tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-49819313891511272842024-03-19T06:09:07.128-07:00Vicariously Yoursrocking the boat since 1979Francy-Pantshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14841278518682709267noreply@blogger.comBlogger80125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4981931389151127284.post-65698659326314253612018-12-16T14:45:00.002-08:002018-12-16T16:07:44.289-08:00Surviving the First Year in France<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Bonjour!<br />
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I know I said I was back, and then I slipped off back over the horizon and you never heard from me again...or something like that.<br />
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In truth, we've been crazy busy. I thought being unemployed in France with a fresh little baby was going to be relaxing. I would just dress my adorable baby in precious outfits and bake perfect tarts and take breathtaking photos and write poignant blogs and probably tap out the Great American Novel in between it all.<br />
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Alas, NO. That is merely what happens in the overactive imagination of a pregnant lady juggling far too many Big Life Events (wedding, pregnancy, renovating a property, selling a property) before hastily moving to France completely unprepared for everything that was about to happen.<br />
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Having a baby is the best and the worst thing in the world. It's like having a kitten and a puppy (and later a baby goat) rolled into one, except that you also have to breastfeed it constantly and you also can never leave it home alone (I mean you could, but then you will probably go to jail) and it needs strict naptimes and constant diaper changes. And sometimes, in the early days and weeks, it is hard to make it go down for a nap, and so you and your tired, leaking body will waltz your baby around the room endlessly for what feels like hours to soothing music and shhhhhhhhhhhhh in its ear and rock it gently and sing it the same song repeatedly until you are hoarse (I dare you to sing "Rockabye Baby" more than 6 times in a row and NOT contemplate what a truly warped and twisted little ditty it is) in the vain hope that Baby will sleep for a blessed couple of hours.<br />
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And when this sweet little nugget of love finally falls asleep...what do you do? Let me tell you: you do all the dishes and sweep the floor and clean all the surfaces, do laundry, do a French lesson or two and if you are very, very lucky maybe you can squeeze in a shower before your precious little one wakes up and suddenly demands your undivided attention once more.<br />
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I don't want to sound ungrateful, of course. I just laughed in the beginning at how hard we had to work to get Charlie to sleep so that we could...do housework.<br />
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Anyhow, those were the old days. These more recent days our lives have been filled with different busy-ness. We've been traipsing across France searching for a property to buy. Which may actually sound fun and maybe even romantic to you. Let me squash those notions like a bug under my shoe:<br />
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Traveling across the country in a tiny car with a dog and a small baby is hard. Missed naps, bad nights of sleep in hotels, missed meals. Pile on top of that the grueling schedule: of meeting agents in different cities and villages (up to 3 in one day), constantly running late, dealing with the bizarreness of French lunchtime scheduling (from 12-2 everything closes <i>except restaurants</i> and if you don't get lunch in that window, forget about it!) and of course not speaking the language fluently.<br />
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The one that got away (before we discovered the extremely loud, GIANT military base down the road)- bullet literally dodged</div>
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Not to put a shriveled, rotten cherry on top of it all, but allow me to add this detail: the first 3 such outings ended with Chris and I covered in chigger bites from god knows which property (we swore we would never buy <b><i>that </i></b>property, whichever one it was), getting outbid on the property of our dreams (and possibly nightmares), and finding out that we didn't qualify for French financing after all.<br />
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A shot from the other one that got away. </div>
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Simultaneously, we've been trying to get onto the famously amazing French healthcare system, to no avail, as I continue to struggle with the immigration process. People. I STILL don't have my long-stay visa, which I've been working on for 9 solid months now. At this rate, I will receive it just as it expires! French bureaucracy is second to none.<br />
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Again, I'm happy to be here, but there are many days that I wonder if France really wants me.<br />
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I suppose this entire entry has merely been a self-indulgent ramble wherein I try to justify what an awful and errant blogger I am. I really should step it up.<br />
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However, the biggest and most delightful reason I've not been blogging is that I am actually being PAID to write, and it's very exciting. Soon I will launch a professional website showcasing my services, and also my personal expat website. Things are looking up, y'all! I'm reinventing myself, again. (Please let this be the last time for a while, I can't take much more change.)<br />
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And we finally have a house under contract, hallelujah. More on that next time I post.<br />
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Because my readership is mostly limited to family, rest assured that I will soon be foisting my gorgeous, farty little baby into your arms and hugging you all nonstop for the holidays. For those of you in Austin, same same. Brace yourselves, there will be hugs and Mexican food and then more Mexican food and hugs.<br />
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Bon weekend, bon soireé, bon everything. I send you love and bisous. ~F</div>
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Francy-Pantshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14841278518682709267noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4981931389151127284.post-2578657883321633972018-11-05T04:43:00.001-08:002018-11-05T05:56:25.120-08:00Wonders Never Cease<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Friends, family, countrymen & women, I hereby announce my return from the black pit of Blog Radio Silence.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Crazy, right? Who knew that I would ever reprise my role of overly-effusive errant blogger overseas? Not I. And yet, I live. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I never imagined myself living in France. I've never been a Francophile, and to be perfectly honest- I never really liked the French language all that much. I know this puts me in a small minority, and I blame it on a 2-hour-long train journey 20 years ago, seated behind a couple of Parisian girls who never shut up. It soured me on the language. Later, in London and NYC, I would hear the sonorous tones of French spoken by North Africans, and it beguiled me. Now I struggle daily to wrap my head and my mouth around this slippery, archaic language. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Over the past decade, I've furtively studied French, just a little here and there, just enough to be able to say absolutely useless, irrelevant things such as, "The woman points at something with the finger of her left hand"<i> L</i></span><i>a femme montre quelque chose avec le doigt sa main gauche </i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">(Thanks, Rosetta Stone). My interest in French primarily stemmed from its role in philosophy, art, and literature. Because I'm bourgeois like that. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">And so, here I am an expatriate again, having lived en La France for the past 9 months. And I'm not ashamed to admit that I don't like it... <i><u>I love it.</u> </i>I love the language, which comprises something like 60% of the English language! I love French food, which is a little bit like saying, "Antarctica is cold" in its gross obviousness. Anyone who doesn't like French food is either anorexic, vegan (usually the same thing), or is tragically taste-blind. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I love the wine. I love the natural beauty, which threatens to bowl me over literally every day. But mostly, I love the culture. Here in the south, people are kind and welcoming. And I have a SUPER CUTE BABY, and a sweet old dog- which is basically an invitation for anyone and everyone to come talk to you. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Anyway, I'm just cutting my teeth here on this old blog, and my new life. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I'm going to take a little break and just share some pictures of Charlie Luna Singer, our stupidly cute 7 month old (that happened so fast)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">. Seriously people, when is Peak Baby??? She is getting cuter by the day, and just when we think we have hit Peak Baby, she gets even cuter. I'm glad we didn't sell her on the black market yet, because she's gaining value daily. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Just kidding. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><strike>I swear I am trying to upload photos. </strike>I'm always on computers or connections that don't seem to like me much. I tried to buy a laptop yesterday to support my suddenly quite busy business of freelance online writing. It was a fiasco of the highest order, but soon. Soon. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">In the meantime, I guess I am directing you, dear friends and family, to come back now, y'hear! I'm back and I have no intention of backing down. I've got a lot to say about everything, and this is just my sign post to let you know that I'm back in town. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">You've been warned. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Bisous, besos, and all the other multilingual smooches I can offer. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Vicariously Yours, </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">~Francesca</span></div>
