Thanks from a small island.

Thanksgiving: An act of giving thanks; an expression of gratitude, especially to God

Last week, on the 25th day of the 11th month in the year of our lord 2010, a day of thanks was celebrated across the United States. As a citizen and a patriot, I felt compelled to bring this day of joy and thanks to the small island nation in which I reside.

This year I hosted my first Thanksgiving meal and cooked (and cleaned and basted) a turkey for the first time – a genuine Martha Stewart in the making! I even used the neck and giblets to make turkey gravy - pretty nifty, huh? After three and a half hours in a too small oven, luckily, and surprisingly, the turkey turned out delicious; and I didn’t manage to give any one salmonella. Success!

Only one, tiny, disaster occurred. Someone (me) put the pumpkin pie in a precarious position, in an overly-stuffed fridge... so when the door was next open the pie flew out of the fridge, landing face down on the kitchen floor.

 Eek!

But, thankfully (key word here), this is what the’10 second rule’ was invented for. (yes, we did put it back together and eat it)

(pie down!)

And now for the cheesy part….

I am thankful for the people in London.   For all the wonderful friends I have met on this crazy journey, who turn foreign lands into new homes.  And I am thankful for my family, who graciously put up with me gallivanting around the world. Thanks.

Rock n' Riga

So, I went to Riga ... in November.

Here are two important things to remember about Latvia:

1) Riga is a very popular stag do (bachelor party) destination for British party boys, and their fathers, to go to and celebrate with the almost married.  And subsequently make fools of themselves.
*Take note that vodka redbulls will be consumed by a majority of the people on your plane ride to Riga, no matter what the time of day (in my case, 6am)

2) In November, Riga is COLD.  Snowy.  Icy.  Freezing, cold.  Bring a scarf.  And some sort of fury creature to where as a hat.

yes, "que frio!" indeed.

Old Town

The trip itself had a rocky start, with our group of five being cut down to four at the last minute. And, when we finally boarded the plane, only three of us would be living it up Latvian style.  But all turned out well and, despite the infiltration of British stags and the below zero temps, Riga is beautiful city and I had a great time.  There is truly nothing better than dancing to techno in a crowded club full of Europeans (photos to come in a following blog)

Christmas in Riga! 

 Some things I learned on my trip:

A) Techno loves Barbara Streisand:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uu_zwdmz0hE&feature=related

B) Having someone who lives in Riga to show you around is essential.  You will hit the best parties, and places to eat, and avoid any unnecessary contact with tourists

C) It is never good to get lost in a club, in a foreign city, for over an hour.  Juuuuust a little bit of a bad idea (sorry mom and dad - but hey! I'm fine!)

D) Sushi is surprisingly popular in Eastern Europe and Russia.  Surprisingly popular.

E) Spending three days with three boys isn't so bad afterall.

Rock n' Riga.  Such a random trip.  So fun.

A christmas window display?

The Disposable

Disposable cameras.  Remeber those?  How about film?

In this digital age, part of me misses the excitement of not knowing what, or how, your photos will turn out until developing the prints.  The excitement is then followed with the typical 'oooing' and 'ahhing' or, burning the evidence. 

In a recent trip to the local pharmacy these relics of the past, the legendary disposable camera, were on sale at the great price of buy one get one free!  So naturally, I left with not one, but two of these memories makers in my bag. 

Despite feeling slight dorky, and being made fun of as I carried my plastic camera through the streets of London, hearing things such as, "How old are you?" or "you do realise they make something called 'digital' now" or "We aren't in 3rd grade anymore Heather . .. "  Whatever.  They are just jealous.  I thoroughly enjoyed my disposable experiment.

after the fireworks on Guy Fawkes day at a pub somewhere

Me and the wonderful Miss Marianne at said pub 

attempt at capturing fireworks 

 Shh!  Don't tell blondie i put this photo up!!

 Autumnal colors on my walk to work

 Miss Loni James chillin' in an alleyway in London

 Nick Mack, Loni and I at the infamous 'The Boot' pub after church (yes, I said after church)

Storm troopers on the tube . . . as you do. 

 More exploring with Loni

 Wall in Brick Lane.  At the time, I thought it looked cool.

 My ex-favourite cafe in London.  Still cosy, but now way more pretentious and too busy

 The Halloween crew.

 Someone made the mistake of giving me plastic vampire teeth

 I have no idea who these people are.  This is the Beauty of a disposable.

 Who you gonna call?

 My cute little dark angel.

 LOVE this. 

