sure that I now have a workable plan that will ensure my survival in the face of the zombie apocalypse, be they fast or slow zombies. (And don't worry, Mom & Dad, I've got a plan to get to you both and protect you from the undead hordes.)

Now, knowing all of this, it also can't come as a surprise to learn that zombies are quite frequently on my mind. (To have an adequate zombie apocalypse plan you must be constantly evolving that plan according to the changes of society, geography, family, etc. - every good zombie apocalypse preparer knows this.) And so, today I offer to you all a zombie apocalypse poem for your enjoyment. I hope it inspires all of you to become more well read (and well watched) on the subject and convinces you all to start formulating your own survival plan. Good luck!

The end of all is drawing near,

We gather close out of fear.

Cling together, don't let go,

Keep your breathing nice and slow.

Don't make a sound, not one peep,

In the shadows they now creep.

Use your head to stay alive,

Before you run, count to five.

To make sure the coast is clear,

Take a pause, what do you hear?

A slow shuffle, a dragging foot,

Moans of hunger, now take a look,

Around the corner, what do you see?

Too many horrors, it's time to flee!

Do you know now where to run,

Where safety lies under the sun?

Did you make a plan in case,

You were to witness the end of days?

I hope you gave it some good thought,

As the man too slow is surely caught.

They called me a fool and laughed in my face,

But who's laughing now as the zombies give chase?

Blogs in the Family

I come from a family of bloggers. And I have no one to blame but myself. Our collective introduction to the world of blogging began when I travelled to SE Asia in 2010. Prior to that time I don’t think anyone in my family had ever given much thought to even reading someone’s blog and certainly no thought to keeping a blog themselves. But when I decided to travel alone half a world away from home, friends, and family to live in SE Asia for three months after my first year of law school this all changed. We’ve always been a tightknit clan and the prospect of being largely out of communication for that entire period of time was intolerable (particularly to my parents – I am their youngest and favorite child, after all). At first we considered merely having me send out periodic email updates to everyone, but considering the large number of people I would need to keep in touch with (I am one of six siblings and lets not even start on the size of the extended fam) this seemed too impractical for words. And so, in a moment of genius (I have quite a few of these), I suggested that I keep a blog. This would allow me to write one update on me and my life while travelling that everyone could read when and where they wanted and I wouldn’t require me to spend my entire three months abroad simply answering emails. Thus was born Adventures of a Bookworm Abroad, my first blog.

Prior to that initial blogging experience I had never really considered whether or not I enjoyed writing. I wrote all the time for school, of course; but writing research papers or essays on novels is in no way similar to creative or journal writing. I found in very short order that I, in fact, loved keeping a blog. Years of excessive (according to my mother) reading had given me a decent command of the English language and I found that I enjoyed finding my own voice and describing my travelling adventures for friends and family to (hopefully) enjoy.

Then I returned home to the US and fell into a funk. It can be really difficult to go from life on the road to the more sedentary pace of “real life.” Combine that with the fact that I had been living in third world countries for three months, gaining exposure for the first time to the plight of so many people around the world who live in abject poverty, and then came back to the rampant consumerism of the United States and it’s no wonder that I was a teensy bit depressed upon my return. It took me about six months or so before I returned to normal and during that time I was not blogging. My Bookworm Abroad blog had served its purpose, chronicling my adventures away from home and now that I had returned to my regular life there seemed to be nothing more to say. Then, one day, while sitting in a ridiculously boring constitutional law class, I had an idea for a blog post and my second blog was born: Thoughts of a Bookworm at Home. I don’t write nearly as often as I should, but I try to keep up a regular stream of posts consisting of random thoughts, occasional diatribes, and, quite frequently, poetry.

My family seemed genuinely pleased that I returned to my blogging and encouraged my efforts. And only a few months later my mom told me that she had decided to start a blog as well. This blog would be a blog for herself and her quilting compatriots (of which I am a member). My mother is an incredible woman who knows how to do every art and craft. Literally. You would have great trouble finding a type of art or craft that my mother does not know how to do. She has done it all: book making, paper making, stamp carving, painting (oil, watercolor, acrylics), drawing (pencil, color pencil, charcoal, pastels), sculpture, knitting, crocheting, doll making, needle felting, mixed media art, embroidery, quilting, etc. In the past few years, however, she has focused her attention largely on quilting. My mom has collected a group of friends and family, all fellow quilters, and created a group that my dad calls “The Stix Chix” (Stix = Sticks, because we’re too small to be a club, hehehe). Well, my mom decided that a blog was the perfect way to keep all the Six Chix connected as more and more of us were moving away from our home base of Amador County, California. Her blog was a rousing success, at least in our small circle, but my mom soon outstripped its limited parameters of knitting and quilting topics. She liked writing so much that she decided to start a second blog for herself – Moser Good Eats – a blog devoted to my parents’ food adventures and travels. Her blogs are now several years old and she remains as enthusiastic as the day she began.

