Championing the makers, artists, and wanderers in all of us.
We finally have everything moved over to the new place – bookcases that need to be reunited with their shelves, a disassembled desk, an armchair that’s still covered in shrink wrap, stacks of boxes and bags and baskets.
But we got our bed set up. And the coffeemaker plugged in. And, even if there’s nowhere to sit in the living room, the patio is quite cozy.
Despite this cardboard jungle phase, it’s already starting to feel like home.
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I have a packed suitcase, and I won’t be sleeping in my own bed tonight – but I’m not going anywhere.
My bed, my dresser, and various other furniture items and boxes of things are already in our new place, down the road.
Moving is a little like standing in a doorway. Or like the feeling when the edge of an ocean wave foams up over your ankles and then pulls back, dragging the sand beneath your feet with it, until just when you think you might lose your footing completely, and it withdraws, leaving you alone to steady yourself in the sand. Piece by piece, everything shifts, and then it’s done, and you find your balance again.
Tonight, we’ll roll out sleeping bags on the floor. In a matter of days, we’ll have these rooms emptied and cleaned out, and we’ll lock the door on the bittersweet memories of our years here and begin to settle in to a new space.
It’s only a few miles away, but it feels like a fresh start.
After a very cold winter in the tiny former mining town of Silver Plume, Colorado, the weather finally cleared up enough for Dram Apothecary to open up their patio on a mid-March Saturday.
On Instagram, they post shots of their rustic bakery-turned-cocktail-tasting-room or of things they make – teas, cocktails, syrups – or of founder Shae Whitney foraging for wild herb ingredients. They are near a place called Snowdrift Gulch, which was especially fitting the months that their photos were of white streets, foggy gray skies, and flurries outside the windows.
Then, one weekend, they posted a photo of their (finally) sunny patio and announced they’d planned a party, complete with a DJ spinning super old school tracks from the ’20s, ’30s, and ’40s.
A lot of people thought that sounded like fun (it did!), but one comment jumped out at me: “I want this life.”
It made me wonder what the commenter’s life was like.
So I clicked over to her Instagram feed.
The want-your-life commenter is somewhere in Southern California. The previous week her car thermometer had said 92 degrees – while snow was still falling on Dram Apothecary.
She posts amusing photos of dogs, she bakes, and she makes really cool-looking cocktails. She posted a photo of a guy on a beach with a surfboard hashtagged something like #myhusbandishotterthanyours.
It doesn’t seem like a bad life.
In fact, in response to one silly shot, where she is pretending to eat an apple right off the tree, someone commented “life crush.”
In other words, this person has a crush on the life of the woman that wants the life of Shae at Dram Apothecary.
So I clicked over to the life crush-er’s feed.
It was a private account. But there was a link to a photo blog.
There are lots of photos of friends goofing off on camping trips. Lots of campfires and lakes, woods and desert. There is one of a guy with a marshmallow-toasting stick between his teeth. Another one is this big white, fluffy dog laying in the grass.
Her bio lists her location as Los Angeles, but one post is titled “my home is Colorado”.
So these photos have taken us from Colorado to Southern California and back.
Each of the women we’ve visited have scenery around them that is beautiful in its own way, time to have fun, and people to share it all with.
I bet you do too. Try imagining you’re a different person in a different place with a different set of ups and downs in your life.
Then flip through your photos, look at the views, the celebrations, the things that made you laugh, the people you love. And get a little jealous of yourself.
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Note: All the photos in this post are mine. I haven’t included any from the people I mention or linked to the commenters, because my intention is not to single them out or say they should have a different attitude, but to show how we all have those grass-is-greener moments, even if we have it pretty good.
In case you’re curious, here’s where the photos above were taken – 1: Nederland, CO 2: Ridgway, CO 3: San Diego, CA 4: Tempe, AZ 5+6: Sierra Vista, AZ 7: Four Corners area 8: Scottsdale, AZ
With all the Phoenix Comicon stuff going on Thursday through Saturday, I almost forgot that today Travelcraft Journal turns 2!
I’ll share some highlights with you another day, but it’s Microblog Monday, so I’ll keep this post short.
Thanks to all of you for being a part of this community and sticking around another year. You are a bunch of inspiring makers and explorers, and I’m excited to see where the next year takes us!
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Life can be such an off-balance mix of highs and lows, beautiful moments and heartbreaking ones all scrambled together.
A week ago, I was feeling a little sunburned from an Easter picnic with my cousins. I was checking in with my mom about RSVPs for her and my dad’s fast-approaching 60th birthday celebration. I was also helping my brother and sister-in-law in Seattle plan to come into town secretly and make a surprise appearance at the party. I was getting ready for our Anaheim trip.
Then, Thursday evening, I got a text that made the world stop. My cousin was in the ICU, and it didn’t look like she’d make it. My mom picked me up on the way to the hospital, and we joined the family that was already there, hugging and crying and saying goodbye. She passed later that night. It feels heavy and unjust and unreal.
She had already let her adult children know her wishes, including the fact she didn’t want her memorial service to be gloomy. Everyone is supposed to wear purple. Since it’s not scheduled for this week, we decided to go ahead with our convention plans. Not going wouldn’t bring her back, and a change of scenery could be really good right now.
So we’ll go – with these heavy hearts, this mix of emotions – to just outside the happiest place on earth.
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