Everything is not Always Merry and Bright

The ICU can be such a strange place during the holidays.  We try to make the unit merrier, dressing it up with Christmas trees, ornaments, and other seasonal decorations.  The break room is filled with sugary treats.  We wear our festive scrubs and buzz with holiday energy.  Our chatter turns to shopping, gift-giving, party plans, and cookie baking.  It really is like any other workplace this time of year.  And yet, an ICU is nothing like any other workplace, so all of our merriment can almost seem out of place.

I mention this because I caught myself in this conundrum the other day.  There I was, on Christmas Eve morning, obsessing about what to make for the following day’s brunch.  Eggs Hollandaise?  A frittata?  I couldn’t decide.  It was going to be our first married Christmas together and I wanted everything to be perfect.  I bustled around the unit, lost in my own thoughts, weighing one menu option against the next. 

And then came my reality check.  I heard the wails coming from behind closed doors, each cry emanating unfathomable loss.  It took me aback, like a slap in the face, jolting me from my happy thoughts.  The reality of it all began to weigh heavily on me; my biggest worry was an egg dish, while this family was saying their final good-byes.  I felt trite for fretting about perfection, while their Christmases will never be the same.

This job can do that to you sometimes.  And by “that”, I mean give you a hard dose of reality that will set your priorities straight.  All of the death and suffering juxtaposed against frivolous holiday cheer only serves to remind how fragile life can be.  I can’t stop living, or being excited about the all of the silliness it entails, but I can appreciate the little details.  That’s what my job teaches me.

In a Haze

After working a couple of nights in a row, I wake up from my daytime slumber in somewhat of a fog.  My sleep cycle has been thoroughly turned upside down, and it’s difficult for my brain to kick itself into gear.  I feel like a slug, both inside and out.  These are the days when I want nothing more than to curl up under a blanket and zone out in front of the TV.  But these are the days it’s most important for me to run.

My runs are supposed to be refreshing.  They’re meant to wake me up, to sharpen my thinking.  And, on most days, they do just that.  With every step I take, my mood lightens and I bring myself just a smidge closer to reality.  But today’s run was different.  It did almost the exact opposite, more like a backslide into the stupor of my dreams. 

I blame it on the fog, which was already rolling in, thick and cold, as I took my first steps and began finding my stride.  Its density was impressive, blurring the lines between land, water, and sky.  My usual landmarks were obscured beyond recognition.  The entire beach seemed distant and muted.  It was disorienting, feeling so lost in what should be familiar territory.  That haziness and uncertainty settled into my psyche, just as the cold penetrated my skin.  I didn’t feel refreshed at all, but rather like I was being held in some sort of trance.  It wasn’t until I walked through our front door and into the welcoming warmth of our little beach bungalow that I knew for sure I was truly awake.  What a strange way to begin my day…

Brain Freeze

 I knew I was in trouble the moment I stepped into the water.  It was early Saturday morning, only minutes before the start of the Palm Springs triathlon.  I needed to warm up before the gun went off, but the waters of Lake Cahullia were breathtakingly cold, chilling me to the bone as soon as they made contact with my skin.  Who did I think I was kidding?  No matter how many strokes I got in pre-race, I wasn’t going to warm up.  If anything, every cell of my body was slowing to a complete halt every moment I spent in that water.  I’m pretty sure my well-worn wetsuit wasn’t doing me any favors, either.  I might as well have been treading naked in Artic waters for as much protection it was providing me.  The frigid water poured into each and every tear, giving me the sensation of being held down in an ice bath.  It was painful.  I was fighting back the panic.

I don’t remember many specifics from the swim, besides struggling to find a good breathing pattern and barely feeling my arms as they pushed through the water.  I do remember the relief I felt when I looked over to find my friend swimming next to me though.  And, of course, I remember feeling even more relief when I realized our swim was over.

I wish I could say that, after exiting the water, I was in the clear, but nothing could be further from the truth.  Now I had to deal with the aftermath of spending thirty-plus minutes in such bitter conditions.  If I’ve ever been close to hypothermia, this was it.  My body felt like a block of ice and my extremities took the form of foreign, frozen bodies.  There was a disconnect between what I wanted them to do and what they were actually doing.  Try as I might, I couldn’t get my wetsuit off.  I knew I needed to hook my thumbs around the fabric around my ankle, but all I could do was sit and shake.  It was like being caught in the middle of a really bad dream.  The world was coming at me in slow motion, and I couldn’t figure a way out of this dilemma.  Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, my hands began to function again, and I was able to get out of my wetsuit, into my bike shoes, and out of the transition area.

The remainder of the race went by unremarkably, as the majority of races do.  At the time, I’m giving it my all, focused on pushing through the pain, and trying to bike/run as fast as I can.  Afterwards, I wonder if that was truly my best effort, or if I could have pushed just a little bit harder.  The only observation worth mentioning is that both the bike and run were personal records, coming in at significantly faster times than previous races.

Now I’m giving myself a couple of days off and nursing all of the muscles that are thoroughly fatigued from Saturday’s effort.  Of course, by “time off” I mean hiking Mt San Jacinto yesterday and yoga today, but relaxation is a relative term.   Right?

A Very Disappointing Week

Last week wasn’t exactly a stellar week.  In fact, it was downright miserable.  It started off well enough, hiking the trail to The Bridge to Nowhere with Mary and little Miss Olivia on Monday.  But then I went back to work Tuesday night, which is when things began to take a turn for the worse.  It’s not that work itself was to blame for my woes.  In fact, both shifts went by fairly unremarkably, as far as patient assignments go.  Nope, my descent into misery can only be attributed to my own body betraying me.

It all started with a sniffle and a sneeze.  I thought it could be allergies.  But then the sniffles and sneezes progressed to a sore throat, which progressed to a nose so runny, you could have mistaken it for a faucet.  By Thursday morning, all I could think of was crawling into bed and hiding from the rest of the world.  And that is exactly what I did.  For three days, I shut out the rest of the world and slept, waking occasionally to blow my nose, ingest some Tylenol and other cold remedies, and sip on soup.  Nuclear war could have erupted and I would have been none the wiser.  I didn’t emerge from my cocoon of blankets and Kleenex until last night, when it was finally time for me to go back to work.

What really irks me about the whole situation is that I had major plans for the week.  I was going clean.  I was going to organize.  I was going to tackle a couple of projects that I had been putting off.  Instead, I succumbed to sickness and did nothing more than bury my head under the covers, wasting my time off.  Like I said, it wasn’t the best week.  Let’s hope this week doesn’t follow suit.