I've got one camera left, so that means more to come!!

Heather  x

Life through a Champagne glass

True to form London has once again brought adventure and entertainment to what would otherwise be a typical Wednesday.  Yesterday, Vogue's Fashion Night Out hit New York, London and Paris.  A display of designer wears and fabulous celebrity.  The champagne was flowing and London's Mayfair was buzzing, as the likes of trendy-artsy East-Londoners mingled with high society.  

And then there was me.  Enjoying myself with some friends, partaking of the champagne, and admiring the clothes and the quality that I would only in some distant life be able to see hanging in my closet.   For moments I was inspired, delighting in being so close to so much glamour.  It was window shopping made better by the presence of live music, bantering patrons, balloons, champagne and canapes.  Inspired styles were to be seen everywhere, in the shops and on the attendees. 

(Kicking off our Fashion experience in Paul Smith.  Marianne modeling hat.)

(At Moschino, drinking Gin from teacups, naturally.)

Our group of three wandered through the back streets and allies of Mayfair, exploring all the shops, from the big names such as Vivienne Westwood, Moschino, and Stella McCartney, to the pop-up shops of  designers such as Georgian Tata Naka (her shop by far served the best drinks!).  We ended our night by stopping in for the perfume 'pick n' mix' at Miller Harris, taking home a goodie bag of sample scents.  

I suppose we could have stayed out later, found an after party to attend, but Wednesdays are school nights, afterall.  And, already by 10pm the champagne was starting to take its effects on me.

All in all, a fabulous night.  It was a night to make anyone feel like a celebrity.  A night of beautiful people and beautiful creations.  I will definitely be back, and perhaps next year I will have saved enough  to make a purchase.  ;-)

Living in London.  Life through a champagne glass.

Love, Actually.

One year ago today I left London.  I packed my bags and took a long walk along the Thames, from the Millennium bridge to Vauxhall, soaking in the city and swearing to myself that I was not yet finished with this city, that I would one day return.  I boarded the plane, unsure about my future and trying my best to be excited, trying my best to be a patriotic and proud american, ready to return to the homeland.

Trying my best wasn't good enough to keep me in America.  Instead that flight home turned into an extended vacation as opposed to the start of a new era in my life.  Two months after returning home I bought another ticket.  A one way ticket.  A ticket back to the place I was most comfortable.  A ticket back to London.

("God save our gracious Queen- oh, wait.  I mean, "Land where our father's died...")

Over the last year London has become home.  This city brings me to life each day with all it has to offer.  Everything from its' parks, to events like 'The Secret Cinema' and roller discos, to dancing at clubs in East London,  and shopping on the King's Road or looking for antiques at Portobello Market, to eating at fabulous restaurants or taking a quiet evening at a pub.  I feel more at home here than I have anywhere in the world.  It is my own.  It is my city.  I have grown into myself in London, and for that reason it will always be home.  I have challenged and fought with myself here.  I've been through good times and bad.   I've made lasting friendships.

gotta love Portabello

(A gig at the Proud Galleries - Camden)

I love america, and I love american-ness (there is nothing better in the world!) and yet, I find myself more at home in England and in Europe than anywhere else.

A lot has happened in the last year -  moving across the atlantic (twice), finally being out on my 'own', my first real job, my first real bills, funerals, weddings,  baking cakes, friendships found and friendships lost - and the end result?  I am happy.  I am content.  Buying that one-way ticket is one of the best decisions I have ever made.

(Taking friendships to the international level)

A year on and I am still constantly falling in love with London, all over again, every day.

Touring London - a runner's guide.

12 miles.

I ran 12 miles this morning.  Full-out, I didn't stop.  I finished in 1 hour and 56 minutes - that is less than 10 minute miles -  the fastest I have run since starting my training!!!

(Advocacy Assistant by day....)

It felt so amazing to finish.  12 miles is the furthest, and longest I have ever run.  Ever.  I feel like a super hero.  If I can run this far, and push myself to do this - who knows what else I am capable of!

Today's run was so encouraging, especially since over the past week I have not been too enthused to train or run.  Running felt more like an obligation than a desire to achieve a goal, make myself stronger, and push myself beyond anything that has ever been within my realm of possibility before.


But, whenever I finish a long run, I remember why I am doing this.  I am not running just because it is a great way to get in shape, but rather, I am running because it is a challenge. Each time I finish a run, I am breaking down walls and proving to myself that I can do more than I thought myself capable of.  (ok, I apologise for the cheez and melo-drama, but please bear with me - it is, all of it, true.)

