'Twas the Night Before Christmas

So quickly the season comes and goes, and I can't help but feel that I was standing on the sidelines for much of this one.  Christmas is still tomorrow, I know, but I have this strange detachment since I'm not at home wrapped up in the coziness and familiarity of my family.  I have my Washington family here, no doubt, but it's just never the same.  My sweet groom, however, has made Christmas so special for me; he never fails to cheer me up.  Last night he surprised me with tickets to the Pacific Northwest Ballet's Nutcracker.  We got all dressed up and drove into Seattle for the most wonderful performance ever.  That was my Christmas.  I was on the edge of my seat the entire time, wishing every moment that I was a ballerina.  The dancers floated on air, and the symphony moved me to tears.  In attendance there were many beautiful little girls dressed in their Christmas best, holding their mother's hands and tip-toeing like the ballerinas.   Little boys in suits and ties were equally adorable, and I imagined one day holding my own children's hands on our way to that magical show.  It was truly the perfect Christmas gift, and as we walked through the snow among white-twinkling trees through downtown Seattle, I couldn't help but feel that this was one of those sweet moments that Brandon and I will cherish when we think of our first Christmas together as husband and wife.  

Frolicking with Frosty

Snow Day!!!!

Brandon got home early from work and we got to go play!  It's a winter wonderland *sigh*

Christmas in Washington

T minus Eight Days

Woah....who decided Christmas is just a mere eight days away?  Look Jesus, I love 'ya, but can't we wait until April to celebrate your big day?  I mean folks really....how are we supposed to get it all done before next Thursday?  And here's a better question:  since when have we been required to not only deck the halls and bake figgy pudding but also send out Christmas cards, buy or make Christmas presents and wrap them, see at least two Christmas concerts, attend at least three Christmas parties, run around like animals last minute at the mall, go caroling to ungrateful neighbors, visit family and friends and eat like pigs, cook like it's nobody's business for days on end, and spread holiday cheer in the form of fudge?  Why is Christmas about what we're supposed to accomplish instead of how we're supposed to feel?  And let's face it ladies....the men are NOT stressing the way we are.  So this year I am kicking my feet up and forgetting Christmas presents, avoiding fudge at all costs, and leaving up the decorations that took forever to make until mid-March.  And don't expect your Christmas card until summer.  

A Real Christmas Letter

You know how everyone always sends out those cheese-tastic Christmas letters tucked neatly away into their glittery cards?  Usually I love them...I mean, come on, who doesn't want to know the cute little story of how the Smith children out-performed all the other elementary school kids on their aptitude tests and have made the honor roll for the billionth time in a row? And who doesn't want to know about all the fabulous vacations, new cars, and promotions the Joneses enjoyed this past year?  Indeed, Christmas just wouldn't be the same if it weren't for those letters reminding us all of how insignificant our lives are compared to others.  I decided to write my own Christmas letter to pack into our cards this year, and this is a little preview of how it goes:

"Merry Christmas one and all.  This year has been pretty wonderful, and of course we wanted to share with you all the fabulous events that we've enjoyed in the past months.  Like, for example, the fact that Brandon graduated from Med school and started his residency out in the lovely Washington state with his new bride, me.  Also, we wouldn't want you to forget that we enjoyed the most beautiful wedding in May, and now are nestled in newlywed bliss.  And of course you should know that Rachel is busying working on her Master's degree in marriage and family therapy.  However, instead of going into detail about all this we thought we'd spare you the 'same old same old' and let you in on some things that you may not know.  They are as follows:

1.  Brandon is a bed hog.

2. Rachel practices therapy she learns in school on Brandon, who somehow always sees through her ruse.

3. Brandon has taken up knitting in his spare time to ease the residency stress. Unfortunately, he is better at it than Rachel and she somewhat resents him for this.

4. Rachel has a liking for vintage clothing she'll never wear, and thus is not allowed to travel to parts of the Olympia antique district without Brandon as a chaperone.

5. Brandon is the envy of all the other interns because of the killer lunches his wife packs him, which is interesting because he protests getting the same thing every day.

6. Rachel has learned the ancient art of bread-making by hand and uses this talent to bribe her husband.

7. Brandon has learned that cuddling is less expensive than turning on the heater at night.

8. Brandon has also learned that turning on the heater at night means his wife might actually shave her legs. 

9. In her spare time Rachel has taken up sewing, quilting, digital scrap-booking, knitting, crocheting, and needlepoint - and has yet to finish one project.

