bird by bird

Inspired by my friend Barry (read: Barack Obama), I, too, have compiled a list of my favorite songs in 2018. Less jazz, more Ariana Grande (plus my own commentary, because I have things to say!) Every Time I Hear That Song by Brandi Carlile This song was also on Obama's list, and it should be on everyone's list, as far as I'm concerned. In 4 minutes and 2 seconds, this song so perfectly captures the complexities of heartbreak and forgiveness and that even as time passes, a simple melody can bring it all rushing back. That's what this song does to me. Fallingwater by Maggie Rogers I'm going to be honest here--I don't really know what this song is even about. I do know that I can't sit still or silent when I hear it. I become immersed in it. It moves me. Like falling water. Hey--Maybe that's what it's about! Wasting Time by Nathaniel Rateliff & The Night Sweats Though BD only makes [dad] jokes about what "our song" is, I&#

This exhibition at the Museum of Contemporary Art is one of the coolest things I've been to in a looong time. It's a full museum takeover of one artist, Tara Donovan , who uses everyday objects in unique and powerful ways--objects like plastic straws, slinkies, mylar balloons, pins, rubberbands, notecards, and more are put together in such grandiose and carefully constructed ways that they're just as stunning up close as they are far away. Her precision and patience in creating these works still has me reeling. Here are some pictures as a tease, but there's nothing like seeing it in person. 

- Dad's Jam - Friday nights with EH and Nezy - All the things I ate/saw/learned in Asia - My thoughts on the Michelle Obama book (spoiler alert--I LOVE IT) - Chopping down a christmas tree like a Lumberjill - Stuff I love about my Grandpa Don - All my stories living in still half written drafts waiting to be opened up again and finally told.

Ok, yeah yeah, this song is super cheesy and the only video I could find for it was probably made by a child... BUT I just had the best 4 and a half days in New York and this dumb song speaks to me.

There's a man at my office with jet black hair who is a foot shorter than me and at least 2 decades older than me. He works in the finance department, and I don't know how it happened but we became buds. His name is Fred. Fred and I often chat in the office kitchenette or in passing while one of us is filling a coffee cup. There is nothing about Fred or our friendship that is creepy or inappropriate, and that is what makes what I'll refer to as "the printer incident" a harmless anecdote about my day and not something I need to report to HR. One day Fred and I both printed something to the same printer. I said, "Printer party! Who's will come first--yours or mine?" Then we watched as the printer spit out papers. Fred said, "You're below me!" I said, "No, I'm on top!" Fred said, "Maybe I'm in between you!" ... (He was  in between me... I mean his papers!) Then Fred and I each grabbed our papers and

Last week I had my very first surgery! I wish I could say it was a regular surgery like getting my appendix taken out or a bad ass surgery like repairing a torn ACL, but it wasn't boring or interesting--more embarrassing than anything else. I got a nose job. I mean, not really. I didn't get a cosmetic rhinoplasty like the kind that movie stars get and then lie about. I had an open septorhinoplasty with bilateral spreader grafts, bilateral lateral crural extension grafts and caudal septal reset, which basically equals same nose, bigger nostrils, better breathing. Hopefully. I've been home for a week recovering, with some help and companionship from my mom and other CO loves. I've had such lofty goals set for myself this week--almost none of which I accomplished. I had planned to finish 2 books I have started and stalled, write every day, organize my closet, and many more apartment projects. Instead, I took pain killers, drank soup, and mustered up enough ambition to s

“Part of me loves and respects men so desperately, and part of me thinks they are so embarrassingly incompetent at life and in love. You have to teach them the very basics of emotional literacy. You have to teach them how to be there for you, and part of me feels tender toward them and gentle, and part of me is so afraid of them, afraid of any more violation.” -Anne Lamott, Operating Instructions: A Journal of My Son's First Year

I saw this band perform on Sunday night at the Chautauqua Auditorium and I felt both full and empty for the whole 4 minutes and 18 seconds they played this song. I breathed slowly and blinked quickly through my favorite line, "But a life without you could never steal me now." I think of all the times I've thought that, and I wonder how many more times I will.

Alt Title: "I'm Pushing Past My Post Birthday Writer's Block" I listened to Hillary Clinton narrate her audio book, "What Happened," and I felt both sorrow and strength in her words. While standing at a sink of dirty dishes with purple rubber gloves scrubbing coffee cups, I ugly cried when she detailed her crippling disappointment about how things turned out. I'm now buying this book for every girlfriend who's ever been dumped. We all want to understand what happened. Hearing Hillary was healing. I traveled to Mexico City with my best travel girl, CH for an impromptu long weekend that had been previously postponed by the 7.1 magnitude earthquake in September. I never knew that I'd be so happy to be in a place that I had previously no interest in visiting. I just had no idea! I'm so glad CH brought me there and fed me tacos and made me "jaja" for four days straight. Sometime we should go somewhere other than Mexico, but on the ot