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Francy-Pantshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14841278518682709267noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4981931389151127284.post-22596937670535727622012-06-13T20:00:00.003-07:002012-06-13T20:00:34.842-07:00Farmy of Me<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
So... here is is, a massive scale update on at least some fronts.<br />
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First off, it has been just over a month since my bunionectomy. Ever wonder what a bunion is and how in the heck they get rid of it? Yeah, probably not so much.<br />
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This is a simulation of the procedure they performed on me...<br />
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How was it? It sucked. Actually, at first it was fine, thanks to the wonders of modern pharmacology. Then the numbness subsided, and it was hell.<br />
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Suffice to say I have a new respect for pain, and for painkillers. A month on, I am a few pounds lighter and still a little bit limpy, but I can attest to the straightness of my toe, and the smoothness of my foot. Tragically, my foot is still a disgusting mess- horribly swollen, a bit discolored, and peeling everywhere (I guess this is what happens to surgical sites).<br />
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On the bright side, I'm healing much faster than many, and am expected to be back in running condition in 2 more months.<br />
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And everything else? Well, there is a lot going on. Michelle and I have toned things down, and are no longer living together. At first, it looked like the end of the relationship, but we have decided to continue, but not live together. We are, for lack of a more robust description, dating.<br />
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What that really means is that our time together is quality time, and we are re-asserting our separate lives a bit, and getting along famously.<br />
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I'm back to work here, and am out at the "farm" every morning, prepping the site for the electrician so that there can be functional electricity out there.<br />
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As the blistering Texas heat encroaches, work has to happen early in the morning, and the prospect of doing construction is daunting.<br />
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I am on the "on day at a time" plan right now.<br />
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More soon. Just wanted to update y'all. </div>Francy-Pantshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14841278518682709267noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4981931389151127284.post-11391193180434039692012-03-22T15:58:00.004-07:002012-03-22T16:15:17.789-07:00Growing Power!<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>So, your humble scribe and cohorts (my brother Paul, and partner Michelle) returned early this week from a sweet little trip to Milwaukee to visit a glorious place known as <a href="http://www.growingpower.org/">Growing Power</a>. This place is incredible, and wonderfully inspiring.<img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 192px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAM-pcJT2I8T_c8zmv0zHbzP9b39wnkw7y4WrMQzWZgp2C9VSHqoCLhF0qVD5iLuR48a-vXpueBkPdaYK0J4cErM_aSJ4JzyQVHmg1B34jEbdZp_g4pkGcHQvRRDSJEBdKVzGuSMtiCJ4/s320/growing+power.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5722861710002689826" /><div>This is me with Will Allen, the founder, and Mark, my friend Suzi's husband who happened to be there all the way from Richmond, Virginia (they are farmers, too!). Will is a giant. A giant with a mission: to change the food system in America, which he believes is broken. </div><div><br /></div><div>We learned so many things over the weekend: How to build greenhouses (Paul is a whiz), how to beekeep (Michelle can't wait), how to grow culinary mushrooms (this will be one of the first things we do!), how to use PV panels for solar energy, how to build aquaponic systems (where fish poop feeds your plants, all organic plus you get to harvest fresh fish!), and how to grow in a greenhouse year round. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Now, we just need to get on our land and do it. </div><div><br /></div><div>There is so much to do, so much to learn, and everything costs so much. We've figured out that we must build a fence before we build our yurt home. Then comes all the rest of it. We are very behind our original (completely unrealistic) schedule. But then, that is really no surprise. What we are trying to do is hugely involved and will take a lot of time to mature. </div><div><br /></div><div>We are up to our ears in work, which is wonderful, and Austin has now received more rain than we got all year in 2011. So, fingers crossed, mouth smiling, we sally forth...</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Francy-Pantshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14841278518682709267noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4981931389151127284.post-34080166259011978592012-03-08T08:50:00.003-08:002012-03-08T09:12:53.846-08:00Seasonal Exhaustion/ElationDear two remaining readers (who are undoubtedly blood relations), here I am again, putting off design work so that I can type out a cryptic little something or other on the ethers here...<div><br /></div><div>Life has lavished me with all sorts of new and exciting things this year, no small thanks to my incredibly wise, generous family who have filled in the gap where traditional financing failed to meet my needs. </div><div><br /></div><div>I've thought a lot about this- about the failure of the banking system to accommodate people like myself. People who work hard and eek out a reasonably decent living. After maintaining not one, but TWO corporate jobs for over a year, imagine my shock and disbelief at being denied a loan. A loan for less than my annual income, at that. All because I do not work "full time." </div><div><br /></div><div>I wonder how many others out there, self-employed people, business owners and the like, who are also unable to receive the boost they would like to encourage the expansion of their businesses. Meanwhile, the government throws billions to alternative energy startups, who richly reward their top brass before declaring bankruptcy. Entire police forces of cities underreport crimes in order to manipulate the stats, so that some Chief can get an award, patted on the back by some mayor, while the victims of crimes suffer. </div><div><br /></div><div>Our political system, like our banking system, does seem woefully misguided. Our policies make little sense to the working class who are, like it or not-- the backbone of this once-great nation. </div><div><br /></div><div>I listened to a news report last night talking about the Forbes list of the world's wealthiest. It has grown and changed very little this past year- because the world's economy has been largely stagnant. This begs many questions for me, not the least of which pokes holes in the underlying premise of capitalism- that growth is the end goal, growth at any expense, growth for the sake of growth. </div><div><br /></div><div>As a keen observer of landscapes, I notice the proliferation of plastic garbage in every corner of the city. The other day outside of town I delighted, from a distance, believing I was witnessing a field full of cowbirds. As I approached, I discovered that it was a verdant field punctuated by white plastic bags hung up on straggling plants. I was instantly saddened. </div><div><br /></div><div>Why the digression? Because I am looking at a world increasingly clotted with plastic crap. Food coming in more elaborate, disposable containers; toys and tools in complex anti-theft packaging; and the toys and tools themselves- increasingly cheap, swaddled in plastic, plastic-bodied, obsolescent by design. </div><div><br /></div><div>I think there is a peak to this bell curve of consumption. It cannot go on forever. We are being choked out, like lawns overtaken by weeds- by this cavalcade of "cheap shit." And I believe, against belief, that there is an end in sight. </div><div><br /></div><div>That is why I am starting a farm. My deepest desire is to do good, to lead a simpler life than the one that has been shoved down our throats by society, and to be productive in a way that is tangible, real, and satisfying. We've been phasing out plastic from our lives, and in the same way I am attempting to phase out some of the superfluous static. </div><div><br /></div><div>Instead of Facebook in the morning, I am reading a chapter of a book. Instead of watching some mindless entertainment online, I am trying to tend to plants, to educate myself on something, or to work on designs for the farm to come. </div><div><br /></div><div>It is resulting in an increased mindfulness, a slightly sharpened awareness of my surroundings. A quieter mind that is better able to listen to the keening of my heart, to feel the invisible strings attaching me to my world, to anticipate the needs of others. </div><div><br /></div><div>There is rain in the forecast, again, and the air is heavy with its anticipation. We are being blessed with an incredible, fertile spring. And I am being blessed with as much work as I can handle. So, over and out. Talk is cheap, it's time to work!