The Places We Live

Every two years or so, I tend to pack up all my belongings and leave a place I've grown to love. It's a place where the secrets to opening cabinets and locking doors have all been told to me, but their tricks still leave me stumped from time to time. It's a place that has gathered a myriad of memories but still could hold many more. Every time I move, I feel like I'm doing so prematurely. Like there is something still waiting to happen within these walls and now I've only got 48 hours left to figure out what that something is. I have to remind myself that that something will happen to me, and not to the apartment I'm once again moving from.

The longest I've lived in any one place since I was 18 was my first apartment in Minneapolis and it was for a full two years. I documented the day I got keys to the place. I'm glad I did. I imagined what was then unknown to me happening there over the next year. I don't know what I thought would happen, but I'm certain whatever it was didn't actually come to fruition. It never does.

Maybe that's why I move so much. I'm a fan of new beginnings and seem to seek them out once every few years. Moving so much has kept my earthly belongings to a minimum. I for some reason need to shed my skin every once in awhile and make a fresh start. I wish I wasn't this way. There is a part of me that is jealous of settled friends who know what to expect and are satisfied with where they are. I wish I could just relax and resist the urge to pack up and try something new. Mainly because this packing up thing breaks my heart every time. The places we live are alive with us and leaving them is like leaving a comfortable and satisfying relationship for someone you're not quite sure you'll be happy with, but who you have to go for because otherwise you'll never know.

You'll just never know.

So that's why I keep moving. Because I'll never know what it's like if I don't. I'll only know where I am. Granted, the last time I moved was completely out of necessity and nowhere near my personal desire to do so. But now that I think of it, it usually is anyway. I love this apartment more than most of the places I've lived. It's got character, it's a great location, a decent price, and my landlord is wonderful. It helped me get over one of the most difficult break ups I've ever gone through and then served as an abode where I foolishly yet necessarily pined after an Englishman. The solitude here has helped me, has hurt me, and has let me grow. And while I feel like I could stay for another few years, I know I can't. It's time to go try something new. It's time to go after what I really want for once and since I was cursed with the desire for a completely un-lucrative career, I have to downsize in the residence department. I'm going to have roommates who I'm not dating for the first time in 7 years. I'm going to have to learn how to share a bathroom and a kitchen. I'm going to have to figure out how to split bills and what food is mine. Change is scary, but change is good.

I just have to remember that one day it will be ok to settle. Because even when you settle, you still can't accurately imagine what is going to happen to you in the next year. It could be anything. And even if it is the scariest thing in the world, there is another side to come out on.

I remember when I graduated high school, I had a thought that I've managed to keep with me since: "A year from now, who knows the people I'll know". I couldn't even fathom the thought of what turned out to be the most familiar faces in my life; one who is my soon-to-be roommate. It was petrifying and wonderful all at the same time.

A year ago I was leaving a long-running overseas relationship for someone I wasn't quite sure I'd be happy with, but who I went for because otherwise I would have never known. Well now I know. He wasn't for me. But a year ago, I also wasn't in this band. I also wasn't going on tour. I also wasn't going to take a leap of faith and leave this apartment I love so very much as a sacrifice so I could pursue something I've loved my entire life.

Change is good.

Getting All Hipster With an Entry About Relevent Music...

I used to run along the edge of Lake Calhoun over the summer time, listening to The Current and watching the sun set. I would watch all of the couples and groups of friends walking and running and sitting and swimming in the hot summer evenings and would feel a dull and familiar jealousy take over. It was a hopeful jealousy and as I could feel it gnawing at me, I would look up to the sky at the airplanes overhead and daydream about the people they were carrying away from the city. I would wonder where they were going; who they were going to see; if they were crying or if they were happy. I'd lose myself in their made-up lives and compare my own anticipation with theirs. And it was a good anticipation. I was one of the happy passengers. I was going to be on one of those planes soon enough to see the person I would be able to walk and run and sit and swim with. I knew I wouldn't be alone for long.

But then something changed even though I didn't want it to. And one day after one of those planes had carried me back to this city, I looked up and my heart sank. A song I had never heard before came on the radio and the lyrics told me a truth I didn't want to believe. My gaze returned to the path in front of me and for the first time in a long time, the dull and familiar jealousy left me with an unfamiliar presence and calm.

This is that song:

The jealousy is back in full force now. It is no longer dull, it is no longer familiar. Instead it follows me; jabbing at moments that occur just when I think it's left me alone. I don't know what else to do but turn this song on its head and make myself believe that one day it won't be there anymore and that I'll be one of the hopeful and happy ones again. I am tired of this and I want it to be over.