10. Rachel and Brandon enjoy 'thrifty date night' in which they go to Barnes and Nobles and read for four hours, then leave the store without purchasing the book.  This date night continues until their respective books are completely read.

11. Brandon makes a mean french toast on the weekends, but it takes Rachel getting mean for him to actually make it.

12. Rachel loves Brandon's uniform.

13.  Brandon does NOT love Rachel's pink felt vintage dress.

14. 440 square feet is the perfect amount of apartment space for newlyweds, assuming you own nothing.

Well there you have it, that's our Christmas letter.  We hope this year finds you all swimming in wealth and material goods...oh yeah, and peace and joy and all that too!"

*For the record, I actually do like the letters and I hope I have not intimidated you into not sending me one.  I have only received one so far this year, and unfortunately it was one of those that made me gag in my mouth.  Hence why I wrote this post.  So for the rest of you, happy Christmas letter writing!

Jingle Them Bells

With the Christmas season in full swing, I have channeled my inner Martha Stewart and have been in a crafting hyperdrive.  I'm not making gifts, mind you...simply decking the halls with as much holiday cheer as I can muster.  I'll post pics as soon as everything is completed.  Meantime, my groom is off training to save lives in combat and I am training to save stitches in knitting what with all the unfinished scarves we have in our "to-do" basket.  What I should be doing is getting ahead on school work...but somehow the desire to do so evades me.  Instead I am busy sniffing Christmas tree needles and cinnamon pine cones as I awkwardly attempt to fashion them into a wreath.  (For the record, the wreath idea was quickly abandoned in favor of a swag, which also failed to actually resemble that which I was going for.) On that note, I think it is safe to say that there is nothing that smells more lovely than fresh Christmas trees.  Like my mother, I have inherited the deep appreciation of sticking tree clippings all over my house so the smell never goes away, and hence have greenery in all sorts of hard-to-reach places.  I can't wait until Brandon sees it all!  

The Dark Days of Winter

The days have become shorter, and darkness consumes much of my waking hours.  When there is light, it is a dull gray and seems to turn the air into a raw chill.  This is, unfortunately, effecting me.  I have admittedly not been as productive as I'd like, and much of my time is spent eating or staying under the warmth of my blankets in bed.  I've decided that I need brighter lights inside the apartment, and need to schedule in more gym time.  The trouble is sticking to my schedule, however.  I've had a bad tendency to cancel appointments, outings, and activities as of late and have favored the solitude of my home.  Problem is, I've been too cold to do anything at home, either.  My groom has finally relented and turned on the heat, so I am hoping that will turns things around a bit.  

It's interesting, I never thought that such a trivial thing as light could effect me so.  I have taken for granted the years in Florida with the sun constantly shining, and while this weather is certainly more romantic, I need to continue adjusting.  I know I will, I'm of hardy Norwegian stock anyway, right?  This should all be in my blood, so I'm just waiting for that side of me to emerge and take on this foreign season.  

One Angry Voter

I'm pissed.  Yeah that's right, I said it.  Brandon and I wrote to our congressman who voted "yes" for the $700 billion Bailout, just to let him know we think he's a weenie.  Well, perhaps not in those exact words, but you get the point.  So, I am encouraging everyone I know (and so should you!) to look up their congressmen/women that voted yes and write them angry letters too.  Over 60% of Americans were against the bill, and despite that Congress still passed it.  And the market still isn't improving, and people are still foreclosing, and you know what?  Maybe that's what needs to happen so this country can humble itself a little and learn that having everything you want requires hard work.  We are among generations of people who believe that they are entitled to whatever they want because they've been spoiled their whole lives.  It doesn't work that way, and the idea that Big Brother can come in and magically clean up everyone's slop with my money really gets me going.   Anyhow, here is a website so you can check to see how your congressman/woman voted.  Let those who represent us in Congress know that we will not stand for such ridiculous misrepresentation!

The Bailout Bill: Who Voted For and Against It - The Home Front (usnews.com)

Trees outside Madigan

 This is why I love going on Post!  There are so many beautiful trees changing color, and breathing in the sweet smell of those leaves makes me realize how much I love this gorgeous place.  It breaks my heart that I can't tangibly share this; I would do anything to show my family around all the beautiful sights Washington has to offer.  Oh well...someday I hope.