And so, within the span of two years, there were four blogs between two of the Moser women. For years we held to this number and my mother and I have managed to restrain ourselves from starting any more blogs (thank goodness), but now that number has increased by one. My sister, Jana, has started her own blog – Here, Eat These Berries. Following a major health issue diagnosis (I’ll let you read more about that in her own words in her first blog post), my mom began encouraging Jana to express herself via writing by starting either a private journal or a blog. For a long time Jana resisted. In fact, through her initial treatment and recovery, over a seven month period, Jana resisted. But finally, my mom won (as she always does) and Jana started her blog just under one week ago. And even after so short of time, it’s clear that Jana is an addict. A total blogging addict.

Since that first blog post, Jana has written about two posts per day, she calls me as soon as she posts to tell me to read (even at 7:00 on a Saturday), she insists I comment at least once per post, she spends hours staging pictures and she’s obsessed with gaining readers. She’s crazy! But she’s also really funny and insightful. I can hear her voice and picture her mannerisms in every word on the page and she often makes me laugh out loud. In fact, I think my sister may be better at this blogging thing than I am. And I’m absolutely sure that it won’t be long before she outstrips me in readership.

As the tally now stands there are five blogs run by three Moser women. I’m sure it’s only a matter of time before more of the family joins us in the blogosphere. I wonder what my dad is doing right now…

Adventure Awaits

You claim you're very hurt,
You clench you side in pain.
You sneak a peek at faces all around,
Seeking sympathy in vain.

For I know all your tricks,
You use to get your way,
To gain freedom from the drudgery,
And escape this hellish day.

Of course a bargain could be struck,
If you're willing to make a deal,
Take me with you out of here,
And I swear my lips are sealed.

For adventure awaits beyond these walls,
It's calling out my name.
Singing a lovely siren's song,
Of glory, fortune and great fame.

I ask you now, what will you choose,
What will you decide to do?
Stay here, cooped up with no hint of fun,
Or bravery, courage and derring-do?

No? I knew you'd see the light of day,
Now just follow where I lead,
And grab your stomach one more time,
For you are sick, it's clear to see.

Balance

A wish in the Winter for sunshine to come
An end to the endless cloudy days and the unceasing rain, a steady drum, drum, drum.
The beat of necessary water coming down.
A call for more than just a single beam of light midday
That pierces the clouds for just a moment - a single perfect moment - yet all too soon fades away.
Leaving us once more in enclosing darkness with that one sound
                        Drip, drip, drip.
Stay steady through the dark days of chill and frost
Warm hands and feet by the fire and close your eyes to imagine the touch of flames is Summer's touch lost.
Lost to the weight of laden charcoal skies.
For soon wish fulfillment, Summer comes, bypassing Spring
No time for the gentle return of sun, heat and azure skies, the awakening of flora and fauna an abrupt thing.
And with the advent of these halcyon days our hearts cry
                       Summer, Summer, Summer.
The feelings of joy and hope surge as Summer takes further hold
Days spent glorying in the beauty of the world, the warmth chasing out the bone deep grip of Winter's cold.
But all too soon verdant hillsides fade away.
We look to the skies, skies we cursed for their unending clouds
Have you bowed to our furious cries? The unwise demands we only now see nary a soul should have said aloud?
Worry looms and we look to the horizon, hoping it will say
                        Rain, rain, rain.
It is only in the loss, the flip of the coin, that we realize the folly of what was said
Now the cry rises against this Summer plague, the scorching heat and tormentingly vast, empty skies overhead.
The Earth grows parched as Summer's fist tightens.
Wait, wait, wait, for soon that steady drum will return, a furious beat sorely missed
The world turns again and Summer fades away. We turn our faces to the sky for that first gentle drop, a sweet kiss.
Winter returns. Beloved Winter. Our minds now enlightened
                        Balance.

