Tea Party

This past Saturday I had a tea party. It was originally supposed to be a thank you get-together for all the girls who helped me put together my wedding, but instead it ended up being a very casual event. Only one out of the eight girls who I invited were ever at my house at one time, as they could only stay for an hour or two before they went to visit with other friends. By the time we grew tired of the tea and the formalities of sitting nicely at the dining room table (which I had decorated with my Grandmother's tea set and at least a dozen fancy food items), it was nearly eight in the evening and we ended up sitting on the couch with my husband watching the 80's version of Knight Rider.

As the sun began to set and one guest turned into two, and then into three, my husband announced that he wanted to go for a swim down at the community pool. My tea-guests stared at him in bewilderment, wondering if they were kicking him out or inviting them to join him. He suggested that they go fetch their swim suits, as none of them lived more than five miles away, and we would all go swimming together.

That is exactly what we did. My nice, fancy, perfectly planned girl day turned into a pool party with my husband. Not that I'm complaining. Going to the pool with three of my best friends was a blast! It was like we were kids again, splashing each other, remembering all the crazy games we used to play over our summer breaks together, and just laughing about all the time we missed being together because life has gotten in the way. "We should do this more often" was something on everyone's lips that night. I agree with them one hundred percent.

Boundaries

Maybe it's obvious. Maybe I'm the only one who missed the memo. But it seems that boundaries are strange things that are relative to the person they apply to. More simply speaking, what may be overstepping the line to one person may not be for another. I guess I should have figured this out long ago--it makes so much sense, after all--but I am just beginning to discover the wonders of boundary setting.

I have some friends at work who hold completely different standards than I do. For instance, one of them has a new boyfriend each week (as I didn't go to public school growing up, I am really not used to this phenomenon), one of them thinks the whole world is pointless but music lyrics hold great meaning, and another thinks that cussing every other word is the only way to sound cool.

The girl that has a new boyfriend every week is someone my mother would consider "loose." Every time I share a shift with her, she seems to be bragging about the crazy week or weekend that she had with her new man, not caring who overhears and not caring how uncomfortable I get over the details she lavishly gets into. My boundaries want her to be quiet, especially around customers, and walk away. Hers say she can be quite a bit louder and more descriptive before she's said too much.

I bring this up because I have also found that my coworkers do not always respect my boundaries. in the case of this girl, she will talk and talk and talk even after I've tried walking away and have made strange expressions showing her I don't like what she's saying and have showed that I have lost interest. Even after I turn to her and tell her to stop, she doesn't care to. She talks to her heart's content, about anything she feels like talking about at that moment.

But there are some others who do respect my boundaries, even those who are highly conscious of where my boundaries lie. One of my coworkers asks several times during the week whether he has overstepped his bounds and made me uncomfortable. Because of this we are able to talk about almost anything, because he knows that I will tell him when he has made me uncomfortable, and I know that he will respect my boundaries about what I feel is appropriate conversation. We are able to form a bond that I am not able to form with my other coworkers who disregard my boundaries, because I feel that I cannot trust them. If they are unwilling to be conscious of how I feel, then how can I trust them with my innermost thoughts and feelings and really let them into my life?

I feel that society today has forgotten how to respect other people's boundaries. But respecting boundaries is highly essential to creating strong, healthy relationships. Without them, people can easily and carelessly disrespect and offend each other without realizing why. This simple concept has been lost to most people I know, but those who are able to grasp even the slightest understanding of this are, in my opinion, better socially than most. Maybe society should be reminded of this simple idea. It might make life a little easier for all of us.

Solace

The saying "Home is where the heart is" always used to confuse me as a child. My heart was in my body, so how could my heart be in my home?

I loved the home in which I grew up. My parents didn't have much, but what they did have, they gave to my sister and I in the best way they could. They gave us their love, their wisdom, and--as all parents do--some of their faults. Our house was small, but it had a yard, in which we had a dog named Bear, and at one point someone gave us a playhouse that my Dad put on stilts and made a wrap-around deck for. I shared a room with my sister until I was about 16, and so I learned how to keep my things neat and understood that having a lot didn't necessarily lead to happiness.