Fall

   My favorite time of year has arrived.  The trees are blushing their vibrant yellows and reds, the air is thick with the smell of pine, and pumpkins are appearing at every doorstep.  I have a legitimate excuse to wear boots and scarfs, and I find myself craving apple cider more and more each day.  Cinnamon is becoming a staple in my kitchen, and I can't help but seek out a good book to curl up and read as a soft breeze comes through the window.  

   I am desperately trying to convince my friend to throw a costume party for Halloween (I will have the grandest costume balls some day - I was born for it), and I am itching to buy every overpriced garment I see in the Halloween isles.  I'm dying to add just a few wigs to my collection, but I will wait for the after-holiday sales for those.  Why do I want these?  Heaven knows.  I tell myself that I am amassing play clothes for my daughters-to-be.  If they are anything like me (and what will I do if they are not?!) they will wear at least thirteen different outfits a day and make strange headdresses out of random clothing.  It's what I do.  My sweet groom, good thing he loves me despite the fact that he married a nut!

My Husband the Hero

I just need to say that I felt like a million bucks today, and all because my husband stepped up and defended me!  Let me tell you what went down:  

I went to the post office because my friend who just lost her father needed me to overnight an outfit for her to wear to the funeral.  Of course I didn't hesitate to do it, and at the post office I was looking for the proper size box to ship it in.  As I was checking them out, this tall Asian postal worker brushed past me and didn't even excuse himself.  Whatever, I got over it.  So then I asked him if they had any thinner boxes, and he laughed at me in the most condescending manner and said he didn't know what I was talking about.  I then explained that by thinner I meant less wide or a little smaller, and he walked me over to a different section.  I got my box and started filling out addresses, and when I was ready to pay for it of course I got this same guy now behind the counter.  I explained that I needed the box shipped overnight to be received by Friday morning, if possible.  He said that the soonest they could guarantee it was by 3pm on Friday.  I hesitated for a moment because I wasn't sure if that would be good enough. As I hesitated, a man in uniform in the back room yelled to my guy, "Is that the last of the express deliveries for today?" to which my guy replied, "Yes, that is all".  I was floored!  I asked him to wait a minute and let him put my package in so it would make it in time.  He turned around to look at the uniformed guy, then looked me square in the face and said "Sorry, too late now".  Now I had had it.  The anger inside me was at a boiling point now, because not only had he been totally rude in his manner of dealing with me from the get-go, but he had the audacity to blatantly screw me over like that.  Needless to say, I took my package and marched out.  When I got home I relayed what had happened to my exhausted husband who had just gotten home from a long day at work.  When I was finished he told me to put back on my shoes because we were going to talk to the postmaster.  We walked in to the post office, my handsome husband still in his uniform and looking mighty formidable.  We asked to speak to the postmaster directly, at which point my hero expounded upon how poorly his wife had been treated and that he would not stand for it.  We only got an apology and a promise to "provide better service next time", but I got a whole lot more than that out of it than just that.  I got to see my soldier wage war on my behalf, and I got to see just how lucky I am to have someone who loves me that much.  

My best friend's father suffered a massive heart attack last night and died.  He was too young and too healthy to have expected it, if such a thing can ever be expected.  It is in these instances that we are faced with our own mortality and must ask ourselves if we are truly living life as we should.  All too often petty squabbles, depression, selfishness, pride and other such barriers jump in front of us and keep us from moving forward.  What's worse is that all too often we don't even realize it.  Or worse, we are not willing to confront it and overcome it.  So I challenge both myself and anyone who reads this to keep in mind the following as you go about your days:

*Savor each moment and don't sweat the small stuff.

*Pray and establish or strengthen your connection with your maker.  We cannot get through this life alone.

*If you love someone, tell them.

*Learn to forgive and do it often.

*Don't hold grudges.

*If you've got an issue with someone, talk to them and find a way to fix it.

*Make time for yourself, and make time for your family.  You are in control of your own schedule, and if you are not then it is time to be. 

*Indulge in something uplifting everyday, whether it is reading a good book, enjoying beautiful music, or just picking up the phone to call someone you love. 

*Engage in small acts of service.  Sometimes a smile or a friendly word is all it takes, and sometimes it is more. Either way, it is hard to wallow in ourselves when we are serving others. 

*Evaluate where you are in your life spiritually, emotionally, physically, and mentally.  If you are not where you want to be on any of these things, then take the steps to get there.  