New Look, Old Friends

Well Blog, I've revamped you. Now that I've finally made you public once again, I decided you needed a bit of a facelift. You know, just in case someone comes across you and decides to actually read you. I actually put a little bit of thought into how you look today and got some super sweet international permission from my good friend Carly Swenson who currently is residing in the Portuguese islands in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean known as the Azores. She has so graciously allowed me to use a bit of her art as your background. It of course is just barely seen on the edges, but the whole piece looks a little bit like this:

And by a "little bit" I mean "actually".

 That art right there was a big deal for me last year at this time when I found myself turning my life around on a dime... or a hundred bucks... however you want to look at it. It's as if Carlis herself (yes, I call her Carlis from time to time; a nickname for the nickname "Carlis of the O'Clare Kind" that I somehow came up with in college) knew from even thousands of miles away that the little phrase "I'm feeling better every day" was exactly what I needed to hear, see, and believe. Plus I think the colors she used in this one are really pretty.

Carly is the reason I met the Englishman. She actually met him before I ever did. She's the reason I learned about Death Cab for Cutie and Eddie Izzard in college and was the first person who ever told me that blue and brown go together (I'm artistically inept if you haven't noticed). She taught me how to effectively shop at a thrift store and would make massive amounts of this delicious vegetarian chili that I should really try and get the recipe for one of these days. She hasn't lived in the states for the past four of five years due to her free-feminist-spirit-self ironically marrying a straight-laced (or so we think) guy who happens to be in the Air Force, but she's one of my closest friends. Despite the vast distance that is always between us, we've managed to see each other on a somewhat regular basis. It actually is making me sadder than I thought it would to think that this December will be a year since I've seen her and I don't have any current plans to visit. Turns out the Azores aren't the easiest islands to get to. But I'm hoping that come late winter or early spring I will be able to make the trek to the middle of the Atlantic to spend a week or two occupying a tiny Portuguese island with her and laughing about whatever ridiculousness we happen to come up with.

You know you've got a good friend when you can take incredible absences from one another and go massive distances to each other and it's as if you never left the comfort of your own dorm room on the third floor of the B wing in Maple Hall.

Are we in Minnesota? Are we in England? Does it even matter?

To the .00004 % who actually came across, took the time to read, and made it this far into my blog, you can learn more about Carly and her art at her very own blog where she writes about how she's trying to be creative on tiny islands in the Atlantic.

The End of an Era

One post in September Blog. That's what this has come to. Well, I'll make this the second one so that odd and cryptic post from 10 days ago will have a friend for the month.

Speaking of that odd and cryptic post...

Speaking of (or perhaps not speaking of) my most recent trip to Europe...

Speaking of having both a broken heart and giddy smile...

I've come to the conclusion that I must no longer spill my heart out to you Blog. At least my romantic heart. I know this hurts to hear, but for as much relief and joy I get from blogging about my pining and hoping and love, I get just as much pain, remorse, and sadness from blogging about the end of it all.

I guess everything must come to an end sooner or later. What I've learned is that none of us have control over when that end decides to make its appearance.

What I've also learned is that the head and the heart are two different entities that coincide on most occasions, but only when they disagree with one another is it apparent that you really have to leave it to fate to decide your next step. You can't force something to happen that shouldn't be happening. And that Blog, is why after two weeks of witnessing an arguement between my head and my heart, I ended things with the sweet and dear Englishman who has somehow managed to change me from 4,000 miles away. My head wanted to stay, my heart felt otherwise and in the end won the debate.

So not only do I say goodbye to the Englishman. I say goodbye to spilling my romantic thoughts to you Blog. I one day want to make you public again and the only way I can do that is to censor my emotions so I don't end up hurting those whose gaze might fall on your lonely entries. Also, I think it might be time I leave a little bit of myself to the imagination.

Don't be too hurt, Blog. I know you can read my mind for the most part anyway.

Family Fourth

Blog, why haven't I taken up my family on invitations to the big Fourth of July bash they have every year? This weekend I went to my grandma's house and realized I haven't spent a summer day on Little Pine Lake in years. Seriously, years. The sandy shores that we played on when we were kids have washed away, but grandma's house and all the summertime memories that go along with it are still there. I got my first sunburn of the summer blog, and it was a real one. I actually went out on the water. I went to Zorbaz. I went swimming. I hung out with cousins. I did all the things I would do when I'd spend a week at grandma's in the summertime as a result of my parents attempting to get rid of their kids for a week. Well, everything but be towed behind grandpa's fishing boat in a sad attempt of tubing with a 40 horsepower motor designed for trolling the lake. But you know, I'm glad that wasn't experienced.

