How to Screw Up Valentines Day

I've noticed Valentines Day looms as a harbinger of anxiety and disappointment.

Expectations run high and the stakes higher. With that comes a list of ways to mess up:
-you forgot to order flowers
-you receive flowers, but your fake excitement wouldn't even land you a part on day time TV
-you made your own card using crayons
-you bought chocolates when your sweetie gave up sugar months ago
-you failed to make dinner reservations and now the only table available is at Taco Bell
-you go out for a fancy dinner but wish you were in you pjs watching Netflix with a bowl of popcorn
-you thought a new dish rag says "I love you, " but they wanted jewelry
-you got jewelry and feel an overwhelming impulse to run out the front door

My sweetie carries Valentines anxiety, but lucky for him flowers or a dinner date on February 14 totally freak me out. The idea of doing what's conventional generally makes me squirm. When my emotions or behaviors feel scripted, I panic.

Yesterday, Dev and I raced full wheel barrows of manure through the mucky snow to the compost heap. We shopped for seeds and planted the greenhouse. We spent an hour digging in the half-frozen mud, liberating a rabbit hutch gifted from a neighbor. We walked the property talking ideas, plans, and projects. Over dinner, we looked at a poultry catalogue, munching on greens we grew topped with goat cheese and carrots from our friends.

Yesterday, without making any plans to do anything, we celebrated the life we share and the joy of being a team. I can't think of anything more romantic.

Mercury in Retrograde? Planetary Retribution on my Inner Skeptic

I'm not necessarily a believer, but this morning basically shoved my face into a big, fat astrological pie.

Yesterday in yoga, as we were rolling up mats and straps, my teacher Amy said, "Make sure you confirm appointments ahead of time. Mercury is in retrograde." Basically, this means that the planet Mercury is moving away from the earth, and as such causes all sorts of delays and misunderstandings.

I planned to meet my running buddy Kerry at 8 this morning. Yesterday, the girls left the back hatch of my car open, so my battery was dead. Dev willingly helped me jump my car then locked his keys inside his. Oh brother!

I zoomed down our hilly single-lane dirt road. I hate being late. Snow banked up three feet high on either side of the road like a luge. 15 feet from where the road opens up to two lanes sat a Buick completely blocking the road. With all the snow I didn't dare risk off-roading it. The owner of the car was nowhere to be found.

There are six houses on our hill, and no one up here owns a Buick. Lighting bolts might as well shot from my eyes as I ran up the hill trying to locate this unknown person. I interrupted one neighbor in her milking parlor to share a string of profane adjectives I'd come up with to describe someone who leaves their car in the middle of an icy road.

20 minutes later the stranger returned to his car. I admit it wasn't my friendliest moment.

Among certain circles in Paonia, astrology is a second language. This rubbed me wrong when I first got here because people would casually drop remarks like, "You are such a Virgo!" I thought this was a thinly veiled way of saying "You're being critical and picky," but over time, I found that people who belonged to the astrology camp were talking about a complex system similar to acupuncture and I softened.

It's nice to have an explanation or an excuse every now and then, like PMSing, or taxes, or not getting your morning cuppa joe. And even though I'm using my morning as evidence to confirm that Mercury is indeed in retrograde, it sure is nice to let myself off the hook for getting swept away by a series of trivial events.

Surviving the West--For the Weather-Worn, a Lazy Girl's Attempt at Skin and Hair Care

I went back East over the holiday and spent a night looking through old pictures. What struck me most was how long and curly my hair was. Though I've tried for the last few years, living in the West has made it impossible for me to grow my hair long. It's beyond dry here. My hair hangs limp and lifeless and I seem to trash my locks every chance I get. In the winter, my hair freezes into white wisps from weekends of skiing and mountaineering in sub-zero conditions, and come summer, I spend my days under the frying sun and plunge in the dirt-filled ditch to cool off daily. My days sporting lustrous locks are a thing of the past.

I spent Christmas with my cousin, Kate, who's a total knock-out. I noticed that even with seven years on me, her skin is flawless. While I attempt to defend myself from the sun and arid clime, I already have wrinkles and sun spots--too many summers climbing mountains and pulling weeds without remembering or caring about a proper sunhat and a strong dose of SPF 100.

Even though I am resigned to my head of short, limp hair, save a tropical vacation or a trip East, when I'm feeling elaborate, I alternate between giving myself a coconut oil treatment, which involves rubbing coconut oil into my hair, letting it sit for 20 minutes, then showering like any other day, and a diluted apple cider vinegar rinse. I strive to do one of these every other week, but realistically it happens once a month... or season...or year. I'm hopeless! Generally, whatever I use on my body, I want to be able to eat it.

Before I get in the shower I rub my body down with sesame oil that I buy in bulk from the co-op. I don't wash the oil off with soap. I swear by this, not only because it feels so good, but because it really helps with my super sensitive, dry skin. In the morning, I use SPF facial lotion and at night I use a homemade toner I threw together topped with John Masters Organic Pomegranate Facial Oil. Also, in every bag, pocket, or coat I own is a tube of lip balm. I live by Desert Essence with shea butter or Alba Botanica Coconut Cream.

None of this comes naturally to me. I am the queen of low (read, no) maintenance as far as external self-care goes. Taking a shower usually feels like an accomplishment.  From a weather-worn gal who wants as little fuss as possible without looking like a mummy by the time I'm 40, you now hold every lazy girl beauty secret that I (sometimes) employ.