Maybe it is because of the field I am going into (therapy), but I am a firm believer that we are in control of our own happiness.  You have to decide if you will be happy, and you have to work to sustain it.  It isn't easy and a lot of times life just isn't fair. But this much I know: it is worth the battle, and if you are not fighting then you are not trying hard enough.  You never know what day may be your last, so make it count my friends, make it count.  

My old Harem days

My theory is, if you can't find an excuse to dress up in a costume, find one!  It isn't quite Halloween yet, but for my birthday my friends knew that anything involving a head-piece would win me over, and thus our Moroccan-themed party commenced!

Birthday Fun

For my b-day my sweet hubby took me to the State Fair, where I got to practice my cow-whispering.  This is me talking sweet to ole' Bessy right before she told me I looked like a jack a$$.  

 

At this point Bessy and I were no longer on speaking terms, and I am pretty sure that she had the hots for Brandon.  

My friend Dean threw me a Moroccan-themed birthday 

dinner, and went all out to make it fabulous.  This was only the first course!

 

The food was amazing and the company great.  I ate more couscous than any human should ever be allowed, and consequently was quite grateful for the loose-draping costume!  

In amendment to my pregnancy quip

I must confess, I feel very flattered that so many of you care for my womb's well-being.  After receiving numerous "Don't do it!"'s  from women whom I highly admire, I am here to assure you that my Nuva Ring is tightly in place.  Not that it was going anywhere in the first place, mind you. At this point I view motherhood just as I do any other fleeting excitement, like learning to knit.  I may be smitten with the idea of sitting in a rocker with skeins of homespun yarn rolling around my feet, and I may even enjoy knitting away every so often in the twilight hours.  But I am definitely not ready to devote the time necessary to make socks...and I certainly don't have the skill for it yet!  That doesn't mean I don't want to make socks, and let it be known that I really respective you fabulous sock-knitters of the world!  For now, I am happy to admire the handiwork of others and save my knitting needles for another day.  As for my womb...well...she's busy in other adventures.  

The inevitable has happened

You'll hear it from me first: I think I want a job.  Don't get me wrong, crafting and cooking and taking grad classes are all great....but I am getting ansy.  I even find myself thinking that it may be nice to get pregnant or worse - get a dog.  This cannot happen!  Thus, I have begun the ever-depressing search of finding a job for which I am qualified.  Turns out I am qualified for nothing.  Seriously, getting a decent job with a Bachelor's in psychology is just as impossible as if I were a high school grad!  I can't even substitute teach here because you have to be certified.  Certified means going to school for another year-and-a-half...and thank you I am already on that but plan on getting paid better afterward.  Patience is not a virtue I possess, unfortunately, so I don't know what I will do.  With that being said, I should get back to knitting my scarf. 

Oh btw, I think I am going to join a spinning and weaving guild.  How cool is that?  

I think I'll call him Elroy

Here is my new favorite little guy, just made him today! 

 He started out like this:

And ended up like this!

Now I'm just on a roll...

I've come to a very important realization: I'm a self-indulged narcissist.  Why am I a self-indulged narcissist? Well obviously, because I don't have kids.  Every other blog I've seen is super-cute with dozens of pictures of  babies with little stories about how they did this or that and went to the fair and pet baby lambs and la-dee-da.  I, on the other hand, just write about me (and occasionally my groom).  Don't get me wrong; I am perfectly content being a self-indulged narcissist at the moment.  I just thought I'd let you know that I was aware.  

*By the way Mom: when I called to tell you about the posts I was so surprised to hear you nonchalantly say "la-dee-da" because I had literally just written that in this post.  Telepathic connection?  I should say so!    

Oh boy!

Now that I've finally realized how to put pictures on here the correct way, I thought I'd post some of my favorite scrapbook pages I've done so far.  Be gentle, I am an amateur.  Lots more coming!

I can't wait to make babies with this man! 

Behold my work and my glory

I may be converting to polytheism, because Rose Levy Baranbaum (author of The Bread Bible which I faithfully follow) may very well be a Goddess.  Seriously, if I can pull off baking bread this gorgeous and melt-in-your-mouth, there must have been some divine intervention.  Get the book and find your nirvana.  

So it's been a while...

I know, I know, I've been terribly negligent in posting.  What can I say?  I like to sleep in and mornings are the only time I get to write.  At this moment, however, I am in the middle of baking bread and thus am forced to remain awake to ensure a successful outcome.  I've been at this bread since 4 o'clock this morning, with hopes to get it out of the oven by 10:30 so when my groom gets in from being on-call all night, he can have his favorite food.  Gag all you want, but wait 'til you try my bread!  

