Resolute

Ah, yes, now! is the time of year for being exceedingly determined about accomplishing the previously unaccomplished, about completing that which seems impossible without the gentle poking and prodding of goals staring us in the face via our own handwriting written decisively on carefully selected paper once every year.

Lofty ambitions like say, for example: eating less chocolate, knowing everyone who works at your gym by their first names, posting for 365 days in a row, owning fewer than five-hundred pairs of shoes, not baking cookies and eating all of them yourself (ahem), learning to drive a manual transmission (double ahem), or, maybe, running your first marathon (it’s downright bizarre how close I am to adding this to my own list every year).

It doesn’t matter that you have yet to even own a pair of adequate running shoes. The marathon! it is, and you are determined and confident in your ability to conquer all goals, no matter the miles, no matter how insane. You are determined! and resolute! Fearless! and unwavering! Until next month, anyway.

Resolutions are, truly, the stuff that (pipe) dreams are made of. I’m no different than anyone else playfully poking fun at resolutions and my inability to complete them, while also making my own this year, but what perhaps makes me slightly less mainstream, and in direct contrast to many of my own New Year’s of yore, is that I fully intend on keeping ALL of my resolutions this year.

Which is why I’m only making five.

You may call it “underachieving.” I call it “cheating” “preparing myself for success.”

Resolution, The First: I shall play pool on New Year’s Eve.

This first resolution may seem measly in comparison to your impressive promise to, perhaps, end world hunger or something, but really, it’s imperative that I regale Chris with my lack of pool skills, so that he will stop asking me to play. Forever. Because I am that bad, I promise you. I once shot a yellow ball in the corner pocket, and promptly congratulated myself, only I did it WITHOUT using the cue ball, because I didn’t understand you had to. Did I mention I’m a rare form of genius, unlike most genius this world has ever seen?

Resolution, The Second: I shall correctly sew a pillow to rest cozily on our futon, that is not so much “cozy” (yet), as it is “green,” and “functional,” and “doubling as a guest bed.”

Learning to properly sew (Doesn’t that word make you take pause, and try not to pronounce it “see-ewww”? Or “sue”? Nope? Just me?) has been something I have wanted to do for years, and while I have indeed made (two!) pillows in the past, neither of them could be deemed “properly sewn,” and in fact probably looked as if a sixth-grader finished them. A drunk sixth-grader. I really think I might like! sewing (not to be confused with “suing,” which I suppose I might also like), and that I might actually be able to do it. Maybe. If I stay sober.

Resolution, The Third: I shall teach Iggy to “sit” and “stay” and maybe even “roll over,” if I’m feeling crazy lucky, and by “I shall” I mostly mean “we shall,” because by the beard of Zeus! I am going to need HELP. And quite possibly divine intervention.

Iggy is no Lassie. We know this, and have accepted it. We know that if we were ever trapped in a well we would have a better chance of Flavor Flav randomly happening across our path, hearing us making fun of him from the bottom of the well, and offering to throw down one of his large clocks to pull us up, than we would of Iggy coming to our rescue. The chances of Iggy (even noticing we fell down the well and) flagging down a gentle and rope-laden hunting party to come to our rescue are akin to the chances that Britney is going to run for Goodwill Ambassador for UNICEF in 2008.

All of that being said, he is still a dog, and I would like to think there are certain doggy codes of conduct, if you will, and sitting, staying, and maybe even rolling over are three of those codes. Or at least, I remain hopeful they are part of his doggy code, which seems to differ greatly from that of most regular dogs. He does “act like you’re on crack!” quite well, though.

Resolution, The Fourth: I shall revel in The Travel this year, to the best of my (pocketbook’s) ability, and will invite everyone I can think of to stay with us in Portland, because we have room! and endless places to walk to! and both should be utilized to their full potential, amen. Seriously, if you want to come visit (us, or just) our amazing city: holler! I’m so not kidding.

Already upcoming in 2008 we have:

a. A much anticipated trip to Alabama, to see Chris’ family, courtesy of Chris’ hard work which ultimately resulted in (time off for me, yes, and!) free first-class airfare. (This trip also marks the very first time Chris and I will have ever flown together.)

b. The much anticipated arrival of one Ms. Jenny Frazier, who is flying from her Right Coast home to our Left Coast home in March. I might have done a literal happy! dance when I first found out she booked airfare. My co-workers were a tad confused but no doubt also (secretly) impressed at how well I can do The Sprinkler.

c. A prematurely booked because that’s how excited! I am trip to San Francisco during the weekend of July 18-20, wherein I fully intend on meeting some very rad ladies (and perhaps their fellows) who are planning to be or already live in the city on the same weekend. If you think you! may be attending said conference in said city, or even if you aren’t, but will still be in or around San Francisco, shoot me an email or comment to let me know.

d. Myriad other yet unplanned trips between now and then, and seriously, if you are ever passing through at any point (ahem), and you feel like stopping, call me; I’d be thrilled to even peek out the window and throw something at your car as you drive by.

e. All of the above.

Resolution, The Fifth: I shall refuse to measure my newly created and labeled “Operation: Better, Stronger, Capable Kerri” in pounds on a scale or words on a page. Instead I will use hard-wrought and yet impossible to measure feelings of accomplishment.

This is the trickiest of the five, and I anticipate I will be unable to fully check it off the list (ever, but especially not) until December 31st, 2008. As daunting as that looks to my prized impatient sensibilities, it’s also mildly thrilling, the idea of embarking on something that will take consistent and repeated time and effort to accomplish. It will take commitment, and dare I say, devotion! and the journey to a healthier, stronger, more capable me will no doubt be one that is fraught with peril, and hard (gasp!) work, and perhaps even some Rodents Of Unusual Size. (Not that I’m thrilled about anything resembling Nutria. But they amuse me; even just saying the word “Nutria” and realizing it’s used to describe a giant water-dwelling rodent? Amusing! To me. But I digress.)

Ultimately I anticipate 2008 to emerge as the front-runner for The Best Damn Year Ever, for a variety of reasons which I hope to expound upon as the year flies by, not the least of which remains the fact that we as a country will be free (at last!) of the man who cannot pronounce anything beyond a seventh grade reading level our current President. Oh, sweet ineptitude, how we need a break. It’s not you. It’s me.

Weekend Update, Leprechaun Edition

I haven’t run a 5k since 2005, when my sister and I signed up to “trot” a Race for the Cure in Portland and then on race day, about twenty minutes before we were set to briskly walk with the rest of the meanders, she asked if we could run. We have different memories of this day, but I remember knowing we would run even though we had said we were going to walk. I also remember that while she → Read more...

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This post inspired by my friend and Patron Saint of Divorce Redemption.

We’ve all heard about the five (or seven) stages of grief, the designated personal places you must traipse within and for yourself to be able to stand tall on the other side of whatever loss you are suffering. Stages you need to fight your way through surviving, and really processing, to be able to find yourself again.

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We interrupt copious amounts of Asia recapping this broadcast for a maritime digression of sorts.

You see, I’ve been a lover of the ocean, and of all things aquatic and nautical-inspired, ever since I can remember.

My love for sea-faring-everything might very well have been fostered during the myriad spring breaks spent exploring quaint coastal communities in and around Port Ludlow, Washington. Some of my fondest childhood memories spring forth from days spent poking my curious face into every trinket shop in → Read more...