</div>Francy-Pantshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14841278518682709267noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4981931389151127284.post-16563495764115139242012-01-06T13:49:00.000-08:002012-01-16T11:15:14.424-08:00New Year!The new year crept up on me this time around, somehow more cunning and evasive than usual. <div><br /></div><div>I have my suspicions that this has something to do with getting older, with the general acceleration of time. I expect by the time I am 90 that the world around me will look like a big, muffled blur of activity. It seems silly to expect anything else. </div><div><br /></div><div>I'm filled with only one major goal for this year: I want to reach the end of it and feel bittersweet about passing the torch to 2013... You see, I am sick and tired of reaching the end of the year and feeling contempt for it. You know, the grandiose vitriol of "Hey 2011, don't let the door hit your ass on the way out!" and what have you. </div><div><br /></div><div>Instead, I want to feel wistful about the passage of a wonderful year, about having to hand it over in exchange for a fresh, new one. </div><div><br /></div><div>In fact, maybe it's the sweet afterglow of the holidays (goddamn, I have just about the best family ever!), or perhaps it is the recognition of my wonderful friends (seriously, just about the most wonderful people you could ever hope to know), or it could just be that I am about to purchase a piece of land and attempt to make my dreams come true, but I have been feeling all sappy and grateful about life an awful lot lately. </div><div><br /></div><div>In fact, despite the fact that we are almost 2 weeks into the New Year, I would like to express my gratitude for the good fortune I have had this past year, and then some:</div><div><br /></div><div><ul><li>I am grateful for my work. I love doing massage, am constantly learning new techniques and growing more skilled at my trade, and I feel consistently amazed that I can get paid to make people feel wonderful and relieve their pain. </li><li>I am grateful for my other work- landscape architecture. It is such a joy to be able to transform people's spaces with my ideas and skills. I love coming back season after season and seeing how my designs are evolving, growing, and thriving. Designing with plants means every single work is a work in progress, always- and I am grateful for every last job that comes my way. </li><li>I am grateful for a life filled with interesting experiences, for the will to take risks, and for the modest returns (and setbacks) these risks yield. </li><li>More than anything, I am grateful for a life that I genuinely enjoy living and sharing with the people who make it great. </li></ul><div>Shockingly- it's taken me almost 2 weeks to complete this, despite the fact that it is no work of art. I promise a more esoteric, thought provoking post in the near future. </div></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Francy-Pantshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14841278518682709267noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4981931389151127284.post-146385178745839542011-12-15T08:18:00.001-08:002011-12-15T08:34:38.114-08:00Home for the Holidays!I know, I'm rotten, quite possibly the worst blogger in history. Oh, probably not. <div><br /></div><div>I've just been busy. That sort of busy where you look back on other periods of your life when you thought you were busy and scoff. The stakes are so much higher now. Or at least they seem so. </div><div><br /></div><div>I'm much more focused these days, despite the intricacies and complications that come with age and increased responsibility. But none of it terrible, nothing untenable. </div><div><br /></div><div>There is a deep, resounding sense of joy and relief now that I am living in the open about my relationship with Michelle. Having spent a truly enjoyable Thanksgiving holiday with the family, I can only report that my respect and admiration for my grandparents increases annually. I am grateful to be a part of such a loving, supportive family. </div><div><br /></div><div>Christmas is right around the corner, which I find exhilarating and exhausting all at once. </div><div><br /></div><div>I have been embroiled in an attempt to buy a piece of land for the past month that has been absolutely frustrating to the extreme. Even my real estate agent said it was unreal. I'm shelving it until the new year, which has brought a great sense of relief. </div><div><br /></div><div>All these dreams colliding with the hard wall of reality-- rather sobering. Rather typical, if I don't say so myself. </div><div><br /></div><div>There is a steady stream of rain falling outside, and while I am relieved at this much-needed rain, we are hankering for a shard of sunshine here. Life with a 45 year old motorcycle leaves a bit to be desired in times of inclement weather. </div><div><br /></div><div>Last night I completed a landscape design project that has taken roughly 5 months of frustration, annoyance, and poor communication to see through. Today, I am taking it easy, cleaning house and listening to cello songs. Contemplating how I cannot take on another project like that again. Not unless they pay me double. Everyone has their price, and I am no different. </div><div><br /></div><div>Meanwhile, the battle drums are playing, and the season of buying is upon us. This is difficult, as I have been trying to get rid of things for some time. The only things I would like are appended to the fictional farm that I have not secured a purchase on yet. So there. I don't really care about the gifts, I just want to eat, drink, and be merry with people I love.</div><div><br /></div><div>Come hither, holidays! We can take it. </div>Francy-Pantshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14841278518682709267noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4981931389151127284.post-74247376908748490422011-09-25T13:39:00.001-07:002011-09-25T13:39:43.051-07:00The way it goes...<p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"> When I flew to Rome this time for a holiday, by my best approximation, it was going to be 2 weeks of bliss: the first spent catching up with my brother's girlfriend, Lani, in Cinque Terre and perhaps beyond, and the rest of the time catching up with my best friend Jen, in Rome. </p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia; min-height: 19.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"> Of course, the actual experience has been an exercise in the unanticipated. There it goes again, life, running roughshod over all the best laid plans, made in vain, foolishly assuming we hold the reins of this thing. </p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia; min-height: 19.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"> The morning after I arrived, following a brisk run with Jen (more on that later), I hastily packed the smallest bag of my adventuring life, and hopped on a train bound for Cinque Terre. I should perhaps clarify that I am one of the lightest packers I know. I can pack a month of clothing in my carry on, and have on many occasions. I pride myself on my efficiency at travel. You know what they say..."Pride cometh before the fall." They speak the truth. </p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia; min-height: 19.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"> I ended up in Cinque Terre (literally, 5 Villages) with no map, no guidebook, no resource save for my iPhone--which worked, much to my surprise-- a camera, and a couple of changes of clothes, and hygiene essentials. Efficient, but not very wise. </p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia; min-height: 19.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"> The first night was a breeze, sort of. I wandered around in RioMaggiore, the first of the 5 Villages. I easily found an inexpensive hostel, packed with single lady travelers, and had a nice spicy seafood soup, as I was feeling a bit run down. That night, I discovered that this charming hamlet where "there are no cars" was actually one of the loudest places I have ever been in my life. </p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia; min-height: 19.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"> I tossed and turned for hours in an uncomfortable bed, sensing illness seeping into my bones. My head was filling with mucous, and my throat was raw and angry. Meanwhile, the streets, filled with obnoxious tourists, loud Italians, and dogs apparently being tortured. I did not sleep, and when 5 AM rolled around, the street, after several hours of relative quiet, was filled with the noise of garbage collectors and mopeds. I shut the windows and managed a couple hours of sleep. </p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia; min-height: 19.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"> Upon waking, My head was swimming in sickness, and my body intensely achy and sore-- most likely from the 45 minute run I'd subjected my unconditioned body to the morning prior. And then began the hiking. And the sweating. I'd forgotten to bring socks, so I went sockless. I hadn't brought a towel, so I dried myself with a long-sleeved shirt. I felt less adult than I have in years. </p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia; min-height: 19.