Life is full of simple pleasures. Let’s be real. Life is also full of materialistic, pricey, wildly awesome pleasures that can be yours with a swipe of the plastic. In sticking with this blog’s theme (and my budget), I’ve been keeping tabs on the little things that make me smile. Full disclosure: So you don’t think I’m abnormally Buddah-like…the pink Nike shorts I didn’t need but bought anyway also make me smile.
On with the list!
- Watching my white dog lay on a black pillow, and my black dog lay on a white pillow, as if choreographed in advance.
- Writing with the window open next to me.
- Brewing coffee in my old school percolator.
- Making vacuum lines on the carpet.
- Seeing Peeps at the store. They come in green now.
- Hearing my 2-year-old niece scream “HI AUNT TARA” into the phone.
- Having a shot of Espresso vodka because the bottle caught my eye…and why not.
- Wearing the gigantic silver earrings mom gave me, even though they catch my collar.
- Laughing so hard it justifies skipping sit-ups.
- Coming across my baby picture and wondering why my parents didn’t adopt me out to the monkey house, or make me wear a hat at all times.
- Buying a basil plant and making pesto.
- Refilling the salt, wondering why the girl has an umbrella, and Googling it. (“When it rains, it pours.” Who knew!)
- Chatting with an older lady about her late husband, in the middle of the Y’s track.
- Changing the calendar to April, because I dislike the first quarter.
- Having Ron grip my wrist in the First Friday crowd, as if he was concerned I’d be kidnapped.
- Seeing Farmer Glen’s peacock.
- Playing pool after work, because if you’re going to dust the felt, you might as well shoot stick.
- Being pleased with my decision to buy the Softsoap with fish.
It’s a beautiful Sunday. In between errands, chores and relaxing, make a mental list of the things that make you smile. Share them with our readers and me in the comments section below. See you there!
JUST SAY NO! (…to fuzzy key covers)
03/27/2011
Now granted…I wasn’t there in 1943. However, I’ll bet Abraham Maslow never considered including “fuzzy key cover” on his now-famous hierarchy of needs. One might argue that a cozy little key sweater could be a subset of Safety. One might also argue that truck nuts are a subset of Esteem. Enough said.
Admittedly, I subscribe to Real Simple magazine’s eblasts, which often include “6 Items to Simplify Your Life.” Kudos to Real Simple for cornering the market on all thing disguised as must-have life helpers. I’m not convinced. In fact, their recommendations make me laugh. I’ve yet to latch on to the concept that a peephole tissue box will bring calm to my life. I quite enjoy the good old-fashioned feeling of, “Shoot, I’m out!”
These little novelty items are stealthy. Somehow they creep into our homes. Sometimes they arrive wrapped in shiny paper bearing “Seasons Greetings.” Sometimes they have logos, and in a delusional moment we feel the need to take this cool swag from the trade show table. Sometimes we just lose all control and actually hand over our hard-earned dollars for this junk.
Spring has officially sprung, and it’s time for the time-honored tradition of spring cleaning. I plan to snap on my rubber gloves and hunt down dust bunnies the moment I’m done with this post. I’ll have a big trash bag handy for all the fuzzy key covers and peephole tissue boxes that have entered my life since my Purgeapalooza. Do you plan to do the same? Let me know what goodies you find lurking in the shadows!
They say it’s your birthday
03/23/2011
I remember my Dad’s 30th birthday. At nearly 4, I was given the important job of taping black balloons to the mantle. It was the best bash of my life for a dad I adored! (And I didn’t even get to attend the grown-up portion of the party…that is, the party.)
It’s 30 years later. Dad turns 60 tomorrow. I bought him a driver for golf, which he could have bought himself. What he can’t get at golfwarehouse.com is this, my humble attempt to explain what he means to me…what he’s taught me.
“My father didn’t tell me how to live; he lived, and let me watch him do it.” –Clarence B. Kelland
I watched him love my mom…I learned how to love.
I watched him marvel at little joys…I learned how to appreciate the everyday.
