Divorce

Well it is officially over.  I signed my last paper, transferred my last check.  One year later, to the day, it is officially over.  We are divorced. 

One year ago this past Saturday I said goodbye to my employer of over six years and it was the hardest thing I ever done.  And now, as I signed my final financial documents, I no longer have any legal ties to the organization.  I didn't think these final signatures would cause so many emotions to fill inside my body.  Six years and it was all done with the stroke of the pen in my financial planner's office.  Divorced. 

I have never been married and my longest relationship was two years when I was in college, so I have no idea what a divorce is like or the tole it takes on a person and a relationship.  But after this I think I might have a better idea.  While so many of my friends were off falling in love with their spouses, I was falling in love with my job.  The ways it made me feel loved, empowered and cared about.  Of course there were days were it frustrated me and made me want to give up on it, but at the end of the day it filled my heart with bliss, that is until it didn't.  I wanted more, and it wasn't ready to give that to me and instead it started taking more from me.  My energy, my passion, my drive, my stomach lining - more of it was being taken and not replaced.  This was starting to hurt. 

And then came the phone call - it was over.  I had been replaced and wasn't willing to move into the role that wanted me in.  I wanted to grow and they just wanted me to sit sill and I wasn't willing to do that.  After six weeks of transition and planning, the end was beginning - lots of paperwork, medical plans, moving plans, and therapy sessions.  Finally my last day came, my last day in my home - my home where I met so many amazing people who quickly turned in my family.  From Alaskans to Iowans, from the young and the old - so many faces.  So much passion and drive for one mission.  I spent that last day alone in my office and quietly packed up my laptop and locked up one last time.  It was over.

That night was a blur.  Thanks to my friend Eric it was not spent alone, but beside a great friend as we spent an amazing night venturing through Illionis, Wisconsin, and Iowa.  That night was one of my favorites, but the morning after, the hangover of everything sank in.  I was unemployed and moving into my parents' basement.  Just like any other divorce, I wasn't sure what life would be like on my own, but I had to hold onto the belief that this would work out.  Slowly I picked myself up that morning and started working on my hangover and getting my new life started.  Piece by piece. 
And now, well now it is a year later.  I found a new work relationship that I am still working on and seeing how it fits into my life.  I have started to figure out what I want in my work-life and what I don't want.  I am still afraid to fall in love with my work again, afraid of getting hurt or disappointing someone else.  But I am trying to believe, trying to believe that there is life after love.  Life after divorce. 

The Color of Confidence

As I made my way around Kohl's, month or so ago, I found myself lost in the shoe section.  I wasn't looking for anything particular, just looking.  And then I saw them, these cute maroon flats with metallic accents, size 10, and (be still my heart) on sale for $6!  I wasn't sure they were exactly my style, as they were a color that wasn't black or grey, and the metallic cutouts and strap made me nervous.  I thought I liked them, but would others?  But, com'on they are ONLY $6...  Arg.  Just buy them.

I cautiously put my new kicks on as I got dressed for work.  I looked at them in the mirror still unsure about my decision.  I like them...I think.  I made my way down the hall at the Foundation, and received my first positive comment on them.  As I mentioned, me not wearing a black or grey shoe is a pretty big deal around here.  Based on the positive feedback I decided to wear the shoes to an event outside of work.  Again, received some positive feedback.  But I still wasn't sure.  Not everyone said anything about my new shoe choice.  Did they think it was a bad idea?  

When it comes confidence I am always amazed at my ability to question everything.  Positive feedback goes in one ear and out the other, but negative feedback or lack of feedback sticks to my ribs.  I replay the comments and think about things I could have done differently over and over in my head.  Or I analyze situations where I didn't receive any feedback and assumed that what I did was so bad I left that person speechless.  Arg.  I am know I have a backbone somewhere in this body of mine, where did it go?

Recently I have gone searching for my MIA backbone.  The same backbone that pushed me to uproot myself and move myself to Alaska, Iowa, and Minnesota.  The same backbone that yelled, "Suck it up, you can do this" when I wanted to quit time after time.  The backbone that holds me up straight and points in the right direction time after time.  I know it is in me, but I have been having issues finding it again.