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>If lack of preparation and shoddy improvisation is the mark of youth, would someone please bring Grammaw her walker- because I am ready for the luxuries of old age!</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia; min-height: 19.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"> Don't misunderstand me, this place was Gorgeous, Beautiful, and Magnificent. But I was feverish and aching. And hiking. Oh, the endless hiking. In village number 4, after asking everyone around, I realized that due to a glut of late-summer European tourism (owing to a long, cold spring), there were zero rooms available for a single lady for the night. I was sick, miserable, blistered, and seemingly stranded. I couldn't reach Lani, and I was running out of options. </p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia; min-height: 19.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"> I found a kind waitress who offered to let me sleep at her apartment. I found a nap in the shade of a fig tree on a hillside terrace. I met a handsome Italian who led me to the ocean and swam with me. Did I mention that I was hopped up on decongestants? These various mercies were all that kept me going. </p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia; min-height: 19.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"> AT&T sent me a text message to let me know that I'd used "an unusual amount" of international data. Yeah, like $300 worth! Oops! My phone was retired, after I determined I would take a train to greener pastures--namely a hotel room where I could sleep. I was becoming panicked with exhaustion. </p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia; min-height: 19.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>So I took a train to Bologna. And slept like a baby in quiet comfort. Next, Modena, where I attended a Philosophy festival, sampled balsamic vinegar, and visited a botanical garden. Eventually I found my way back to Rome, after the danger of transmitting some horrific illness to Jen's two young children had passed. </p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia; min-height: 19.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Since then, there have been some side trips to Florence, and daily solo excursions to art museums, parks, monuments, restaurants, unusual attractions, and just a general sense of awe and introspection. Jen is a busy busy mother of two, and so I am on my own every day for the entirety of the day. This has been one of the most personally interesting and lonesome trips of my life. </p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia; min-height: 19.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia">It is difficult for an American to shun structure in lieu of spontaneity, but that has been the route this trip has thrusted upon me. There is no plan. I have no guidebook. Every day is an adventure, and I am having an un-curated experience. I am trying to enjoy every moment, without anxiety or expectation. The challenge is to see things well, to enjoy being, and to be satisfied with things exactly as they are, in this moment. It's harder than you might imagine. </p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia; min-height: 19.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Just know that as I wander through each day here, I am thinking of everyone I love. Every last one. And I am feeling gratitude for living such a wonderful life, being blessed with such good friends, fortunate enough to belong to a loving family. Not everyone has the opportunity to fly to another country and wander. To feel secure enough in themselves and their place in the universe to not mind being lost- a stranger in a strange land…To not recognize this and give it some thought would be criminal. I am in the cradle of Western Civilization, relishing her ruins, and swaddled in a sense of well-being, I give thanks. </p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia; min-height: 19.0px"><br /></p>Francy-Pantshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14841278518682709267noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4981931389151127284.post-87307525033043603032011-09-19T06:44:00.001-07:002011-09-19T07:50:24.974-07:00Fickle Inspiration (and a vacation-borne confession)Dear crickets who remain in my readership--- unless of course someone is actually reading (which I absolutely do not assume)--- I'm back. No, I'm <i>really</i> back, not just the pretend back where I post something every 3 months and pretend to be a blogger. <div><br /></div><div>Because... I'm<i> not</i> really a blogger. I am a person who loves to write. And if a few select friends, family, and my 5th grade teacher Mrs. Pace are to to trusted, I have a nice talent for turns of phrase which has grown a bit rough, rusty and displaced over the past 13 months and could use a little exercise. </div><div><br /></div><div>What happened? I could attribute my drop off in chronicling the minutiae of my life to so many things. Beginning with my "big girl job" working for the city wherein your trusty protagonist spent untold hours working as a public servant, paying into a retirement fund and enjoying the spoils of health and dental insurance. In short- I liked it, then I resented it, and ultimately I hated it. </div><div><br /></div><div>It's not, of course, that I hate work, but rather that I hate the sort of senseless government sanctioned work I was doing- all the hours wasted in pointless meetings, all the restrictions imposed by federal funding, the pointless hoops I was required to jump through in order to grease the wheels of the little program I was running. But primarily the sense of <b><i>loss of self</i></b> that I began to experience on a daily basis, doling out my life in well-measured lumps of hours to little effect, and worse than that- little pay. </div><div><br /></div><div>My job was in many ways pointless, and I performed it to the best of my abilities, but it made me feel smaller and less purposeful than I have made a habit of feeling in my life. When I quit last month, the sensation of lightness I experienced was startling. The sense of a yoke being lifted from my burdensome, beastly back. </div><div><br /></div><div>And then there was the quiet end to my long term relationship with Chip; dear, wonderful Chip whom I love and adore and am so intensely grateful for. He is such a spectacular human being, and an extraordinary friend. Anyone who knows him must agree. I felt bashful for a long time, because while our demise was mutual, it was primarily my doing, and in retrospect I still feel ashamed that I let him work so hard for so long to make something work that I knew wasn't right for us both. </div><div><br /></div><div>Shortly thereafter, I met someone who is kind and keen and generous and supportive, whom I eventually moved in with, and am still with today, almost 14 months after we first met. And this has been perhaps the larger reason for my long silence here. </div><div><br /></div><div>It is very difficult to maintain close contact with all of the family I care for when I feel as though I am keeping a secret. And this relationship has been, in many ways, a secret. Not to my friends, or my coworkers or employers, but to some of my family. This is not the way I would have ever chosen for things to be. </div><div><br /></div><div>You see, from the time that I was a teenager, I questioned my attractions & relationships, to their core. What I was drawn to and what I acted upon were two entirely separate worlds, and last year I forced myself, finally, to be honest about who I am. Chip and I parted on amicable, generously understanding terms, and when I met Michelle, I felt in many ways like a rudderless ship coming home to port, setting down an anchor, and making myself at home. Finally, my heart found a sort of peace I had not known before.</div><div><br /></div><div>I cannot help the fact that I love and have sought the companionship of another woman. I find myself distressed by the notion that people like me have made a "choice" in this direction or the other. </div><div><br /></div><div>Believe me, if there was ever a choice to be made, I'm pretty sure we would all choose the easy, simple route, where there is no need to make uncomfortable confessions to family, or to risk being judged by the outside world. Where one can simply marry and have a family of their own and enjoy the simple rights and privileges of the majority. </div><div><br /></div><div>I sense that I could have done just that- chosen to deny my innermost feelings, married and had children and always swallowed the lingering sense of dissatisfaction that lived in my heart. But how would that be fair to anyone? I believe in honesty, and in happiness, and in the life-affirming paths that these virtues lead to. </div><div><br /></div><div>Which is why I find myself here today, on a breezy afternoon in Rome- where I am vacationing by myself- suddenly inclined to set the record straight once and for all. </div><div><br /></div><div>I'll not maintain my silence, and I hope not to be judged by those I love most in this world. </div><div><br /></div><div>And I promise to write more about more interesting things than the complicated layers of a private life that have kept me from expressing myself freely in this absurdly public forum. </div><div><br /></div><div>Dear family, I miss you all, and am thinking of you today from the cradle of Western Civilization. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Francy-Pantshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14841278518682709267noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4981931389151127284.post-78672719748661697362010-08-25T11:05:00.000-07:002010-08-25T11:22:57.274-07:00Giddy-Up!It has been brought to my attention that this is my longest gap thus far in the blogosphere (I invite you all to collectively throw up in your mouth a little at the mention of that highly ugly word).