A Well-Deserved Apology

And then, there are days like today, where you couldn’t convince me of fall’s presence, no matter how hard you tried.  It’s ninety degrees and sunny, without a cloud in the sky.  It’s like summer, all over again.  (But better, because there are no tourists to share it with!)  Maybe this is Mother Nature’s apology for last week’s downright dreary weather, or her peace offering for the June Gloom.  Whatever the reason for this turn of luck and return to climatic perfection, I’m taking full advantage.  I’ve already got my bikini on and am headed down to the beach for some lazing.  What an idyllic way to spend an October afternoon!

Rude Awakening

Until today, I’ve been in complete denial that fall is upon us.  I know Labor Day is long gone, and the summer tourists have deserted our beach, but nothing else, thus far, has truly indicated the summer months are actually over.  (Save for the Halloween decorations that have dominated the grocery store aisles since July.  But, I digress.)  After all, just this past weekend, Mouse and I took the kayaks on a camping/paddling excursion where we donned our suits and played in the waves every day.  (Trip report to follow soon.)  And the weekend before that, I was in Sequoia National Park, on a camping and canyoneering trip, where I rappelled into waterfalls and swam through pristine mountain pools.  (And, yes, this trip report will also follow soon.)  Do either of these sound like fall activities?  I think not. 

It’s been weekends like these, along with the constant sunshine and heavenly SoCal weather, which have permitted me to live in denial for so long.  For heaven's sake, we still play bocce ball on the beach and ride our cruisers down the boardwalk, which are most certainly not fall activities!  But today, Mother Nature decided she’d had enough of playing nice and forced me into a rude awakening.  Today, I was welcomed into my day via gray skies and pouring rain.  So, now I know it’s official.  Fall is here.  My summer on the beach has ended.  What a bummer of a way to start my week.  (And for those who would like to point out that it’s actually Wednesday, I would like to point out that I’m working the weekend, so today is the beginning of my work week.  Bleh.)

Trip Report - Maroon Bells, White River National Forest

Despite the fact it’s been several days since my plane touched down in Orange County, and I left the Rocky Mountains behind, I’m still recovering from last week’s hiking excursion in the Maroon Bells, a breathtaking wilderness area outside of Aspen.  My calves are still cramped from the steep ascents.  My back is still contorted from carrying a 50-pound pack for four days.  My feet are just plain scary.  And my stomach still churns at the mere thought of ingesting any sort of backcountry food; I hope and pray I do not even have look at another Cliff bar, freeze-dried meal, or bag of trail mix for a very long time.  (Seriously, after living off that stuff for four days, even the thought of it makes me queasy.)

All complaining aside, it was an incredible trip.  Yes – it was tough.  We all pushed ourselves beyond our usual physical limits, and often questioned if we would even be able to make it any further.  (The 2,000 feet elevation gain on Day 3 was just a teensy more than we were bargaining for!)  But we did, and were rewarded with the privilege of finding ourselves in a remote, unspoiled paradise of almost indescribable magnificence. 

We saw lakes in shades of blue and turquoise that I didn’t know existed outside of paintings.  We walked through fields of wildflowers so vast, I could have sworn we had inadvertently stumbled upon the Elysian Fields.  Bursts of yellow, purple, and red stretched as far as the eye could see, juxtaposed against the steely gray of the distant mountains.  Everywhere we looked, we were in awe of the splendor before us.

We drank from babbling brooks. (Properly filtering the water, of course.)  We marveled at the stars.  We even hung out with a few hawks, deer, and pika.  At the risk of sounding overly hippy-dippy, we truly were able to commune with nature; it was inspiring and comforting at the same time.  (Before I lose you to thoughts of dreadlocks and drum circles, trust me; it wasn’t like that.)

So, I guess I’ll take my twisted back and newfound aversion to GORP in stride.  Every ache and pain was worth it.  I got my mountain fix for the summer.  I spent some quality time with friends, both new and old.  And I proved to myself that I am tough enough to make it four days in the unforgiving wilderness, with an incredibly heavy pack in tow.  I guess my only question is… what’s next?

Wedding Gawker Conquered

I know, I know... My posts have been incredibly scarce lately.  For that, I apologize.  I'm afraid this post isn't going to provide much substance, either, as I'm about to dash out the door to catch a flight to Denver.  I have to admit, I'm pretty darn excited about being back in my home state for a few days.

I'm even more excited to announce that my wedding is being featured on Wedding Gawker today.  Woo hoo!  After months of pouring through this site and ogling other people's wedding, MY wedding is finally the one being ogled.  I know it's silly, but I cannot even express how giddy I am to be gracing their home page.  So, please check out Wedding Gawker and gawk at my wedding.  And, I promise that I will provide more pictures and go into further details very soon.

A Whole Lot of Nothing

I have to admit, last week was rough.  I spent more time waiting to be called into work than actually working, which was a monumental waste of time.  (I know, I know… how rough can life be when you live on the beach?  But how can I afford to live on the beach without a paycheck?)

I tried to make the best of it by maintaining a positive attitude and maximizing my beach time, but all of that waiting still took its toll.  It did nothing for my sense of self-worth, and even less for my pocketbook.  I started to feel like a desperate lover, staring at my silent phone, willing it to ring, and bring me the news I was yearning to hear.  But, alas, all of this longing was in vain.  I only managed to nab two shifts, which does not equal a full workweek.

I’m fully aware this is one of the major pitfalls to working agency, and that summertime usually brings a decreased census for all of the local hospitals, thus less work for free-lancers like me, but last week was ridiculous.  And this week isn’t looking much more promising, either.  Last night was lucky, but tonight has only provided more of the same nothingness. Agh!  At this rate, I may have to take up being a beach bum as my official profession.

Sleepless in the OC

Agh!  I am more than just a little frustrated with myself today.  (And I feel like the worst friend ever, to boot.)  Since I was cancelled from work last night, I decided to make up for the disappointment by planning a great morning.  My rationale being that, if I can’t work, I should take advantage of my free time by squeezing as much exercise into my morning as possible.  A few texts later, I had a plan and was stoked.  Today was going to start with an early-morning yoga session, followed by an invigorating training swim, then maybe some weight training, leaving the rest of my day free until afternoon nap-time (a necessity for working night shift).  I even had my gym bag packed and ready to go, so I wouldn’t sleepily talk myself out of this pre-dawn exercise when the alarm went off.

