Early Thanksgiving

So I know it's not Thanksgiving yet, but I keep finding myself feeling grateful. And even though it's not the last Thursday of November yet, I want to share some of the things I'm thankful for.

I'm thankful for the nice, warm summer we had. So many other areas around the country got cheated out of summer. They had fall-like temperatures for the entire 3 months they spend the rest of the year looking forward to. We were lucky to have weather warm enough to float the rivers here. I'm glad that I can go into winter knowing Missoula summers fully make up for the bitter cold.

I'm thankful for the stable, good-paying job I have that pays all my bills. Now, I'm sure you've all heard me complain about being broke and wishing I had more money, but hell I'm sure Bill Gates feels the same way. I bet he'd prefer to have two huge mansions on Flathead Lake instead of just the measley one he already owns. :)

I'm grateful to the University of Montana for having a flexible Social Work program that accommodates my work schedule. Because of them I can keep my good-paying job AND still go to school to finish my degree.

On that same note, I'm grateful to Aspen Hospice for allowing me to be an intern there. It's a lot of work on their part, far more than I imagined. They've rearranged schedules for me, they've allowed me to interview them time and time again, they've shared information they wouldn't normally share with someone all so I could write a decent Comp Exam to get my degree. I'm grateful for the opportunity to work with such wonderful, caring people; both staff and patients.

I'm thankful my Grandma showed me how to knit. I don't have much knitting time right now, but believe me it's still what keeps me going every single day! There are days I don't have time to knit, but it's always on my mind. The next project, the next yarn purchase, the next time I'll get to knit with my friends...I'm constantly thinking about my favorite hobby.

Speaking of knitting, I'm thankful for my knitting friends. Without them I'd be the crazy girl who knits in the Good Food Store by herself, asking strangers if they know how to do balanced decreases in the round. Believe me, it wouldn't be pretty. I love how some of them make me feel like a queen with compliments like "You can take the cheapest, lowest quality yarn and make it into something really beautiful." (Erin) I also love the ones who point out the irony of taking an exquisite pattern and using the lowest quality, cheapest yarn possible. (Miriam) And of course all of their knitting talents, knowledge and wisdom always amaze me. (Jen, Doria, Melissa and all the rest) Missoula SnB'ers rock!!

I'm thankful for my wonderful, fun, loving, supportive boyfriend. Even when he's sick, he still has the energy to make me laugh. He not only listens to all my rants and raves, he remembers most of them too. He's sensible & responsible, and challenges me to be the same, even when I really don't want to. There are lots of times when I would've given up without his encouragement.

I'm grateful for my parents and my brother, without whom I wouldn't be here. Literally. Had Scott not been thorough and researched the best school for Recreation Management, I wouldn't be in Missoula. And it goes without saying that I wouldn't be in this world without my parents. Just like the onesie I plan to dress my baby in someday (should I ever have one), "Now that I'm safe, I'm pro-choice." :)

I hope you all have things to be thankful for right now too. And please feel free to share here...

Fall is here :(

Anyone who knows me understands why there's a frowny face at the end of that sentence. I am a warm, sunny weather kind of person, and cold, dreary, gray weather dulls my spirit. Not too mention the physical coldness that sets in and only leaves when temps rise above 65. Literally my hands and feet will be frozen all winter long. Poor Kevin will be stuck listening to me whine for the next 7 months that my fingers are freezing and I can't feel my feet. He'll do his best to console me, but patience wears thin when I prove how cold they are by lifting his t-shirt (who the heck wears t-shirts in weather below 60 degrees??) to touch his stomach or back. You've never seen a man move so fast! Seriously, he's not even that fast on the ice :)

Missoula was lucky this year to be blessed with unseasonably warm temperatures the whole month of September. We had 80 and 90 degree days up through September 28. September 29 was a different story though, dipping to 48 degrees. Now I know I shouldn't complain. There are people out there in much colder weather, and there are homeless who don't even have shelter from the cold. I hope those people don't have the same frozen hand/feet problem I do.