<br /><br />No excuses. I've been busy, nothing new there. Life has been changing at a breakneck pace over here, and it has been difficult to sit down and put it all in a nice little box for your reading pleasure/edification.<br /><br />O' these past months have seen some miles put down on ye olde treads of my life, between the Gelato Tour of Rome and all of the assorted Big Changes that have been going on in life.<br /><br />Upon my return from Rome, I felt ill at ease about my business partnership, about my stress levels, and about the constantly meager sum in my bank account, despite my near constant work week. I created a new mantra: "More leisure. Less stress. More money." and repeated it under my breath for months, as I made some serious moves toward affecting change in my life.<br /><br />I have a big-girl job now, working for the City of Austin as the coordinator for an initiative called Commute Solutions. It's part time, not grueling, and I have incredible benefits. Nothing not to love about all that. I still work one shift a week at the spa (that 4 days a month earns me almost as much as the city job!) and do freelance design for various clients that still, inexplicably, are coming my way.<br /><br />I was awarded my job with the city the day that I dissolved the business partnership with Ryne. It struck me all at once that sometimes if you ask nicely enough, and with great persistance, the universe just says, "yes," and that's that.<br /><br />Let me call this the first chapter of an unusually newsy update. I'm at work and feel guilty about updating my blog on taxpayer dollars. Oops.Francy-Pantshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14841278518682709267noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4981931389151127284.post-56637485215950613902010-04-12T13:13:00.000-07:002010-04-12T13:33:39.115-07:00Success might actually kill mePeople! I am speaking, so to speak, to the 2 people who might actually not have given up on my blog. My poor, sad, neglected little blog. Is it any wonder I don't want children?<div><br /></div><div>Things are a little bit insane in these parts. Delicious Landscapes (the company I formed in November with one of my fellow graduates of the Ball State Landscape Arch program) has taken off this spring, and is suddenly extremely busy. And it is hard to manage all this work. </div><div><br /></div><div>I feel like I am wearing a million hats:</div><div><ul><li>client handler</li><li>landscape designer</li><li>foreman</li><li>plant buyer</li><li>accountant</li><li>quality control engineer</li><li>advertiser</li><li>landscape cheerleader/tyrant</li></ul><div>...and none of the hats fit exactly right. </div><div><br /></div><div>I never wanted to do design/build, so it comes as some surprise that I am doing just that. I question this field daily, because it is our first year, and the work is so hard, hours so long, learning curve so steep, partnership so tricky. </div><div><br /></div><div>But we're getting through. It's simply exhausting, and being a business owner I feel as though I never have any time off. So far, my bank account is not reflecting the hours I work, and that in and of itself is deeply frustrating. But perseverance is key in these things, of course I know that. I just seem to forget when it's 10PM on Saturday and all my friends are out and I am trying to finish a bid for a client that was supposed to be done Friday. Sigh. </div><div><br /></div><div>I'm not complaining, either. I'm grateful for the work, for the challenge, for all of it. I have a wonderful life and it is important to me to remind myself of this at each and every turn. </div><div><br /></div><div>This is a strange time, where I am contemplating graduate school (I know, I know...) in California, because my heart still wants to work in international development, and I can't seem to shake the urge no matter how hard I try. </div><div><br /></div><div>Meanwhile, I am trying to determine whether the answer to this analogy:</div><div><br /></div><div>my personality is to my current life as:</div><div><br /></div><div> a cork is to a bottle </div><div><br /></div><div>OR</div><div><br /></div><div>a fish is to a bicycle</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Chip and I are taking a "month off". What this means is that I am not living in our shared house, and we are not communicating. This is not out of contempt, but rather out of a mutual desire to figure things out and decide if this is where we both want to be, together. </div><div><br /></div><div>I cannot accurately describe the stress of trying to run a business without the comfort and convenience of our home office at my disposal. It is, in fact, a logistical nightmare, and I can't begin to tell you how much I look forward to moving back into the house next week. </div><div><br /></div><div>This has been one looooooooong few weeks. </div><div><br /></div><div>So there, consider yourself updated. One can only hope that my next post is more on the waxing poetic side of things, florid and fruity. </div><div><br /></div><div>Otherwise, I just want you all to know how much I love you, and life, and all its assorted trials and tribulations. Quite a ride, babies, quite a ride we're on. </div></div>Francy-Pantshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14841278518682709267noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4981931389151127284.post-53555469581667683142010-02-23T09:51:00.001-08:002010-02-23T10:31:40.395-08:00Miss RemissDear me, I've not posted in over a month...again. What will we do with me? <div><br /></div><div>As I type, the giant kitchen window (leaking bone-chilling drafts, of course) reveals a spread of sopping wet, nasty snow. Blech. </div><div><br /></div><div>I know I am supposed to be oohing and ahhing, making slush angels, drinking hot cocoa, snuggling, and generally merrymaking about this anomalous weather. Alas, I cannot. </div><div><br /></div><div>Cold is not for me. Snow is great, if I'm sledding or on skis (and not where I live). But this wintry mix nonsense? Everyone who claims to enjoy it must have never lived in a miserable northern clime where winter is endless and crushes the joy out of everything for 5 months at a time. </div><div><br /></div><div>Wait, is that hyperbolic? Surely I jest. No. I jest not. </div><div><br /></div><div>Viva la jungle!</div><div><br /></div><div>Which brings me to our next order of business: Carnival. </div><div><br /></div><div>I was able to take almost an entire week off so that I could attend Mardi Gras in New Orleans this year. Suffice to say that despite a case of the sniffles, I am still reeling from the endless days and nights of false eyelashes, bustles, banquets of beauty, flocks of friends, miles of parades, endless glitter and glitz and glam, and of course love and squalor. </div><div><br /></div><div>I know that when some people think of Mardi Gras, they think of Bourbon Street and boobs and beads. </div><div><br /></div><div>I assure you that my Mardi Gras in no way resembles that stereotype. In fact, it is quite the opposite. My experience of this holy holiday in the Big Easy leaves me suffused in the warm glow of realization: my friends are the most inspiring, beautiful, creative, loving, and delightful people one could ask for. </div><div><br /></div><div>It's good to be reminded of these things. </div><div><br /></div><div>While day-to-day may pale by compare, I always know that within the folds of my life, there are nooks and crannies overflowing with the bounty of love, the livid colors of life, the inescapable lures of passion and possibility. Just a heartbeat away. </div><div><br /></div><div>To see some visual evidence, I direct you to my facebook profile (click on pictures of me, and then let your fingers do the walking): </div><div><br /></div><div>http://www.facebook.com/francescafury</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Francy-Pantshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14841278518682709267noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4981931389151127284.post-72168445450723452142010-01-25T11:41:00.001-08:002010-01-25T11:55:32.485-08:0031 and having FUNSo, even though my birthday is not until Wednesday, I feel as though it has already come and gone. You see, I had a little get together slumber party at my favorite paradise in Texas: King spa and Sauna. In case you haven't heard, this is a little prelude to heaven, right here on earth. But don't take my word for it, see for yourself:<div><br /></div><div>http://www.dallaskingsauna.com/index2.php</div><div><br /></div><div>It's a Jjim-jil-bang (say that 5 times fast!), a traditional Korean spa. What that means is that it is a split-gender bath house, with a lady area and a man area, where you get into your birthday suit and enjoy the delights of hot tubs, steam rooms, cold plunges, and scrubs and massages. Back in the mixed-gender area, everyone wears spa-issued pajamas (pink for girls, gray for boys) and lounges around in the many dry saunas, the restaurant, movie theater, karaoke room, and well, lounge areas. </div><div><br /></div><div>It's very Korean. But super friendly and welcoming to us whiteys. Which is nice, because it would be a lot less enjoyable if you were dealing with discrimination in the place. </div><div><br /></div><div>Me and something like 22 of my dear friends met up there and enjoyed ourselves tremendously. I loved it! It was like a birthday for everyone!