Monthly Archives: August 2012

A Change of Heart and Mind

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The other day I looked around the house and realized the whole place was going to hell in a hand basket.

It all started when I got a new fall jacket. Now this was no ordinary jacket, kids. It was a jacket I had fallen in love with at first sight but couldn’t bring myself to spend the money on. Then it went on sale…and I still couldn’t bring myself to spend the money on it. Then it sold out and I was sad I hadn’t spent the money on it.

I ended up ordering a couple other things from the same store and when I went to check out online I noticed my beloved jacket was still sitting in the shopping cart where I had put it back when I was thinking and dreaming about buying it. Not only was it still in the cart but it was even cheaper than the original markdown. I double checked the website to see if it was still available and it still said it was sold out. I decided to check out with it in my shopping cart and see if the order would go through. And it did. And my sweet little jacket came in the mail a few days later. I might have danced around the kitchen for a few minutes. And then I had to find a home for it. The coat closet was the obvious choice but the coat closet…oh my gosh the coat closet….was such a mess all packed full of nonsense and I didn’t think it was a suitable place to put my sweet little jacket.

So, I decided to clean out the closet and make a nice cozy spot for the jacket. Who knew what cleaning a coat closet would start around here.

This is what was living in our teeny, tiny closet. Furniture, car parts, the Christmas decorations from last year I never quite put away, and ten million other coats and jackets (hey, we live in New England—don’t judge me). I pulled everything out onto the living room floor and reorganized the whole thing. I found a place for everything and only stuff that actually belonged in the coat closet went back in.

{Forgive the blurriness—my camera hates me}

I felt so refreshed and satisfied after that little project. It felt good to conquer a mess I had been avoiding and regain some control over this place.

And then I started looking around.

And I started noticing junk drawers that wouldn’t open or close right because they were too full of junk. I noticed cob webs because I never dust. I noticed how I can’t ever find anything because it’s buried in the basement or under one of the beds. I noticed a lot of things around here needing work—and in the process of cleaning all those things up, I noticed something else far more important.

I noticed that the reason this place is an unorganized disaster is because I never really settled in here and made this place home. We bought this house a couple of years ago with the intention of only staying for three years. I’m the kind of person who doesn’t bother settling in if I know I’m going to move back out. I figure it’s a waste of time to put roots down and get attached if I’m just going to have to leave anyway. So as soon as I heard “three years” I stuffed everything anywhere it would go and kept telling myself that I would do a better job making a home once we got to the place we’re going to stay.

But then I realized when I started going through things and getting this place organized that I’ve never really lived here. I’ve never really considered this little box with four walls a home. I’ve just been treading water and counting the days and minutes until I can get out of here and get on with life. And then, I told myself, then I’ll settle in and really start living in a place.

But the problem is this is where I live—right now, today, this is my home. And it may be my home longer than I like. Our three-year mark is next March and we have nowhere to go as of yet. So the odds are I’ll still be here even after we had planned on moving out. I realized I’ve been wasting time and not really living just because I’ve already moved out of here in my head (actually, I never really even moved in). I’ve lived here for 2 1/2 years and I’ve never settled in and made this place home.

It’s funny how you clean a coat closet and you realize you need to work on a million other things around the house, and while you’re working on those things you realize you need to work on more than just the house, and while you work on that you realize there’s more to this whole “not settling in” problem than just making a house a home.

I realized along the way that there are a lot of things in life I haven’t really embraced because I don’t plan on doing them long-term. My job for instance. I’ve always known my job is temporary. I know I want to raise a family and when I do I want to stay home with them. There has never been any question in my mind that this is my long-term plan. That’s great…only I don’t have kids and I am working….and I’ve been working for years. But I’ve never really given 100% at work or fully committed to what’s before me because, again, in the back of my head I tell myself, “oh this is just temporary so who really cares.” I show up for work every day and do my job. And that is all. I come home from work and make dinner and keep this place clean. And that is all. I just do what I have to do to get by until I get to where I’m going.