Every year I do my best to wait until the last possible minute to turn on the heat. This year, I made it two days in cold weather before finally succumbing. Tuesday and Wednesday I spent wearing my fur-lined slippers, sweatpants, long-sleeved t-shirt, sweatshirt, hat and scarf. This all kept most of me warm...with the exception of the all important fingers. I tried doing the dishes in extremely warm water, which helped for awhile. But after I finished washing and no longer had my hands in the water, it was only a matter of minutes before they turned ice-cold again. Unfortunately my job prevents me from wearing mittens or gloves. It's hard to type with those things on!! Not too mention trying to answer the phone. Inevitably I'd push "End" instead of "Talk" and send the caller to voicemail when I really was trying to answer it. Probably not good for business.

Today I started out in my cold-weather uniform, but the temps in the house never rose above 58. It seems I draw the line there. Before I knew it, I was at the thermostat pushing the "Heat" button and setting it at 63. That's a good start, isn't it?? Ideally I'd like to be at 75, but man is heat expensive!

So any of you who are in competition with the Yarn Harlot in the Heat Wars (to see who can last the longest before turning on the heat), you have one less competitor. I throw my hat in...literally, I'm able to take it off now and throw it in the bin because the house is warming up quite nicely. :)

Joseph's Coat Reopens

Yesterday I went into Joseph's Coat for the first time since Suzanna died. It reopend on Wednesday this week and I was really excited to go check it out. I couldn't wait for work to end so I could ride over and see the new owners and the shop.

The first thing I noticed was the large wooden sign out front, and it made me smile. How many times had I been in that store when Suzanna and Terri were trying to close and they'd asked me or another shopper to bring in the "big wooden sign?"

I immediately noticed they had changed some things around. It seemed very open; the main table at the front was moved off to the side, chairs had been removed, the various tables & baskets holding yarn were gone, and the back part of the store was missing tables & chairs as well. The walls once displaying the beloved antique knits and tapestries were bare. The hanging vintage mittens and gloves were gone too. No music or NPR played in the background.

As I browsed, I noted which yarns were "out of place" and had been moved from where Suzanna kept them. I saw the yarn Terri had said matched my Marmot jacket perfectly. She & Suzanna had tried to convince me to buy it, but I resisted not wanting to spend too much that day. I briefly thought of buying it yesterday, but realized it would only remind me of how much I wish I would've bought it before when they recommended it. How much more meaning the scarf or hat would have if I'd have only bought the yarn that day.

I wandered the store feeling happy they still had the Noro, Venezia and Ultra Alpaca I'd been lusting after. Then I saw it; the white baby hat that used to sit on the shelf in the front of the store. It was knit on tiny needles and had the cutest embroidered pink flowers. I remembered the first time I'd seen it, and how Suzanna had told me the flowers were indeed hand-embroidered. A lump made it's way to the back of my throat. I turned around hoping to stave off the wave of emotion, but saw the green cotton scarf that had always hung in the back and I suddenly realized how very sad I felt. With all that was exactly the same, everything was so completely different and it will never, ever be the same again.

I left the store without buying any of what I'd been waiting so long to purchase. The sadness was just too overwhelming.

Before I left though, I talked to the two girls who were working there. One is the daughter of the new owner and she said they plan to keep Joseph's Coat stocked with natural fibers, just like Suzanna did. They want to continue offering spinning and weaving supplies, and even hope to offer some classes in the future.

Joseph's Coat won't be the same, and we'll all miss Suzanna's presence at the store, but at least it'll live on. Hopefully wherever she is, she's looking in on the store and either smiling fondly, or rolling her eyes at the changes they've made :)

Grace Strikes Again

So there I was on my bike in the middle of Higgins Street shoeless, with a bleeding toe. I glanced back in time to see Kevin grab my sandal from the middle of the street. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a line of cars waiting for us to get out of the way so they could turn left. When I turned forward again, the oncoming pedestrians were all looking at me in awe and horror. I swear these "Melanie Moments" strike without warning and happen at the worst possible times.