I was surrounded by family for a good solid 24 hours. Hanging out with family in bulk reminds you of how interesting, entertaining and annoying it is to hang out with people who are all kind of the same. My only regret is that I didn't get to experience going to see the fireworks after the baseball game in town and ooh and ahh with the rest of the Schmitz's. That, and the fact that I missed out on being a part of this gem of a boat parade entry complete with a canopy full of pre-teen girls in bikinis:

If you look closely you'll see patriotic decorations and the letter B. Why they didn't win is beyond me...

There's something really funny yet disappointing about having your cousins jump overboard in the middle of a boat  parade and swim to shore. I mean you guys can't ride out the whole route? Luckily this gave me a chance to make Mary find the patriotic beads that a boat previously had thrown our way, but missed the dock by about five feet.

Mary and Claire with the beast of a lab Libby, mid-parade.

 
Apparently every year, the float (no pun intended) that wins has nothing to do with the theme of Red White and Blue. I heard last year it was Batman. This year? It was even further off target. Can you say British Invasion, Yellow Submarine?

At least Clive is probably amused by this.

Anyway, it was fun for all. The weekend concluded with my grandpa ordering a ridiculous amount of chicken from the Pizza Ranch and everyone coming in from the lake, the cabin, the dock, California... and gathering around grandma's kitchen island to talk about what sports everyone plays and how annoying my cousin Nate was when he was a kid. The family get together is always an interesting one. Where else can you board a pontoon and hear the phrase "I changed everyone's diapers here except for Tina" and hear stories about your aunts cooling off in their training bras after bailing hay only to be happened upon by Uncle Ray? We cooed over a baby and yelled at the twins. We gave diving lessons to the kids and lost our bottoms when we attempted it ourselves (or maybe that was just me). And the great part is that it's all the same, just like it's always been, except everyone is taller, older, married, and pregnant. There's nothing like going home to grandma's...

My crippled cousin Anthony... or he just likes to take Grandma's Jazzy scooter off roading around the house.

Solitary Beach Time

Blog, there's something incredibly lonely about going to the beach by yourself. When you go, you see that most everyone else is at the beach with groups of friends or significant others. Beach by yourself means you lay there alone, reading, eavesdropping, and dipping into the water of your own means. It's wonderful.

Today is a perfect beach day and I have no one accompany me on my walk down to the water. I've run some errands and now I'm going to head down by myself. I'm going to bring a book, a notebook, my ipod and some alcohol. I'm going to lay out in the sun in my bathing suit this summer for the first time and enjoy the sun, reflect on my weird life, and soak in the fact that I (more than likely) am the only one there by myself, and only myself.

I have people in this life who love me with all their heart. Sadly, none of them are able to go to the beach with me today. But knowing that they are out there, living their own lives and allowing me to be a part of them is a great thing to remember when you find yourself at the beach alone.

Blog. Let's Touch Base.

Blog. I just want to say I had much higher aspirations for you and June coinciding your efforts to document my life. Alas, I've become lazy. No. Not lazy. Uninspired. It's not you blog. It's me.

But! Inspiration is something that hits you upside the head like a bulky backpack making its way down the bus aisle. And suddenly you're swimming in it. Ideas float into your mind and all you can do is get pissed that you're on the bus and not in any position to record the brilliance that is flowing through your brain, unexpectedly and without hesitation.

It all means one thing, Blog. Fringe is in the air.

This happens to me every year. My idea for a Fringe show hits me and inspires me; be it too late to actually do anything about it this year. But there's always next year... Come February when it is time to act on an application, the lottery, and paying up the $400 entrance fee, things just never seem to pan out in my favor. Either I've forgotten, I'm too busy, I'm too broke, or I'm too removed from the inspiration that hits every single July to trust that I can move my project forward.

The thing is Blog, the project is you. All I have to do is continue writing in you and then take my favorite parts, tweak them into something amusing, create a slideshow to go along with them, and present them to the Fringe masses (a.k.a. the 12 people that might give me a chance). People do it all the time. They call themselves "story tellers". I call it "reading your blog out loud". And every year I say "next year".