I'm learning to really love my long runs (much more than the little short ones), especially because they provide a excellent way to tour London.  I see the entire city in two hours, without the expense, or stress, of the tube.   Running along the Thames, I start in beautiful Battersea Park, cross the bridge and continue through to MIlibank,  past Westminster and Parliament, along the river to St. Paul's Cathedral, across the Millennium Bridge to the Tate Modern,  down Southbank, past the London eye,  continuing along the river past MI6 and Vauxhall, and eventually closing my run as I had back to Battersea and then home to Clapham.  A whirlwind tour.   But it certainly makes the running more interesting - especially when playing the game of "dodge the tourist(s)".

12 miles, a great accomplishment, but I've got 14.2 more miles to go, and 10 more weeks of training.

Amsterdam, here I come.

Creepies and Crawlies

I was in the Lake District of England for work last week.

Tearfund needed extra volunteers to assist with operating a coffee stand at a conference, so I dragged my flat mate Brenda along by convincing her this would be a great holiday in the Lake District, and a nice break from busy London life.

Well.... by mid-week, Brenda has gone back to London and I'm exhausted.  Talking to people all day, being nice and serving/running a coffee stand is hard work!

But, Brenda and I did manage to find some time for an adventure before she headed back to the city.  We took a hike through the woods around Keswick.

(press play to see Brenda and I at our best)

Yes we are girly.
Creepy little slug thing.  Ick.

7 days in Keswick and I must admit,  I could get used to this lifestyle.  Surrounded by beauty; the lakes, hiking, and fresh air.  Although,  I was beginning to get a bit antsy for the city.  I was sharing a flat in Keswick with a 60 year old couple, and with Brenda gone,  as much as I enjoy eating meals in front of the television and getting to bed a decent hour,  I was beginning to feel like a pensioner.  So... back to London it is.   My life in the Lake District shall have to wait.

These times, they are a-changin'

This weekend marks the end of Spring and the beginning of Summer.  And as the seasons change, so does my 'everyday' in London.

My flat mate and friend, Nicole, whom I have known since my first few weeks of living in this city is leaving London.  On Monday she flies back to The States to begin a new adventure.

Travel buddy, friend and flat mate.

Today my new flat mate has moved in and already his things have taken over the space which she has left behind.

Yes, 'HE' - a boy.   And yes, 'cooties'.  I know.

meet the new roomie

It will certainly be an interesting experience sharing house with a male.  Even as he moved in today my knickers were drying on the laundry line... awkward?  Maybe.  Perhaps I should have taken those down.

Oh well, he will have to get used to it eventually I suppose.  Although, I did sadly come to the realisation that his presence means that I will need to cease walking around in my sports bra or towel.

Moving on.

Continuing with change, another good friend of mine, again someone I have known since first moving to London over a year and a half ago, will also be leaving this island behind in one weeks time.  In what I find to be a type of irony she will be trading the city of London for the city of Seattle.  While I remain in London, she will be moving to the 'other' Washington, and she will be closer to my family and friends than I.

friend, fellow foodie and lover of London

Although only small changes, they feel big.  And if things in life come in packs of three, I'm expecting one more 'change' to occur before this season is over.

Cornish Things

The first weekend in May is, for the English, a 'bank' holiday.  Meaning a three-day weekend in which the business world shuts down on Monday, therefore allowing families to spend time together and the recent grads to grab on to a bit of their former University glory and enjoy a long weekend in the sun (or, in this case, rain.  Rain happens to be a bank holiday special; every year.)

In my case the flat-mates and I packed our bags and decided to enjoy our long weekend by leaving early on Friday to head to Cornwall.  We took a train straight into the heart of this celtic country to a little place called Minions.  And when I say little I mean that there were all of three buildings - a pub, a cafe, and a post office/shop/B&B all combined into one (in which we stayed).

(Home away from home for the weekend)

Despite the fact that we had no idea what we were getting ourselves into, and that on the train ride down the reactions of those Brits whom we told our destination to was less than encouraging - the "Why are you going there?",  is never something you want to hear after having already booked your holiday and nearing your chosen fate with every passing second on the train, we actually had a fabulous and relaxing time.

We got to know the residents from miles around at the local pub, conveniently located about 10 steps from our B&B.  By the time we left I think there was a true bond, an American-British 'special relationship' of sorts (and heck, we even had a Canadian with us too. Thats international relations at its best).