The day had started well with friends and knitting, good conversation, and excellent food. Not a single hitch or hint that a Melanie Moment was to come. After knitting, Kevin and I rode bikes to campus to watch a preview of a new PBS special on National Parks.

It was an awesome preview that left me both reflective and anxious for more. Dayton Duncan, the co-producer had flown in to present the preview. During the intro it was mentioned that Duncan was a huge fan of Mo Club burgers (who isn't??) and for the next two hours all Kevin and I could think about was eating one, well two actually since we certainly weren't going to share!

The preview included excerpts from a few of the 6 episodes slotted to air in the beginning of September. The clips were fascinating, informative and touching. Near the end, Duncan has a monologue about his favorite National Park, Glacier. He reminisced about a particular family vacation in which he takes a picture of his daughter, on the brink of becoming a woman, in the exact spot he took one of her mother years ago when they were "courting." (His word, not mine.) Both photos were shown and indeed the resemblance between the girls and scenery was uncanny. Then he shared the story of how he and his young son went on a hike alone and happened to come across a family of mountain goats. Duncan and his son were elated! At the end of the clip, there's a picture of the essay his son wrote proclaiming it as the best day of his life. As tears streamed down my face, I realized everyone around me was as touched as I was. Sniffles echoed through the audience, a man to my right furiously wiped his eyes. I couldn't help but wonder if others were not only thinking about Duncan's experiences, but their own family vacations to National Parks as well...

When the lights came on, Kevin turned to me and asked "Mo Club?" "You read my mind!" So we biked across campus, down through Kiwanis park, up to Front Street and through a parking lot to Main.

As we neared the intersection, the light turned red and we were forced to wait before crossing. Now I should mention that normally on a Sunday evening in Missoula, downtown would be rather quiet. THIS Sunday evening however was the end of the River City Roots Festival and we had apparently timed it just right so as to be at the intersection just after the last band finished playing. A crowd of people were standing on the other side waiting to cross.

When the light turned green, I hopped onto my bike and started to ride across the street. How it happened, I'll never know. Somehow my right foot twisted or fell forward on the pedal when all my weight was on it. Needless to say my foot slammed forward into the pavement with great momentum, the top of my foot scraped across for a few seconds, and pulled my sandal off at the same time. The crowd on the other side of the street stared, pointed, laughed and cringed. Believe me when I say the embarrassment hurt worse than the pain.

Had this happened with anyone else, I probably wouldn't have felt quite as bad about it. But Kevin, my dear Kevin had repeatedly cautioned me about wearing sandals while riding a bicycle. "You could get seriously hurt," he'd say. I heeded no such warnings for the sake of fashion.

One of the (many) reasons I love this guy so much is that he's not an "I told you so" kind of person. The first words out of his mouth when we got to the other side were "Are you ok???" The look on his face was all concern, not a twinge of pride or arrogance at having been proven right. In fact, he never once that evening mentioned the hundreds of times he's told me to wear tennis shoes instead of sandals.

One might think I've learned my lesson and will always wear closed-toe shoes when biking around town. I'd like to think I'm more of a tough cookie than that though, or perhaps the word is pride, arrogance or stupidity.

So last week my cousin Stephanie had a baby. While that may not seem like a huge deal to most people, to me it's monumentous!

Steph and I grew up together; we're mere months apart in birth and were nearly inseparable until our high school years. We look a lot alike, and people used to ask if we were twins, much to our delight. On shopping trips, we'd often buy similar or identical outfits. One such outfit being a short black skirt, white t-shirt and a red & black plaid zip-up to go over top. When we were really young, I frequently got Steph's hand-me-downs. There was one green & yellow shorts outfit in particular that I had always admired on her, and when she outgrew it, I wore that thing all the time! (Really, it's embarrassing. Friends would ask if I owned anything else.) In my defense, it was pretty sweet. It was plaid and the button-up shirt was cropped and tied in front, very 80's!

