Hello Everyone!
I don't have a lot of time tonight, but I wanted to brag a little. I just checked and my blog is approaching 700 views! Huzzah!
I realize this may be considered small change to a lot of prominent bloggers out there, and there's always the slight chance a small portion, oh, I don't know, of about half or so, of these views are just me frantically re-editing my posts after I published them, but that's okay. It still means a lot that you're checking them out at all.
I truly hope you are enjoying them. They are therapeutic and a great way for me to practice and improve my writing, but if they weren't providing something of value to you, then half the joy would be gone.
Thank you!
Monday, July 15, 2013
Thursday, July 4, 2013
Off with Her Head...
Confession time! When it gets hot, and I'm taking one of my long walks, my hands plump up like the Incredible Hulk. See!:
Before pic
.jpg)
After pic
And, I don't want to hear "I don't see the difference," because if I do, I'll crush you with my gigantic hands.
I decided to post these pictures, because in my country today is a day about Freedom. And, I'm posting these pictures to liberate myself. I'm tired of feeling awkward about the size and shape of my body. Tired of hiding behind throw pillows, and strategically large purses. My body fluctuates, (hence the pics), I have scars, bumps and calloused heels. I'm overweight; when I work at it, I lose weight. Sometimes old habits win, and I gain it back. It is the body I was born with. It has suffered some abuse over the years, and I'll never look as good as some women, but if I feel healthy, and comfortable- why isn't that beautiful enough? Maybe not photo-shop/bikini beautiful, but everyday beautiful.
I'd be remiss if I told you I believe this without wavering. I fight inside my mind plenty about whether I'm good enough, and although I've received my share of insults from others, most of the criticism comes from myself. My head becomes my own worst enemy. Lots of people live this way, and it is a tragic waste of our energy, and not what we were created for. So, I hope my amazingly large hand(s) inspire you to not be ashamed of your own wonderful, imperfect, and fearfully-made body. At any rate, I hope it reminds you not to take physical appearance too seriously, and that you are not alone in that struggle.
Oh, and- Happy Independence Day! May we continue to live in freedom from our enemies- the ones who wish to hurt us- from without or from within.
Before pic
.jpg)
After pic
And, I don't want to hear "I don't see the difference," because if I do, I'll crush you with my gigantic hands.
I decided to post these pictures, because in my country today is a day about Freedom. And, I'm posting these pictures to liberate myself. I'm tired of feeling awkward about the size and shape of my body. Tired of hiding behind throw pillows, and strategically large purses. My body fluctuates, (hence the pics), I have scars, bumps and calloused heels. I'm overweight; when I work at it, I lose weight. Sometimes old habits win, and I gain it back. It is the body I was born with. It has suffered some abuse over the years, and I'll never look as good as some women, but if I feel healthy, and comfortable- why isn't that beautiful enough? Maybe not photo-shop/bikini beautiful, but everyday beautiful.
I'd be remiss if I told you I believe this without wavering. I fight inside my mind plenty about whether I'm good enough, and although I've received my share of insults from others, most of the criticism comes from myself. My head becomes my own worst enemy. Lots of people live this way, and it is a tragic waste of our energy, and not what we were created for. So, I hope my amazingly large hand(s) inspire you to not be ashamed of your own wonderful, imperfect, and fearfully-made body. At any rate, I hope it reminds you not to take physical appearance too seriously, and that you are not alone in that struggle.
Oh, and- Happy Independence Day! May we continue to live in freedom from our enemies- the ones who wish to hurt us- from without or from within.
Saturday, June 29, 2013
Why the Saturday Market and I are just friends...
Having the house to myself for the next nine days has afforded me the opportunity to DO WHAT I WANT!!! And, apparently what I want is to...clean...and to...buy groceries. Ah, yeah! I embrace this practical side of myself, and as I am decisively procrastinastic, (that should be a word; even though it's not), about the cleaning, I went shopping instead.
While most cities have a Saturday Market; my city has two. Rumor has it one of the main organizers of the original Market, was let go, causing the split. Consequently, downtown Boise sports two separate, but equally charming Markets, separated by a block and a half.
I am pulled to the Saturday Market, as I am more and more pulled to organic and local products. Organic eggs, milk, honey, and blueberries are becoming staples to my diet. Of course I mean to expand on this trend; however, my budget is limited, and I can stretch my grocery dollars farther by avoiding organic, locally grown, meats and produce. I know, I know- it's not very socially conscious, but I am trying- and I will continue to incorporate these options into my life.