A Strange Fascination

Sometimes my reminder emails to my fellow clerks about our weekly lunches can get a little, well, interesting. Here's a recent example:

Today is the day. It's also a day. That day being Thursday, July 16, 2015. At least, that's the day I'm told it is. I suppose we could try to use a different calendaring system and call it something else altogether. But for purposes of clarity, we'll go with what the majority of the world calls it. That sounds right.

So, to start at the beginning...today is the day. The day for Thursday Clerk Lunch. Of course, if we did call today something other than Thursday, July 16, 2015 would we still hold this lunch? I mean it is called "Thursday Clerk Lunch," so if it's not "Thursday" maybe it can't happen at all. Huh. Something to consider. But we've decided to keep calling today Thursday, so once again that isn't something that will affect us today.

To the beginning again...today is the day for Thursday Clerk Lunch. Held at the usual place at the usual time. Don't know what those are? Think back to last Thursday. Or was it last Thursday? Was it called something else? And if it was called something else, did we even have lunch that day??? Oh wow. Now I'm totally confused. So confused I might not even know where lunch is being held or when it's being held or if it's being held at all. So, basically, I've turned into all of you guys. Is there anyone out there who can tell me what the heck is going on??? Maybe we need some kind of reminder system so that I don't get all discombobulated like this. That seems like a good idea.

And this will be our last foray back to the beginning...today is the day for something. We don't know what it is, we don't know where it's happening, we don't know when it's happening and, at this point, we're not even 100% sure it is happening because it's possible that none of us exist. Good luck.

For those of you who are now feeling completely adrift and want to try to put your lives back together, here is a little something for you to think on...

What do you do when you're bored? I'm not talking about those times when you're bored and you just sit around staring at the ground or spinning in circles in your desk chair. I'm talking about those times when you're bored, but your brain wants to be doing something and you just want to scream your frustration out. What do you do then? Do you try to turn off your brain? Do you work on a crossword puzzle? Do you actually *shudder* work? I think at this point in our lives we have probably all come up with ways to combat this disastrous occurrence and I will now offer mine as an option for all of you. When extremely bored, but intellectually stimulated I research serial killers. Is this strange? I don't know why, but during slow times at school or during slow times at work I tend to find myself online and reading about different serial killers in US history. These stories just fascinate me. And whenever one of the major news outlets features a retrospective on the worst killers of the '60s or worst serial killers of all times, I just have to read it.

I've been told a time or two that this is a very strange obsession. And I haven't ever been able to pinpoint why I am so fascinated, but there's no denying that I am. It just never ceases to amaze me that people can be so evil, that something in their minds can be so broken that they perpetrate these horrendous crimes on their fellow men ("men" being a term for mankind, not simply the male of the species, since a lot of serial killer victims seem to be women). And the question of why is so rarely answered. And while in some cases there were seemingly no clues that would have led anyone to suspect what was going to happen (looking at you, Ted Bundy, the guy everyone described as so normal), there were others who were brazen in their status.

And that leads me to my most recent interesting killer - Jim Jones of Jonestown fame. The man who created a cult ("religion") and then convinced over 900 people (which includes hundreds of children) to commit mass suicide. How on earth did he gain so many followers? I can understand how people might have followed him in the beginning. He did get his start in the faith healing sects of Christianity (and I've always felt that those people seemed more susceptible to religious fervor, which can quickly get out of hand and seems to lead you down some very strange paths), but reading about him makes it clear that he went off the rails in his "teachings" very quickly. But not only did he gain a  huge following, he managed to convince all those people to kill themselves by drinking cyanide laced kool aid. What a terrible way to go! I mean, no method of suicide sounds particularly appealing to me (thank goodness), but if I did have to go, I would not want to go by cyanide (if Agatha Christie has taught me anything, it's that cyanide poisoning is not a pleasant way to die). And did you know that this is where the phrase "don't drink the kool aid" came from? That blew my mind. I had absolutely no ideas as to it's origin. (A recent poll shows that I was alone in my ignorance and everyone knew where that phrase came from. In my defense, I had always just assumed that it was proof that my detestation of kool aid was spot on.) But back to the question of why, the question that keeps me reading about these terrible crimes. Why did Jones do this? Well, there is ample evidence to show that this guy was more than a little off his rocker. But in this particular case the bigger question for me is why did all those people follow him? Why did they go along with his crazy plans? How could parents willingly murder their children, some of them babies? It just boggles the mind. And did any of them really believe that they would all be reborn in a paradise on a distant planet? It's hard to believe that so many people went along with that man to the point of actual death.