Life has been quite nice, with the exception of the lawnmower man's nocturnal video game habits which has left me swearing strings of obscenities at about 3 in the morning because we can't sleep.  I've been honing my domestic talents (i.e. enthusiastically attacking every handicraft that women in the 1890s might have been forced to learn) and knitting and crocheting up a storm.  My latest fascination is sewing toys, like these two:

and with 4 dolls down I plan on taking on some other fun projects.  Admittedly, the scarf and blanket I am attempting needlework on looks like it was done by a paraplegic, but I'm holding onto the delusion that it will magically look perfect once it's done. 

Classes for grad school have started, and I feel very academic at the moment.  I even went out looking for some funky reader glasses with no magnification (my eyesight is, sadly, quite good), but couldn't find any. Instead, I've been planning my wardrobe around my classes.  How does a wanna-be artsy-schmartsy homemaker-cum-therapist look, you ask?  Well let me tell you.  First, I make sure to wash my hair only once a week so the style I choose never looks too contrived (does anyone really trust an academic with whistle-clean hair? I don't think so.)  Next, I find anything vintage (or slightly resembling vintage in my muddled brain) and toss it together with a pair of boots and a scarf.  Lately I'm big into knits, so anything made out of yarn or wool is sure to be on my body somewhere.  Finally, I top off the ensemble with big, chunky earrings and zero lipstick.  

I think the West might be getting to me.  

The Lawnmower Man

There I was, laying in bed trying to catch a few zzz's, when all of a sudden I heard it: the deep, rumbling reverberations of he who haunts the night.  At first I was in denial...this just couldn't be! I'm warm and snug in my bed, within the safe confines of our cozy apartment...how could he be here?  All the nightmares of my youth came crashing back into my mind from obscurity...the sleepless nights, the awful noise, the desperate pleading for it to end!  And yet there he was, and there was no denying him.  That's right, the Lawnmower Man is my neighbor.  

The Lawnmower Man's method of torture is simple:  keep you up all hours of the night with the terrible, lawnmower-like noises produced by his nasal cavity.  And torture it is.  When I was a child he always found his way into my parents' room, but I could somewhat escape by closing doors and hovering under layers of blankets in agonizing terror waiting for him to stop.  My mother, fearless as she is, knew the magic words to fend off the evil fiend. "Turn over!"  She'd grumble into the night air.  I would hear shuffling after that (undoubtably the Lawnmower Man retreating in surprise from her unexpected attack), and then...silence.  

I've learned the tricks the townspeople speak of to keep him away.  Sleeping on your side helps, they say, perhaps because you are not so openly vulnerable as when laying on your back.  I do not know.  Protective sticky strips placed on the nose are also said to ward him off, but that is usually for the more superstitious.  But I am without defense because the Lawnmower Man is one thinly insulated wall behind me, residing in the next unit.  I keep working up the nerve to bang on the wall and yell "Oh Lawnmower Man, behold!  By the power of my mother I say unto you, turn over!"  But alas I cannot.  Instead, I've found some small way to exact revenge on his torture with the aid of my husband.  That's right, the Lawnmower Man isn't the only one to strike at night.  We have the power of the Horny Toad, and let's just say...Lawnmower Man can't beat that.          

Some pictures of Washington

  Mt. Rainier at dusk
A view of the Puget Sound in Seattle
A waterfall at Mt. Rainier National Park
Mt. Rainier up close
Mt Rainier from above 

Green Gardner

Kermit put it perfectly when he simply stated, "It isn't easy being green."  I have rapturously undertaken the quest to "go green", inspired by doomsday prophecies of global warming and gas prices at a lovely $4.34 a gallon.  Isn't it nice living out west.  My husband is equally enthusiastic, so we have started with the basics and are working our way up.  For instance, we changed out all our evil old light bulbs for so-called energy-efficient ones that cost approximately seven times more but are supposed to save the world.  Okay.  We have put in place two trash bins in our miniscule kitchen, one for things we absolutely must allow to be taken to the dump, and the other for anything we can possibly think of that is recyclable.  I imagine those poor souls working at the magical recycling plant sorting through our garbage must hate me every time they pick out yogurt containers with sticky notes on them saying "I thought this could make a cute purse for a doll.  I've included the pipe cleaner to be used as a handle.  You'll find that at the bottom."