But, of course, my subconscious had other plans.  As soon as my head hit the pillow, I knew I was in for trouble.  I could feel it before I even had a chance to snuggle in next to Mouse.  The dreaded insomnia took hold of my brain and wouldn’t let go.  No matter my heavy eyes or exhausted body, I just couldn’t convince myself to fall asleep.  The hours dragged by as the rest of the world slept, and I tossed and turned.  It was a double-whammy – no work and then no sleep.  It just wasn’t fair.

So, when 5am rolled around and my Newport bestie was texting to make sure I was up and ready, I was just beginning to fall asleep.  Thus, I did the only rational thing and bailed, and hated myself for doing it.  Even more so, I hated my messed-up sleep cycle for dictating my day and ruining my plans.  I despise being a slave to sleeplessness!  But, this is one of the downsides to working nights, and is something I’ve grown to just deal with.  Maybe I just need to give in and realize pre-dawn yoga sessions just aren’t in the cards for me.  Or, maybe, I should be more realistic and aim for a noon session instead.

Tick Tock

Tick tock.  I’m finished watching the clock.  I've been counting down until the fateful hour of 7pm, mentally commanding my phone to ring.  It never did, so my hopes of working tonight are dashed.  This wistful waiting is one of the downfalls of working exclusively for an agency; work is never a guarantee.  Essentially, I’m a free-lancer, so when the patient census goes down, I’m out of luck.  Thankfully, this doesn’t happen too often, but still… Nights like this can be painful.  A girl's got bills to pay!  My only consolation is that a free night equals dinner and wine with my Mouse.  So, I'm off to the store to pick out a crisp white and a nice piece of fish.  All I can do is enjoy my forces R&R and hope for better luck/employment tomorrow!

Enjoying the Good Life

When I said I was going to kick back and enjoy the Southern California lifestyle, I wasn’t kidding.  Sure, I’ve had to work a few days here and there, but my post-wedding life has been dominated by a significant amount of beach time, bocce ball, white wine, and a whole lot of relaxing.  I really can’t complain; it’s been a dream come true.

Most importantly, we finally had a chance to take the kayaks out into the open water this weekend.  We’ve wanted to do this since the beginning of summer, but haven’t had time.  So, now that life has slowed down to a reasonable pace, we took our chance.

The surf was rough that day, so we put in at the Harbor Patrol inlet down the road, rather than the beach by our house.  We probably looked like a couple of amateurs at first, too, thanks to our recent lack of paddling.  But we got our balance back pretty quickly and made our way out to the open water, where we played for a couple of hours.  We didn’t get too far down the Newport Coast, but it felt great to get out there and flex our paddling muscles.  Besides, any day on the water is a good day.

 

Our next goal is to paddle from Newport Beach down to Laguna Beach, but that is going to require some more logistical planning.  I will be sure to keep everyone posted, though.

Post-Wedding Ahhhs

Wow!  I cannot believe I haven’t posted anything since June 13^th!  I have been a total slacker!  In my defense, the wedding did take over my life for the past few weeks.  I was a woman possessed and obsessed.  It was insanity!  But, it all worked out in the end, and we had an amazing week in the mountains with our friends, as well as an incredibly fun and beautiful wedding day.

I have to admit, even though we had a great time, I am soooo happy it is all over.  For the first time in a very long time, I feel like I can actually exhale and relax.  I’ve been in planning mode for so long, and have had so much on my mind that it feels incredible to be able to let it all go.  Now I can actually settle into our new beach pad and enjoy our summer on the ocean.

I will post the professional pictures once they become available, and give a more detailed description of the wedding at that time.  But, for now, I’m all wedding-ed out.  So, I’m going to kick back and enjoy the Southern Cali sun.  I think my summer is about to truly begin…

A Case of the Crazies

I have to admit, I’m not the most fun person to be around these days.  With less than two weeks left, I’m a wreck.  I cry at the drop of the hat.  I become hysterical multiple times a day.  I’m anxious and skittish.  And I’ve started to yell ALL THE TIME.  (Not at any one person in particular, mind you, just at the world, because it seems like the best way to release my frustrations.)  Let’s face it, I’ve become a melodramatic shell of my former self.  Being around me is like being on an emotional roller coaster, with no end in sight.  I’m exhausted just listening to myself, so I can only imagine how draining it must be for Mouse, or anyone else in close proximity to me.

I know I’m not inherently the calmest person, but I’m not usually this bad.  It’s like a psychotic goblin has taken up residence inside of me and is making me crazy.  This isn’t me, it’s this wedding; it’s finally getting to me.  Don’t get me wrong.  I’m not having second thoughts about saying, “I do”.  (Although Mouse may be, thanks to my recent psychosis.)  I’m just wishing we had opted to elope.

I thought I would avoid all of this stress by keeping it simple.  I thought by shunning all of the “muss and fuss”, I was doing it right.  No bridesmaids to please.  No groomsmen to fret about.  No seating arrangements to agonize over.  Yet, even the most simple of plans can unravel, and it seems mine are.  Nothing is going the way it should.  My family is throwing me curve balls.  My dream venue is becoming a nightmare.  And on top of all that, I just have dozens of little DIY projects to finish.  It’s just too much, but I’m too far invested to call it quits now.  I have no choice, I just have to battle through this, keep on crafting, and hope I come out on the other side smiling and enjoying my wedding day.

Maybe this is what I get for being so cocky, for thinking I had everything figured out.  Maybe this is life’s way of teaching me I’m not better than anybody else.  I used to hear other bride-to-be’s freaking out, and think they drama queens, but now I understand.  No matter how big or small, how casual or formal, a wedding is a special event and people put enormous pressure on themselves to make it “just right”.  I’m trying to give myself permission to let go, and to remember that everything will work out in the end.  After all, it is only a trumped-up party.  After my first glass of champagne, none of this current nonsense will seem to matter.

The Countdown Begins

Holy crap - I’m getting married in 28 days!  I know I’ve been planning this shindig for months, but I can still barely believe it.  The whole thing almost seems surreal, like it’s happening to someone else.  But then I look at the wedding gown hanging in my bedroom, and see all the bridal magazines strewn about our apartment, and realize this is reality.  I will be saying my vows in just a few, short weeks.  I’m about to become a bride.