My fascination with these  and similar atrocities has also extended into my reading (books, not just internet articles) for years. I've often heard the refrain from friends and family, "But don't you get tired of reading about the Nazis." The answer to that is, of course, yes. I don't particularly enjoy reading about the Holocaust and similar instances of genocide, but I also think that it's important to read about them. To bear witness for the people who died and those who survived. To remind yourself that you always need to think critically about what is going on in society and around you. Because if history has taught us anything, it's that it is very easy for humans to get swept up in a mass fervor, be it religious, patriotic, or idealistic (with some very horrible ideals, to be sure). We all need to be able to think for ourselves and critically examine where we are being led as both an individual and as a society and whether that is a road we want to travel down. For all that we are a modern society and the world fully ensconced in the 21st century (as if that is some beacon of enlightenment), these atrocities still happen today. And it's up to us to educate ourselves about the past so that we can hopefully learn from those mistakes and ensure they do not happen in the future.

Of course, that very legitimate reason for reading about history still doesn't explain my fascination with serial killers. Hmmm...maybe we'll just say I'm a bit morbid and leave it there. It's probably best not to delve too deeply into the psyche of someone obsessed with serial killers. ;)

For those of you who are looking for some interesting books on horrors around the world, take a look below...

World War II-

1. "In the Garden of Beasts" by Erik Larson - An incredible book about the American ambassador and his family in Berlin during Hitler's rise to power. If you want a history that touches how the German population allowed itself to be slowly led into committing the atrocities of the Holocaust, this is the book for you. A truly fascinating read that almost feels like fiction.

2. "The Monuments Men: Allied Heroes, Nazi Thieves, and the Greatest Treasure Hunt in History" by Robert M. Edsel - Sometimes you need an uplifting story and this tale about artists, art restorers, and museum curators coming together to protect and rescue Europe's stolen art is a fantastic read.

3. "Free to Die for Their Country: The Story of the Japanese American Draft Resisters in World War II" by Eric Muller - WWII wasn't all about the Nazis. The US did some pretty horrible things as well. After detaining Japanese Americans at camps around the US for years we then drafted some of those young men into our military. These are stories of some of the young men who resisted that draft.

4. "Farewell to Manzanar: A True Story of Japanese American Experience During and After the World War II Internment" by Jeanne Wakatsuki Houston - A first hand account of a young girl growing up in the US Japanese Internment camps.

5. "No-No Boy" by John Okada - Another fascinating book about a Japanese American boy in the US internment camps.

6. "Daniel's Story" by Carol Matas - This was one of my first introductions to the Holocaust in 7th grade. A great book that introduces young kids to the subject.

7. "Night" by Elie Wiesel - I hope that many of you have read this book. The firsthand account of a survivor of the concentration camps. A short book, but one that will stay with you for a very long time.

8. "Road to Valour: Gino Bartali: Tour de France Legend and Italy's Secret World War Two Hero" by Aili McConnon - Enough of a sports book that it will satisfy the masses, but the truly amazing story here is how this cycling legend acted as courier for false documents to help get Jews out of Italy during WWII.

Child Soldiers-

1. "A Long Way Gone: Memoirs of a Boy Soldier" by Ishmael Beah - Beautifully written and an astounding first hand account of the life of a young boy in Sierra Leone who was forced to become a child soldier. (Makes for a great book club read. Can you guess whose choice it was for my book club?)

Cambodia's Khmer Rouge-

1. "First They Killed My Father" by Loung Ung - A book that is sure to break your heart. Pol Pot led the Khmer Rouge in a genocide against the people of Cambodia. This is the story Loung Ung and her family's evacuation from Phnom Penh and subsequent move from town to town as slowly she loses members of her family.

The World-

1. "Half the Sky: Turning Oppression into Opportunity for Women Worldwide" by Nicholas Kristof and Sheryl WuDunn - There are many sad tales about oppressed women in this book, to be sure. But the ultimate message is uplifting. The book focuses on how we can help women around the world break free of oppression and better their lives, sometimes through something as simple as easy access to fresh water for their families so young girls don't have to leave school.