Summer Bucket List

Bare legs with a buttoned-up cardigan mean it is almost summer which means it is bucket list time.

Here's the to-do list: 

• Stay in* on (the work deck, the apartment patio, the public beach) instead of go out, convince others that this is a good plan  X
• A sunset on a west-facing roof deck  X
• Be brave X
• A good-bye dance party X 
• Love on some sweet, new babies X
• Carry a watermelon X
• More Drake X
• Write one story and say it out loud to my cats 
• Wear Caroline's necklace at least once before returning it X 
• A brief fling with New York City 
• Do that thing where you run and it clears your head 
• Spend a night in a place where I can see stars in the sky 
• Say yes because it makes other people happy 
• Drink less, listen more 
• Make good use of the picnic blanket  X
• Take a "sick day" and load up on Vitamin D 

Your move, Summer 2015. Follow along on instagram (@grandipants) and the hashtag #carpeaestatem and here as I try to hash out why this summer is the best one yet.

*edited for necessary clarity.

Let it fall

Sometimes it will rain inside.

This is what I have been telling myself over and over again for the past few days as I prep for my first event of the (calendar) year.

My boss turned me lose this year to run the event (essentially) on my own. Never one to back down from a challenge, I took the reigns and ran with them. The trails were not always smooth, but at the end of each day I felt like I could say, "everything is going to be okay."

As we turned the corner to the final stretch of this week, I felt the tension - in my shoulders and in the hurried bites of lunch I did not manage to eat until 4:00 in the afternoon, but I knew if I just kept myself one step ahead, I would get through it.

So I got up early, and stayed late, and worked on the couch, and skipped fun things to do work things, and spent my airplane hours on spreadsheets rather than books and booze (okay, there were some books and booze). I just needed to work harder, faster, longer - and I would get. it. done.

Wednesday was a big day. Lego Death Star-type big.

I had everything planned. My execution was Nadia Comaneci-level flawless. And then? It rained inside the conference room.

The source of the leak has yet to be explained to me, but it rained from the ceiling tiles. First, just a little bit, so we would notice. And then - it spread. Slow enough to give us enough time to get things out. Fast enough that we couldn't do it without an all-out panic.

With the help of nearly a quarter of my amazing colleagues, we managed to relocate the entire operation to another, drier conference room. Everyone laughed and high-fived and went about their days. I tried not to twitch too hard as I shook the hands of the VIPs who walked in just minutes after the final materials had been moved out of the swamp we had originally inhabited.

And I kept saying to myself

Sometimes it will rain inside.

You can be prepared for everything and anything You can play offense and defense and special teams all by yourself but there will forever be at least one bridge troll that you cannot have even imagined would have blocked your way. So what to do you do?

You surround yourself with amazing, supportive people who have your back, from here to the moon.

You put faith in a smile, and a friendly, problem-solving word.

You thank people. Effusively, graciously, genuinely. One of them probably has an umbrella or will get you a cup of coffee.

You work as hard as you can but try to remind yourself, even if it is only just once a day, on the way to the bathroom, that you are only one human. You can only do one human's worth of things each day.

Today on T-minus Event Day - I needed this. I needed my mantra like I needed my flats. Like I needed my boyfriend to come build me a step and repeat. Like I needed my work-panda to run around and make a line of people disappear (this is an actual demand I made of her) and then take me out for homemade lasagna. Like I needed a dress-with-pockets borrowed from my Big Cuz. Like I needed a couple of hours of building trains with my favorite three year old last night.

You can't plan for everything. Just know that there will be an umbrella, whether you borrow it or build it out of place cards and raffle tickets.

Totally Clueless (part 3)

Okay, so based on my blogging tendencies recently, you might think that all I do is make podcasts. This sounds amazeballs, but is entirely untrue.

I do other things and I promise, I'll get around to talking about them soon.  But until then.

Clueless Podcast Party. Listen Here.

This is by far the most serious of the podcasts where we talk about oldy-timey people doin' it which is weird, because the source material is one of my favorite light hearted romps.

Also, bonus celebrity sighting! Julie Brown (aka Ms. Stoeger) was generous enough to record a bit about her time filming the movie.  It was super nice of her to do, and you should click around on her website. She is funny as hell.

Mr Darcy takes a Podcast (part deux)

I feel so lucky that after the first shit show, Mel Evans had me (and Jessica Kent) back to talk about more things that ruin the stuff I love.

