Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Sunday, March 14, 2010
Here comes the sun!
Springtime weather in Austin, TX feels like I'm living in a never-ending spring break. On weekend mornings, a comfortable 50 degrees and sunny, I sit by the pool behind my apartment, sip on my coffee, and read whatever novel I'm working through. Then, usually ten or fifteen minutes in, I look up from the page, glance at the chlorinated water, and think to myself, "This can't be right."
Growing up in the north when the phrase "75 degrees and sunny" was uttered out of anyone's mouth - especially my father's - the unspoken family motto was: Drop Everything and Run Outside. In Wisconsin, a 75 degree day could be followed by a light snow shower, so you better believe you'll take advantage of whatever's handed to you. Lunchtime? Bring it outside. We're probably grilling out anyway. Homework to do? We bought that picnic table for a reason, you know.
When my family went on spring break together, we rarely planned anything beyond sitting on the beach/poolside in the sun. Read. Nap. Flip over. Repeat. As I got into my teenage years, this drove me crazy, but my dad - who worked a 9-5 for 30 odd years in insurance - loved it. All that man wants to do is sit outside for a week straight in Florida. Ten months into my first job, I can kind of see where he was coming from, although I still would argue that we could at the very least thrown in a round of putt-putt once in awhile.
Weather here is a bit more predictable. Sunny. Warmish to warm. Very few clouds. When I see a 7-day forecast that looks remarkably consistent, I still shake my head. What is this? How do Austinites go about their day without dropping to their knees and and counting their blessings?
I still feel tremendous guilt if nice-weather days are not spent entirely outdoors. If I'm watching TV and the sun's still shining, I will literally hear my dad's voice in my ear, "What are you doing?!" and I'll go out and take a walk. Maybe one day I'll get used to beautiful spring weather, but I hope I don't. There's no better mindset than feeling like every day feels like one giant, sunny favor.
Growing up in the north when the phrase "75 degrees and sunny" was uttered out of anyone's mouth - especially my father's - the unspoken family motto was: Drop Everything and Run Outside. In Wisconsin, a 75 degree day could be followed by a light snow shower, so you better believe you'll take advantage of whatever's handed to you. Lunchtime? Bring it outside. We're probably grilling out anyway. Homework to do? We bought that picnic table for a reason, you know.
When my family went on spring break together, we rarely planned anything beyond sitting on the beach/poolside in the sun. Read. Nap. Flip over. Repeat. As I got into my teenage years, this drove me crazy, but my dad - who worked a 9-5 for 30 odd years in insurance - loved it. All that man wants to do is sit outside for a week straight in Florida. Ten months into my first job, I can kind of see where he was coming from, although I still would argue that we could at the very least thrown in a round of putt-putt once in awhile.
Weather here is a bit more predictable. Sunny. Warmish to warm. Very few clouds. When I see a 7-day forecast that looks remarkably consistent, I still shake my head. What is this? How do Austinites go about their day without dropping to their knees and and counting their blessings?
I still feel tremendous guilt if nice-weather days are not spent entirely outdoors. If I'm watching TV and the sun's still shining, I will literally hear my dad's voice in my ear, "What are you doing?!" and I'll go out and take a walk. Maybe one day I'll get used to beautiful spring weather, but I hope I don't. There's no better mindset than feeling like every day feels like one giant, sunny favor.
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Sunday, March 7, 2010
Wakey wakey!
Growing up, Sunday mornings almost always began with food. If it wasn't the smell of bacon on the frying pan that woke me up, it would be my dad ducking his head in my room in a voice both sweet and obnoxious shouting, "BREAKFAST, LB. LB. GET UP. BREAKFAST!" As a teenager, that was usually my cue to roll over and groan. And yet, once my olfactory senses were kickin', it wouldn't be long until I trudged into the kitchen to sit down for breakfast.I loved that our family, without fail, would sit down for Sunday breakfast together. I loved the difficult decisions I faced at nine in the morning: english muffin, bagel, or toast? Honey, peanut butter, or plain? One egg or two? Milk, juice, or both? I wish all major decisions in life resulted in something so delicious.
I live alone, which means that sometimes there's just no point to certain things. There's no point to make multiple side dishes or dirty a plate when you could just eat straight from the pot. And there's certain meals that seem like too much work to even bother. Ever heard the Of Montreal song that begins "Pancakes for one are always depressing...?" Because it's true. Once in desparation I made pancakes for myself and ate them standing up in front of the stove as they finished. Are you picturing this? Depressing.
Once in awhile I put some effort towards my own little Sunday breakfast. As I make the eggs, I remember the comments my dad would make when he made ours - his apologies when the yolk would break, his insistence that he make one or two extra eggs in case someone wanted more.
My yolks always break. I rarely bother with breakfast meat and when I do, I convince myself that things like turkey bacon are as good as the real deal (and then I always realize that they aren't). Despite my poor man's version of Sunday Breakfast, it's still a lovely way to begin the day. It reminds me of home, it reminds me of family.
Some things are just worth the effort.
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