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Its been a long time since my last post, but I think this picture will sum up my blogging absence.
Just when I thought this summer heat will melt me alive, the fever broke and a new season began. Summer graduation is over and the professors have started to return. Over stuffed cars, moms and dads, wide eyed freshmen, preoccupied seniors, and “bouquets of sharpened pencils” swarm campus.
This summer could be described as bi-polar: relaxing yet exciting; unstressed yet overworked. However I must admit, for the first time in many years, I am ready for school to begin. I would like to say I have long anticipated the opportunity to further develop my education and intellectual prowess in hopes of becoming more than a mediocre member of society.
But truthfully I just miss the coffee.
This will be the third year working at Jazzman’s Café. Each semester my friends ask, “Are you still working at Jazzman’s?”
Like every job, it has its frustrations – the temperamental coffee grinder, the repetitive music that haunts me in my sleep – but the bottom line is I love my job. How great is it to make and serve legal stimulants every day? On top of that, our Jazzman’s crew is the best to work with.
No matter how much studying I need to do, or how cold it gets to my warm Floridian blood, everything melts away at the first sip of a double shot, toffee nut white mocha with extra foam. Unfortunately this, Serge, last year’s retail manager, is leaving. He was an amazing boss and even better friend and I know he will be missed.
Being a senior, I look to life beyond college and I shutter with anticipation and apprehension at the unknown. There is so much to figure out! Still, let’s not get too worked up. For now I’ll do what I’ve always done with a book in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other.
"It's a lamp with candles burning upside down..." my art teacher threw her hands up triumphantly, "It's Absurd!"
I stood holding a chandelier with glass bottles for shades and burnt candle sticks for bulbs. I had just finished the project the night before. Transforming my dorm room into a workshop, burning candles, hammering iron pieces, filling the hall with epoxy fumes, I don't know how I dodge my RA.
Finally finishing my work of art, I would have described it as: inventive, unique, artistic, Brilliant!
But absurd? As I stood there, I looked again at my chandelier, a bit taken back.
But she was right. I loved the dilapidated pieced together Frankenstein thing...because it was absurd.
Hours of working for Sedexo at the registration lines has prompted me to wonder through my favorite Internet sites. Sifting through Anthropology and Swedish blogs, I find myself looking for some image to inspire.
That's when I found old stadium bulbs used as decor pieces. I kept coming back to them, looking at them neatly arranged on the desk. It's just the creative food I needed. So random. So inventive. So absurd. 
Dodging past racks of worn clothes and abandoned baby toys, I marched my way to the front of the store clutching a black Polaroid camera. I had found my prize.
We stopped at a local thrift store today, and I couldn’t help indulge my guilty pleasure of salvage shopping.
Buried behind plastic point and shoot cameras I spotted an unusual black box with silver lettering: Polaroid.
It was love at first sight. Next thing I knew I was at the counter, trying to play it cool as I asked the price. I held my breath as the cashier asked the manager. How much would I willing to pay? I wondered
A dollar fifty, she said.
I’ll take it, I said.
With a bag full of three vintage books and a new old camera, I climbed back into the car grinning like a fool.
Seven sisters and homemade pie: life couldn’t get much better.
Last Thursday my mom and the rest of her sisters gathered around the table for a potluck lunch. Good food and warm conversation flowed like water. If this gang of white haired ladies is known for one thing, it’s that they know how to cook.
Yesterday my mom and I flew to
More than the cuisine, spending time with my aunts was so much fun. Once a month the sisters gather together to work on a project, catch up on the news and share a meal. Reclining in the sitting room, everyone busied themselves with some needlework as I, forgetting my cross-stitch at home, penciled in Sudoku.
As we swapped recipes and talked of the old days, realized how similar my aunts were to my mom. I tried to picture them as Amish girls wearing bonnets and long skirts. I was only one generation away from being Amish myself.
I wondered in thirty years if my sisters and I would be gathering together to talk about our grandchildren and growing up? I could just picture the four of us with white curly hair, kitting sweaters together.
"Remember the time I used to shoot pictures for you?" I would ask Daisy.
"I remember when everyone was blogging," Karena would say.