I don't remember at which point tides turned, but it wasn't long before I outgrew Steph and she started getting MY hand-me-downs. I'll never forget giving her my *favorite* pair of tapered leg jeans with pink accents and saying "When you're done with these, I'd like them back so I can save them for my daughter someday." They would probably be in style again by the time I have kids :) No matter, one year for Christmas Steph presented me with the jeans she had cleverly made into a tote bag. I still own the bag, though it's in tatters from all the use.

We spent endless summers together, reading Anne of Green Gables, riding bikes around her parent's property and naming trails, taking paddle-boat rides, making pacts to tube behind the boat and go on midnight swims every time we got together, playing softball with her brother Wes, making mud and corn pies on the farm, throwing apples at angry cows, training a miniature horse, singing Paula Abdul songs with brooms as our partners in Cedarville. I could list more, but that's probably condemning enough for now.

Brock was kind enough to grace us with his presence last week while I was still in Michigan. For months, Steph and I had hoped he would be born while I was home, and he was! My mom and I visited Steph, Deron and Brock in the hospital the morning of the day I flew back to Missoula. My mom had a hard time pulling me away. On the ride home, I couldn't help but think of other things Steph and I had done when we were little.

I can't remember if it was for her birthday or Christmas, but one year Steph got a doll that looked and felt like a real baby. She named him Nicholas. Naturally, I asked for one too and named mine Justin. We played with those dolls for YEARS! (I still have mine in my parent's attic, I'm sure Steph's is at her parent's too.) On the way home from the hospital, I thought about how we used to pretend to be lawyers in her parent's upstairs living room. We were very official with yellow legal pads and old leather briefcases. I can picture the sun-filled room, us dropping the babies off at daycare in one part of the living room, while we went to work at the dining room table. All of this was usually done with us in our bikinis, as she did live on a lake, and we always ran from the beach to the house several times a day. No point in changing until the sun went down!

It's so strange to think that one 'minute' we were pretending to be old enough to have kids, and the next 'minute' we ARE old enough to have kids! I wonder if this is how parent's feel about their kids growing up and doing adult-things. Did my parents look at Scott on his wedding day and think about how he's the little blond-haired boy who peed in the driveway, how can he possibly be old enough to get married??? (Sorry Scott) It's a feeling difficult to describe in words.

I'm so happy for Steph, and I'm sure she knows it by the hundreds of pictures I took of Brock that morning. And yet, there's a sadness too. We haven't been young and niave for a long time, but somehow Brock's birth made me realize "Holy hell, we're old!" We'll be 30 next year, and there's no turning back. (I know, I know, 30 isn't OLD, but it is when just yesterday you were 9.)

Steph having a baby made me realize I'm not the kid I think I am anymore. And most days I do still feel like a kid, wondering what life will bring, what I'll be when I 'grow up,' and thinking about the "somedays" of having kids of my own. I'm basically just meandering through life as if it'll never end. I don't have a lot of grand plans for my life, I really just want to be able to have no regrets when I'm nearing death. I want life to be adventurous, responsible, fun-filled and purposeful. I've got the adventureous and fun-filled part down, the other two still need some work though.

I'm not big on comparing my life to others, yet I can't help but think how Steph has actually become something, found purpose and is living it, while I'm still trying to decide what to "become..." Don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining. I'm ok with where I'm at, I love my life and there's not much I'd change at this point. Except maybe to have that green and yellow shorts outfit back......

I Can't Take Me Anywhere

It's no secret that I'm clumsy. Kevin says I should've been named Grace instead of Melanie. It would just be funnier. I can type an email, answer the phone and carry on a conversation with my brother no problem...but chew gum, carry a glass of water while wearing roller skates?? That's a recipe for disaster.

I flew to Michigan this week to visit my family, and while it wasn't a disaster, there were many moments I wished I wasn't me. I often wonder if there are other people out there who feel the same way.... The first flight went off without a hitch. I made it to Salt Lake City without any Melanie Moments. The second flight was a different story, however.