 Alt Title: "I'm having Birthday Post Writer's Block"

Last night while walking back from King Soopers with two canvas totes full of groceries (containing both a watermelon and a jar of pickles-poor planning on my part), this song came through my headphones. Though I've heard it possibly thousands of times in the past 11 years that I've been a Brandi Carlile fan, I realized that the meaning of the song has changed. And so have I.  The lyrics, "All of these lines across my face / Tell you the story of who I am" were a little lost on the 21-year-old version of me, but hearing them yesterday revealed what I had missed before. I guess aging will do that to you. Now I hear the song as a tribute to the way that life effects us, both our skin and what's beneath it. So today on the eve of my 32nd birthday, I'm going to try to see my imperfections, the visible signs of wear and tear on my face, as parts of my story. My laugh lines are commas, my crows feet question marks, my gray hairs the ellipses.  All of

31 years ago this month, my dad left for work, leaving behind this note on the kitchen counter. 10 years ago this month, my dad left for work and never came home again.  It's been a full decade now, and I've missed him and those "quiet evenings respite of angling" so much. He was right though, about that night and our time together: a good time was had by all.  Idk why we had a Lopressor note pad lying around though.. 

It's July now, but here are some things that happened in June.. On June 1st, I simultaneously babysat, dogsat, and did my actual job from home, proving that I can "do it all" (you know, for like 8 hours). Then I packed up a picnic dinner with CM and went to Red Rocks to see Murder by Death, The Wood Brothers, and The Devil Makes Three.  I ran into CH and TR in the parking lot, and our groups merged, collectively grooving together to the tunes all night. By 10:30, though, I could barely keep my eyes open and that's when I realized that "doing it all" is possible, but damn it's exhausting. I needed a full day to recover. EH, Nezy, and I had a picnic in Cheeseman park, and PD and her bf joined us as the sun went down. I offered to give everyone a ride home, and EH asked to borrow PD's boyfriend's longboard to ride on the sidewalk out of the park. EH was wearing a full length white floral summer dress, and as she boarded down the hill, her long b

Tonight I'm eating Red Vines on my couch reading Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie's "Feminist Manifesto in Fifteen Suggestions." I look outside and the sky is cobalt blue for only a moment, before my eyes adjust to the darkness. I remember that today is the first day of summer, the longest day of the year. I miss Brooklyn tonight, and Blue Dog Lake, and many people I love. I chew on another piece of licorice, turn to another page in my book, and feel equal parts nostalgic for the past and grateful for the present.

"I'm sick of mainstream white guys who have money." --CH, on who's she's voting for for Colorado Attorney General "Good isn't always right." --LS, talking about boyfriends as people and boyfriends as boyfriends "You don't know who Val Kilmer is?!" --My boss, after telling me that he was at Comic Con last weekend "I just like sitting and visiting." --My uncle Adam, on his boat eating sunflower seeds on Father's Day "So I guess I have a half-sister!" --GG, after getting an unexpected call from her mom last week "I'm so sorry I scared you." --A glittery gay unicorn, to EH's pup Nezy after the Pride parade

To clarify, this isn't really an ode. I tried writing one but poetry is HARD. So instead here is a paragraph about my teeny closet that I love. The closet in my bedroom is the only closet in my 450 square foot apartment, and as the only storage space available, it has a lot on it's shoulders...err shelves. My bedroom is proportionally as small so my queen size bed leaves zero room for a closet door. Instead, the door is hidden under my bed and a cloth shower curtain serves as a separator between my room and all that lives inside. Which is: a vaccume a mop a yoga mat a snow shovel all my linens all my winter clothes an ice scraper a dust broom 6 pairs of boots my luggage and oh yeah, all. my. clothes. I'd like to thank New York City for teaching me how to make the most of a small space and to get rid of what doesn't fit. I'd also like to thank command hooks, skinny hangers, and my height for allowing me to reach to the very top shelf without a step la

In the almost 10 years that have passed since I lost my dad, I've missed him in big moments like graduations and cross-country moves. Even more so, though, I've missed him in the small moments, like those that fall within the length of a song. Sharing music with my dad was one of the most defining aspects of our relationship and on the last Father's Day that I spent with him, I gave him a burned CD with new music I thought he'd love. Together we listened to the whole thing 2 times through. Now, almost a decade after we lost him, in moments of melody and melancholy when I hear a song I know he'd love, I file it away hoping to get to share it will him again some how. Here are some songs for my father: S.O.B.--Nathaniel Rateliff and the Night Sweats Wasting Time--Nathaniel Rateliff and the Night Sweats Find Yourself--Lukas Nelson If We Were Vampires--Jason Isbell You're Gonna Live Forever In Me--John Mayer Most of All--Brandi Carlile The Eye--Brandi Carli

I saw Maggie Rogers perform this song a couple weeks ago at Red Rocks , and I cannot. stop. listening. to it. This song is incredible. This performer is incredible. These dance moves are incredible. EH and I have already agreed to get drunk in bathrobes and learn the choreography.