Only where I am is part of where I’m going.

And I see now that just getting by until the next thing is not a very good way to live. It has made me pretty miserable actually. I’m miserable in this house because I don’t want to be here. I’m miserable at work because I don’t want to be there either. You put those two together and it equals me being miserable 90% of the time.

Because I’m just getting by until things get better.

But my life is today, not tomorrow—not yet at least. If I don’t start living in the present then I’m going to look back and realize I’ve let my whole life pass me by in my anticipation of the next best thing.

With all this in mind, I decided it was time to really settle into our home and my job. I’ve been working on getting the house cleaned up and organized. I’ve cleaned out junk drawers, under beds, in closets, and everywhere in between. The more I do the more I realize needs to be done.

I’ve also been getting the house feathered and cozied up. Darren and I finally tackled our bedroom. We painted the walls, replaced the carpet, and bought lamps, curtains, and a duvet. It’s so warm and cozy in there now. I’ve also been working on creating a cozy little nook in the guest bedroom where we can snuggle up to read and write. I’ll show you pictures of all these projects when they’re done and I have time to snap pictures.

In order to finance all the work I’ve been doing around the house and to help me jump into work wholeheartedly, I’ve started working more hours each week. I’m full-time again for the first time in a long time and I’m actually enjoying my work more than ever. Of course working extra hours and using all my free minutes at home to tackle project has meant less time on here—but that has been good for me too.

Being on the computer too much makes me restless and unhappy. You can only spend so much time reading about other people’s lives and looking at pretty pictures of things you want before it leaves you discontent and unsatisfied. Getting this place pulled together has meant walking a fine line between getting a few new things to make this house feel more like a home and letting myself get obsessed with new things just for the sake of having them.

I really struggle with materialism. I struggle with always wanting more, more more. More clothes, more things for the house, more, more, more. But more things won’t make me happy. There is nothing wrong with having nice stuff, but “stuff” shouldn’t be the most important thing to me either. So now that we’ve completed some projects around here and this place is starting to feel like home, I’m taking a break from buying anything else for the house until after the New Year. There is plenty more I want to do. I have lots of plans and ideas and a whole list of things I would like to get but I need to step back from it all for a bit and just enjoy what we already have and what we’ve just done. If I immediately move onto the next thing then I’ll never stop and really enjoy what we already have. I have a cozy bedroom and a cozy little nook and for now those are the things I need to step back and enjoy before I move onto another new project.

Anyway, That’s what I’m learning and doing of late. Our days have been filled with crisp blue skies and sunshine brought on by the cooler nights. Fall is teasing us and here on the last day of August, I’m ready to jump into September and fall and all the new life and adventures that come with my favorite season of all. Football is starting, lattes are coming back, and the whole world  feels like it’s wrapping up in a cozy little blanket after a hot busy summer. I couldn’t be happier.

Summer Days and Life Lessons

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Earlier this week Darren and I went to the beach with our friends, Victor and Olga. V and O are in love with a beach in Rhode Island that Darren and I had never seen. So we all loaded in our cars and took of to see this spot we’ve heard so much about. A few minutes out from the beach we parked and climbed into Victor’s boat for the rest of the trip out to their spot.

I’m so glad they decided to share this place with us because it’s honestly the prettiest beach front I’ve seen in New England. I was completely mesmerized the whole day. As soon as we were on shore, I was busy walking along the water gathering shells and rocks and I even found a crab claw I plan on terrorizing Darren with.

{Such a happy couple}

{Earthy treasures from the sea}

There was bright green sea weed floating around and lots of the rocks had taken on the same lime green color—so of course I filled my pockets with them to haul back home and scatter around my house. Every time we go to the beach I look for little earthy treasures to take home and decorate with. My living room is filled with mason jars full of sand and shells from all over. There’s also a whole birch tree in my living room, because yes, I drag those indoors too :]

{I drug the tree in the house by myself and cut it in half on the kitchen floor with a hack saw…wahaha}

Darren sometimes forbids me from bringing any more nature indoors and I always smile like I’m listening and fill my pockets anyway. I think he doesn’t mind in the end because he’s always showing off our jars of sea treasure when we have company and telling everyone about the adventures that went along with each bit of nature we’ve brought back home.

