Not Forgotten

This is unfortunately just a quick note to say, "Have no fear!" I haven't forgotten about my blog. I simply haven't had much time. Once life returns to normal, I will return to the page with an update, or at the very least a story to help pass the time. Until then...

I've Always Loved Grapes...

I officially feel like I'm in California. Not that the trip hasn't been wonderful so far, but up to this point you could have told me I'm in New Hampshire and I would have agreed. Staying up in the rolling mountains of Arnold, my family and I have commandeered a friend's home for the week. (And by home, I mean immaculate, exorbitant hillside retreat with room for an army and wraparound porches that give the illusion of a massive tree house.) It really is overwhelming.

Today, however, I experienced the California many love. The California with vines, which leads to the California with wine :) True, we're not in Napa or Sonoma, but wineries abound throughout the state. I've visited some with family before, but today I experienced the first as a legal drinker. (I've always encouraged participation, haha.) Ironstone Vineyards was a great intro to the wine tasting world. To the left is a photo of the second winery at which we made a pit-stop, Chatom (pronounced the same as Chatham... I thought I just left a place with that name, hmmm).

Long story short, it was a great day. Wineries definitely have a place in my future!

Mile High Smile

We're finally in our last hour of the flight to San Francisco, somewhere over Montana. The flight has been nothing but typical: slight turbulence now and then; the incessant bing of the fasten-seat-belt light; the odd, muffled noises throughout the plane that always make me feel like we're under water. Nothing but ordinary. I happen to pause for a moment in my book. I've reached the end of a chapter and always feel the need to conduct a mini celebration in my head. During said celebrating, I look up at the people passing by my aisle seat as they make their way to the bathroom. Among the wanderers is an elderly woman, probably 73 or 74, who looks straight ahead as she walks towards me. A smile warms her face and I realize that it's for a man slowly passing my seat. Obviously a few years her senior, her husband gingerly moves towards her and, as they meet, they hug. I can't see the man's face but the woman's smile seems to spread further if possible. The action may be habitual for both of them, but the utter happiness written on her face makes it seem as if it's their first embrace. They part in a blink of the eye; I'm sure no one else even noticed their hug. I certainly do and quickly whip out my computer to begin typing. In a flash I realize that a love like theirs is what I want in life. I want someone to look at me fifty years from now the way she just looked at her husband, unable to imagine spending her life with anyone but that person. It may seem like a lot to deduce from one simple action... then again, it's amazing how much one smile can say.

Update

Due to overwhelming demand (ahem, Claire's curiosity, but maybe the rest of the world shares her intrigue as well?... wishful thinking haha) I am going to take this time to fill in some gaps.

Since graduating in May, I've spent all of my days back in Rochester/Marion, MA. People warned me that moving home is a difficult step, one that takes patience from both parties. Aside from my time at Simmons and in London, I've always lived at home. I imagined moving back would be a piece of cake. Patience? No problem! I've got patience coming out of my ears! Oh, contrare... I have loved the opportunity to see my family again. After all, we've always been close; my parents know nearly every minute detail of my life... nearly ;-) However, at school I forgot about my mom's intense worrying and my stepdad's dictatoresque reign over the house. I recognize that it is all out of love, but my patience has worn thin. (Apparently it no longer flows out of my ears like it once did.) Neadless to say, living in Rochester again has been a learning experience.

When not at home, it is safe to say I am working at the Kinsale Inn. As long as you've visited a restaurant in your lifetime, you know what my job entails. Basket of bread? Right away. Dirty martini? No problem. Smile? Always. If it weren't for the people I work with and customers I see daily, serving tables and tending bar would become painfully monotonous. The people truly make it worthwhile, especially this summer. New faces are now friends to share drinks with, lean on, laugh with, you name it. One face in particular has meant so much more.

Earlier this year, I decided to train for a half marathon. I've completed a few races this summer, the most recent being the Mattapoisett Road Race on the 4th of July. It is my longest race to date, 5 miles, and if all goes according to plan it will not be my last. The Crohn's and Colitis Foundation is sponsoring a half marathon in Vegas on December 6th and I would love to run for a cause close to my heart. This race is my goal! Gulp. Thirteen point one miles. Sure. I have ten weeks to train... let the running begin, er continue! Just keep running. Keep reminding myself of the amazing freedom that comes with each step as the music pumps in my ears and the sense of accomplishment I feel when cooling down. I can do it! Check back for updates.

Otherwise, my summer has been fairly uneventful. Little excursions here, a beach day there (if the weather would only improve). I've also been looking for jobs like the hundreds of thousands of recent graduates. So far, no cigar. If I'm being completely honest, however, I have not put my best effort forward. This will change, especially now that the dog days of summer are nearly behind us and my life ambitions are slowly coming into focus, although still a bit hazy at times.

Well there's the Reader's Digest, skim-the-surface, shallow look at my life over the past couple of months. I am leaving Thursday for San Francisco with my dad and crew to visit family. I'm sure I will have some tales, or at the very least a brief anecdote, for you from the west coast.

Crashing Waves

Today I was able to enjoy a break between shifts. Time to check on the pets as Dad asked and stop at the bank, which was closed. Finally I wound up at Ned's Point, stepped out of my car and traversed the rocks to find the perfect spot. A spot hidden from the cars circling the lighthouse and the boys splashing in the waves. Carrying a few creature comforts (iced coffee from Uncle Jon's which I didn't sweeten enough, a book, and my phone cruelly set to alert me when my break was over) I nestled into a comfortable, cool crag. The instant I sat down, the modern world shut off. I couldn't hear the cars or see other people. I could only hear the slapping of the waves against the rocks and the squawks of the hungry seagulls overhead. The steady breeze dusted the sun off my skin. Before me, sailboats skimmed the water with full sails, some proudly raising spinnakers as if to fly across the bay. It suddenly seemed ridiculous that I even bothered bringing a book with me. I spent an hour simply watching the world and letting my mind wander. What if I weren't able to enjoy this? What if I could sail away? Where would I go? What would I do? What if you were with me?

It's unfortunate that people don't take the time to watch the world.