Before proceeding, I should explain that my ticket to Michigan was for first class. I know, what am I doing on a first class ticket?? Well, with reward travel apparently if there's a spot available, anyone can take it. Of course the plane from Missoula to SLC was way too small to have any first class seats, so it was no benefit to me there. But from SLC to Cincinnati, I was in seat 1A.

Being first class, I got to board the plane in the first wave from the Breezeway lane. How very exciting...I get to board first and sit the longest. This somehow didn't seem a huge benefit to me, until I actually boarded and saw a nice Dasani bottled water just waiting for me, along with a pillow and blanket! I'd been thirsty since leaving Missoula, but I'll be damned if I'm going to spend $3.50 for a bottle of water! I had stupidly forgotten my CamelBak water bottle which I normally fill from the drinking fountain.

After enjoying a nice long swig, I started pulling stuff out of my backpack that I thought I'd want while in flight. It was about a 3 hour flight, so I could presumably knit a few rows, take a nap with my new travel pillow (why use theirs when I can use mine??), read from my current book "Flight of the Dove" about Jeannette Rankin, and even leaf through a knitting magazine. Oh yeah, and no flight is complete without my iPod. While I was ready for the flight, I still needed to stow my backpack...unfortunately there was a continuous line of people boarding for coach.

Just as I thought I could make my quick leap across the aisle, more people would enter. I got caught up reading, so the flight attendant had to remind me that all bags need to be stowed, and mine could not sit on the floor at my feet (the downside to seat 1A is there's no seat in front of you to stow your bag underneath). I knew that, and felt like saying so but decided just to apologize and say I'd been getting things out of it. She wisely sensed that I couldn't be trusted to heave a 25 pound bag up above someone's head to store in the overhead bin, so she took the bag and effortlessly stowed it herself.

I ended up falling asleep and vaguely remember hearing lunch being offered to my fellow first class passengers. When I awoke, the stewardess promptly brought me a tray bearing a Greek salad complete with feta cheese and olives, some packaged bread sticks, a bowl of fresh fruit and a large molasses cookie. No wonder coach is only offered stale Biscoff cookies or those tiny bags of peanuts, all the money allotted for food is spent on the 16 people sitting in first class! (By the way, that cookie was damn good! Way better than the peanuts!)

The stewardess stood there holding the tray while I looked around for a tray table to set it on. She calmly told me it was part of the arm rest...I looked, I felt around, I didn't see the tray table. She said "It's actually inside the armrest" and although I looked at her skeptically, when she said I could lift the blue part and find the tray table inside, she was correct. Oh boy, I wonder if she can tell I don't belong here... Lunch went fine, and I only squirted myself when trying to cut the orange slices into bite-sized pieces. The gentlemen next to me was watching a movie on this little screen in front of him. Although I had one too, I had no idea how to turn it on and I certainly wasn't about to ask. After watching his screen for awhile, I wondered if it was considered rude to watch another first class passengers' tv, so I fiddled with mine until I found the power button. But then I couldn't find the outlet to plug in the headset.

I tried to look inconspicuous as I looked around on my armrest and the one shared between us. Finally, I peeked out of the corner of my eye and followed the cord from the guy's head to where it was plugged in. Success! It was in the front of the armrest, the only place I hadn't looked.

Something else I noticed as a benefit to first class was that the annoyingly loud speaker the flight attendants talk over is not present. I was able to sleep comfortably without being woken up by their constant reminders to keep seat belts fastened while in your seat, hearing that they were bringing the cart through with refreshments and stale snacks, or the demonstrations of how to buckle the seat belt and use the air masks if necessary. That alone would be worth the extra money for a first class ticket!!

While I enjoyed the flight to Cincinnati, I was glad to be back with my people in Coach for the next flight into Grand Rapids. It was an even smaller plane than one from Missoula to SLC. As I boarded, the guy across the aisle hit his shoulder pretty hard on the overhead bin. I cringed and said I hoped he was ok because it looked like it hurt. The look on his face was confirmation enough! As I went to sit down in my seat, I hit my head on the overhead bin! They both chuckled at how I was so concerned for him that I didn't pay attention for myself. Yet another Melanie Moment.