Am I excited?  Definitely.  Am I stressed?  Most definitely.  (I still have a whole lot of stuff to do.)  Am I nervous?  Not in the least.  Mostly, I’m at ease.  No cold feet.  No second-guessing.  No pre-wedding jitters.  I can only describe what I’m feeling as an overwhelming sense of assuredness.  This is what we are meant to do.  Getting married is the right thing for us, the natural course of events.  It’s a feeling of serenity that goes beyond my heart; it’s embedded in my bones.  It’s as easy as that.

One of my coworkers seemed to take offense the other night, when I spoke so nonchalantly about the wedding.  She mistook my calmness for indifference, eying me suspiciously.  I could see the judgment forming in her thoughts.  I guess she wanted me to be more emphatic, a bit more excitable about the whole thing.  It’s as if she was measuring our love and longevity by my outward level of enthusiasm.  I could see her writing us off already.  But she had it all wrong.  Just because I’m not the typical bride, full of blushing and gushing, doesn’t mean I’m not happy to be getting married.  I just don’t see the need to get all worked up into a frenzy.  (Especially with someone I barely know.)  That’s just not my style.

As the actual day approaches, my attitude might change.  Maybe I will morph into a typical bride and start acting crazy.  But, for now, I’m going to maintain status quo and keep it cool.

Weekend Warrior

It isn’t often I wake up sore beyond belief, but that is exactly what happened Monday morning.  As I slowly gained consciousness and welcomed the new day, it quickly dawned on me that I could barely lift my arms.  Every part of my upper body ached, right down to my ribs.  It even hurt to breathe.  I was reminded of muscles I had forgotten existed.  I felt like my body had been through a war, and slightly looked the part, too, with bruises and scratches scattered about my arms and legs.  It wasn’t pretty.  I was a wreck.  Even getting out of bed that morning felt like a monumental task.  The silly thing was, I couldn’t blame my sorry state on anyone but myself.  I did this to myself.  Yup - all of this was a result of my determination to be a weekend warrior. 

As you may have guessed, our brief visit to Joshua Tree involved a little more than toasting s’mores over the campfire.  Sure, we sat around the fire at night, but during the day, we did more than just take in the beautiful scenery… we tackled it.  And that’s when the real fun began.  Yes – it’s nice to commune under the stars, but there is something immensely satisfying about being outdoors and pushing one’s own physical limits.  That is exactly what I did.  I’m not going to pretend I’m some amazing climber, because I’m not.  Truthfully, I’m a pretty poor climber.  But, that minor detail doesn’t matter.  I still enjoy attacking a good route now and again, and Joshua Tree is the best place to do that.  So, I let my climber friends lead the way and coddle me to the top.  It was still amazing.

And, as if climbing wasn’t enough of a physical challenge for the weekend, we packed up camp on Sunday morning, making our way back to Cali, to the San Gabriels, for an afternoon of canyoneering.  (For those of you unfamiliar with canyoneering, it’s a sport involving hiking, rappelling, a lot of down-climbing, and some swimming.)  It had been more than a year since I had done a canyon, so I was incredibly excited for this addition to our weekend lineup of activities.  Thankfully, Rubio Canyon did not disappoint.  The start of the hike was a little pedestrian, as it was a well-used, high-traffic trail, but as soon as we descended into the canyon, I knew we were in for an afternoon of fun.  With lush greenery and a rushing stream, the scenery alone was worth the trip.  Then came the rappels, each in conjunction with a waterfall.  Calling it a wet afternoon would be an understatement; we were soaked!  But we still shrieked with delight as the icy water pummeled us.  It was the most fun I had had in a very long time.

As the week has progressed, my soreness has diminished.  But, I have to admit; I kind of enjoyed the pain.  It was a badge of honor, a reminder of a weekend well spent.  Now that I’m back to normal, I’m ready to hit the trails and do it all over again.

Just Being in Joshua Tree

I wish you could have seen me, sitting cross-legged on top of the picnic table, stirring spaghetti over a miniature camp stove.  I was bundled up in a more layers than I could count and must have looked ridiculous, but I didn’t care.  (Besides, the layers were necessary.  It was cold!)  I was too busy drinking my wine, humming along to whatever sufficiently-hippy tune was playing, and making sure the spaghetti didn’t stick to the bottom of the pan.  It was a typical Friday night in Joshua Tree – dark, frigid, and unbelievably windy – but the stars were out and it was still a gorgeous night.  I couldn't wipe the smile off my my face; I was in heaven.  It’s amazing how little it takes to make me happy.  Give me a little wilderness, a roaring fire, some good food, and even better company, and I’m content.  It’s just nice to get away from it all, to forget about the modern world and all of our normal obligations for a spell.  That’s what this weekend was all about.  We needed to take some time to get away and relax.  So, we packed our gear and headed to Joshua Tree National Park for the weekend.  And, even though the weather conditions weren’t ideal, we still had a good time; being there gave us the opportunity to just be.  And just being in such a breathtaking-ly gorgeous location always feels like such a privilege, like something we don't deserve.  It was exactly what we needed.  It was a great weekend.

Hoarder-iffic

Have I ever mentioned how much I hate my current apartment?  Well, I do.  Picture “the old lady who lived in a shoe”, except I have a lot of stuff instead of children, and am living in considerably more confined conditions.  I’m not kidding.  This apartment is so incredibly cramped that I have absolutely nowhere to put anything.  It just piles up everywhere.  As each day goes by, I’m beginning to feel more and more like one of those sad, sad people featured on one of those many horrifically addictive “hoarders” shows.  I cringe whenever I see their living conditions, but their insane clutter is beginning to strike a cord.  I'm seriously afraid I’m headed in the same tragic direction.  (OK – maybe it's not quite so bad, but this place is seriously stuffed to the gills.)  And the sad thing is that we really don’t have that much stuff; we’re just stuck in an incredibly small one-bedroom apartment.  It was fun and kitschy to live in a cramped one-bedroom when we were living in Australia (plus we only had a couple of suitcases worth of belongings), but now it’s just frustrating.  I swear I nearly have an anxiety attack every time I walk in the door.  My heart races and my stomach tightens as I kick aside shoes, bags, and whatever else is in my way, as I make myself to the other side of the room. (I guess you could call it our living room, but that conjurs up an image of space that just doesn't exist.)  Yes – picking up might be an option.  The only problem is, I have nowhere to put my things once I’ve picked them up.  I’ve just plain run out of space.  So, I’m left to stuffing things in corners and turning a blind eye to the chaos that abounds.  I keep reminding myself that it’s only for another month.  After that, our lease will be up, and we’ll be free to move into a nicer, more spacious place.  Now we just have to find said place…

The Wedding Cake Project: Part 3

So… when I said I would post my cake recipe tomorrow, I guess I really meant in a couple of days.  Sorry about that.  The weekend just got away from me and I couldn’t find a moment to sit down and type up the recipe.  (In my defense, this was a fairly long and complicated recipe to type up.)  Anyway, I finally squeezed in some quality computer time last night before bed and was able to churn this recipe out.