Once we unloaded all our stuff from the boat and settled in on the beach, the boys decided to take the boat back out on the ocean exploring. Olga and I opted for staying on the beach with the kids and away from the wild ocean waves—we know too well by now how those boys like to drive the boat like it’s a water rocket.

{The boys}

The kids took off for the sand and waves and were quickly busy digging holes and building sand castles by the sea.

{The kids + Victor digging in the sand}

Victor and Olga are Russian. They have three children; the oldest is in school and speaks English perfectly. Their daughter hasn’t started school yet and only speaks Russian. And then there’s the baby who speaks, well, baby. They also have a little boy from the Ukraine staying with them for the summer and he only speaks Ukrainian. So there were three children playing together prattling off in three different languages and yet they understood each other perfectly. Childhood is simply a language all its own.

{All the world is magic when you are five years old}

Olga and I settled into camping chairs in the sand with our legs and arms stretched out hoping for a kiss from the sun.

Just me and Olga.

Olga scares me a little bit because she’s very pretty and put together. She always wears nice clothes and has her hair done. She even smells good…how ridiculous is that? I always walk away from my time with her feeling like a frump and loser who needs to get her life together. It’s not Olga’s fault I feel this way either. She’s very nice and doesn’t do anything to make me feel bad. It’s my own jealousy and insecurity that leaves me feeling this way and not anything she needs to change. I share this because I knew going into our little beach trip that I wouldn’t have any fun if I let my feelings about O intimidate me. I decided this time I wanted things to be different. I wanted to relax and give O a chance instead of putting her in a little box of perfection she may not herself want to be in.

On the boat ride over to the beach I kept glancing over at her. She looked lovely. Her outfit was cute. Her hair wasn’t attacking her in the wind like mine was. I wanted to push her off the boat. No I didn’t…well, I sort of did :] But I decided I was going to do my best to open up and get to know her better that day. Usually I clam up and try to play it cool so she won’t figure out how not together my life is. But I knew I was being fake and frivolous and it was time to get past fear and insecurity. So after the boys left we started chatting…just our usual small talk at first. But then I started asking her questions and she asked me questions too. I thought I would be miserable trying to talk to her and open up but before I knew it the sun was dipping behind the sandy hills and were wrapping up in sweaters to stay warm. Olga told me about her life. She told me about some of the things that are bothering her and things that aren’t going right. She would stop sometimes, struggling to think of a word in English or how to communicate an idea from Russian to English. She told me I’m the only person she ever really speaks to in English and she feels silly when she can’t think of a word. I couldn’t believe Olga ever felt silly in front of me. I told her I forget words in English too and it’s the only language I speak :]

{Beautiful Olga}

I learned a lot about O that day and I learned a lot about myself too. I learned that as perfect as Olga looks and seems, she is a girl just like me. A girl with a heart that can be broken, feelings that get hurt, and fears that follow her just like me. I learned that I don’t need to try to be like Olga to have my life put together. I just need to be who I am, as imperfect as that may be. If I wear things because Olga wears them or say things because Olga says them, I’m not more like her, I’m just less like me. I cheat myself by thinking imitation will bring me any closer to who I should be. The truth is, Olga and I are very different people. We grew up in different countries and even in America, take part in very different cultures. She is six years older than me and the mother of three children. We are in very different places in life. How can I expect to know and be all that she is when we are so different in the very fibers that make us who we are? I realized that day, as we snacked on fresh fruit and treats from the Russian grocer, that my fears and insecurities are just that—fear and insecurity. There is nothing wrong with me and there is nothing unattainable about Olga; we are just different people. I’m glad I gave O a chance because I left the beach that day with a great sense of peace and confidence. Instead of feeling unattractive and inadequate, I left feeling inspired. Inspired to be the person I’m meant to be. Inspired to learn from the things I admire in Olga, not to merely mimic them. Inspired to grow and change…into myself, not into someone else.