Besides financial restrictions, a big reason why I tend to limit my Market purchases to local honey, and a chocolate croissant, is the overwhelming abundance of choices. I mean, how do I choose? Pricing is consistent across the board; so, do I frequent this booth offering locally grown organic berries, or that booth...offering locally grown organic berries? Or, how about that one- of which the funds go to local refugee families, or that one, over there- which no one else is shopping at, and really, how sad is that? Do I buy from an Idaho farm, or from an Oregon farm which is still technically "local." Where does the social consciousness end??? In response, I commit to none. I buy my croissant from Guston's, and my coffee from Dawson's, and people watch.
But, you say- weren't you going grocery shopping? Why, yes; yes I was. And, I did. After. At Winco. For stretching dollars, Winco is probably as good as it gets in Boise. I am even able to buy a few organic items there. In fact, today I had an internal struggle over eggs. Do I choose the organic, or the cage free eggs? The cage free eggs are probably also organic, but the label doesn't say, and I'm not sure I trust it. And, what does that imply, anyway? That there are anti-biotic and pesticide munching chickens roaming wild and free, while the hormone free chickens are living in little chicken-ghettos with no porches and yards? I'm starting to understand while some people go bat-crazy over sustainable living.
After the great egg crisis of 2013, I picked up some organic milk and chicken. I bought panko bread crumbs to prepare the chicken with, as I remember hearing panko was all the rage five years ago. I think that is another reason why I'm non-committal about the Saturday Market. I never think about what I want to make before I go shopping. When I see all the options: arugula, purple asparagus, different types of root vegetables, I have to wonder how long they will sit in my fridge forgotten before starting to rot.
I have no reservations about what light this puts me in. I can admit I'm no lion in the kitchen; however, just as I'm trying to be better about eating healthier foods, I am also open to improving my domestic skills. Hence, the panko. So, I may experiment in the kitchen a bit over the next several days. Once I feel more comfortable there; perhaps, I will feel more confident at the Market.
While most cities have a Saturday Market; my city has two. Rumor has it one of the main organizers of the original Market, was let go, causing the split. Consequently, downtown Boise sports two separate, but equally charming Markets, separated by a block and a half.
I am pulled to the Saturday Market, as I am more and more pulled to organic and local products. Organic eggs, milk, honey, and blueberries are becoming staples to my diet. Of course I mean to expand on this trend; however, my budget is limited, and I can stretch my grocery dollars farther by avoiding organic, locally grown, meats and produce. I know, I know- it's not very socially conscious, but I am trying- and I will continue to incorporate these options into my life.
Besides financial restrictions, a big reason why I tend to limit my Market purchases to local honey, and a chocolate croissant, is the overwhelming abundance of choices. I mean, how do I choose? Pricing is consistent across the board; so, do I frequent this booth offering locally grown organic berries, or that booth...offering locally grown organic berries? Or, how about that one- of which the funds go to local refugee families, or that one, over there- which no one else is shopping at, and really, how sad is that? Do I buy from an Idaho farm, or from an Oregon farm which is still technically "local." Where does the social consciousness end??? In response, I commit to none. I buy my croissant from Guston's, and my coffee from Dawson's, and people watch.
But, you say- weren't you going grocery shopping? Why, yes; yes I was. And, I did. After. At Winco. For stretching dollars, Winco is probably as good as it gets in Boise. I am even able to buy a few organic items there. In fact, today I had an internal struggle over eggs. Do I choose the organic, or the cage free eggs? The cage free eggs are probably also organic, but the label doesn't say, and I'm not sure I trust it. And, what does that imply, anyway? That there are anti-biotic and pesticide munching chickens roaming wild and free, while the hormone free chickens are living in little chicken-ghettos with no porches and yards? I'm starting to understand while some people go bat-crazy over sustainable living.
After the great egg crisis of 2013, I picked up some organic milk and chicken. I bought panko bread crumbs to prepare the chicken with, as I remember hearing panko was all the rage five years ago. I think that is another reason why I'm non-committal about the Saturday Market. I never think about what I want to make before I go shopping. When I see all the options: arugula, purple asparagus, different types of root vegetables, I have to wonder how long they will sit in my fridge forgotten before starting to rot.