This time it was five hundred pages of salacious, incomprehensible, "Victorian," dribble that makes me wonder how hard it actually is to get published.

Trust me when I say the podcast is far more enjoyable than the book.

Listen here.

Warning - its pretty blue. So just, obviously, I have no idea what any of the words I'm saying mean, Mom and Dad.

Happy Friday. You have earned a laugh.

Is enough enough

I have not been writing because I have been really busy trying. I have been trying so. hard. and I feel like I have been coming up empty. I'm not working out long enough, I'm not eating well enough, I'm not getting work done, I'm not getting laundry done, I don't have enough joie de vivre, or enough minutes, or enough pairs of tights.

So this rocked me pretty hard this morning. It boggles my geedee mind that a woman who got paid bank to go to Bali and fall in love and write about it is feeling the same way I do. And then it sometimes makes me feel worse because like, I haven't done anything so what I am complaining about?

What am I complaining about?

I guess if Lizzy G. can feel crappy and incomplete then I should relish in the fact that I do too. Julia Roberts can play you in a movie and you can still doubt yourself, so let's just keep going guys.

A yoga teacher this week reminded me that life is too short to be anything but happy. So here is to happiness - to hair curling class, to finally getting my leg straight in standing forehead to knee pose, to a weekend that will include a crabcake, to getting actual mail from my baby sister, and emails from people who think I'm a person to know.

UPDATE! I also feel like this and it feels way better.

The blogger itch(es)

I should be blowing up this post with photos of my toes and the pool-blue pool in front of me. It's 81 degrees and oh-so-sunny here in the Villages.

However, I have been hurting for a pedicure for like two months and just the thought of the East Coast makes raw, red mosquito bites pop up all over my legs.

So I'm feeling much too imperfect for a pool photo shoot. Even though it is glorious and warm and while the Villages would never be my first choice, it's a pretty nice place to spend a few days after the manic-insanity that is Maryland Christmas. 

So you'll have to just take my word for it. Merry very-late Christmas. 

Bye 2014-licia

I'm not going to sugar coat it - 2014 was a real stinker of a year.

There were more cumulative minutes of me silently crying into the single-ply toilet paper of my workplace's second bathroom stall and desperately attempting to find the correct words to support friends and loved ones as they attempted to traverse some of life's most emotionally crippling roadblocks then there have ever been. Like actually ever.

There were some bright shining moments, treasured that much more because they were surrounded by so much actual struggle (as opposed to the needing-new-brown-boots struggle I normally feel).  Even boyfriend's bought-a-house-got-a-job-turned-29 party was spoiled by the most insane derecho I have ever experienced. There were so many short ribs on the floor. It was so sad. But, perspective wise, I do not even think it made the top 5 of things that hurt the most this year. There will always be more short ribs.

2014 will be the first year that I feel like the universe shook me and was like, "it is getting real. This is what it is really like to be an adult: actual challenges, true heartbreak, and experiencing joy that comes from somewhere deeper inside you than you really knew existed."

Maybe it is turning 30? Maybe it was the disappointment and sadness of the whole world hanging an even heavier weight on my shoulders? Maybe it was those few weeks I gave up bread and sugar? I do not even know.

What I do know is that through text message, U.S. Postal Service, and genius sting operations, I have gotten the news of the potential of truly wonderful things on the horizon for 2015 for me, for my family, for my friends-who-are-family. I am on-the-edge-of-my-seat excited for great adventure, big hugs, happy cries, new sights, big challenges, and, as always, snacks.

This Christmas season will involved the very-first-time in our six-and-a-half years Boyfriend and I wake up in the same room/city/time-zone on Christmas morning, and the very last Christmas morning any of us will walk down the stairs of 710 East Main. There will be lunches and breakfasts and shots (ugh, way too many shots, I already know). I am itchy with anticipation to get on an airplane, second star to the right - straight on 'til Maryland.

I stand present in all of the hard, sad moments of 2014, but look towards the bright light of #fabulous2015

Cheryl Miller Chicago Taxi

There are biological reasons for the emotional mess I am right now, but also very simple unbiological ones too. Like its time to go home. And my presents game is a mess. Also could every one just stop wanting things like right-this-very-second?

Anyway. I was feeling just super crabby after a particularly long morning and was in a cab on my way to what was promised to be a very long afternoon.

I was playing on facebook (as you do) when my cab driver's phone rang and she asked if she could take the call. I said of course and casually eavesdropped (as is my right as a passenger).