As I mentioned in my previous entry, this lemon cake with lemon curd turned out to be absolutely delicious.  It is definitely making it to my wedding cake menu.  But, I do want to warn you, contrary to its name, this cake is not light at all.  In fact, it may be one of the densest cakes I have ever eaten.  Nonetheless, it is still fantastic and incredibly flavorful.  But, if you have your heart set on a light and fluffy cake, this is not the cake for you.  That being said, I highly recommend it and hope you take the time to make it.  It will be well worth your effort.

The Consequences of a Good Cake

Oh my goodness – my kitchen is atrocious!  I know I should clean it, but I’m not even sure where to begin.  It’s a disaster area of monumental proportions, and the thought of even entering that war zone is intimidating.  It’s not usually like this – I swear!  But yesterday was Miss Mary’s baby shower and I had offered to make a couple of cakes in her honor.  I knew it was a lot to take on with my current work schedule, but I figured this would give me an opportunity to play around with a couple of cake ideas I have been brainstorming for the wedding.

As per usual, I totally underestimated the level of complication and the amount of time I would need to put said cakes together.  I also overestimated my energy level after working three nights in a row, and overslept just a tad.  So, the hour before her shower became a mad rush to assemble the cakes, leaving little time to even run a brush through my hair, let alone clean up after myself.  So, now I’m left to face a kitchen overrun with pots, pans, and various decorating utensils, and sticky with renegade buttercream.  This is ridiculous!

Apart from the mess, the project turned out well.  I’ve nailed down another cake for my upcoming nuptials, and have come away with some solid ideas for my current obsession of creating the perfect blood orange cake.  The winning cake is a Lemon Cake with Italian Meringue Buttercream and Lemon Curd.  I wish I had taken a photo because it looked awesome!  Even better – it tasted amazing!  The cake was moist and super-lemony and the light and creamy buttercream provided a perfect contrast to the tartness of the curd.  This might end up being my favorite cake of all.  I don’t have time to type up the recipe now, as it’s closing in on my nap time, but I will be sure to post the recipe tomorrow.  Until then, I wish you sweet and lemony dreams!

Back Together, Yet Still Apart

Mouse is out of town, again, and I’m left to mope around the apartment without him.  I know it cannot be helped; in his line of work, travel is inevitable.   He has to go to the auctions, because they certainly cannot come to him.  (And, in all fairness, I was the one out of town last week.)  Still, it doesn’t make me miss him any less.  Since I’ve been back, it feels as though work has taken over our lives.  We’ve both thrown ourselves back into our respective careers, and have seemingly become slaves to our jobs. 

It had to happen, I guess.  Even though I had a full-time job in Australia, we spent the better part of last year traveling.  That kind of lifestyle isn’t really sustainable, and we knew it couldn’t last forever.  So, now that we’re both stateside, life has become much less adventurous and much more practical.  And, for the most part, neither of us object.  Our careers are important, and we and recognize the necessity of putting in the time to succeed.  It’s just a little frustrating when our schedules require us to spend more time apart than together. 

More often than not, we feel like ships passing in the night.  Even if we both are in town, we count ourselves lucky to steal a few minutes together as my day is ending and his is beginning. Between my night shifts and his demanding schedule, it’s nearly impossible to spend much time together.  It can be a frustratingly lonely existence.  The irony of the whole situations is that I left Australia largely because I missed him.  But now that we’re living together again, I’m still missing him.  What a ridiculous situation.  It just doesn’t seem fair.

Friends Like That

Ok, ok – so I ended up having a great weekend, after all.  I guess I shouldn’t be surprised; I was in Denver, and I never fail to have fun in Denver.  The thing is, I wasn’t there for one of my usual visits.  Instead, this was probably the first time I ever needed to be coerced into making the trek to Denver.  It’s not that I wasn’t excited to go back; I love my Mile-High City, even under the worst of circumstances.  It’s just that this trip involved a certain cringe-worthy pre-wedding tradition I was none too excited about… my bridal shower.

I don’t know why I was so opposed to a shower.  I knew it wasn’t going to involve nonsensical games or any of the other trite shower clichés I hate.  (I was promised.)  I guess part of me simply doesn’t like being the center of attention, so the thought of a group oohing and aahing, as I opened gifts, made me slightly panicky.  Besides, I’ve always viewed this particular tradition as being a little silly and prissy for my liking.  I’m much more of a rough-and-tumble girl than a lady-who-lunches, so I couldn’t picturing myself sitting around, discussing my wedding colors and what-not.  It just isn’t my style.  I would much rather be doing some crazy outdoor activities, or running a race, anything really.  But my Newport bestie was determined I have a bridal shower, no matter how vehemently I protested, so we packed our bags and headed off to Denver for a girls-only weekend.

Now that it’s all said and done, I will admit the shower wasn’t nearly as painful or cheesy as I thought it would be.  In retrospect, I’m not even sure what I was so scared of.  I like mimosas.  I like a good brunch.  I like hanging out with my girlfriends.  And that’s exactly what my shower was about – good drinks, good food, and an abundance of chit-chat.  And, much to my relief, the gift-opening awkwardness only lasted a few minutes.  So, I guess it’s good thing I have a friend in my life who knows what I need, even when I don’t.  It’s even better that she can ignore my unfounded protests and shove me in the right direction.  Because, if weren’t for friends like her, I would have missed out on a great weekend.

More Recipes from My Weekend Foodapalooza - Rhubarb Vanilla Crumble Tart

The only thing to survive yesterday’s dessert mass extermination was my Rhubarb Vanilla Crumble Tart.  As much as I knew it should get tossed into the garbage with the rest of the sweets, I just couldn’t bring myself to do it.  1) It was much more complicated and time-consuming to put together than the other desserts, so I was hesitant to trash something I had worked hard on.  2) Mouse loves anything rhubarb, so I can count on him to help me eat it.  3) I was able to incorporate one of my weekend-finds, honey powder, into the dough recipe, which lent a subtle complexity to the crust that I fell in love with. 4) I just really like this dessert.  The combination of the tart rhubarb, with the sweet crust and crumble topping is wonderfully delicious.  So, I’m granting this dessert a reprieve and allowing myself just one more slice.  See below for the recipe if you want to give it a try.  (BTW – Thanks to Smitten Kitchen for the compote recipe!)