As I got closer to graduating high school, my parents determined that I would need my own room if I wanted to stay home and go to school so that the close proximity of my sister wouldn't drive me mad while I studied late into the night. Instead of moving, my parents decided to build an extension onto the house we lived in. They made the living room bigger by five feet on two walls, lifted the living room's ceiling to 17 feet, and built an office into the side yard. After nearly a year of having people who had trouble speaking basic English bang on the walls, the house was beautiful. It didn't look too much bigger from the street, but once you stepped inside it was gorgeous.

After two years in college, I stayed with some friends of mine for a year. Their house was about the same square footage as my parents' house with the addition, but five people lived there already, two of whom were college graduates, one of which would be graduating high school in a few years, and the other two of whom were their parents. My nine-by-ten foot bedroom turned into a five-by-five foot patch of the living room in which I had an air bed I blew up every night and deflated every morning. It was frustrating sometimes; I had to get up early on weekends I didn't work or go to school because someone else in the household was having people over, or because other people were getting up early to go places and didn't bother staying quiet to let me sleep in. But it was comfortable and safe. I knew I could come back to that house and feel welcome any day.

Then, just before my husband and I got married, he bought the house we now live in. I moved into it before our ceremony. My little air bed stayed inflated through the day, tucked in a corner, suddenly seeming so small in the massive master bedroom. My modest wardrobe, which had before threatened to burst from small plastic containers I had stashed in my friend's living room, now hung freely and spaciously in half of the closet. We had no furniture, and only had a full set of appliances because we had bought some on a super sale and put them on layaway. I ate on the floor. We had my husband's television, but no cable. When I invited my girlfriends over, they were amazed at how empty the house was. But the moment I began moving my things into that beautiful house, it became mine. I didn't care how much or how little my husband and I had. We belonged in that house. All my life I had lived in places that felt warm, welcoming, safe. But never had any of them felt like my house. I was home.

I tried explaining it once to my husband, who fought homesickness for a few weeks after we got married. "This is home, now," I persisted. "This place is our future. I never want to be anywhere else ever again." He stared at me quizzically, as if my face had suddenly turned purple and it amused him. But it was true. I was home. My heart moved into that building the moment I stepped foot in it to start the rest of my life in it. And I never, ever, wanted to leave.

Behavior with Friends

My mother used to always tell me that I acted differently around my friends than I did around her. "You aren't as relaxed," she'd say. "You sound more formal in the way you use your words. Your mannerisms are more polite than they are when your friends aren't around." I always brushed off her words. I was myself with my friends, just as I was myself when I was around her. I didn't feel like I was acting any different. I didn't feel like I was more guarded, or careful, or polite. I was me, no matter who I was with.

When I began dating, her complaints got worse. "You aren't focused on anything but him when he's around. You want to spend all your time out here with us when he's here, but the moment he's gone you hide in your room." The complaints went on and on. And again I brushed them off. I was still myself, no matter who I was with. But I began to really pay attention to the way I was acting when I was around my parents, as compared to  when I was just with my friends. I had trouble finding differences.

Now, years later, I was reminded of my mother's words when I was talking with a coworker one evening as we were closing the store we work at. I know her pretty well, and feel comfortable talking with her openly about all sorts of things in my life. We were discussing boyfriends and getting married and why some people shouldn't get married and how we wanted to make sure that someone we knew was getting married for the right reasons because we wanted to see the relationship last, etc, etc. I felt comfortable expressing my opinion to her, because we were friends. A moment later, though, another coworker came up and joined the conversation. I have a much closer relationship with him, and when the girl I was originally talking to stepped away, I found I felt comfortable enough around my friend to express my opinion in even more depth. Before long our abstract conversation about other people turned into a conversation about ourselves, and we opened up about things happening in our personal lives that we did not feel comfortable enough discussing while the other coworker was there.

In thinking back on it, I believe that it's not that I act differently around different people, but that I feel comfortable exposing different layers of myself to different people. With those people I know very well, I feel comfortable telling all my secrets and expressing all my concerns, where when I'm with people I have just met, I feel less inclined to discuss matters of deep concern to me. I watch what I say more closely. I open up to them slowly.

I think a lot of people act that way. More reserved, more careful. We have to learn to trust the people we talk to before revealing to them our deepest, darkest secrets. Otherwise, what would distinguish our acquaintances from our friends, our friends from our best friends, and our best friends from our family?

Procrastination....