She apologized at the end of her call and then explained she was about to be interviewed for a news article. She was beyond. She could not even.

Having not be exposed to this level of unbridled level of excitement in quite some time, I listened as she told me about her role in the fight to unionize cab drivers in the city and try to regulate the ride share programs. Her's is a fight that I am becoming more passionate about as I realize that while Uber is real convenient, it all goes to shit when something go wrong (like a car accident, or someone getting attacked by a psychopath, or you know, whatever) and that their business plan benefits no one but those at the top. Its a pyramid scheme with a good logo.

We chatted about Uber and cab drivers but mostly I just loved hearing about her. At one point she gleefully announced, "You're going to be able to google me!"

Guys. Everything is terrible, but I am such a huge fan of Cheryl Miller. She renewed my faith in right now. Congratulations on having your voice heard. It was so fun to google you and share in a part of your journey.

A perfect 10.

One more time around the sun. One more November spent with this hideous ogre hanging over my head.

But now we are officially all done. I am hanging up my fingers or whatever and calling it.

It has been a long decade. Count those years: Year One. Year Two. Year Three. Year Four. Year Five. Year Six. Year Seven. Year Eight. Year Nine. (and then, you know, this year).  And it is time to show myself out.

   

A friend of mine is embarking on writing her dissertation and she is worried about getting it all done in a time crunch. On Friday night, over beers, I shook my head at her stress. 

"You just do it."

"I don't know if I can do it."

"But I know, you will just do it. You have to just sit down and start writing and once you have started, you will just keep going until it is done."

This is a weird thing to be confident about and I could tell that she was all "you don't know me," but the thing is, if I can do this - anyone can do anything. I am the procrastinating procrastinator. I have the attention span of a real spazzy goldfish. I am always hungry.

Yet, despite being me, I can get this done. So to you - who may be doubting your ability to get things done, allow me to assure you, you can absolutely get it done.

About one million years ago, my sweet baby cousin J, was attempting to teach me how to skate backwards. I tried to get her to break it down and explain it for me. After about six minutes of watching me both fail and ask questions, she stomped her little seven year-old foot and said, "you just Do It." and skated off.

So that is my advice to people who ask me, with mouths agape, "how did you do it?"

I simply shrug, "you just do it."

That is all there is to say about it. If you want to do it, you will find a way to make it work. Even if you are putting it off for most of the month, and regretting the plot you have picked, and struggling to make it better mid-story, you will get it done.

I was super embarrassed when people asked me what this year's novel was about because it was not only hard to explain, it was pretty stupid. But I knew that Year 10 was not the year to quit. So I just did it.

Now, in the words of everyone's favorite president, Josiah Bartlett, 

"What's next?"

There will be no more writing of words unless true genius strikes. Instead, there Shall Be Editing. 

There are 500,000 words, over three different laptops (which might mean some of those words might be lost to humanity). Through all of those words, there is a voice, there are ideas, there are small moments of inspiration in dialogue, in "showing not telling," in the giving of nicknames. So now it is time to put those all in the sausage maker and try to find something delicious.

The first goal is to uncover all those words, find as many of them as I can, and print them all out and read them, with a yellow highlighter and an open mind. Next year, by this time, there will be something. I am not sure what it will be - maybe I will have just finally found all of the words - and managed to sneak-print all 500-or-so pages at the office. 

This was the easy part. The hard part is next.

As always - this dumb shit does not happen just because I open a fresh new word document. Thank you to:

The new La Colombe Coffee Shop on Foster. I wrote 12,000 words yesterday and I could not have gotten that done without the fresh hipster vibe, and delicious cappuccino provided in my new favorite Andersonville spot. 

The West Wing. How did Willy Shakes write all those plays without the sweet dulcet sounds of Allison Janney reciting Aaron Sorkin's words in his ear? In the Shadow of Two Gunmen (parts one and two) are some of the most inspiring moments of anything. 

Sweet coworkers and friends. All these people are so patient with this particular brand of psychosis and who provide endless hours of excellent distraction and boozy time and face time and boozy face time.

Yates. For forever and always. NaNoWriMoYates. I miss you.

Boyfriend. Who just shakes his head and says, "write your novel." Thanks (in advance) for buying my ticket to see Mockingjay Part One tonight.

Miso, the newest member of the dream team. She is so damned good at keeping legs warm. Our apartment is normally about 20 degrees below freezing, but she manages to keep the blood in my legs circulating.