Last month... I met a friend for a walk around Wash Park. We talked work and relationships and work some more, and then we sat on a park bench where the most amazing thing happened. We encountered a parade of wiener dogs. Technically it wasn't a parade; it was a meet-up of dachshund enthusiasts who go on a group walk through Wash Park every few months, and we were lucky enough to be sitting alongside their route. The leader of the pack was a particularly striking 3-legged doxie with a nose in the air like she just don't care. Following her were wiener dogs of varying shapes and sizes, but you know, pretty similar shapes and sizes. The whole thing was freaking delightful, and I squealed obnoxiously and unapologetically for 10 minutes straight. Weiner dogs for the win. EH hosted her first cocktail hour(s) at her new uptown loft. I brought chips, salsa, and a house-warming succulent and the other girls brought the FUN(gi). We popped champagne and drank out of 4 unmatched glass

This amazing Sears home built in the 1878 belonged to a saint of a woman named Dorothy Gilmore Roman . (Of course she was a Gilmore!) She was smart, generous, adventurous, an active Democrat (yas kween!) and she lived to be 101 years old. Her home is now open to visitors of Buena Vista, Colorado to stay--like me and B this past weekend--and her style and legacy and story live on.  "What is the purpose, the meaning of living? One must use the difficulties, disappointments, and hardships that come our way as material, which the mind can force to become somehow good. The desire to look back over the past is a sign of age and weakness. We need to look forward and develop into what we are capable of becoming. We may be sure there is deliverance from every unfavorable condition in our lives when we have fitted ourselves to accept it. Believe in yourself, believe in humanity, believe in the success of your undertakings. Fear nothing and no one. Keep in touch with today. T

From this Modern Love essay, "The 12-Hour Goodbye That Started Everything" "Shortly after starting my new role, I went back to my therapist and told her: “It’s been a year since we broke up. I thought my dream job and exercise would heal me, but I still think about him every day. What more can I do to let go?”   First, she told me a story about a man she loved in her early 20s, nearly 50 years ago, whom she still thinks about to this day. Then she said: “You’re asking the wrong question. It’s not about getting over and letting go.” I looked down at my hands and considered how this could possibly be about anything else.   “It’s about honoring what happened,” she said. “You met a person who awoke something in you. A fire ignited. The work is to be grateful. Grateful every day that someone crossed your path and left a mark on you.”'

Today I was dropping off some packages at a UPS store and an older man with a straggly beard and slight limp walked in and said, "I need to ship this here trombone to this here address." That was my first smile of the day.

Engaged couples have professional photos taken. Newborns have professional photos taken. Families have professional photos taken. Why can't a rock solid girl gang have professional photos taken too?!  That's what I thought.  Thanks CH for being alive, turning 30, and preserving this moment in time with 9 women who love you so much.  (Photos by the talented and patient  Michael Tucker )

Lately I've been having the kind of days when your shoulders feel heavy and tasks like not being able to open a jar of salsa make you want to burst into dramatic Disney-princess tears. For no particular reason, lately I kinda can't get a grip. But one day last week as I was driving home from work feeling tense and unreasonably melancholy, I got stuck behind a slow Fed Ex truck on Monaco Parkway, and I thought, "Of course this would happen to me!" And then the truck started to slow down for no reason, and I threw my hands in the air with frustration like a real diva. Then I watched as the truck driver extended his arm out of his window and offered a homeless person on the side of the road the rest of his Popeye's chicken. The homeless person accepted the food, smiled, and the driver sped up with the rest of traffic. The whole transaction lasted 10 seconds at most, and a week later I can't stop thinking about it. It's not because it was such a profound act

I've been re-reading old drafts of blog posts and journal entries, and I've both cackled in laughter and wept bitter tears at stories that I had written but didn't deem worthy of sharing. I'm going to try to be better at that, starting with this little guy I wrote 1 month before leaving New York City. "Half of me is so excited about and hopeful for my new life in CO. I daydream about a new apartment containing shelves filled with every book I own, at least 8 thriving houseplants, and an over-sized arm chair in a sun-kissed corner. I imagine myself driving in my jeep--music blaring--finally able to sing out loud. I think about having a career again--not just a job, but a place where I can do the work I think I was meant to do. I long for a job title without the word "assistant" in it. I fantasize about having a bank account that contains a bigger positive number than a negative one, and because of that, the ability to travel and give and host. I dream ab

"And don't worry about losing. If it is right, it happens -- The main thing is not to hurry. Nothing good gets away." -John Steinbeck to his son Thom, on being in love