I watched him take pride in his home…I learned how to make a home.
I watched him work hard, harder than anyone…I learned how to give it my all.
I watched him ski, run, bike, golf and play everything…I learned how to be active.
I watched him laugh at himself…I learned not to take myself too seriously.
I watched him honor his parents…I learned how to maintain bonds across the miles.
I watched him handle disappointments…I learned that life isn’t always fair.
I watched him cry at the national anthem…I learned how lucky I was to be born here.
I watched him enjoy a beer, or three…I learned life is meant to be lived.
I watched him volunteer for Special Olympics, and saw the adoration those exceptional athletes had for him…I learned how to be inspired.
I watched him achieve his career goals in special education…I learned how to set goals.
I watched him build everything imaginable…I learned how to be creative.
I watched him give advice…I learned how to take advice.
I watched him be a loyal friend…I learned we’re all in this together.
I watched him move our mailbox to accommodate my basketball hoop…I learned that everyone deserves a chance.
I watched him back his car into my mom’s car…I learned life is too short to have a hissy fit.
I watched him be the best dad imaginable…I learned that I am one lucky daughter.
Dad, I love you. Cheers to you!
“Where the Sheep Have No Name”
03/15/2011
I’m not Irish. I don’t like lamb. I can barely find something green to wear for St. Patrick’s Day…I do like love Guinness. Bono is dreamy sexy. But, I’m getting ahead of myself.
For an unforgettable week in 2008, I channeled my inner leprechaun and got my Gaelic on with my amazing travel mates. Along with sis Julie and our husbands, Ron (mine) and Matt (hers), we circumnavigated Southern Ireland in a piece-o-junk Opel and made memories to last a lifetime.
Call it the “Luck o’ the Italian-Polish girls” and their agreeable husbands…we scored a rare opportunity for together time. Our only expectation: fun! Our only needs: duffel bag, jeans, travel pants, hiking shoes, sweater, rain jacket, basic toiletries, earrings. Our adventure supported the point of this blog. Less is fabulous.
Matt was photographer. Julie, chief map reader. Ron learned the language (an esteemed and critical role when we were going to go to Italy, not Ireland). I took naps in the backseat. We be-bopped from Shannon to Galway to Dingle to Limerick to Tipperary to Cork to Dublin. We marveled at castles, countryside, 
caves, cliffs, cows and…cream. No non-dairy creamer in the back country. Coffee is served with a big greasy dollop of the real deal. (Hold the cream. Just give me the scone.)
When I look back at photos, it strikes me that our best memories weren’t made at tourist stops. They were made on bar stools, streets, off-the-beaten-paths and in that Opel minivan.
None of it was on the itinerary. Leads me to believe the Luck o’ the Irish is this: they’re lucky enough to know life is best experienced without an itinerary.
This St. Patrick’s Day, I’m raising a Guinness to our shenanigans (origin of that fabulous word is unknown, sure sounds Irish to me!), and to you. Thank you for being a loyal reader and joining me on this journey.
A Viking reenactment? OK!
What exactly did they sell?
It never got old. (Matt left, Ron right)
Neither did this. (Me left, Julie right)
Trip mascot, sheep pencil we named "Baaahhhb."
When we got tired...yep.
Ron kissing the Blarney...wrong stone.
Rock of Casbah? Ohhh! Rock of Cashel.
A souvenir.
Probably frowned upon.
Runners, take your marks. Thoreau, go home.
03/06/2011
Henry David Thoreau said, “Methinks that the moment my legs began to move, my thoughts began to flow.” He wasn’t among the 600+ runners at yesterday’s Red Rock Canyon ½ marathon, but I knew he’d haunt me. I was sure my legs would get me to the finish…if my mind didn’t stop me. People ask, “What do you think about when you run?” Well…mental minimalism is a goal I’ve yet to achieve.
Starting Line at Visitors Center (3740 feet elevation):
I love this so much. The view is inspiring. I made cool new friends. My water bottle belt is awesome.
Mile 1:
I hate this so much. The view is overrated. These annoying runners are in my way. I might strangle someone with my belt.