I have no reservations about what light this puts me in. I can admit I'm no lion in the kitchen; however, just as I'm trying to be better about eating healthier foods, I am also open to improving my domestic skills. Hence, the panko. So, I may experiment in the kitchen a bit over the next several days. Once I feel more comfortable there; perhaps, I will feel more confident at the Market.
Monday, June 24, 2013
Lion House
A large mansion sits along an affluent Boulevard in my city. The mansion is white with red steps leading up to the front door, and two somber stone lions guard the porch. It is an old, eccentric, and beautiful home, done in the Spanish Mission style; all of which makes it prime real estate for a ghost story.
And, behold- there is such a story surrounding the Lion House of Harrison Blvd. Its origin belongs to a child that drowned decades ago in the basement pool. The pool, having caused such lasting devastation to the family, was filled in and boarded up; but this was not enough to subdue the spirit of the small boy who perished.
Well, that is one version.
Other reports say there never was an indoor swimming pool, and the truth is that a child did drown in that neighborhood in the 1930's; but in an outdoor pool, one or two houses down from the Lion House.
The idea that the home is haunted perpetuated a few years back when a local historian received a tour, and was told by the owner that a ghost of a woman roamed the mansion searching for her lost child. When asked how the ghost made herself known, the owner referred to electrical variances and noises in the house...how she discovered the ghost's motivation, let alone gender- I do not know. The only plausible witnesses; the two stone lions- weren't added to the home till the 1980's, and therefore, were not on guard to witness any truth in the myths surrounding the house.
What we do know is that the construction of the Lion House dates back to 1911. Its Spanish style was inspired by the builder's experience living in San Diego, CA. The San Francisco Earthquake of 1906 inspired him further to build the house with concrete walls, 12 inches thick. It was an impenetrable safe house. It was home to a former Governor and other influential residents.
So why am I blogging about an improbable ghost story, seemingly unrelated to my own life? I attended a lecture a few days ago regarding local myths and how they influence society; how they bring people together to form plausible explanations of the weird and strange. How difficult they are to vanquish despite all our modern principles and research. How necessary they are to our survival as a community, and how slowly, over time, for good or for bad, they become our history. All this made me realize that the story of the Lion House is quite important. Every vicious local legend, every family story I knew growing up- that we are distantly related to Marie Antoinette; that we bear some long lost connection to Andrew Carnegie- formed a framework for ideas, hope, pride, horror, and finally- the ability to embrace the unexplainable. Together we share a unique history- verifiable or not, that we cannot shake. How will our history evolve as we grow older; as time puts more distance between the story and the truth? Will they be used to unite, or manipulated to cause division? Or, are stories too strong to be wrangled, too wild to contain? Each year spreading out further and further from their origin, until they can only exist as acceptable fact.
For now, if you research the Lion House, you will come across conflicting reports- pool, no pool- ghost, no ghost. Either way, it truly is a gorgeous building, a lovely landmark of this city, and that beauty in itself is sufficient to render it absolutely haunting.
Take a tour inside the Lion House and decide for yourself:
http://tours.tourfactory.com/tours/tour.asp?t=903660
And, behold- there is such a story surrounding the Lion House of Harrison Blvd. Its origin belongs to a child that drowned decades ago in the basement pool. The pool, having caused such lasting devastation to the family, was filled in and boarded up; but this was not enough to subdue the spirit of the small boy who perished.
Well, that is one version.
Other reports say there never was an indoor swimming pool, and the truth is that a child did drown in that neighborhood in the 1930's; but in an outdoor pool, one or two houses down from the Lion House.
The idea that the home is haunted perpetuated a few years back when a local historian received a tour, and was told by the owner that a ghost of a woman roamed the mansion searching for her lost child. When asked how the ghost made herself known, the owner referred to electrical variances and noises in the house...how she discovered the ghost's motivation, let alone gender- I do not know. The only plausible witnesses; the two stone lions- weren't added to the home till the 1980's, and therefore, were not on guard to witness any truth in the myths surrounding the house.
What we do know is that the construction of the Lion House dates back to 1911. Its Spanish style was inspired by the builder's experience living in San Diego, CA. The San Francisco Earthquake of 1906 inspired him further to build the house with concrete walls, 12 inches thick. It was an impenetrable safe house. It was home to a former Governor and other influential residents.