Day one was spent by the sea,  walking along sandy beaches, eating Cornish ice cream and taking a break to enjoy a proper Cornish cream tea.  We were even lucky - it didn't start to rain until after we left the beach that day.

Day two was full of exploration.  Hiking, and climbing among the paegan ruins which surrounded us in Minions, on the Bodmin Moor.  Stongehenge-esque stones thrown about, ancient stone houses, mysteriously stacked boulders on a hill (After debating many theories on how these stones arrive in such a position, we settled on the alien theory.  You know, the same aliens that helped the Egyptians and the Myans build their pyramids. Yeah, those ones.)

 

Sadly, we did not encounter the legendary beast which is supposed to reside on the Bodmin Moor, a 'Nessy' of sorts, but on land, and in Cornwall rather than Scotland.  But, honestly, I can't say I'm too disappointed.  Getting attacked by a falcon and chased by an over-protective mother sheep with two little lambs was enough animal excitement for one weekend (those stories will be for another time).

(I see rocks and I must climb.  I have an odd affinity for cliffs considering  my clumsiness....)

Our break was lovely, but it is nice to be back in London.  After getting off the train Paddington station, I breathed in the smoggy air and let out a confident, "It feels nice to be home," only to then look up and see the British flag.  Uh, well to be kinda 'home.'  At least to be back to normal among the rush and crush of the city.

Nana

My Nana has recently passed away.  New Years Eve, before the clock struck midnight.

Maria Magdalena.
A military wife, and mother of 6, she was incredibly sweet, always thinking of others before herself and giving all that she had in every way, from her possessions to her love and compassion.

Of the 23 years I knew this woman, one scene continues to roll through my mind, and it is one of the more recent moments I spent with Nana.  In September, while home for a few months, I spent the afternoon at her house, relaxing, eating treats and talking about the past 70 or so years of her life.  She told me of the nights she went dancing in Spokane. When her and her sister Carol would sneak out of the house and spend 25 Cents to get into a club downtown. She told me of her marriages, of the dancer she fell in love with and married in Coeur d'Alene, the singer which followed, all  before she finally met my Papa.  We laughed at her pictures,  displayed on the walls and the ones in her photo-books,  pictures which told the story of our family;  of all the cousins, holidays and reunions of the past 30 years and more.  I had never before had such an intimate moment with her.

Its difficult being away from home right now, away from my family at such a time.  It is even more difficult to imagine future holidays without Nana there.  Thanksgivings and Christmases without the decorated vegetable trays she would bring, or wacky cookies that, at times, tasted a little off when the sugar or salt or some other key ingredient was left out.  Or even the numerous crafts she would gift upon all of the grandkids and aunts and uncles, not only at Christmas, but throughout the year.

Miss you, Nan.  And Love you more.

Happy Christmas

Happy Christmas! As they say here in Jolly 'Ol.

This Christmas was the second Christmas in my lifetime I have spent away from home. And, despite this time 'round being much more “Christian” than the last holiday I missed, spent in the Muslim country of Tunisia; Christmas and the holidays just don't seem to have the same spirit when you are not at home.

All that aside, this past holiday weekend was an excellent one spent in the English countryside, and full of large, delicious traditional meals.

Christmas Eve began with an overcrowded train ride to Worcestershire. The first train out of London we attempted to catch was so full it looked like the tube at rush hour form Oxford Circus. A two hour ride in a carriage packed tighter than a can of tuna fish? With luggage? No thanks. So, we jumped on the next train departing London toward the general direction of our destination, despite not having the correct tickets and risking a 60 pound fine.

In the end, no fine, but we arrived about 5 hours late (troubles in Slough *sigh*; a train was vandalized and, for some reason, British National Rail did not find a need to move this vandalized train from the track, therefore backing up every other holiday train on its way toward Christmas), and we arrived at a completely different location than planned. Thank goodness people with personal cars are more easily accessed outside of London than in.

The long journey was worth all the hassle and hustle and bustle because upon arrival we were greeted with a dinner made up of warm ham, mashed potatoes and a lovely spread of other goods. Dinner was, naturally, followed by a trip into town for the annual Christmas eve pub crawl. After crawling our way through four of the many pubs in the town of Upton upon Severn, and being informed that evening that “Jews don't like Christmas” (hmmm), we arrived home later that night, or rather, early Christmas morning (about the time, as a child, I would be waking up and anticipating opening my gifts), and I scrambled off to bed awaiting Santa Clause and the Christmas festivities of the following day.