</div><div><br /></div><div>Anyhow, birthdays are funny. Last year, I was very concerned about celebrating my 30th. It was ridiculous, me getting all pouty because things weren't working out perfectly. Not to mention that I was insanely broke, stressed out, unemployed, and injured. </div><div><br /></div><div>This year is completely unlike last year, in almost every sense. </div><div><br /></div><div>I still don't know the future, but then who amongst us does? (and if you do, don't tell me, I want it to be a surprise!) </div><div><br /></div><div>Things aren't perfect, but they are pretty wonderful. My outlook is sunny, I am surrounded by people I love in a city that brings me joy. I am doing work that reflects my interests and values, using skills that I went to school to learn. </div><div><br /></div><div>What are birthdays for then, if not remembering how far we've come in the past year, and evaluating what we want, who we are, and how things are going?</div><div><br /></div><div>I'm doing well and trying to do good, too. I hope you all are in the same boat, because right now, from my birdsnest, it looks like pretty smooth sailing. </div>Francy-Pantshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14841278518682709267noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4981931389151127284.post-34890254293311075602010-01-19T20:02:00.000-08:002010-01-19T20:13:45.178-08:00ResolvedI'd like to be a less crappy "blogger". I neglect the hell out of this thing, which is either a mercy to those of you unaccustomed to long, rambling sentences bloated with florid phraseology, or a tease to those of you who cannot get enough of said sentences. <div><br /></div><div>This year is off to a jolly good start. </div><div><br /></div><div>Of course, I can't keep up with correspondences, but I can spell remarkably well, and my business is booming. Someday, I'll even direct you to our website. </div><div><br /></div><div>I love landscape design, but can't help but wonder if I will be forced at some point to succumb to the nagging inner voice that tells me that my talents are being wasted on residential landscape design. I'm not entirely sure that they are, but there is a part of me that thinks in broader, grander terms and often wonders if I should be looking at graduate schools and applying myself to international aid work, or at least international development. </div><div><br /></div><div>I mean, that was my plan at the outset. I never meant to be here in Austin, designing landscapes for whomever is willing and able to pay for my services. </div><div><br /></div><div>I'm pretty sure that happiness (and the ability to support onesself) is the goal here, in which case I am doing relatively well... but there is always the question of whether I am doing enough to help my fellow man. </div><div><br /></div><div>The Haiti thing, well, we all know how horrific all that is, right? </div><div><br /></div><div>And the search for answers is not even remotely forthcoming. But it begs many questions. And those questions birth more questions, an endless flood of them oozing from the skin of this issue: where do you start? and with whom? and who administrates? </div><div><br /></div><div>I've studied all this for years and still find my probings only able to yield more questions, and no definitive answers. </div><div><br /></div><div>Meanwhile, I got the flu last week. It was thankfully brief, but terribly uncomfortable. My fever peaked at 103, and it made me quite nervous for a short, delirious spell. </div><div><br /></div><div>I knew I was better when I began cleaning, compulsively, all the things I'd been too sick to lift a finger to take care of before. </div><div><br /></div><div>And when I began to think, "oh my god, this is what it feels like to be healthy, not in pain, and functional!" </div><div><br /></div><div>So here it is: healthy, not in pain, and highly functioning. That is my week in a nutshell. </div><div><br /></div><div>And me, I couldn't be happier if I tried. </div><div><br /></div><div>Sending love, </div><div>~F</div>Francy-Pantshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14841278518682709267noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4981931389151127284.post-43663441785293511212010-01-08T22:14:00.000-08:002010-01-08T22:33:28.002-08:00The New WorldWhile there is, I admit, an arbitrariness to time, to it's measuring and meting out, the naming and defining of it--- I love submitting to this system of notching our sticks, of charting our courses by the ever-shifting positions of the heavenly bodies making their impossibly distant celestial rounds. Of sifting through the sands of our lives on an annual basis. Of remembering. <div><br /></div><div>It's good and right somehow to have these milestones: birthdays, holidays, New Years. Anything to recognize yet another anniversary of our spinning blue planet making yet another revolution around the sun. I adore this. </div><div><br /></div><div>2009 will go down in history as one of those pivotal years where everything changes, not only for myself, but for many others as well. It's been up and down, beautiful and tortured. And now, like every breath we've taken thus far, it is behind us. </div><div><br /></div><div>I'm already in love with 2010. I like the squareness of it, visually. One box that fits neatly inside another, like those nested Russian babushka dolls. </div><div><br /></div><div>In lieu of proper resolutions, I have a few simple goals and one overarching desire for this year (and possibly every one hereafter). </div><div><ul><li>Learn to properly ride a horse. </li><li>Do more tango, and dance in general</li><li>Let the important people in my life know that I love them more: be a better friend, daughter, partner, artist, and just an overall better person. </li></ul><div>But the most important desire for this year is simple, and one I'd like to share and challenge everyone I care for to join in...</div><div><br /></div><div>I want to experience happiness not as a fleeting feeling, but as a discipline. I believe that happiness can be practiced, cultivated, and perfected. </div><div><br /></div><div>This year I long to focus on the blessings that have marked my life, rather than that which I do not have, or have lost. I aspire to meet obstacles with a smile, to give more than I take, and to do so without expecting any reward aside from the experience of manifesting joy. </div><div><br /></div><div>Life is short, justly difficult, and beautiful. </div><div><br /></div><div>I'm really glad we're all in this one together. </div><div><br /></div><div>Let's make this year the best one yet. </div><div><br /></div></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Francy-Pantshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14841278518682709267noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4981931389151127284.post-17448423180207618302009-11-12T11:48:00.000-08:002009-11-12T12:20:32.492-08:00Oh Autumn!<div><br /></div><div>This time of year always turns me a little moody and introspective. Not, mind you, in a gloomy way, it's just the way of autumn. Leaves are turning brilliant and preparing to depart for a season. Jackets come out of closets. The holidays sneak up on us. </div><div><br /></div><div>I wrecked Chip's car last week. It was the second accident I've had in the past 6 weeks, and the first I've ever been at fault in. </div><div><br /></div><div>The first was a hit-and-run. I'm not angry anymore, because I understand that the guy who hit me was either an illegal immigrant or had a warrant out, or both. </div><div><br /></div><div>Mainly, I'm relieved that I wasn't hurt, and that my truck wasn't completely wrecked. It was pouring rain and I was afraid that I would miss my dear old friend's wedding because of the accident, but it all worked out. </div><div><br /></div><div>Wrecking Chip's car was not scary at all. It was the most minor type of accident that exists: the rear-ender. Sadly, because it was a sedan (me) hitting an SUV, the car is most likely going to be totaled. </div><div><br /></div><div>When I went to get an estimate, I stopped to give a couple of ladies a jump start. I had to pry the smashed-in hood open to get to the battery. Minutes later, on the freeway, the hood popped open and smashed the windshield while I was going about 70 mph. THAT was scary. </div><div>I'd like to never experience anything like that ever again. </div><div><br /></div><div>Chip already bought a new (old) car, an 80s turbodiesel Mercedes that he will run using biodiesel, made from spent fryer grease. It's free, save for the time spent collecting and processing it. </div><div><br /></div><div>Speaking of biodiesel-- my friend Ryne just moved here to join forces with me. Behold, the newly formed: Delicious Landscapes LLC. We have this enormous, shiny work truck that runs on diesel. We will be running it on biodiesel in no time. </div><div><br /></div><div>I'm swimming in work right now. Loads of it. Feeling grateful for the flood of work. Trying to keep my head above water and not get overwhelmed by it all. </div><div><br /></div><div>See, I told you I would write something newsy, not too florid, and utterly straightforward. </div><div><br /></div><div>The holidays are coming. Ain't that something? I'm pretty excited to see everyone. The difference between childhood and adulthood for me has been this: as a child, the holidays were thrilling because of presents and food. Now, they are exciting because of family. (this is the part where the live studio audience goes "Awwwww"). But it's true. So true. </div><div><br /></div><div>Sending out love in every direction. </div><div><br /></div><div>~F</div><div><br /></div>Francy-Pantshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14841278518682709267noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4981931389151127284.post-55479963573836434702009-11-05T23:29:00.001-08:002009-11-06T00:34:51.011-08:00Six Months. One Year. An Eternity<div style="text-align: center;">Six months ago, tonight, was the last time any of your friends ever saw you. Resolute, you went home and left us all forever. I'll never understand your decision.</div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS4LVvN_4h5BG5wiXunMya3p9S9B1vOlOT5fZr2CcNDYRoXG_5-qcbh5CuXmYo3Ei0qACprvuizT_mFcc8qzi9XC0Haij5qnt6gKTIhGwzuvum1oI83EVY08lVB76gdAhvhkRlqn2zi2s/s1600-h/IMG.jpg" style="text-decoration: none;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 92px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS4LVvN_4h5BG5wiXunMya3p9S9B1vOlOT5fZr2CcNDYRoXG_5-qcbh5CuXmYo3Ei0qACprvuizT_mFcc8qzi9XC0Haij5qnt6gKTIhGwzuvum1oI83EVY08lVB76gdAhvhkRlqn2zi2s/s400/IMG.