"And Facebooking," says Melissa.
"And Twittering," says Daisy.
We would all sit back and laugh, "Those were the days!"
I finally got to make use of my birthday present last week. There is no remedy like a cup of tea and some dark chocolate.
Nestled on the top of a mountain, surrounded by luxury development and yet wildly untouched, is a boulder field called Little Rock City. This rock and woodland melody is a sanctuary for bouldering and just the other week I found myself spotting my three friends as they clawed up the rock face.
Now, as for me, if I want to dangle from a rock with just my bare fingers and toes, I prefer to have a rope attached and a nice, easy decent. Bouldering is a whole other animal. Climbers hang upside down, using every muscle in their body, and slowly pull themselves hand hold over hand hold to the top of the rock. The only thing to catch them if they fall is a firm crash pad, just six inches thick.
Nearly on a whim, several of my friends drove to Soddy Daisy, only 45 minutes from Cleveland to get a few hours of climbing in. At first glance this bouldering haven may seem a bit anticlimactic due to the lovely golf course viewed from the trail. However, once you finish your first climb, you will be hooked.
Bouldering is a growing sport, and it is not for the faint of heart. Except for white chalk marks on the cracks and crevices, there is no rout to follow on these climbs. You will need chalk for when your hands sweat and tape for when your fingers bleed.
The climbs here are some of the hardest in the South East, marking all the way up to v10. Rachael, Jack and Josh attempted a Dyno on one climb. In order to reach the top, they had to leap from the rock and reached with both hands for the top. Josh alone completed it. By the end of the day, we wore ourselves out.
And everyone left with bloody knuckles.
For all those tired of indoor climbing or just like climbing things, come to LRC. It is best to go with someone who knows what they are doing and take gear because these climbs are dangerous. Due to a recent injury, I am now the designated photographer. Yet watching newbies struggle up the rock and my old friends top out on a ridiculous climb is still a rush. There is nothing like the feeling of climbing to the top of a sheer rock using nothing but cracks and bare fingers.
I was able to break away from the mundane of Cleveland and venture south to my hometown of Orange Park, Florida. Daisy and I decided to come for my sister, Melissa's baby shower.
The shower was so cute, complete with baby streamers, diaper cake, and bib painting station. I had a great time thanks to Betzy and Karena's great planning and I couldn't help taking a few of the adorable chocolate baby rattles.
More then anything, I was so relieved just to be home with family again. That night my dad, sisters and brother-in-law, Courtney, broke out into a spontaneous game of football. Being the first time we played the sport, it was not without moments of hilarity. I can still picture Karena doing a somersault over my dad on the ground as Daisy runs past them into the end zone. I could not stop laughing.
And of course, as always, I had to pay the ocean a long overdue visit.
Last Sunday I found myself driving along Dalton Pike to pick up something for my sister. It was a beautiful day and I soon felt like traveling again. I turned up Matchbox 20, rolled down the windows, and put on my aviators. Summer was here and it was time to enjoy it. I didn’t bother glancing at my speedometer and just let my hand comb the wind out the window.
All along this windy road I passed antique junkyards and stoic red barns. Endless lines of wooden fences followed the road and carved out the horse pastures and wheat fields. Huge dried hay barrels contrasted against the green landscape. Every once in a while I passed a single tree left standing by the road, but mostly the forest were kept to the rolling Appalachian mountains in the distance.
If you ever drive down Dalton Pike, you will notice the quirky and random things left along the side of the road. Once I passed an abandoned school bus with a “For Sale” sign in the window. Whoever owned it turned it into a mobile home equipped with an AC unit and small kitchen. They parked and left it, even their dirty laundry and salt and pepper in the window. Normally I would be wondering if there was a market for converted school buses in the
Along APD 40, towards the
Inside can get a little crowded, if more then one person is in the bus, as you might imagine. However, if you feel like creating some Hippie jewelry, this is the place to go. It may not have the
overwhelming plenty of
In the past, my summers were spent in
Now driving past grazing horses with nothing but blue skies above, I breathed in the freedom. It’s time to open the windows and see the world through my tinted sunglasses.