Next, we bought reusable grocery bags that we must take with us everywhere in order to pile our goods in them instead of plastic bags.  Problem is, we keep forgetting them.  We must've been to a hundred stores this last week trying to set up house, and every time we end up walking out with things toppling out of our hands because we feel guilty using plastic bags but can't remember the darn reusable ones!  Navigating through automatic doors with a heap of "earth-friendly" laundry detergent, recycled paper plates, and renewable-bamboo spatulas all precariously placed can be really quite difficult! 

 We've also made it a personal mission to frequent mom and pop restaurants and stores in order to combat corporate globalization, but these stores are apparently all out of business.  Thus we trudge into Walmart, and I can't help but get giddy about saving 32 cents on a gallon of milk.  

Our next order of business is to start relying more on public transportation instead of filling up our cars every two days, but we'll see how that goes.  I admit that in my vanity, I can't help but feel sexy driving my husband's gas-guzzling Celica. Windows down, blonde hair flying, sunglasses donned...it just won't have the same effect on a city bus.  

Maybe I'm not really cut out for this whole "green" trend, but today I was on my hands and knees scrubbing my bathroom with vinegar and baking soda instead of harsh chemicals that would probably do a better job.  And yet, as I felt the faint signs of carpal tunnel coming on as I scoured away, I couldn't help but feel I was doing my part...and I was pretty darn proud.  

Getting Settled

The scent of pine floating on the air, Mount Rainier standing proudly in the background, friendly drivers who let you change lanes, recycling bins placed in every convenient location...what more could I possibly ask for?  Well, a sweater would be nice.  Despite the gorgeous scenery and lovely people, I find myself all too cold in the middle of June.  Who ever heard of 48 degree summer nights?  Not that I'm completely complaining, mind you.  It sure beats a temperature of 98 with humidity at 100 percent.  That is what my body prepares for as the calendar pages turn toward summer.  But this....no, I was not prepared for this.  

Yesterday my sweet husband and I walked to church (how quaint) and were at a speed of approximately seven miles per hour to generate as much body heat as possible as we went.  That is not easy to do in high heels, but the alternative was to freeze to death in this icy tundra of 64 degrees.  Yes, I am a foreigner here.  The locals show up without even panty hose on to protect their newly shaven legs, while I grimace in pain as my goose bumps undo all my hard work that morning in the shower.  These people are all celebrating summer by wearing short sleeves and open-toed shoes, while I walk around with two pairs of pants on and my husband's army socks that are so thick I have to wear shoes three sizes bigger in order to squeeze my feet in.  What is wrong here?!

I imagine that as time passes I will get used to this new climate.  It is wonderful to feel the cool air on my cheeks and breathe in the freshness of this world around me.  I feel rejuvenated, revitalized, and refreshed, if not slightly chilled.  But the chill, like the heart-pangs for home, will undoubtedly lessen until I, too, am a real Washingtonian.  

Letting Go

Here I am, starting this new great journey into the unknown and leaving behind all that's familiar and most dear.  I have grown up in Florida.  I've spent twenty-three sticky hot summers under the relentless sun and just as many winters hoping for a cool breeze and an excuse to wear my tall boots.  I've taken for granted the beauty of an old oak and it's mangled moss swaying lazily on its branches.  I've forgotten that not everywhere can you spy the leathery neck of an alligator gliding seamlessly through the water, or lizards clinging to window screens, or an open pasture with a lone palm tree jutting up and hungrily reaching towards the sky.  I cannot imagine hearing the rain and not the resounding rumblings of a thunderclap, or seeing dark clouds looming in the distance and no sudden flashes of light dancing in the sky.  I will miss the sunshine that ever reddened my face.  I will miss the intensity of the blue every time I look up, no matter the season.  I will miss the sweet smell of orange blossoms wafting through the air, and the rolling groves of trees dotted with citrus baubles.  I'll miss the way thick St. Augustine grass crunches under my toes, and even the tickle of love-bugs exploring my hand.   

  All my life I looked for an excuse to leave this place, and now that excuse has found me.  I am thrilled, terrified, and so happy all at once, but I cannot help but feel a pang of grief at saying goodbye to this place I thought I didn't love.  Now I know better.  No matter where life takes me, this sandy-soiled land is in my blood.  I am barefoot with the taste of tangerine upon my lips.  I am a Florida girl.