{This is who I am, no one else}

The boys came back with the last rays of light and soon we were all marching off to get ice cream together. We sat on a wall with our ice cream watching the boats bobble on the water. There was a cannon like BOOM and people screamed; I laughed. Laughter is a nervous reaction for me. I have a feeling when the ol’ apocalypse gets here I’ll be laying on the ground giggling while everyone else runs for their lives. Maybe it’s a coping mechanism :] Victor said they do that BOOM to let everyone know it’s sunset. Olga joked about how we should probably know it’s sunset without a cannon going off and we all laughed. Of course she’s funny too…maybe I’ll push her off the boat on the way back home :]

It was a lovely day of sand and sunshine…and a life lesson or two as well. I’m thankful.

We left after dark. The black water looked like pools of ink as we glided over it. I wanted to dip my quill in it and write you a story, this story.


I’ll Tell You a Secret

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You named me what?

It’s not a big secret; just a little baby one. Huddle up. My name isn’t really Kari. I mean, it is Kari, but it’s really Carrie. I changed the spelling when I was 13 for no reason at all. It’s not my fault though. My dad started things off right by spelling it Carry on my birth certificate. Carry is a verb not a name, in case we aren’t clear on that. It’s fine though. One daughter out of six children and you make her a verb—no biggie. High five for the effort there dad.

My dad (who believes himself never to be wrong) claims he spelled it Carry on purpose so he could tell ask me to carry things for him. Good one, dad. I heard that joke about every two minutes growing up— “Carrie will you carry this” hardee, har, har. Of course my dad will deny all of this. I can hear him now– “I never said that!” Sure dad. I just hallucinated all the way through my childhood, that’s it.

Actually, when I heard “Carrie will you carry this” is the only time I ever heard myself called Carrie because my dad always just called me “girl.” I guess when you’re the only female running around it works but I still have a complex about it. My mom and my brothers just called me “sis” and still do. The boys (my brothers) were just “the boys”…although none of them were ever verbs. To level the playing field I would like to announce all their real names: Robert, William, Michael, Bradford, and Christopher. Shall we do middle names too? Yes, I think so: Robert Lee (the 2nd, mind you), William Eugene, Michael Harold, Bradford Neal, and Christopher Thomas. Bam. It’s on the internet. That’s what “the boys” get for not reading this—no say whatsoever when their full names are revealed on the ol internet. Wahahahaha <———————– Laugh of power and conniving. It’s okay, none of their real names are even that bad so we can all move on.

You mess with me, I mess with you

Changing the spelling of my name was fun until it was confusing. When I went to college, I had to list my legal name on everything but then when I turned in exams and such I would spell it the super awesome way with a K. Some of my teachers seriously started to question whether I even knew how to spell my name.

After college came work and marriage and the confusion continued. Everything legal has to have it spelled with a C. This always goes down the same way: I’m at the bank, new job, wherever filling out paperwork. I sign my name first with a K and then realize it doesn’t match my license and such and won’t fly. So I, blushing, try to explain that, oh actually, I spelled my name wrong on that…I’ll just ex that out and try again. This is of course not the best way to open a bank account or start a new job. The people at the bank always look at me like I’m a criminal trying to steal someone’s identity.

After I got married and changed my last time, I tried to legally change the spelling of my first name to end the confusion once and for all. They wouldn’t let me do it. Can you believe that? Geez. It’s my name isn’t it. Well, at least that’s what I told my parents in junior high when refusing to spell it the “right way” as they call it.