Hazel. She was conspicuously absent for most of this journey, but as I rounded the bend at 48,000 words, she snuggled up and was there for the victory lap.

On to presents! Happy December everyone!

Pride and Podcasts Part 1

Last week, I crossed a big item off the bucket list.

I got to participate in my first ever podcast.

Like any narcissist worth her salt, I am fascinated the sound of my own voice and re-hearing bits I have already done to see if they make me laugh again.

Thanks to the amazing Mel Evans (who I have discussed ad nauseam on this blog) for hosting us for this first romp of many (I hope). 

Please give it a listen.Your reading or viewing of Death Comes to Pemberley is pretty inconsequential as we will explain all the important points of both the book and the movie while giggling. But here is my review of the book from a few years ago.

Also, you can totally download the podcast on iTunes (or your podcast app because it is 2014), if you want to listen to me "can't even" about most things on your morning or afternoon commute.

Thanks also to Jane Austen for the source materials. The amazing J.Ker_pow for being the calming to my manic. The cats for being an excellent source of entertainment, and the wine for allowing me to relax, maybe a little too much for my first podcast.

All critiques should be left in the comments of this blog for me to over-think and then slide into a deep depression.

Dress you up (in my love).

Our very first picture together:

And now our very most recent:

For two pretty photogenic people, we take a lot of really terrible pictures. Something about Halloween though brings out our brightest, least awkward smiles.

Also, we love a good free Halloween costume.

The More You Know (about Water)

Voting is one of my favorite parts of being a grown-up. I've been getting boozy and smoking cigs since I was a wee lass, but voting - can't use a sketchy fake ID for that.

I thoroughly believe a well-informed voter is the sexiest type of voter. So - I'm here to help you get it on, by being all up in the business of the nine candidates for Metropolitan Water Reclamation District Commissioner.  Just think of me your wing lady...

Cynthia Santos. DANG. Her website game is on. point. She's also been doing this for 16 years, and water has been coming out of the taps for at least 8, so I feel good about her. She was a girl scout, so she knows her way around a cookie. She has a section of her website called "Service is a Craft," which makes me laugh because it makes no sense and also makes me think of crafternoons, which are fun.

Frank Avila. His website game is a little less on but his picture is hilarious - so small and yet such a big ole' grin. Also look at all those papers! So much business to attend to! He's a vegan which makes me judge him both as a elected official and a human being. He apparently hires sketchballs to work for him. He's just another cog in that olde-timey Chicago political machine.

Timothy "Tim" Bradford. No website? Weak. Not even a facebook page. Listen Timothy, get with the "Tim"s. He looks like Buzz, my favorite not-actual-grandfather-grandfather but I think he may have sold his soul to win that "top of the list" lottery.

James (Jim) Parrilli. Ugh, he looks like he smelled a fart in his picture and he supports Bruce Rauner. NEXT.

Herb Schumann. Schumann on Sewers is a great name for a website. And Herb is a great name for a bald guy with facial hair. Also the quote, "The road to Easy Street goes through the sewer," makes me laugh and the fact that (apparently) everyone's favorite drunk uncle, John Madden says it makes it even more hilarious. His website has no other information on it. I'm chalking this up to no news is good news or maybe running out of money for his website. Either way, I'm glad the John Madden quote was considered more important than the "sewer issues" tab.

R. Cary Capparelli. He has a commercial spot which is full of nice stock footage of Chicago and people turning on water faucets. He lost me when he filled out the questionnaire for the Daily Herald and selected George W. Bush as a current leader who most inspires him. For the record, George W. Bush isn't a current anything.

Karen Roothaan. Apparently all the Green Party candidates are sharing a website - what a bunch of filthy hippies. She founded an organization called "Trees R Beautiful" but makes up for her refusal to use extraneous vowels by (apparently) going to the bimonthly MWRD meetings before she was even running. Bonkers. City-level governmental meetings are the most.boring. They make them like that so you won't come and bother them. Well played. Also, your most inspiring current leader can't be dead (making them no longer current). Did you guys even read the question?

George Milkowski. First things first - his name is spelled wrong on my sample ballot. So whoops. Second, his ideas about how to make things better are depressingly naive and optimistic.  Does he know he lives in Chicago? I like your spunk, but dream smaller, hombre.

Michael Smith. He writes EVERYTHING IN ALL CAPS.  BYE. And in his picture he looks like he is trying to sell me a time share.

