Getting comfortable

I haven’t been here in a while. I’ve been busy. Busy in a good way, busy doing amazing things, going on adventures and meeting fascinating people. Not the dreary “I’m so busy with my lists and my job and my schedules and deadlines and things I don’t actually want to do” kind of busy. Happy busy.

As I write this, I feel as though I’m brushing down cobwebs and shaking off the dust. I’m settling in, remembering why I love it so much here. I’m getting comfortable, as though I’m sitting in a pile of pillows, wrapped in a blanket with a cup of tea on a rainy day. My, how I do love it here.

It does feel a little different, to be honest. Is this space different, or am I? Maybe it’s a combination of both.

I’ve had a summer of extreme awesomeness. There are no words to express how truly blessed I feel to live this life. I’ve seen, felt, lived, dreamed, laughed, traveled, sang, cried, jumped, swam, received and given.

There’s a saying that goes “life begins where your comfort zone ends” or something similar. While I admit that letting go of the fear of being uncomfortable allows for new experiences and discoveries, there is something to be said about comfort. It is so delicious to feel comfortable, content and carefree. I am giving in to comfort. I will be uncomfortable tomorrow. Who knows what will happen…

This is me being comfortable. I call it "Alice in Wonderland before she falls through the rabbit hole." Adventures are about to happen, but in this moment, I am comfortable.  Actually, if I remember correctly, Alice was bored to death before she ended up in Wonderland, so many this is not a good analogy after all.

This is me being comfortable. I call it “Alice in Wonderland before she falls through the rabbit hole.” Adventures are about to happen, but in this moment, I am comfortable.
Actually, if I remember correctly, Alice was bored to death before she ended up in Wonderland, so mayby this is not a good analogy after all.

Smash book

My blog turned two in March. My trip to Costa Rica happened just before this anniversary. Such perfect timing.

I feel like, since I’ve started blogging, try has become a word I use a lot more. Sure, I’ll try that. Let me try! I want to try that. I don’t know what will happen, but I’ll try!

It’s not that I didn’t try before. But I started my blog the year I turned 30 and something seemed to shift in my head. It was like I could do anything I wanted, no matter what anybody else thought. The people close to me always support me, so who cares about other people?

In Costa Rica, I found some of that energy I felt I’d lost recently. I tried everything! I was happy, blissed out and exactly where I was meant to be.

Since I’ve come home, I feel much more motivated to write. I used to write in my head all the time, and have to look for bits and pieces of paper to make sure I didn’t forget any of it. (Yes, it would make sense to carry a journal around. What can I say, I like post-its!) I’m doing that again! It’s a small thing, but it makes me happy.

I haven’t been writing here very much, but I have been creating. I’ve started a smash book. It’s kind of like a cross between a journal and a scrapbook. I could never get into scrapbooking, because I could never get it to look just right, but a smash book, now that’s my kind of book. You basically just smash everything you want it there.

At first, my book was mostly just words, but I’ve been adding images too. I tried something new, and I’m having fun with it!

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The Red Garden

Sometimes, a book is just a book. Sometimes, a book is an adventure, an escape, a dream, an other world. Rarely is one book all of these things. So when, a few pages into a book, you realize it’s going to be one of those books, the magical kind that keeps you from sleeping because you just have to read more, you do a little happy dance and sometimes let out a squeal of joy.

The Red Garden is one of those books.

Written by Alice Hoffman, it’s no surprise that it’s a fantastic read.

I had a little moment of doubt when I first started reading. The story starts off with Hallie Brady, a young woman who comes to America and becomes the founder of a new town in the wilderness of Massachusetts. I was so into her story, but after a few pages, it was over. The next chapter was the story of a sad young woman and a man who plants apple trees. Then, a little girl who goes missing.

Soon, I realized that the book was not a person’s story, as a novel usually is. It’s the story of a place. The place is Bearsville, later renamed Blackwell. People come and go, love and cry, hope and dream, live and die. The town grows and some of the earlier stories become legend. Every person leaves their mark on the town, and shapes into a place where magic happens.

Through the stories, we meet an interesting cast of character, including Emily Dickinson and Johnny Appleseed. Some stories are happier than others. There’s a man who’s going blind, but is more of an adventurer than anyone the town has seen since Hallie Brady. There’s the young man who comes home from war broken, only to have his soul healed by a young widow. There’s a young woman who meets a man who lives in the woods, and it changes her forever. My favourite was the fisherman’s wife. Sad, lonely and beautiful, she longs to go back home to be with her one true love. Her home isn’t where you expect it to be.

One of the things I loved the most was how, when a story ended, you might not know what happend to the people later on, but tidbits about their lives would come up in the next chapters, where they were now the current character’s ancestors.

I also love that there is an actual red garden. People don’t know why the earth is red, but you, the reader, know. It like knowing a secret. It feels like being a part of something special, because you’ve been there since the begining.

I finished this book over a week ago, but I haven’t been able to read anything else yet. The collection of episodes, like pieces of a puzzle, are still floating around in my head. I need to read it again, to make even more connections between the people and their stories.

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Today is Alice Hoffman’s birthday, and two very awesome bloggers have put together a bloghop where all of her fans could share their love for her enchanting storytelling. Happy birthday, Alice Hoffman, and thank you for sharing your magic!

I’ve written post about Alice Hoffman’s books before, because she’s just so amazing! Check it out here , here, here and here!

I wish I were a pink flamingo

For some reason, we all wish we were something we’re not. When it becomes “I wish I were skinnier/richer/more like her/less like this” it’s not good. But when you let your imagination run away with “I wish I were…” it can be quite interesting to see what comes up.

I wish I were in Hawaii so I could do the hula. Grass skirts. Coconuts. Need I say more?

I wish I were a superhero so I could fly to the yoga studio instead of driving. Also, I would like those claw-things like Wolverine. And I would be indestructable like the cheerleader in Heros, or like Hancock. No sense being a superhero if you can’t have it all. And a cape, I want a cape. A pink one. With sparkles.

I wish I were a book. I love books. Think of all the wonderful things people say about books. Amazing! Beautiful! Interesting! Well written! ok, maybe that last one doesn’t work.

I wish I were a pink flamingo. They’re pink. They are graceful and look like tightrope walkers. They live in groups of pinkness and they eat lots of shrimp. I don’t like shrimp, but maybe I could be a vegetarian flamingo and eat pink cupcakes and pink peanut butter or something?

I wish I were seven years old. Children have so much imagination. They make up animals and create worlds where fairies and birds talk to each other. They write pages and pages of stories like “The adventures of Manon the giraffe” (that’s me). They don’t have writer’s block, they have ideas by the dozen.

I wish I were a giraffe. They’re my most favourite animal ever. They’re so unique and they never need to ask for help to get something off the top shelf. They have a blue tongue. And horns. So cool.

I wish I were a cake tester at the bakery. This needs no explanation.

I wish I were an astronaut. I could drink Tang and eat freeze dried spaghetti. Plus, imagine how much more effective wishing on a star would be. I wonder if astronauts get everything they wish for?

I wish I were a cloud. People see different shapes when they look at you. You block out the sun on a hot day. You’re always different. You have so many cool names like cummulus and snuffulaffagus. And, Care Bears!

This post was written in response to the weekly writing challenge at WordPress.com. This week’s prompt was I wish I were…

What do you wish you were?