Maybe I've been saying "next year" because up until now my life wasn't that great or exciting. I mean, I guess if you really wanted to, you could argue that it was. I made a dramatic move down to the city by myself to try out a new way of life that I had never experienced before. I met a guy and ended up moving in with him and his dog to live the American dream. I had the three bedroom house, the fenced in yard, two car garage, friendly neighbors, dishwasher, laundry room, bay window, back porch, the list goes on. And on. But we must remember Blog that I moved down here to live in the city. I wanted to be walking distance from everything cool. I wanted to take the bus and be around art and music (even though I don't go to concerts) and theater and alcohol. The suburbs are boring and I never felt like I fit in. Plus I was a million miles away from everything, even though on paper I had it all right there in the comfort of my own split level. Thang God it wasn't really my split level and when he kicked me out, it hurt, but at least I got to come back to uptown where it's interesting and worthwhile to live.

My point is, Blog, that my life has gotten more interesting since I left the burbs. Both in where I live and also who I interact with and where I plan to go from here. I might as well keep documenting and continue to take my favorite parts, tweak them, accompany them with pictures and put up one hell of an automentary (a term I've just created) in the form of a Fringe show. Inspiration starts here. Every summer on the edge of the Fringe. It fades once I lose interest in the Fringe website and resurfaces briefly in January only to be dashed by the intimidation of piles of snow and the idea that it will never be summer again. But hark! Summer is once again upon us. And this very eve I shall put on my flip flops and slip slap over to yoga so I can continue to be inspired. I will go to Kerin's for one final down the road hangout before she moves. I'll continue on with my summer plans of Fringing, writing, yoga-ing, and waiting. Waiting for the rest of the story to unfold and trying my best to keep up my inspiration to write about it with an audience in mind. And then September will be upon us and what do you think I have planned for then?

England.

Is It a Surprise My Mind is Working Like This?

Blog, is it weird that I fell in love with this song about three days after Ryan gave me the news that he wanted to break up?

I've never been one to overly examine fate, but sometimes I notice these things and can't help but think that there is something there working behind the scenes.

In any case, I love this song regardless of my connections to the country after which it is named.

FIN (that just happens to be French, FYI)

Crap on a Monday

Blog. I'm just going to take the winnings from the bet I placed with myself back in March and call it a day. Yes, this is the second time within the past month that I've linked to that post. Yes, I'm depressed that it's May and I'm still referencing it. And yes, I'm sad that I actually knew what I was talking about (despite my crazy hate for the snow and everyone at the gym). I'll move to amend the bet though and say that even though there isn't snow on the ground here in Minneapolis, there certainly was snow on the ground up in my home state of North Dakota yesterday. And since I'm the one who owns you blog, and I'm the one who is making up the rules to this game so I can win, I'm going to do just that. Pay up blog. You're the one who thought it would actually be spring time by now. Fool me once... shame on you. Listen to my wintertime predictions amidst a crazy ramble... shame on you again. Samantha wins!

Fuck. I need to stop writing about the weather. It's starting to not make sense anymore. Then again, when did the weather around here make sense?

But then what is there to write about? I'm out of specifics in my life at the moment since all I can really ponder these days is the fact that I leave for Italy in three days. I've never anticipated a trip so much in my life. I can honestly say this. I'm anticipating this even more than that time I went to the whole of Europe for two whole months. I think it's because I'm learning that people are more important to me than places. If the opposite were true, I wouldn't be living in a place where it's still winter in May. I'm going to Italy and England purely to see people who are near and dear to my heart. I've already seen the churches and mountains and rivers and history in each country. I'm sure there's tons more to see on top of what I've already experienced, but I feel good about what I've got under my belt site seeing-wise in each place. It's a great feeling to go so far away to such different places, but know that you'll have the comfort and company of people who you know and whose company you enjoy.

Blah blah blah. Ok, I'm done with the sappy travel talk. All there is left to do now is finish this glass of wine, wait for my hair to dry and recover from the intense yoga I did tonight. While I liked the instructor for this class, I did find I have a pet peeve of a yoga instructor who just tells you what to do instead of going through the class with you. Sure her instructions were clear and I understood the movements and all that, but really lady? You just gonna walk around and talk at us? The least you could do is help us enhance our poses if that's the road you're gonna take. But no, walk and talk. That's all Bre did this Monday evening. It's official. My favorite so far is Blake on Friday evenings. Partially because I really like the sequence she does. Partially because she does the yoga along with us. And partially because she's probably one of the most beautiful people I've ever seen up close. Rock on Blake. I'm about .00007% sad that I'm going to miss your Friday happy hour yoga class this week. Why the small percentage of regret for missing such a great class? Because I'm missing it for Europe bitches!!

Out.