Mile 2:
My throat hurts. I’m sucking particle-filled wind. I need a dust mask. I’m panting like a dog. I’d be a pug. Short and scrappy. What if I suck in a bug? Mmmm, I’m glad my lip balm is raspberry flavor. I hate the kind of lip balm that requires you to stick your finger in the jar. Nasty. Germ pot. I need to buy shampoo. Did I get a Fresh & Easy coupon?
Mile 3:
My hands are on fire. Why did I wear these gloves? My friend lent them to me at a race…she won’t care if I throw them out. I’ll buy her a new pair. Target has cool gloves. Like their pillows too. I want to rip these gloves off and launch them into the desert. I’m taking them off. I’m carrying them. This is awkward and I need to focus on running, not gloves. I’m sticking them in my sports bra. No. Weird. Bumpy. I’m going to have a panic attack over these gloves, but I’m not a litter bug. I got a litter patch as a girl scout. I hated being a girl scout. I’m not chucking them off to the side. I agreed to follow the rules of this national conservation area. Some poor volunteer will have to pick them up.
Mile 3.5:
That cactus looks cold. It needs my gloves. (Toss.) Forgive me Father…for I have sinned…it has been 25 years since my last confession. Catholic school really messed me up.
Mile 4:
I’m going to barf. I’d think “toss my cookies,” but I had a banana for breakfast, not cookies. I love bananas. I love chocolate chip cookies. Oh no. There’s a woman tossing her cookies in the bushes. Don’t look don’t look don’t look don’t look. How many more miles? This course is excruciatingly difficult. I need to proof the annual report Monday. Ron’s taking me to dinner tonight! Or maybe he’ll make me homemade pizza!
Mile 5 (4,771 feet elevation)
Ya boy! The summit overlook. I climbed 1,031 feet. There’s an ambulance up there. Not inspiring. I’ve never been in an ambulance. I get carsick. Would I get carsick in an ambulance? Would it matter since I’d already be in the category of “sick?” Am I nuts?
Mile 6:
That dude’s shirt says “St. Patty’s Day Run 1997.” It must smell. He needs a new shirt. I remember getting a yearly Shamrock Shake with dad. I’ll get one this week. Green dye seems unhealthy. Whatever, if I die of this race or green dye – dead is dead.
Mile 7:
CRUISING NOW! I just ran a 7-minute mile down that hill. I am a cartoon character. If I trip, I’ll roll and crush my iPod. I love my playlist. I love this race. Where did I park my car back at Red Rock Casino?
Mile 8:
Where’s the 9-mile marker? My calves are She-Hulk like. Strange sensation. Her purple skirt looked good with her green skin.
Mile 9:
Where’s the 10-mile marker? If a half-marathon were 10 miles, it would be perfect. There’s a med-evac chopper. Someone bit the dust. Queen. “Another one bites the dust, and another one gone and another one gone…”
Mile 10:
My ankle hurts. I can’t wait to visit our niece in St. Louis. Suck it up and haul it Maras. Those rocks are really red. Pound the hills. Have fun. Just do it…every damn day. Remember what everyone (including Nike) said to encourage you. Go. Girl. Go.
Mile 11:
More hills? Am I on Candid Camera?
Mile 12:
Full-court press. Focus. Pump. Sprint. I can collapse near the bagel table on the other side of that finish line. I cannot BELIEVE I’m going to finish listening to “Runnin’ With the Devil.” Cool. I wanted to end on “Celebration,” but that’s several songs down the list. Sweet. I’m glad I’m not toting a walkman. How would I flip the tape?
Mile 13.1 – Finish:
“Now crossing the line, Tara Maras from Las Vegas, Nevada.” Wow, classy touch Calico Racing. Did someone on a walkie talkie tell the color commentary lady I was on my way? Done! I’m going to fall. Let’s par-tee!
Okay, so maybe I didn’t achieve mental clarity on my run. But I did write this blog post in my head.
Have you ever achieved mental clarity? Tell me how already!