Bye-bye Brownies

It’s a shame, but it had to be done.  Today, I was forced into throwing away the remnants of this weekend’s baking bonanza.  It nearly broke my heart to see the fruits of my labor find their way into the garbage, but I had no choice.  Mouse isn’t much of a chocolate person, so I was left to nosh on the brownies and cakes alone, and it was becoming alarmingly evident that my self-control was quickly dissipating.  I realized that, if I kept this binge up, I would have no hope of fitting into my wedding dress come June.  So, they had to go.

But, just because my sweet treats are gone, doesn’t mean I can’t remember them fondly, and share my joy with you.  I know I’ve posted my brownie recipe (courtesy of Baked bakery) before, but I decided to repost it, as I made some changes that made this batch especially delicious, and definitely worth trying.  Most importantly was the substitution of black onyx cocoa powder for regular Dutch cocoa powder.  (I highly recommend getting your hands on this cocoa powder, as it is absolutely amazing!)  I also added real, Madagascar vanilla bean, which might have been an over-the-top extravagance, but I’m convinced it made the brownies just that much better.  Anyway, I hope you get a chance to try this recipe.  I promise, it will be well worth the effort.

Blame it on the Rain

Maybe it was the unseasonably bad weather, or inspiration from the cake workshop, but this weekend was all about food, food, and more food.  The thing is, as much as I may want to blame this food-fueled weekend on the above-mentioned factors, I know it started way before the weather had a chance to turn for the worse, or taking even one step into Sur la Table.  (The plummeting temps and torrential downpours just strengthened my need to stay inside and nest.)  Come to think of it, I’m pretty sure this fattening weekend was already in the works as I powered through the final hours of my last night shift of the week.  I was so busy and so stressed I don’t remember much from the evening (I didn’t have time to sit down, let alone think.), but I’m pretty sure, as the wee hours of Friday morning came around, I clung to the idea of making brownies like I was clinging to a life raft in stormy seas.  (Sad, but true.)

Then, I made the fateful decision to stop into Foodie Paradise, also known as Whole Foods Market, instead of fighting the morning rush hour, as I was on my way home Friday morning.  I was a goner the moment I saw fresh, local rhubarb on display.  Why not just make two desserts this weekend?  I reasoned the brownies would be for my Newport bestie’s birthday and the rhubarb dessert for Mouse.  (Rhubarb is his favorite, after all.)  Plus, nothing screams SPRING to me more than fresh rhubarb, and after living like a vampire for a few days, I was desperate for something to remind of sunshine and happy days.

Oh, and then I made another fateful decision to stop by our local spice shop, The Savory Spice Shop.  This place is amazing, inspiring and addicting, and as soon as I walked in the door, I just couldn’t help myself from acting like a little kid in a candy shop and going nuts.  With so many delightful options at my fingertips, I became a woman possessed.  Try as I might, I couldn’t stop myself from buying a bunch of new ingredients to experiment with.  What baker in her right mind could pass up Madagascar vanilla beans, powdered honey, or Black Onyx cocoa powder, after all?  I just didn’t have the willpower to stop myself.

So, over the next few days, I will put together the recipes of my weekend creations and post them for all to see.  Stay tuned for upcoming deliciousness…

Cake Break

This weekend, I’m taking a break from the normal wedding planning and DIY projects to spend some much-needed girl time with my Newport bestie, all the while brushing up on my cake-making skills.  We decided to enroll in a weekend cake workshop at Sur Le Table (aka happiness in a store) for a little batter and butter cream filled fun.  And, while I spent a good portion of the first class stupefied by how ignorant some of my classmates were of basic pastry techniques (I can’t help it, I’m so easily annoyed!), I actually had a good time.  I have to admit, there are few things quite as soothing as preparing a cake from scratch.  All the creaming, whipping, melting, and folding are incredibly satisfying.  It’s really a great way to spend a weekend afternoon.  Plus, this workshop is a practical time investment, as I’m hoping to glean as many tips as possible from a professional pastry chef.  I’ve got some wedding cakes to bake in the near future, after all…

Pizza or Heaven?

Even though life is one big ball of stress these days, there are times, fleeting moments, when everything falls into place and life just seems perfect.  It’s times like these that remind me I’m in the right place in my life.  It’s times like these that bolster my spirit and help me push through the tough stuff.  And, surprisingly, it doesn’t take much to find myself in these moments.  Often, it’s the smallest things that make me realize how good my life truly is.  This time, it was Friday night pizza.  There we were, playing around in our too-small kitchen, drinking red wine, chopping veggies, saucing the crust, and joking around.  We weren’t doing anything spectacular or particularly memorable, but we were having fun.  Our chemistry was undeniable.  And that’s when it hit me, a wave of overwhelming contentment rushing into every cell of my body.  It was a feeling that made me pause for a brief second, just so I could take it all in.  It was one of those rare moments of sheer bliss, all thanks to a pizza-making session.  Who would have guessed something so mundane could transcend into a temporary heaven.  These are the moments I need to hold onto when the craziness of the outside world threatens to do me in, because I can tackle anything if I have more of that waiting in the wings.

When Will It Ever End?

Since I’ve been back, I’ve had the distinct feeling my life barely belongs to me any longer.  I know that’s a weird sentiment, but I can’t think of a better way to describe my current situation.  The moment my plane landed at LAX, I felt like my brain was under siege, bombarded with the various duties and responsibilities that lie ahead.  And since that moment, the feeling hasn’t subsided, not one bit.  Living in Australia was like existing in a bubble.  I was able to put most of my life on hold, and only focus on being there.  Australia was my break from reality.  It was my time to be selfish, to explore an exotic land, and forget about the extraneous details of life.  It was my time to just be.  But all good things must come to an end, and that bubble had to burst.  So, here I am, back in the States, facing reality once again, and doing my best to maintain some semblance of sanity.  It isn’t easy.  There are just too many things to do, and even more things too worry about.  I’m still trying to sort out all of my affairs, in regards to living abroad for a year; the amount of paperwork I need to go through is mind-boggling.  Even though I’m working fewer hours, I’m constantly reminded of how draining working nights can be.  And then there is this darn wedding we are trying to plan.  It would be easier if we had a bigger budget, but we don’t, so I’m left to do much of it on my own.  My mind is spinning with all of the details I should be attending to.  I can’t even worry about the honeymoon right now; it just isn’t a priority.  And then there is the annoying fact that we need to move again in a couple of months.  The list just goes on and on.   I keep telling myself this insanity won’t last forever; eventually life will slow down and I will be able to catch my breath.  But, right now, it’s all quite overwhelming.  So, I’m doing my best to take things one step at a time.  Tonight’s step is to enjoy a glass of red wine while I navigate through my real estate bond paperwork.  After all, if I’m going to spend a Saturday night tackling something so dull, I might as well make it a little fun.