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400897774930734914" /></a><div><div style="text-align: center;">One year ago, on Halloween, we attended the same party. I was unaware of your spectral figure looming over me, until a friend whispered in my ear, "Steve is right behind you, staring."</div></div><div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">I spent the rest of the night glancing over my shoulder, avoiding you at all costs. </div><div style="text-align: center;">~~~~~~</div><div style="text-align: center;">I'll never see you again.</div><div style="text-align: center;">In this past 6 months, I've swum through an ocean of "ifs," piercing the surface like dorsal fins.</div><div style="text-align: center;"> I have lived through a season of the conditional tense: would'a/could'a/should'a. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">The heartbreak is unending. But you taught me more, in this one act, than I could have possibly learned in years of making my own mistakes--about forgiveness. About love. About life. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Like the supernovas whose glowing deaths have revealed untold secrets about the heavens, about distances between stars and the age, size, and weight of the universe...</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">In your wake, it is a different word, a world where love is the objective, where acceptance is requisite, and where memory is precious. I know we are never over. </div><div style="text-align: center;">I just wish we lasted a little bit longer, and hoped a little harder. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">love, ~F</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></div>Francy-Pantshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14841278518682709267noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4981931389151127284.post-82648361190190166832009-11-01T13:21:00.000-08:002009-11-01T13:36:33.279-08:00Auspicious TimesAutumn is delicious, is happening, is turning every day ever shorter and I dare say ever sweeter. <div><br /></div><div>This time is a good one. There are friends and family galore, no dearth of love in life of late. </div><div><br /></div><div>My father's mother, my Grandmother Maria, passed last week. She was 98 years old. </div><div><br /></div><div>Her funeral was a sign post, a moment of reckoning where I was forced to realize, as I watched the priest dab at his eyes, as I heard the anecdotes about her, that I did not know my grandmother. I knew her, but I did not<i> know</i> her. </div><div><br /></div><div>I wish I could have seen her in love, young, heartbreakingly beautiful. Before my grandfather flew into the side of a volcanic mountain, killing all crew and passengers aboard, leaving her a widow in her prime. Before she became so worried and fearful. Before she became a free woman, free to live in relative solitude, unmolested. </div><div><br /></div><div>I heard stories of a woman who was a singer, who sang in the church choir and at friends' weddings. I found out that she was a stray collector, like myself, who fed a dozen cats at a time. Who fed the squirrels, and the "cha-cha-lakas" (gossamer, grackle-like birds) she pretended not to like. Who could make anything grow and flourish, bear fruit. </div><div><br /></div><div>I found the Calderoni clan to be softer, more loving, more interesting and enjoyable than I had. Perhaps, in the wake of Steve's death, and this very odd year, I am learning how to forgive, deeply, and with purpose. </div><div><br /></div><div>In the midst of death there is life. Everyone is having babies, bearing fruit, moving personal mountains of reservation aside and devoting their attentions to the next generation of young, blithe souls who will rule the world and eventually acquiesce it to their children. </div><div><br /></div><div>It's a fine and admirable cycle, this constant sloughing and regenerating thing that our little blue-green planet so aptly performs. Like an ablution, the earth forgives itself and is cleansed of past misgivings constantly. What's not to love about this thing?</div><div><br /></div><div>And me? Little old me? I'm trying to maintain this foothold I've found. I'm designing spaces and going out dancing. Drinking wine and remembering why I am here. I'm doing well and trying to do good as well. Living fearlessly, loving recklessly, and paying attention to all the trivial matters that make life a little less ordinary. </div><div><br /></div><div>Despite my quietude, I am here. Mostly listening. Looking for auspicious signs. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Francy-Pantshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14841278518682709267noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4981931389151127284.post-28252787349730975252009-09-03T18:22:00.000-07:002009-09-03T18:32:43.653-07:00Summertime RollsSmoothly, we've transitioned out of summer's brutality, into gentler dog days, highs in the mid-nineties. A relenting.<br /><br />I'm not easily daunted by mere weather. You may remember my dispatches from Dubai, Oman, and Abu Dhabi. I've trekked through the blistering Sahara, and have generally worn a smile, and a brow beaded with sweat.<br /><br />But this summer was something different. Something sinister and cruel, hastening the end of century-old trees and once-proud lawns. There is an agreement amongst most of the Texans of my generation: this was the worst one yet: islands rising in the center of the lake, uncovering terrible secrets (so I hear, I know better than to watch the 5-o'clock news). It's enough to make a landscape architect reconsider the entire vocation.<br /><br />I'd do better to while away my days raking patterns into sandy zen gardens, wearing a loose, white robe.<br /><br /><br />But then, that is the effect of the weather, a constant reminder that we are not in the driver's seat of this life, but rather all passengers on a strange and unpredictable rollercoaster of sorts.<br /><br />There is so much happening, always so much action, hedged in between sleepy mornings and evenings of dancing and dreaming.<br /><br />We all get older, and incubate new life inside us, and cultivate wondrous things. And go through the daily motions.<br /><br />Birthdays of the living and the dead rise up and fall away, and the rest of us just keep moving to our own little beat.<br /><br />My heart beats with each of you, a little "lub-dub" symphony. You all cross my mind, and I smile a little brighter.<br /><br />There is so much ahead, and so much behind. And perhaps, one day I will stop being vague and just out with it, a laundry list of day-to-day doings.<br /><br />In the meantime, there is love and life. I feel you out there through all of it.Francy-Pantshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14841278518682709267noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4981931389151127284.post-27185550379470331682009-07-15T12:45:00.000-07:002009-07-15T12:47:30.953-07:00Slivers.There is a part of each of us, I believe, that still longs to tremble under the unfathomable newness of something.<br /><br />No matter how jaded, how embittered, how battered and beleaguered, this feeling is sleeping beneath our skins, coiled tight like a snake in the chill of night, waiting to be released by a warm breath, or a sigh.<br /><br />To ignore that feeling is to allow oneself to partake in death, one small denial at a time.<br /><br />There are dips and swells, furrows and chasms--all concealing and revealing everything at once.<br /><br />This is a blessing, because we would all crumble beneath the weight of so much Truth delivered at once. It would annihilate any one of us instantly.<br /><br />We digest as we are able, one bite at a time, of this wild feast of a life. There will never be enough time for all of it, and if we go too fast or swallow too much- there is danger of choking, or worse yet--forgetting to savor each little moment.<br /><br />My fingers tremble in time to the leaves clinging to the dessicated trees outside the window. The lake is blue, receded, punctuated by century-old stumps, reminding us that they once owned this place.<br /><br />We all tremble beneath the strokings of the wind, all waiting for rain, thunder, night. Anything to break the spell, and uncoil our secret selves anew.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2500/3723670565_3972413df5.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 500px; height: 333px;" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2500/3723670565_3972413df5.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>Francy-Pantshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14841278518682709267noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4981931389151127284.post-12788297858992147252009-07-02T22:55:00.000-07:002009-07-03T06:46:31.179-07:00Focus on the FamilyMonday, I returned home after 5 blissful days in the clutches of family for a family reunion in North Carolina.<br /><br />I forget sometimes how marvelous my family is. And how lucky we are to all get along so well and genuinely enjoy one anothers company.<br /><br />My female cousins are all in college now, which means that our interactions have escalated to the next level of camaraderie. They have grown into such lovely young women, each so distinct and decidedly themselves. My youngest cousin, Adam, is a towering 6-foot tall 16 year old (unheard of in my family--we are munchkins!) who is so talented an artist it is almost scary.