Oh, and to rub it in that I spell my name the “wrong way” my parents started spelling everything the wrong way. My dad spells daddy “dadi.” Are you kidding me? My parents have always called me Ladybug. I have no idea why. You would think if you had a nickname your whole life you would remember some story or reason as to why. Nope. No idea. Anyway, now my parents spell it Ladibug. Funny aren’t they? It wasn’t that bad until I started blogging and my mother decided to go ahead and call me Ladibug in all of her comments. Oh good, she’s using my childhood nickname…spelled wrong 8/

It’s okay. I get my vengeance by telling stories about them on the internet. Who knows what I’ll decide to talk about next. I wouldn’t lose any sleep over it though…it’s just your whole life spelled out on the World Wide Web :]

Call me Ladybug one more time…

Weekend Adventures

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Today we went to the air show at Westover AFB. Here are a few pictures of our day:

Rocking uncle Darren’s glasses :]

My cutie pie nephews

We build parts for this helicopter at work. It’s cool seeing the final product all those hours go into.

People were crowded under the plane wings to escape the sun. I laughed at them for a while and then decided they were on to something :]

Caleb likes making faces and seeing his reflection in uncle Darren’s glasses…and well, just terrorizing uncle Darren in general :]

I really love this guy…and all the faces he makes for me and my camera 8]

Ethan just gave up on life. I don’t blame him, it really was so ridiculously hot.

Ethan with Maya (mom, his mom I mean, not my mom…never mind)

You know how the sun hates me? This is what it did to me today:

I give up.

Have a nice weekend, kids :]

Writing with Sincerity

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The world of writing is saturated. Words and opinions fall like so many drops of rain until the streets are flooded and the words have nowhere else to go.

Everyone wants to be heard and understood. Everyone wants to have value. So we write to be heard, to be valued and understood. But there is so much to take in, so many voices clambering one over the other. How am I going to be heard over the masses? What sets me apart from them? What makes my words worth hearing over the words of someone else?

I speak and no one listens. The silence makes me panic. So I plot and connive. I think of ways to be heard. I read the Freshly Pressed posts and develop an algorithm called “How to Get Freshly Pressed in 90 Seconds or Less.” I read all the articles about boosting traffic and growing readership.

And I cheat myself out of the truth.

I write shallow words to get a reaction and a boost in statistics. Sometimes the games work. Sometimes I feel good about myself because I get people to look at me and the numbers tell me I had a good day. But then, a month later, six months later, I read the words I wrote and their shallow trickery echoes off the walls. And I know I cheated. I cheated you and I cheated myself into believing cheap easy words were good enough so long as I got a reaction, so long as the numbers told me I had a good day.

When I’m honest with myself, I know the words I’ve written with the most sincerity are often the words with the least reaction from readers. It sucks to speak from the heart and not be heard. But when I read back over the words written from my heart, the words that printed my soul onto paper, those are the words that really matter. Those are the words that show me who I was, am, and am becoming. Those are the words that, even if ignored by others, will last and matter when the stats are forgotten and the euphoria of being noticed has faded away.

Why do I write? To be heard? Yes. But I realize now, finally, that I write not only to be heard by you, dear reader, but to be heard by myself. I write to hear myself speak out the breathings of my heart. I write to understand what doesn’t make sense until I can read it back in words articulate. I write to remember. To remember what I was thinking and feeling in a different time and place. I write to see who I was and better understand who I am becoming. I write because I can’t stop the words, however ignored or misunderstood they may be—I must put the words down in ink to know and remember. I write not just for you, but for me too. If we are to know and remember then cheap words won’t do.

Donald Miller said:

“The writing life really is like farming. If you keep planting and harvesting the soil without letting it rest, the crops suffer. In an age where everybody is competing for attention, a sense of panic can set in and we end up producing material that feels rushed and forced and written from a place of desperation rather than creative inspiration. But quality will win in the long run. And to create quality, you have to let the soil recover.”

I won’t cheat you or myself with cheap words written out of “desperation rather than creative inspiration.”

This is no game.

These are the breathings of my heart.

“I love you, and because I love you, I would sooner have you hate me for telling you the truth than adore me for telling you lies.” Pietro Aretino