Live Simply. Love Deeply.

Let's Go For a Walk Meet Peter.  Peter is vibrant, colorful and full of life.  Or, at least it seems.  On the outside he’s beaming with life and growing everyday.  He was sprung from generations of vibrant adventurers.  But, lately, Peter has been looking a bit fringed…like the life that runs through his veins has been slowly depleting and it is ultimately wearing him out.  He’s losing his life.   You see, Peter is my plant.  My spider plant, to be exact.  He was sprouted from my grandma's plant and has been in my care for the past 2 years.  The original plant was given to my grandma by her mom (or aunt, or sister….not sure) about 40-50 years ago.  So, you can imagine my anxiety while trying to keep this plant alive…it’s like a living heirloom in my family.   I’ve never been much of a plant person…don’t get me wrong…I love plants…I am just not great at keeping them alive.  Weeks could go by without me thin...

Thirst I wake up in the middle of the night overwhelmed by a deep ache.  What is the deal?!  I’d much rather be snoozing away, but something has distracted me from the deep slumbers of the night.   Thirst.  My body was screaming for a tall glass of cold, fresh water.   Why now?  Why not when I wake up in a few hours?   Our bodies are strange.  They know so much more about what they need than their owners.  Warning sign such as headaches, tiredness, stomach aches to let us know what it needs and when.   I’m not always good at drinking water on a regular basis.  If I don’t have a water bottle by my side throughout the day, chances are I will not be drinking as much water as I should be.  And after a few days a drinking only a few glasses of water, I wonder why I’m tired, low energy, headache ridden and mentally cloudy.   It seems like such an easy problem to fix.  Just drink more water. ...

Melted Mozzarella It was grocery shopping day.  Big plans of the week’s delicious menu showed in the variety of colors displayed in my cart.  Caprese pizza with fresh mozzarella, Thai sweet chili chicken stir fry with my home-made sweet chili sauce, home-made salsa…it was going to be a good week.  Walking out to my car, I reach inside my bag for what I expect to be my keys.  Did I put them in a different pocket?  Where are they??!  My stomach sinks as I realize their location.  Yep.  I look inside Felix’s window and find them safely nestled in the ignition.  On the one hand I’m glad they didn’t fall out of my cart and are somewhere inside of Albertson’s, but I now face the regret of not making a spare key.  I should have this figured out by now, right?  I’m 26 years old and still have the problem of locking my keys in my car.   I digress.   I faced a decision.  Call for help or do it myself.  I quickl...

Glass Life slows and sounds become silent.  What feels like several seconds pass.  All motion stops as the air is distilled with the sound of crashing glass.  Shards fly.   I feel a sudden relief as I am glad I forgot to take my shoes off at the door.    I assess the situation and slowly nod my head as I think out-loud, "yep, that happened".  Another mason jar gone.  Poor soul.  You start with the big pieces.  One by one you collect the larger pieces to safely handle.  You go to the closet and get the broom to start tackling the smaller bits.  After the third time of going over every nook and cranny of the kitchen floor space you’re comfortable enough to continue the task that first led you to that mason jars fatal destiny.  What was I doing?  Oh yes, making dinner.   After a few days you forget that it even happened.  You move on.  You’ve picked up the initial mess and have fo...

Dirt The creek of the gate sends a chill up my spine; mixed with the crunch of the gravel beneath my feet, I’m taken back.   It’s my first game.  I lace up my cleats, straighten my CBA, orange ball cap and step out onto the tee ball field.   The smells engage my senses; dirt, freshly mowed grass, sweat (it was Louisiana after all…and no matter who you were, it was summer and you were sweating…) I was in right field.  And at some point between picking the dandelions and counting the ant hills I hear the crack of the bat at home plate.  The ball was coming straight at me.  It zipped on by (don’t be too judgmental…I was 6 and all too interested in how many bugs I could catch in one inning) and I began to chase after it.  The crowd began to chant my name as I ran towards the ball in hopes of throwing out the runner by the time she got to second base.  Upon hearing my name from the stands, my adrenaline sped through my veins. ...

1805 Do you ever wish you were from a different era? I have.  Mostly on days when I am frustrated with technology (like when it doesn’t work the way I think it should…or I can’t get information from one device to another…or when Siri misunderstands what I tell her over and over and over..(I think you get the idea).  In the moments where I fee like I may burst from my frustrations of misunderstanding technology, I have a desire to go back to a simpler time; like in 1805.  Where the smell of fresh linens and sky didn’t come from a can but from the laundry that hung on the line outside.  Where hand written snail mail was the greatest invention of the century.  When to tweet meant to mimic a bird, “tag me” involved chasing someone in a game, and writing on someone’s wall was called graffiti, and was a quite offensive and inappropriate gesture at that.  (Just to clarify, I don’t think I could survive in an 1805 real...