<br /><br />I can't remember the last time I had so much fun. I watched Adam and Katherine go from squeamish to heroic in their efforts to catch and hook worms for our many fishing trips on the pond. We caught and released bass and perch against a backdrop of singing (bun unseen) frogs, whiled away our days playing boggle, scrabble, and watching the hummingbirds and hawks do their dance against the sky.<br /><br /> <img _fcksavedurl="http://pics.livejournal.com/mme_furiosa/pic/0002ee4y/s320x240" src="http://pics.livejournal.com/mme_furiosa/pic/0002ee4y/s320x240" align="absbottom" border="0" height="240" hspace="70" width="180" /><br /> I <span _fcktemp="1"></span>am a fancy fisherfolk.<br /><br />We caught baby frogs and went running in the woods, we laughed until our sides ached and got to know each other all over.<br /><br />Impromptu dance parties in the kitchen from which absurd amounts of gorgeous food constantly flowed into our bellies, late nights of cocktails and poker games, and excellent, top-notch conversations... We even hang glided at Kitty Hawk, off towering 100 foot dunes!<br /><br />I came home feeling restored, despite the 104 degree day I landed in.<br /><br />It's no secret, how low my spirits have been these past couple of months. But today, working in the triple digit heat, it hit me--I'm back.<br />I'm doing what I want to be doing: designing, consulting, and building beautiful landscapes. Reading books in bed. Entertaining friends. Smiling. Laughing. Loving.<br /><br />It's not a bad gig, this life. Not bad at all.<br /><br />I'm feeling grateful again, for all I've been given. I hope it sticks around awhile.Francy-Pantshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14841278518682709267noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4981931389151127284.post-5579433171919271002009-06-19T09:44:00.000-07:002009-06-19T09:50:58.605-07:00The year of treading waterThis year has really been a trial. A series of trials.<br /><br />Here I am, 30 years old, and it just seems like an avalanche of life experiences and forced growth have beset me on all sides.<br /><br />This is not exactly a complaint, but rather an acknowledgment. What does not kill you may or may not make you stronger. It will, more likely than not, make you wiser, and more capable of coping with the future incidents that fail to kill you.<br /><br />I like bullet points, which leads me to the short list of maladies and inflictions suffered this year:<br /><ul><li>serious ankle injury</li><li>lack of decent job market</li><li>constant feelings of overwhelmedness</li><li>Steve's death</li><li>Student Loans returning to haunt me</li></ul><br />Okay, kvetching over.<br /><br />There has just been so much, in all the spaces between those things, too much to encapsulate into a little, tiny space like this. Too much to inflict upon my few, sweet readers.<br /><br />Never have I worked so hard and felt so ineffective. I hope this will pass. It simply must, right?<br /><br />Someday I will post some sunshine here, and some smiles and some mirth.<br /><br />But for now, just know I am still here, kicking against all those things that are failing to kill me.<br /><br />It's a strange and semi-sweet journey, this life.<br /><br />I'm glad we're all in it together.Francy-Pantshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14841278518682709267noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4981931389151127284.post-5243835215669155502009-05-10T10:10:00.000-07:002009-07-28T11:05:37.382-07:00Goodye, Steve<div style="text-align: center;">Steve Grosskopf ~~August 29, 1977----May 6, 2009<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUlTVkMKfCgWAdA6bO3Vw9uOAilKkDJaiQBuT7JTuSj5f2eGzWZ6qUMAoXNf57bFoDmmhVNA982wI1F4nSLNQl9Y-tz-L5tKT_GD-647MfNqU9GAzJR3mAqZiMxS4FxsZYmzCiUICYucQ/s1600-h/steve+and+I.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUlTVkMKfCgWAdA6bO3Vw9uOAilKkDJaiQBuT7JTuSj5f2eGzWZ6qUMAoXNf57bFoDmmhVNA982wI1F4nSLNQl9Y-tz-L5tKT_GD-647MfNqU9GAzJR3mAqZiMxS4FxsZYmzCiUICYucQ/s320/steve+and+I.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5363571863941841410" border="0" /></a>~~~<br /><br />For 2 and a half tumultuous years, I shared my bed, my heart, my secrets, and my self with this man.<br />We lived together roughly half that time, and sometimes it was wonderful.<br /><br />Steve was a gifted artist. He was tall, dark, and handsome, and had a wicked sense of humor.<br />He was also coy, contrary, and prone to long, dark depressions.<br /><br />My initial attraction to him was visceral, magnetic, and impossible.<br />When I saw him, my hands would shake, and I would be tongue tied and nervous.<br />He was way too good-looking to possibly be interested in me, I thought.<br />But I was wrong.<br /><br />We were caught up, smitten, and things were sweet for a time.<br />And then the cycle began. We loved each other and we hurt each other.<br />I never really took his depression all that seriously, believing he was just being petulant and dramatic.<br />"Morosekopf" was his nickname, playfully bandied about.<br /><br />After he followed me to Indiana, things really fell apart.<br />The relationship became increasingly abusive.<br />I threw him out.<br /><br />The last time I spoke to him, I was standing upstairs in what had once been our bedroom, on the phone.<br />Screaming at him.<br /><br />That was about 4 and a half years ago.<br /><br />So much anger, hurt, hate, and shame has followed in the wake of all that.<br />Moving back to Austin, I was terrified that I would run into him.<br />I refused to slander him publicly, but my dislike was powerful and no secret.<br /><br />At 4am, driving to Indiana to clear out the house, I thought about him kindly, for the first time in years.<br />I imagined calling him, telling him I forgave him, that it was both our faults.<br />I remembered the good times, and laughing together.<br />I was surprised by all of these things.<br /><br />Sometime, in the darkness of that morning he took his own life.<br /><br />I think my imagined conversation was real.<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">I have lit candles, and spoken to the walls, I have laughed and wept and remembered.<br /><br />I wish him a safe journey, and love, and peace.<br /><br />Steve, I never hated you. It was love, peering at it's reflection in an angry mirror.<br /><br />I am not angry anymore. And you are free.</div>Francy-Pantshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14841278518682709267noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4981931389151127284.post-87414698585852801942009-04-27T22:55:00.001-07:002009-04-27T22:55:43.713-07:00Late at NightSilence finally falls. The dove gray skies lit by only a sliver, like a cutaway crescent that promises an endless expanse of light behind...<br /><br />The witching hour smiles her long white whip of a smile, snakes her sinuous arm around the slumped shoulders of repose.<br /><br />There are peepers, dancing in the cracks and crevices outside. They are invisible, little froglets lighting up the silence with their bright, adorable little songs.<br /><br />Somewhere, there are wars and negotiations. Somewhere, there are funerals and fires.<br /><br />Somewhere, someone is doing something for the first time. Someone else is doing something for the last time.<br /><br />Everywhere, everyone's life is changing forever.<br /><br />Maybe that is why we all keep our eyes open, why we still listen, why we let dreams find us, and why we wake and do it all over again.<br /><br />It is a blessing, to have a moment, to bear witness to all this beauty.Francy-Pantshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14841278518682709267noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4981931389151127284.post-39025267963832957972009-04-23T21:00:00.000-07:002009-04-23T22:00:36.788-07:00Dispatches from busylandiaOkay, I admit it: I am a terrible blogger. Not, perhaps the worst (uncle Tom, will you ever grace us with your bloggy presence again?)<br /><br />It's just been a bit crazy here, that's all.<br /><br />Starting a business, and working freelance, and barking up every tree... all that takes up a lot of energy.<br /><br />And then there is the job-- I do massage at a fancy resort on the weekends, and sometimes during the week.<br /><br />I massage a bit here and there on the side.<br /><br />And I garden ALL THE TIME. In fact, that is the premise of the business venture that is cooking right now.<br />I love working with dirt, and plants, and design. I like working with people, and their surroundings, and transforming spaces.<br /><br />There is a power to cultivation: to coaxing things to grow out of the ground, and bringing color and order and beauty into the world.<br /><br />There is sanity in creating sanctuary in a chaotic and difficult to manage world. And I find joy in it. I think I am good at it, even if it leaves me depleted, even if my fingernails are always short and there are smudges of dirt on my edges.<br /><br />I was never meant to be a refined lady, I don't think. I fact, I take great pride in being the gal you can count on to help you fix a flat tire in the middle of the night, or repair a leaky pipe, or replace some siding, or weld a metal piece that is failing.<br /><br />I couldn't for the life of me tell you how to apply eye makeup in a way that makes you look younger, or how to position your face in a photo so that you don't look like an absolute idiot (proof in point: almost every photo ever taken of me).<br /><br />But I do know what makes a life worth living. That is good friends, loving family, and something that makes getting up every morning worth it. Something to look forward to and something to remember fondly.<br /><br />Perhaps I am rambling, but that is a bit better than the cold shoulder this poor little blog has been given lately, isn't it?<br /><br />Love, and spring rains. That is what will hold us up all summer long.<br /><br />'Till the next flight of fancy,<br /><br />xox<br />~FFrancy-Pantshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14841278518682709267noreply@blogger.com1