The Things that Are Pleasing--Smoothies, MLK Weekend, and Dancing till Dawn

The Things that Are Pleasing...

1.  Peach Smoothie: Dev say this morning's batch was the best he's ever made. I helped myself to seconds, even though I'm still shivering from my morning run. This smoothie includes goat milk, frozen peaches or nectarines from last summer, a dash of cinnamon, and raw eggs. Yes, folks, even though your mother warned you about raw eggs each time you snuck a lick from the cake batter bowl, and even though salmonella is a very real thing (ask me about the time I threw my underwear out the window when I lived in Peru), if you know and trust where your eggs come from, it's okay. Really! Not only does it make the smoothie creamy, but I get an extra dose of protein. We're up to our ears in eggs right now, and every now and again fried eggs give me the heebeejeebees.

2. MLK Weekend: For the past five or so years some friends have made a tradition of heading to Lake City for the long weekend. Our friend Kale put a tipi up on his property there at 10,000 feet, and seven adults, along with six or so dogs, would pile in for a weekend of lounging, mountaineering, and skiing. Kale recently built a cabin in place of the tipi, and for the first MLK weekend ever, we were indoors! An alchemy has formed up there over the years. It's a gift to get away from all distractions, to spend a long weekend piled into a cabin with nothing but one another's company, to let loose, and to go to ridiculous lengths for a laugh.

3. Denver Fusion Exchange: For three nights, I felt the pulse and pleasures of city living. I went out for dinner at 10 (my normal bed time). At 1, I put on a dress to go dancing. I danced until 5 or 6 in the morning. I made new friends. The event brought together 600 dancers from all over who are interested in blending different styles of dancing--salsa, tango, ballroom, jazz, lindy, blues, whatever.  At times these events can get kinda weird; there's a cool crowd or an invisible hierarchy with the good dancers at the top and the untouchable, not-so-good-dancers at the bottom. I met some people who operated on that and I felt uninspired. But I also experienced people who love to connect, express, and listen with their bodies and through the music. When that happens you can know someone and play with them wordlessly. In that space, beyond good or bad, I found inspiration. I want my whole life to be that kind of dance.

Weekend Joys

This weekend I cleaned the chicken coop. This is among my greatest joys here on the homestead  because a) I love transforming a complete mess into something tidy and clean and b) I am a fiend for filling the compost with nitrogen to balance out the loads of leaves I gathered this fall. Living in the desert, the soil is either sand or clay, so building crumbly, rich soil gets me excited.  I literally scrape poop from every nook and cranny, harvesting it like a treasure (which it is). To protect myself from the flying feathers and poop I wear a dust mask .

Meanwhile, Dev worked on the new bunk house he's building for interns, guests, and students. He was busy with the skill saw, cutting holes for windows, a stove pipe, and a door. He wore ear muffs to protect his ears.

 When I went to ask him for a hand we found ourselves struggling to communicate.

In other news, the chickens finally started to lay eggs again this week. One egg a day from twenty laying hens just wasn't cutting it. We were ready to pull the plug on the feed budget and turn them into soup, but the sun prevailed and we're at a respectable 11 eggs per day.

Though this chicken seems to think she should be rewarded for her laying prowess with a break from today's snow and wind, she's gonna have to start laying golden eggs before we invite her indoors.

We spent the majority of the day up at our neighbors' house watching the snow move through the valley, eating an incredible lamb stew Em whipped up, cuddling on the couch, and sharing conversation.

A highlight of our visit was Pharrel Williams' 24-hour long interactive music video for Happy (this may be old news since it happened in Novemeber. Forgive me, news travels like molasses to our hills).  We spent some time with this link, threw several dance parties in the living room, and delighted over the celebrity appearances and amazing dancing.  I highly recommend it!

Here's a short preview.....

Swimming

Last year my friend Kale trained for the Dog Sledding World Champions. One day he talked me into going to the Rec Center in Delta for a spinning class. After the class, Kale headed for the pool, while I farted around with the exercise equipment. I watched him swim laps, his head popping up occasionally to grin at me like a lab in water.

I'm not much of a swimmer. I never thought I could be because of my arm. When I tried tagging along to swim with friends, it felt more like controlled self-rescue than laps. I gave up. The chlorine dried out my hair and made my skin itch anyway.

The next week Kale invited me to the Rec Center again. I brought my suit. I peddled my way through spin class. Then, I swam. I kept going back each week, adding on a few extra laps each time and after a bit, I felt more like a turtle in the water than a cat.

I love physical goals mainly because they are so tangible. Take something you're not so good at, show up for a run or a class and eventually you get better. Results achieved! I like that about growing food. Build up soil, plant seeds, and voila, greens to eat all winter long! Meeting a goal feels good.

And yet I wonder, are these the things that are really most important? I want to develop my ability to listen, to be compassionate, to practice courage, but these things all seem pretty murky. How often do people practice loving-kindness for an hour every day? There's no distance to measure, no time to keep, and though there are classes you can go to, I'm a skeptic to listen to someone who claims to have answers.

Are people who are compassionate born that way? Do they come from families who listen well? Do they hit rock bottom and find that courage is the only way? Or does it take time and trying, making mistake after mistake and getting back up one more time to try again?  I'd like to think it's the latter.

Kale and his dogs competing on Grand Mesa last year.

A cabin workout with Kale.

My grandmother.

Christmas dinner.

All the way from France!

Home.