The Upside of Vegas

OK – I’ll confess.  Vegas was fun.  Even though I had to put up with smoke-filled casinos and tacky tourists, I had a great time this weekend.  In my defense, the fun parts of the weekend all took place off the strip, and had nothing to do with gambling or showgirls, but I did have fun, nonetheless.  And, as much as I hate to admit this, it was the first time in a very long time that I’ve felt at home.  I guess it was bound to happen.  After living there for several years, I can’t help but feel some sort of attachment to that place.  I never thought I would feel any affinity for that dusty, tourist trap of a city, but I found myself feeling incredibly nostalgic as the weekend progressed.  I was reminded of the convenience of my old neighborhood and how much I liked the surrounding shops.  I ate at my favorite restaurants.  But most importantly, I was able to fit in some of my favorite outdoor activities.  One of the hidden beauties of Vegas is that it offers so many opportunities for the outdoors enthusiast, and I did my best to take advantage.  I got in a great bike ride and made it up to Red Rocks State Park for a breathtakingly gorgeous trail run.  It felt good to be able to commune with nature for a few hours.  The jaw-dropping beauty of the desert canyons made me feel more invigorated than I have in a while, and made me miss living in such close proximity to these natural wonders.  I don’t regret our decision to leave Vegas, but it was nice to be reminded of its good qualities.  So, now I’m back home and ready to tackle another workweek.  I really hope I had enough R&R to get me through my next three night shifts.

Vegas Bound

It’s funny.  As much as I loathed living in Las Vegas, I’m incredibly excited for this weekend’s visit.  I don’t care about The Strip and all its glitz and glamour; none of that appeals to me.  I’m just excited to go to my favorite off-the-beaten-path restaurants and hang out with my friends.  My Vegas is much, much different than the Vegas portrayed on TV.  It’s much more mundane and very outdoorsy.  I’m itching to hit the trails and go for a hike.  I’m even bringing my road bike in hopes of fitting in some good rides.  And if I’m really lucky, I’ll squeeze in at least one good run.  And when all of that is done, I’ll relax with a glass of wine and the company of the friends I miss dearly.  It’s not the Vegas weekend most would expect, but it’s what I’ve been looking forward to for a long time now.

All Rested Up with Nowhere to Go

As much as I enjoy agency work, the one aspect of it that really sucks is that work is never a guarantee.  Most of the time, this isn’t a problem.  Hospitals are chronically short-staffed, so I can usually pick up a shift whenever I desire.  Tonight is one of those rare occasions, though, when no one needed me.  So, here I sit, wondering what to do with my evening off.  Mouse is away on a business trip, so I’m left to fend for myself.  Since I thought I would be working tonight, I got a full day’s sleep.  Now I’m fully rested and wondering what to do with all of my energy.  Retiring to bed is not an option.  I feel like I should be productive, like I should be getting important things done; I’m just not sure what those things are.  I guess I’ll probably fall into my typical pattern of wedding planning, which is an addictive habit I’ve formed.  Maybe the continuous viewing of wedding blogs will either inspire me or lull me to sleep.  A girl can only hope…

Settling In

I know I haven’t been writing much lately, and sincerely apologize, as I realize this makes for a pretty uninteresting blog.  It’s not that life hasn’t been interesting lately; it’s more that life has been incredibly overwhelming lately.  One would think that, with all of the bouncing around I do, moving to a new city would be a piece of cake.  I should be a pro at this by now.  Wrong.  The reality is, moving back to the states and to SoCal has been a little bit of a culture shock and is requiring some readjustment on my part.  I’ve been able to take most things in stride and appreciate this move for the adventure it is, but it’s taking time for me to feel settled and comfortable.

Some of the details of being back home are wonderful.  Food is less expensive.  Alcohol is much less expensive.  I can order a bottomless cup of coffee at breakfast.  My friends are thousands of miles closer.  But then, there are other details that remind me I’ve been out of the loop for a while and make me feel like a stranger in my own home.

I still have fleeting moments of panic when I drive, wondering for a split second if I’m actually on the correct side of the road.  More than once, I’ve felt compelled to take a wide right-hand turn.  Just as often, I forget which side of the car I’m supposed to get in.  A friend caught me in this conundrum the other day, which was a little embarrassing, but I couldn’t help it.  My poor brain just doesn’t know what to do.

The sheer massiveness of everything gets to me sometimes, too.  The freeways are expansive and traffic is a nightmare.  Even the local roads are big and bustling.  Everything is built-up and commercialized.  The world out here seems to be constantly running at an amped-up pace.  Brisbane may be a big city, but it is nothing compared to this.

I know it’s just going to take some time for me to settle in and hit my stride.  And, right now, I’m actually enjoying observing all of the cultural differences that I had become oblivious to.  And, I’m sure, after a few months I will remember exactly what side of the road I’m supposed to be on.

The Beauty of Sleep

It’s amazing what a good night’s sleep can do for the body and soul.  I struggled through yesterday, navigating my entire day in a thick fog.  I couldn’t concentrate, but couldn’t have cared less.  All I wanted to do was collapse into sleep, but I couldn’t allow myself that luxury.  Sleeping during the day would have been counterproductive; even a short nap could have led to another sleepless night.  So, I suffered through my day, just waiting for the deliverance of nightfall.  And when it came, I was finally able to breathe a sigh of relief.  Sadly, this meant I wasn’t much company for poor Mouse.  He came home to a shell of my usual self, a zombie using my body as a disguise.  I made it through dinner, but not much longer.  My eyes grew heavy and I gave into the temptation of sleep within the opening credits of whatever movie we put in.  I was dead to the world before the plot even had time to thicken.  But, quite honestly, I could not care less.  Missing a rented movie was a small price to pay for such an incredible night of sleep.  I awoke this morning feeling human again.  Yesterday, my world was dulled by sleeplessness.  Today, my world is bright, shiny, and full of possibilities.  Now I truly can face the world and actually have a productive day.  Like I said, it is amazing what a good night’s sleep can do.