Here's the thing - the more I read, the more this entire department sounds like a huge scam. Just give everyone a rain barrel and cross your fingers that the Chicago River gets so toxic it just kills the Asian Carp for us.

Seriously though, vote. Tomorrow. DO IT. Vote for the people who are all about women having control over their bodies and medical decisions, who recognize that we were all immigrants with ancestors who got lucky at one point or another, who just want schools that work - whatever that means.

Nothing changes if your participation in the system ends at watching the Daily Show. Get out there and vote for three of these clowns, some judges (but the right ones), and some other people. Go. Go!

This is 30.

My name is Rachel and tomorrow I will be 30.

I look like my mom and sometimes my Nonna. My signature has the same style "G" as my dad.

I have a dirty bathroom, and I don't really care.

I am surrounded by people who believe in me, far more than I have ever believed in myself.

My name is Rachel and tomorrow I will be 30.

I'm in a moment of near-change in my job. Change if I want it, consistency if I decide I don't - reward no matter which I pick.

I really, really need to get my passport renewed.

I am still shocked, pleased, and full of gratitude when people tell me they love the way I write.

My name is Rachel and tomorrow I will be 30.

I can't dress myself, except I know exactly which dresses will be flattering before I even try them on.

I still drink too much on weeknights, especially when the booze is free.

I sense that there is still at least one grand adventure left in my life.

My name is Rachel and tomorrow I will be 30.

I have a bestfriendboyfriend who continues to surprise me with my his capacity to love me and his sweet moves in the kitchen.

I am committing to a life of not checking my phone first thing in the morning. Starting tomorrow.

I really like going to bed before 10:00 p.m. when I can.

My name is Rachel and I have so much life left to live - I cannot wait to see what will happen in the next 30 years.

Grocery Struggle

If I had to make a list of what was Real right now. The Struggle would be at the top.

I refuse to give up nights of one-too-many, and thanks-for-the-freebie, and talk-too-loud-laugh-too-hard. I refuse to give up a Tuesday margarita or a Wednesday beer and burger - even if it means that the grocery store is maybe the biggest challenge of my entire adult life.

Being drunk and productive at the grocery store is basically like riding a unicorn. Impossible.

Sometimes though, when you're dang near 30 you gotta buckle down and buy groceries. You can't serve your guests boca burgers at brunch and with a week full of celebrating, Tuesday nights call for bigger and mightier functionality.

This does occasionally mean extra bacon, inexplicable almond joy frosting (3 containers), and an existential conversation about flavored orange juice.

Always sweet

When you want dessert. Eat dessert.

I spend most of my time locked in eternal mental battles. No decision is ever really made with full confidence. My favorite decision is when someone else makes the decision for me.  

All travel, career choices, meals, written words, everything is considered for as long as I possibly can before finally just blurting out something and then spending the rest of my life silently panicking that I made the wrong choice.

Except dessert. When I want dessert, I do not think about it - I find and enjoy dessert (like a Good Humor Birthday Cake Ice Cream Pop) and I never once have regretted it. 

If I'm full to the brim of other delicious things, I know enough not to pick out a dessert, but when there is room, I'll fill it up. The exception to this rule is when I give up all carbs because I am a competitive asshole with a weird religious bent.

When we went to Alinea (so long ago!) and the most.amazing.dessert.of.all.time was performed in front of us, I ate until my stomach nearly exploded. I wanted to just be given, like, 20 minutes to nap and come back for the rest. I wanted it just shove it all in my clutch and take it home to eat in bed. I miss that dessert more than some people I've known.

Food has always been a source of struggle for me. A battle of being happy versus being happier. The one battle I refuse to fight is the one against chocolate, against pie crust, against buttercream frosting. 

My birthday will have cake, it will have Berger cookies, it will have more cake, and it might have some delicious and spirited Notre Dame chocolates, and I will eat them all. 

Round and Round

Despite my internet silence, I have spent most of the past month or so musing my impending doom and slow march towards 30.

I have been thinking a whole bunch of meaningless, cliched thoughts when I wake up in the middle of the night and it all came down to this.

Its been a cardinal rule of my life that a Kitchen-Aid mixer is a reward for getting married and laying down the groundwork for making grandbabies.

I do not really need any reasons to get married, and I do not really need any reasons not to get married, because in this one part of my life - I feel pretty empowered and in a "good place."