I made is safely to Grand Rapids without anymore memorable incidents. Let's hope the next 2 weeks are as tame.

Another (Mis)Adventure in Hiking...

So do you remember The Office episode where Pam leaves a message on Jim's voicemail asking what the word is they made up for when you have something stuck in your shoe?? Well it bothered me that they never told you what the word was... So Kevin and I came up with our own word; shrock. It's kind of a mesh of rock and shoe, but you may have already guessed that.

All of this is to say that yesterday I had the worst shrock ever! I had a meeting at Aspen Hospice which is down the Bitterroot, for a possible practicum (internship) placement to finish my Bachelor's in Social Work. I decided to do a hike afterwards since I was already down there, and it's my favorite area for hiking. I had to be somewhat dressy for the interview, so I packed my CamelBak with extra shorts, a tank, socks and hiking shoes. When I got to the trailhead of Blodgett Canyon Overlook, I changed into my shorts and tank. When I went to put my hiking shoes on though, I couldn't find my socks. I specifically remembered putting them in the pack first. I pulled everything out but couldn't find the socks. I thought maybe they were stuck in some of the clothes I'd just taken off and shoved in there, so I shook them out one by one. No socks appeared. "This is ridiculous," I thought. "I put the socks in here! They were the first thing I grabbed! Where are they???" I searched all over the truck in case they managed to climb out of the zippered pack and fall into a crevice somewhere. No socks were to be found. After wasting about 15 minutes, I finally decided to hike sockless. At least I'd remembered to bring my hiking shoes, I'm pretty sure my sparkly turquoise thongs wouldn't be sufficient.

I'm not sure if any of you have hiked sockless before, but it's not the most pleasant experience. This may be a little TMI, but here goes anyway; my feet sweat as if they were in their own individual saunas. By the end of the hike, my feet squeaked as they slid around inside the hikers.

And now for the shrock...the short Merrell's I normally wear allow for a lot of shrock. I usually have to empty my shoes at least once along the way. This hike was no different, there must have been hundreds of tiny shrocks inside my shoes. With socks, shrock is mildly annoying. Without socks they are like tiny jagged mountains burrowing their way into the bottom of my feet! I had to literally pick some out when I got back to my truck. My flat, supportless sandals never felt so good!

While on the short hour and a half hike, I was so preoccupied with wondering what the heck happened to the socks I packed, that I missed part of the trail. It appeared that the trail dead-ended into a canyon. But someone was kind enough to put a bench there so I could sit and ponder the fact that I drove almost an hour to hike for 30 minutes. Luckily I had packed the Day Hikes In and Around Missoula book so I could double check the timing and description of the hike. The book said it was supposed to be 1.5 hours. But I had only hiked for 30 minutes. I searched around for the trail, and found nothing. The book said I should hike through a forest and a burn area. So far I had seen two blackened trees, I suppose that could have been considered a burn area.... And there had been a few pine trees at the trailhead, was that supposed to be the forest?? The book also said the top of the hike would have "spectacular views," what I was seeing could only be described as "views." I finally decided to just hike back down. Obviously my missing socks were a hint that this hike was not to be as grand as I'd expected. But about 20 yards back down the trail, I found where it wound around a tree and kept going to the top. Somehow I had managed to miss the damn 4x4 post with the sign "Trail" and an arrow pointing the way.....

True to the description, the 360 views were pretty spectacular. One side overlooked the entire Bitterroot Valley with nice views of the Sapphire Mountains. On the other side, there was a creek below, with menacingly jagged peaks directly in front. They were so close and so large that I got vertigo! After taking a few pics, I descended back to the truck.

On the way home, I pondered what could've happened to the socks. Maybe they accidentally fell out when I thought I was dropping them in; I was sure to find them laying on the hardwood floor when I walked in the house.

OR, maybe my memory is going. I never found the socks when I got home. I have no idea what happened, and can only guess at why I so vividly "remembered" taking socks out of the drawer and dropping them into the pack....