So why am I blogging about an improbable ghost story, seemingly unrelated to my own life? I attended a lecture a few days ago regarding local myths and how they influence society; how they bring people together to form plausible explanations of the weird and strange. How difficult they are to vanquish despite all our modern principles and research. How necessary they are to our survival as a community, and how slowly, over time, for good or for bad, they become our history. All this made me realize that the story of the Lion House is quite important. Every vicious local legend, every family story I knew growing up- that we are distantly related to Marie Antoinette; that we bear some long lost connection to Andrew Carnegie- formed a framework for ideas, hope, pride, horror, and finally- the ability to embrace the unexplainable. Together we share a unique history- verifiable or not, that we cannot shake. How will our history evolve as we grow older; as time puts more distance between the story and the truth? Will they be used to unite, or manipulated to cause division? Or, are stories too strong to be wrangled, too wild to contain? Each year spreading out further and further from their origin, until they can only exist as acceptable fact.
For now, if you research the Lion House, you will come across conflicting reports- pool, no pool- ghost, no ghost. Either way, it truly is a gorgeous building, a lovely landmark of this city, and that beauty in itself is sufficient to render it absolutely haunting.
Take a tour inside the Lion House and decide for yourself:
http://tours.tourfactory.com/tours/tour.asp?t=903660
Sunday, June 16, 2013
Call out...
I am not consistent in my writing. I ignore inspiration until it turns reluctantly away, leaving me to my own time-wasting devices. By the time I'm ready to sit down and write, all my ideas have abandoned me- and rightfully so. As inspiration has left me, and I'm vastly behind on my blogging; it's time to give credit where credit is due: Netflix, Pinterest, and Facebook. Amazing time killers. Creators of Writer's Block. And, in moderation- great things. Two hours of Kitchen Nightmares, and Supernatural, is entertaining, and a refreshing break from daily stresses. Nine hours of Kitchen Nightmares, and Supernatural, well, that's an addiction. And, with any addiction, there is the penalty of having all your natural human energy sucked away by heartless things that will never appreciate, never grow, or benefit from it.
Truthfully, I could blame these havens of time-suckery for my lack of progress, but as I've said many times- it all comes down to a choice, and the choice is mine. When I think about my story- the story that I both hate and love, enjoy and find excruciating, am most proud and most ashamed- I choose to not think about it. I could choose to finish it, change it, throw it out the window, but instead I choose to ignore it. How self defeating. I'm making all these changes in my life to get better physically, improve my finances, and try new things, but I won't change the one thing that could make the biggest difference- how I approach my story. I need to approach it as an ally, not an enemy. A friend, not an adversary. At the very least- a frenemy.
I am a very introspective person, and it is hard for me to ask for advice. So, I am making a choice right now to ask for help. Any advice out there on how to turn things around? What gets you back on track? It would be much appreciated.
Truthfully, I could blame these havens of time-suckery for my lack of progress, but as I've said many times- it all comes down to a choice, and the choice is mine. When I think about my story- the story that I both hate and love, enjoy and find excruciating, am most proud and most ashamed- I choose to not think about it. I could choose to finish it, change it, throw it out the window, but instead I choose to ignore it. How self defeating. I'm making all these changes in my life to get better physically, improve my finances, and try new things, but I won't change the one thing that could make the biggest difference- how I approach my story. I need to approach it as an ally, not an enemy. A friend, not an adversary. At the very least- a frenemy.
I am a very introspective person, and it is hard for me to ask for advice. So, I am making a choice right now to ask for help. Any advice out there on how to turn things around? What gets you back on track? It would be much appreciated.
Monday, May 27, 2013
Sailing
I bring to you the long awaited Sailing post! I avoided it for awhile; however, as I am currently laid up with significant lower back pain and can't move- why not write?
I've been out sailing twice now. I am particularly proud I didn't fall off the boat either trip, and am confident that I want sailing to become a regular part of my life. However, this may may be more difficult to implement then I had hoped. The first time I went sailing I was a part of the race. I steered the rudder, and tacked the jib to the left and right. My host was very laid back and willing to teach. On my second trip I was merely a passenger. The husband and wife I sailed with were a well-oiled machine and didn't need my help. They also won pretty much every race we sailed. It was fast and furious- for 5 to 10 mph- and I felt brave enough to crawl/walk all over the boat; something I did not feel capable of the first trip out. However, there was no steering, no tacking, and I realised pretty quickly that sailing lost a lot of its appeal when I wasn't a part of the action. In order to really learn to sail I will need to make some friends who sail for fun, (not just to compete), where allowing me to participate won't run the danger of slowing them down.