But there was something about this carrot being dangled that felt unjust. Why should I have to wait for this good thing? No matter when (if?) I get married, there is whipped cream to be made right now.

So I carped the newegg deal and bought myself this lovely Blackhawks-Red mixer for an incredibly reasonable price (and two day shipping).

Its only been one day (and one oversized batch of delicious mashed potatoes) but it feels like Miso & Hazel's baby sister has been here the whole time.

I only have a week and a day left of my 20's and I going to try very hard to find other ways to remind myself that the only rules I need to consider following are the ones I make for myself.

Stressed White Girl Shopping List

If you're wondering how I am doing - this should paint a pretty good picture for you.

I went into Target to pick up my prescription and get in the additional 200 steps I needed to make my goal for the "Step Up 2: The Streets" contest we are having at work. 

This all happened without me even realizing. Except that's a lie, because when I was paying for the prescription the nice girl said she couldn't ring me out due to the booze probably designed by a bunch of over-achieving tweens. 

So I walked to the other side of the store. Waited in line. And left with these things. 

I know the wine is good. I can only assume that the coffee and cookies will not disappoint. Get at me 10 more days of insanity.

Back. and forth.

I went one whole month, officially, without blogging. It wasn't a conscious decision but it did feel like something that was in order. I was struggling with the idea of quality over quantity and then was delivered a crushing blow in the disguise of an off-handed remark. THEN the world got really, bone crushingly sad, and it would not be the Grandipants way to come back and drop all the sadness on the three of you who are left.

So I'm back-ish. I'm heading into hell-month at work and I would not be surprised if you found me in a little pile of spreadsheet bits and conference call requests. I'm terrified by what the next month has in store, so it would only make sense to plan on doing some writing in here. I find I write most when I have a million other things to do and think about, which is probably I'll never be able to make a living doing it.

We'll see how it goes. For now here are some things that didn't make me cry or scream recently:

Call Your Girlfriend podcast. My in-town bestie recommended it, and it makes me miss one of my favorite long distance besties (who can no longer be tagged to anything because that bitch got herself an elected position). Its nice for mornings when I just can't get the energy to open a book.

Revolution Brewery. The brew pub I can take or leave, because while the food is on point, the hipster-to-human ratio is unsettling, even for hipster allies like myself. This spot is massive, they have all the beers you want (instead of just like the two you always get), its sups cheap and you can bring in pizza (OR, better idea, you can steal pizza from the party next to yours when they go in for their tour).

Why Your Team Sucks. My love of Drew Magary even makes me uncomfortable at this point, but this series always gets me so pumped for football season. I can't wait to watch all these over-paid, under-educated men just run into each other for 16 weeks. This year I even put some money on it, so I am especially excited for all the right guys to try to make it to Christmas with both pupils equal and reactive.

Truisms from heaven (eleven)

I like to think of that thin slice of sidewalk between the curb and lampposts, street signs, and newspaper boxes as the express lane. 

Big feels

As I meander closer to 30, I have been taking stock of the world at large, and my changing reactions to it.

The thing I keep coming back to is how much more strongly I feel emotions now. I have always been one to speak in hyperbole but I have started to feel in it too. Or at least, I have recently (within the past two years) become aware of feeling positive emotions much more powerfully.

I feel it in my chest, just to the right of my heart (my right, your left), almost at the center of my breastbone. Its this dull ache right under the ribs. It comes on suddenly and sharpens over a minute or two. The only way I have ever been able to describe it is that it feels like my heart might explode (hyperbolic until the end). Never have I remembered feeling such love and happiness as I do now.

The first instance I remember of this was the first time Boyfriend held my hand in a movie theater. It traveled from our fingers and landed in my chest to ignite the coals. The next time I remember labeling it was when one of my favorite tots (who was then about 18 months old) said my name unprompted for the first time.

I feel it all the time now, in holding the babies of my favorite people, in waking up next to my best friend with two kittens at our feet, in big hugs from the littlest (and biggest) of my cousin-monsters, in watching my friends be in love, in good music on sunny days, in sending a final "love you, good night," text after night of endless laughter.

All these feelings, that have always felt good, resonate mentally and physically. I'm not sure why. I am not sure if it is healthy or normal, but I am thankful that it happens as it gives me pause and recognition about how good things are for me. I have always been highly aware of negative emotions and thoughts, it feels as though my brain is righting itself now that I am very old.

It also might just be that I should stop eating dairy...