(The church where we attended Christmas Day service)

(Our meal and the wonderful family who hosted me and the other American at the end of the table)

Christmas day! I am 23 years of age. And in these 23 years, this year was the first year I have ever actually experienced a truly “traditional” Christmas meal. Traditional in the sense that you feel as though Martha Stewart should be cooking in the kitchen, or that you may hear Macaulay Caulken singing 'White Christmas' in the bathroom upstairs. Picture perfect. Turkey was carved at the table. The stuffing was actually stuffed inside of the turkey, and dishes were passed around the table family style, rather than displayed in the kitchen buffet style, as one hopes and prays to get a scoop of mash before the teenage boys devour it all in one go.

After Christmas lunch, the Queen addressed her subjects, who, dutifully listened to her annual speech. Following her address, a Christmas walk was in order (they say it helps digestion) and gifts were unwrapped in the evening. Of course we played games and snacked on cheese and crackers and chocolate that night. It can't be Christmas without food!

Oh! And we popped the Christmas Crackers! These little toy surprises entertained us all for an embarrassingly long amount of time. Did I mention we were all over the age of 10? Well, aged over 10 anyway, not matured.

 

(Brussel sprouts that waddle when you wind them up)

(Brussel sprout races!!  I had an awesome video, but I am not blog savvy enough to figure out how to upload it)

Boxing day! The day after Christmas. Lots of relaxing, a walk through the hills, and again, lots of good food. Leftover food today though of course! For some reason, when a leftover is a Christmas of Thanksgiving leftover it just tastes wonderful, no matter what. Perhaps that is because there is a little holiday spirit left over with it.

It was nice to get out of London. Sometimes I forget how incredibly beautiful and unique this country is when I am caught up in the busy, international scene of London.

(The group, on our jaunt through the countryside)

(Forming a united American front, in the midst of the English)

It was a good holiday, but I plan on being home in Spokane next year for Christmas. Part of me misses the freezing temperatures, chance of snow; large Christmas trees; Santa at the shopping malls; buffet style dinners and arguments over who burnt the bread rolls – that's what Christmas is made of for me.

And, for your viewing pleasure.... Morris Dancing!  Men jumping up and down with wooden sticks. Something traditional, not found in London.  Certainly interesting....

 

(As with the little brussel sprout men, I had a video, but alas, could not upload it. I do apologize)

Meatballs. The New Christmas Cookie.

I've recently made meatballs.  From scratch.  Raw meat, onions, parsley, garlic, milk soaked bread and seasoning.  All mulched together with my 10 filanges and formed into 24, neat, golf-ball-sized balls; pan-seared in olive oil and slow cooked in a homemade red sauce.  Mmmmmmm.... delicious!

I was actually quite proud of myself.  Not only was this the first time I have ever cooked with raw beef (in minced form), but I must admit, I did a knock-out job of A) actually using one of my many cook books and  B) patiently following the recipe through to perfection.

(Although it looks like a lot of goop, be assured, those balls of meat are chalk full of tantalizing flavors)

So, after tasting, and testing these wonderful balls of meat on my more than willing "taste-tester" friends, I got an idea.  Instead of the same old, same old, sugar cookies that are exchanged around the holidays, what if I started giving Christmas meatballs?  It would be a new take on an the old tradition of exchange.  I could do different flavors, and perhaps even have a "Christmas Meatball" full of Christmas spices and served with a Christmas gravy.

With the finances tight this year, and me still wanting to give unique and individualized gifts, the Christmas Meatball may just get its first test run this season.

Hmmmmm.... we'll see.  Currently, I had planned this afternoon to make my first dozen or so batches of various Christmas Cookies (Thank you Food Network "12 days of Cookies").  Now, however, given recent revelations, I may have to change plans.  But, fair warning - if you get a Christmas Meatball this year, do not be surprised.  Simply follow the reheat instructions accompanying your treat, grab a fork, and enjoy!  :)

Movin' on up

I have officially signed the lease on my brand new, probably 100 year old, flat in London!  The current residents are three boys, so it is in definite need of some style and the womanly touch, but it has a lot of potential.  And the kitchen is big.  And it has new(er) appliances.  That was all I really needed to see to have me sold on the place.

My room is only slightly bigger than a queen sized bed, which will make for some interesting decorating and living tactics, but it can be done.  There is definitely a blessing in the fact that I do not yet have a job, and that blessing is allowing me to play Susie Homemaker and convert this boy tortured flat into a home for three girls while the other two ladies bring home the bacon with their 9-5.  Plus, it gives me an excuse to shop and an excuse to bargain - probably two of my favorite things (along with raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens...)