I have always been the kind of girl who never puts off till tomorrow what can be done today. From very early on, the importance of getting things done early was ground into me on a continual basis. I kept up with all my homework so that it was done days--sometimes even weeks--before the assignments were actually due. This helped me make sure that I got everything done in time to go spend my weekends goofing off with my friends. However, I've begun to notice that over the last few months I've begun to heed this fundamental childhood lesson less and less. Assignments for school are getting put off until the last minute. Laundry piles up in the basket until it overflows and I begin to hear complaints from my husband about how he has no pants to wear to work the next day because they're all dirty. Dishes pile up, and a thin layer of dust settles on everything. Some would call it laziness. I say, "I'll just take care of it tomorrow."

I know it's not healthy. And eventually, everything ends up getting done. Mostly it's because my husband complains about the house looking messy, which motivates me to take care of it and clean up. But there's something deeper here. My ethics haven't changed, I still want to get things done far ahead of the time before they are due. When I thought about it more thoroughly, I realized that I have lost some of my motivation to take care of things. Life has been busy, and my brain says "NO MORE!!!" so I sit down on the couch and stare at the television screen and want to do absolutely nothing.

What does this have to do with anything? I think a lot of people run into this situation, actually. It's disguised as laziness, and sometimes it really is. But with the pressures of life and the expectancies of people at their jobs and the demands they have at home, it is easy to fall into a pattern of wanting to do absolutely nothing. It isn't because there are things worth doing, or because the things that need to be done (and are inevitably neglected) are unimportant. It's because the brain--and the body--get tired. Sometimes they get so tired that they can't take any more work. That's what happened to me.

I further confirmed this with myself when I slept in on a day I had off, then proceeded to further procrastinate with much of my duties because I was too weary to do any of them. As the day continued, I started to regain some of my energy. With it returned my motivation, and my determination. I began to feel more like myself. I got up and started doing things I wanted to do. And then, in record-breaking time, I realized that all of the housework was done and I was free of responsibility to do whatever it was I wanted to.

I think it is important that people take into account that they need a lot of rest to be able to feel whole and well. So much of society drinks coffee with an addiction and uses energy drinks as fixes for sleep deprivation, then wonders why they crash at the end of the day when there is still so much to get done. If they would spend a little more time sleeping, or take a little more time for vacation, giving themselves the time they need to rest properly, then I believe that people would be happier, feel more productive, accomplish more, and be more successful at everything they do. I know I do.

Santa Clarita Cowboy Festival

The 19th Annual Santa Clarita Cowboy Festival at Melody Ranch Studios was hosted on April 21 and 22, 2012. Guests came to celebrate and experience the Western culture of the 1800s, a scene set by those who dressed in clothing authentic to that time period, by those who performed the cowboy music and poetry the Festival is famed for, and by those who sold cowboy memorabilia throughout the Melody Ranch set. This unique historic event attracted thousands from all over the nation who share the fascination of old time Western culture, and opened the doors to all who wished to spend a day visiting a time that has been glamorized through the wonders of film. Visitors were able to step through the doors of time in visiting this event and experience a town as authentic to the 1800s West as the best in the business could possibly design.
 

A Quest for Time

     I've said before that life has gotten away from me. It seems that with everything going on in my life, time has been something I have not been able to grasp. I spend it and spend it, wasting it away with all the "duties" I have to take care of during the day, but I never earn any of it. It just keeps passing by, like a rushing river, always escaping me.
     Time is of the essence, or so I've heard. I never really figured out what was meant by that, but I find myself constantly nodding my head in agreement. Time is something very valuable. People do so much to have so little of it to themselves. They work all day long just so they can spend a few precious hours at home with their families and loved ones, or to spend it alone with themselves. But if time is so important, it is interesting to see that so much of it is spent working, wasting, searching for more valuable time. I find that when people complain to me about not having enough time, they often spend the time they do have to devote to whatever they wish wasting it away, as if they've forgotten how valuable it is and how badly they wanted it while they were busy.
     "Time doesn't make itself," my mother always told me. "You have to make time to do the things you want." But how do I make time? Push responsibilities aside? Get less sleep? Plan my day out more carefully? All of my options have varying consequences, all of which I'd rather not have to face. But my mother is right. If I do want more time to do the things I like, I'll have to make it happen. I'll have to carefully plan out my days to be able to take care of everything I need to, and have enough time left over to do the things I like. Which will, consequently, take up more time.