Both times I sailed I had the good fortune of a steady wind, cool and refreshing weather, and happy hosts. The sun never beat too hot, and the wind never blew too cold. I mentioned before that I never fell off the boat, which is true; however, I did almost fall down the companionway, but in an amazing display of strength I didn't know I had, I was able to pull myself back up. Probably the least enthusiastic I was during the whole experience was when I endeavored to use the ships toilet. By toilet I bid you to imagine the following: Down the companionway towards the front of the boat and on your right, you find a wooden panel attached with a hook. Upon opening you discover a small toilet with room enough only for your bottom. There is no privacy- only the trust you have for your shipmates not to stare. As you are inside the boat there isn't room to straighten up and you are half crouching as you shuffle your pants down to your ankles and fall gracelessly backwards on to the toilet. Once your business is complete you now have to struggle, half dressed, to rise up from your sitting position while the boat tips you forward and back. You give up and try your best to shimmy your pants up as much as possible before falling forward on your hands and knees. With as much dignity as you can muster you stand, pull your pants up the rest of the way, and use a bottle of water to "flush" the toilet. You close the panel and secure it with the hook- but not before falling forward several times as the ship teeters. Finally, you wander back to the upper deck like nothing ever happened. I withstood a lot of bruising for the relief of my bladder.
On my first outing I managed to not ever need the facilities. I also came out unscathed, bruise-less and feeling pretty darn capable as a human being. On the second outing, along with being battered about, I managed to lock my keys in my car after we returned to shore. This was done in what I can only describe as a magnificent display of "not thinking." Ellen- my Adventure Club partner- let me use her phone to call for a locksmith. It took a very long time for them to understand my coordinates, and an even longer time for them to make it out to the lake. In the meantime, a handsome Scotsman/fellow sailor offered to throw a brick through my window. Despite the chivalry of the offer, I declined. Ellen and I set about engaging the sailors, crew, and their families at the after-party-potluck held in the dock parking lot. I learned that until I really understood sailing and boats, I would be hard pressed to keep up in their conversations. Eventually, the locksmith arrived and with several apparatuses which I could not name, my car was once again accessible.
Despite the random inconveniences of the day, all the way home I wondered when I'd be able to get back. I determined to become more learned on the subject. I now gauge most days on their "sail-worthiness." I am considering buying a boat...well, someday. For now I am content with pouring over Sailing for Dummies, at local book stores. I hope to join the sailors of SISA, (the Southern Idaho Sailing Association), again soon. Future events will be held farther out of town and most participants camp out. I'm sure I'll have more to tell as I get more involved, and will try to get some pictures on here soon.
I've been out sailing twice now. I am particularly proud I didn't fall off the boat either trip, and am confident that I want sailing to become a regular part of my life. However, this may may be more difficult to implement then I had hoped. The first time I went sailing I was a part of the race. I steered the rudder, and tacked the jib to the left and right. My host was very laid back and willing to teach. On my second trip I was merely a passenger. The husband and wife I sailed with were a well-oiled machine and didn't need my help. They also won pretty much every race we sailed. It was fast and furious- for 5 to 10 mph- and I felt brave enough to crawl/walk all over the boat; something I did not feel capable of the first trip out. However, there was no steering, no tacking, and I realised pretty quickly that sailing lost a lot of its appeal when I wasn't a part of the action. In order to really learn to sail I will need to make some friends who sail for fun, (not just to compete), where allowing me to participate won't run the danger of slowing them down.
Both times I sailed I had the good fortune of a steady wind, cool and refreshing weather, and happy hosts. The sun never beat too hot, and the wind never blew too cold. I mentioned before that I never fell off the boat, which is true; however, I did almost fall down the companionway, but in an amazing display of strength I didn't know I had, I was able to pull myself back up. Probably the least enthusiastic I was during the whole experience was when I endeavored to use the ships toilet. By toilet I bid you to imagine the following: Down the companionway towards the front of the boat and on your right, you find a wooden panel attached with a hook. Upon opening you discover a small toilet with room enough only for your bottom. There is no privacy- only the trust you have for your shipmates not to stare. As you are inside the boat there isn't room to straighten up and you are half crouching as you shuffle your pants down to your ankles and fall gracelessly backwards on to the toilet. Once your business is complete you now have to struggle, half dressed, to rise up from your sitting position while the boat tips you forward and back. You give up and try your best to shimmy your pants up as much as possible before falling forward on your hands and knees. With as much dignity as you can muster you stand, pull your pants up the rest of the way, and use a bottle of water to "flush" the toilet. You close the panel and secure it with the hook- but not before falling forward several times as the ship teeters. Finally, you wander back to the upper deck like nothing ever happened. I withstood a lot of bruising for the relief of my bladder.