If Only I Could Sleep...

I hate when my body betrays me.  I despise the nights when, try as I might, I simply cannot lull myself into sleep.  It’s another side effect of working nights, I know.  My circadian rhythms are out of whack.  But knowing this doesn’t make it any less tortuous.  My eyes popped open at 3:30 this morning, when everything around me was still swathed in the black of night.  Even though I had only slept for a little more than four hours, I was ready to take on the world.  (Or, at least, tackle more wedding planning.)  Unfortunately, the world didn’t need much taking on at that hour, as it was still sleeping, along with my lovely fiancé, who peacefully slumbered through my tossing and turning, blissfully unaware of my insomnia.  Listening to his deep, dream-laden breathes almost made it worse.  Why should he be allowed the luxury of sleep while it so cruelly evaded me?  It just wasn’t fair.  I tried everything to ease myself back to sleep: relaxation techniques, reading a book, evening counting sheep.  Alas, nothing worked.  So, now at the much-too-early hour of 6:00am, I’ve officially given up.  I’ve resigned myself to the fate of being exhausted all day.  It won’t be pretty, but I’ll make it through.  And maybe, just maybe, I’ll be tired enough to actually sleep an entire night.

The Things I Missed Most

The list of things I missed while living abroad was incredibly odd and random, at best.  I didn’t have the slightest inkling I would miss most things, until the time actually came, and I was often surprised that I focused upon and obsessed about certain foods.

While backpacking through New Zealand, I couldn’t help but fixate on cereal with cold milk.  It was a completely unexpected craving, but I couldn’t help myself.  After a month of suffering through stale bagels and peanut butter, I dreamt of the crunch of the cereal juxtaposed against the coolness of the milk.  Sure, cereal and milk existed in the land of Kiwis, but we didn’t have the luxury of a refrigerator or cooler, so traveling with milk was out of the question.  Once we were settled in Australia and had a refrigerator at our disposal, my obsession shifted to specific types of cereal (namely plain Cheerios) and other convenience foods (i.e. Goldfish crackers and string cheese).  It was weird; things I never thought twice about while living in the States suddenly became of the utmost importance to me. 

But the thing I absolutely missed most was Sunday breakfast.  Again, we could have easily gone out for breakfast at any number of restaurants in our neighborhood, but it just wasn’t the same.  A typical Aussie breakfast is nothing like a typical American breakfast, and is usually twice as expensive.  Omelets, even eggs, were rare.  Hash browns always came in the patty variety.  And they seemed to be obsessed with roasted tomatoes, mushrooms, and avocado as sides.  I like all three, but after a while, I just wanted a “normal” breakfast.  Most of all, I yearned for a good cup of coffee.  I began to dream of a nice, steaming, and bottomless cup of regular coffee.  I didn’t want a cappuccino, latte, or Americano; I just wanted a cup of brewed, black coffee.  So, after nearly an entire year of deprivation, that was the first thing I did upon returning home.  I went directly from the airport to my favorite breakfast joint in Newport Beach, ordered a breakfast of scrambled eggs, and savored my hot cup of coffee.  I even had the server fill it up a few more times than truly necessary, simply because I could.  I may have been tweaking from the caffeine overload, but I was in heaven. 

Even after a few weeks, the luxury of a good breakfast and hot coffee is still not lost on me.  In fact, I think I’ve come to appreciate these things even more because I know what it’s like to go without.  Now, I absolutely relish our Sunday morning breakfasts.  They are a tradition I look forward to all week.  I know it’s silly, but I can’t help myself.  I’m a sucker for a good breakfast.

Dead Tired

Last night, I was so tired that I slept in a dead woman’s bed.  It’s sad and a little creepy, but true.  That’s what night duty does to you.  It makes you so tired that you will throw all of your fears and superstitions out the window for a few moments of shut-eye.  In my defense, the former patient had passed eight hours previously, the room thoroughly cleaned, and the linens changed, but still… it was a little spooky.  The thing is, I couldn’t help myself.  It was my third consecutive overnight shift and I was becoming delirious with fatigue.  I was beginning to get that light-headed, dizzy-sick feeling that only comes with staying up for way too long.  I had to take a nap.  It would have been dangerous for me not to; titrating drips with a half-functioning brain is not a good idea.  And believe me, her bed was not my first choice.  I first tried the usual hiding spots, but they were all taken.  Next, I investigated the other empty rooms, but none of them had beds.  My stomach sank as I quickly realized the dead woman’s bed was my only available option.  So, at 4am, with my brain fading fast, I did the unthinkable; I crawled into the deceased’s bed and drifted off into a brief and weirded-out sleep.  As strange and guilty as I felt about doing so, I’m really glad I did.  I needed those 30 minutes of sleep like a fish needs to get off dry land.  I woke up recharged and ready to tackle the remainder of my night.  I was a safer, better nurse for doing it.  I may still be brushing off the heebie-jeebies, but I’ll get over it.  Besides, I don’t think that little old lady minded sharing her final resting place.

A Mile-High Weekend

Oh my goodness!  What an exhilarating, comforting, and exhausting weekend!  I couldn’t have asked for a better visit to Denver.  I know we were only there for two full days, but we really put forth an amazing effort in the short time we were there.  We truly ran ourselves ragged.  It’s already Tuesday afternoon and I’m still recovering.  I wouldn’t have done it any other way, though.  As nice as it’s been to be back in the states, it felt a million times better to arrive in Denver.  The moment I got off the plane and into the familiarity of DIA, I breathed a sigh of relief.  Even in the confines of the airport, I knew I was home.

There is just something about Denver that makes my heart melt.  Sure it’s brown and dingy this time of year, but that didn’t dampen my spirits one bit.  I still felt like a giddy schoolgirl as we drove away from the airport and into the city.  I have a serious long-standing love affair with Denver that cannot be quelled by the ill effects of winter.  I’m in love with the mountain views.  I’m in love with quirky neighborhoods.  I’m in love with the relaxed vibe the entire city exudes.  And I don’t think many cities can boast a better restaurant or bar scene. (It’s unpretentious and delicious!)  Maybe I overly romanticize it just a bit, due to my longer-than-desired absence, but I’m still convinced Denver is the best city ever.  I owe a huge “thank you” to all of our friends who helped strengthen said beliefs and make this such a great homecoming weekend.