The Arrival

It has been one loooooong day.  And by long, I mean that at 10:30 am this morning (London Time) I was convinced it was 2:30 in the afternoon.

In general my re-arrival to the Queen's country went well.  There was not much turbulance on the flight,  a friend met me at the airport (and then helped me haul my luggage across town.  Did I mention she is a good friend?  I should, because she was a great friend in that moment and still remains so), and I now have a roof over my head on a rainy day.  Furthermore, it is 57 degrees in London as opposed to the 32 degrees I left in Spokane.  Love it.  Feels like the tropics.

I was also happily greeted with an emotion I wasn't expecting today - Joy.  I was sure that I would be a ball of emotion and tears and fear and anxiety.  My track record of arrivals in London has proven nothing less, so I was more than thrilled to discover that I was thrilled to be back in the city again.

I am currently enjoying my time lounging on a borrowed bed and exhausted - thank goodness for American friends who decided to go home (to America) for Thanksgiving, and then leave me their keys, clean sheets and a good place to stay in the city.

Today has been a big day.  I bought a new coffee pot (an essential in a world foreign to brewed coffee),  and I had my UK bank card suddenly shut down by my bank because of certain reasons that I must soon discover and correct.  Conveniently enough, the bank will not re-open until Monday morning at 9 am.  But luckily for me tomorrow is Sunday, and the day of goodwill, because I am momentarily cashless, phoneless and living in the most expensive city in the world...

London Calling

As the time of my departure quickly arrives, I have been going through a variety of emotions - all trapped inside my head, keeping me up at night, or emerging at random times throughout the day.  Excitement,  nervousness, fear, happiness... the list goes on... I will occasionally even be hit with a rush of extreme patriotism, loving all things American for no reason other than the fact that it is, American.  Country music, SUV's, buying in bulk, 24 hour stores...  God Bless America.

As the day approaches, I keep telling and reassuring myself that in life you gotta play to win, take risks and always go for the gold.  In life, it seems that the hardest things to do are usually the most worth doing.  So as my emotions continue to ping pong, I still know, deep down, that London is calling my name.

The Attic

I have just spent the last four hours cleaning out my parents' attic. Which, as it turns out, is more my attic than theirs.  It is true what they say about attics.  They do hold many memories, and often things more precious than those that are on display in the house below.

My parents' attic has become an archive of my life.  Everything of my past, from elementary projects that were once displayed on the refridgerator, to high school achievements, pictures of sports teams and old boyfriends, to the more recent collection of artifacts from college, pictures of friends who no longer speak to each other, reminders of the endless nights I was going to remember forever, but forgot about until today. Trips, souvenirs from studying abroad and a box full of old journals - journals beginning when I was 9 and continuing to today.   These journals, some full and others only half so, hold stories of best friendships, hardships, happiness and the names of boys scrawled over page after page, with hearts wrapping their names in safety.

It is amazing that by looking through all of my old things I can map the ebb and flow of my life.  Visibly able to realize how each day of my past has brought me to the place I am today.  As I went through the contents of each box, I came to appreciate the bad memories, and cherish the good ones - without regret or nostalgia.

More than a trip through my past, cleaning out the attic has led to the rediscovery of old treasures, ones I thought were lost, my mother's old spoon ring, for example.  But it has also helped me to rediscover goals and dreams I forgot about or that have been blurred in all that has happened in the past few years.  Flipping through my old school notebooks and my old journals has brought perspective and clarity momentarily back to my life today, and reminded me of the passions and desires I once held that over time have turned into selfishness, skepticism and synicism.  While cleaning, I read about a girl who wants to get her hands dirty and do the most she possibly can to assist nations with corrupt governments, failing economies, the extreme poor and orphaned and starving children.  I also saw how she has slowly shifted away from service and away from these goals.  

As a whole new chapter in my life begins, I am hoping to get the girl I discovered in the attic back on track with her goals.  This exercise of cleaning out the attic, my attic, has been a great look at the building blocks which are the foundation of my life thus far, allowing me to see clearly - for the first time in a long while - how to continue building a solid structure out of my life, as I fill my attic with more memories.
    

A Poem

Smoke and wood- a fire as it burns in the hearth.
Flushed cheeks, bitten by the new air, crisp and clean.
The crunch of yellowed leaves and thud of crab apples falling at your feet.
Wrapped in layers of grandma's knit sweaters and grasping mugs of warmth,
Autumn is arrived and yesterday's summer forgotten.