On my first outing I managed to not ever need the facilities. I also came out unscathed, bruise-less and feeling pretty darn capable as a human being. On the second outing, along with being battered about, I managed to lock my keys in my car after we returned to shore. This was done in what I can only describe as a magnificent display of "not thinking." Ellen- my Adventure Club partner- let me use her phone to call for a locksmith. It took a very long time for them to understand my coordinates, and an even longer time for them to make it out to the lake. In the meantime, a handsome Scotsman/fellow sailor offered to throw a brick through my window. Despite the chivalry of the offer, I declined. Ellen and I set about engaging the sailors, crew, and their families at the after-party-potluck held in the dock parking lot. I learned that until I really understood sailing and boats, I would be hard pressed to keep up in their conversations. Eventually, the locksmith arrived and with several apparatuses which I could not name, my car was once again accessible.
Despite the random inconveniences of the day, all the way home I wondered when I'd be able to get back. I determined to become more learned on the subject. I now gauge most days on their "sail-worthiness." I am considering buying a boat...well, someday. For now I am content with pouring over Sailing for Dummies, at local book stores. I hope to join the sailors of SISA, (the Southern Idaho Sailing Association), again soon. Future events will be held farther out of town and most participants camp out. I'm sure I'll have more to tell as I get more involved, and will try to get some pictures on here soon.
Saturday, May 11, 2013
Sunny Days
Today is one of those warm, lovely days that inspires people to leave their couches and venture outside. Until it gets a bit too warm and I, I mean- they, scramble back for home. I was sitting outside at the cafe enjoying Out of the Silent Planet, by C.S. Lewis, when the temperature rose a bit high for my temperament and I made my escape.
I trekked home through the sports complex passing playing children and parents huddled in the shade with cameras, or binoculars, (depending on how close the shade was to the game). Ground hogs, who normally dominate the entire park must hate Saturdays. Their homes quake with the heavy footfalls of oblivious humans. Several dodged away from me as I crisscrossed the fields.
I took a short cut on a walking path that runs behind our neighborhood. Some winged created attempted to fly up my right nostril before I snorted it out. I don't know what is going around with nature lately; the other day a bee flew into my car and down my shirt. I managed to stay on the road as I opened my collar and waived it back out the window.
All this to say that despite the heat, and the bugs, I lived all week for this weekend. Not my best week at work thus far. So, a couple days with nothing planned? Perfection. I hope everyone finds their weekend equally refreshing.
A few weeks back I promised you an exciting tell-all regarding my sailing adventure. Well I have to admit it was less eventful then I anticipated, aka, no one fell off the boat. Honestly- I loved it! I can't wait to go again and I promise to dedicate my next post to details.
Happy Saturday, Everyone!
I trekked home through the sports complex passing playing children and parents huddled in the shade with cameras, or binoculars, (depending on how close the shade was to the game). Ground hogs, who normally dominate the entire park must hate Saturdays. Their homes quake with the heavy footfalls of oblivious humans. Several dodged away from me as I crisscrossed the fields.
I took a short cut on a walking path that runs behind our neighborhood. Some winged created attempted to fly up my right nostril before I snorted it out. I don't know what is going around with nature lately; the other day a bee flew into my car and down my shirt. I managed to stay on the road as I opened my collar and waived it back out the window.
All this to say that despite the heat, and the bugs, I lived all week for this weekend. Not my best week at work thus far. So, a couple days with nothing planned? Perfection. I hope everyone finds their weekend equally refreshing.
A few weeks back I promised you an exciting tell-all regarding my sailing adventure. Well I have to admit it was less eventful then I anticipated, aka, no one fell off the boat. Honestly- I loved it! I can't wait to go again and I promise to dedicate my next post to details.
Happy Saturday, Everyone!
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