Then I was asked the question - what would it take for you to feel confident?  More education?  More experience?  More makeup?  Better shoes?  Name it.  What do you need?  My answer - I honestly didn't know what I needed.  And the more I thought about it, the more I realized that my backbone never left me, but instead I had started to doubt it.  I questioned its actions and decisions which caused me to lose confidence.  

So recently I started to listen to it again and suddenly I felt myself start to straighten up and feel strong again.  I realized the only thing keeping me from feeling confident was me and I needed to change that.  So I tried to relish in the positive feedback and build off the negative instead of the other way around.  I tried to forget the doubters and thrive off of those who believed in me.  I needed to remember that just because someone said no before doesn't mean everyone will say no.  But most of all, I needed to believe in me again.  

Before I use to love the world "hope."  It was a big part of my work life and loved the idea of never losing hope.  But during a recent trip to Dubuque, I saw these cute little necklaces with single words on them.  So I went on the hunt for hope, and I came up with believe.  I thought, "Well that is cute.  Sure why not."  It wasn't until I looked at my myself in the mirror that I knew I needed to move from hoping to believing.  To believe in myself and all that I know I am capable of.  I can't continue to hope that I will great, I needed to believe it.  To move from passive to aggressive.  To truly believe. 

So as I put the little maroon shoes back into my closet, I left them with a promise to wear them more.  To trust myself, to take more risks, and to believe in my backbone again.  After all it got me this far and I am still upright.       

Baking with Grandma

I am not a great baker - the measuring, the mixing, the precision.  It is not what I do best in the kitchen but every once in awhile I feel the need to crack out my Kitchen Aid and spin up something sweet.  And every single time it never turns out quite like it is suppose to - too much peanut butter, not enough eggs.  What do you mean baking soda and baking powder are not the same?  And as much as I enjoy something freshly baked from my kitchen, it isn't the main reason I feel the need to fire up the mixer and let the dough fly.

You see it has to do with my Kitchen Aid.  The same Kitchen Aid that rides shotgun whenever I move to a new home.  The one with the random stains and small dents in the bowl.  The Kitchen Aid that I will never replace no matter how much nicer and prettier the new versions are, because you see this specific mixer does more than whip up frosting and cookies, it reminds me of someone I loved to cook with - my grandma Goedderz.

My grandma passed away unexpectantly when I was 21.  I was a senior at Waldorf and an intern for the American Cancer Society when I received the call that grandma was being air lifted to the hospital after an aneurysm had formed in her brain.  It was while I was delivering those sunny daffodils that my grandma left us.  I felt like a piece of my whole being had left me that day, sadness and tears came days later as it all set in, after I lost my biggest cheerleader.  

Less than a year later, Grandpa Goedderz joined my grandma, and my dad and his siblings were left to sort through years of memories, jars of screws and nuts, and many kitchen appliances among so much more.  I was blessed to be able to received some of my grandmother's rosaries, her Blessed Mary pin and her Kitchen Aid.  I was living in Alaska by then, so my mother took dear care of the Kitchen Aid and when I moved to Iowa, almost a year later, it was one of the first items that found its way into my cupboard.  

It is days much like today that I like to bake with my grandma.  Days when I miss her the most or reminded of her passing.  Days when people in my life have to go through the same pain that I went through over seven years ago.  The pain of saying goodbye.  Days when you gain the knowledge that life isn't fair and it never makes sense as to when, where, and why.  Days when your memories become so much more important.  Memories of birthday mornings filled with the sweet singing of "Happy birthday to you," the taste of honey and peanut butter sandwiches, and the smell of dill and vinegar.  Memories of a mixer spinning together flour, sugar, eggs, and milk perfectly together to start what would soon be a sweet pan of potica. 

Now I never know what I truly believe as to what happens after we say our final goodbye, but I do believe that my grandma still bakes with me.  And not only does she bake but she also joins me on my journeys by land and by plane.  She has saved me from a car accident or two and reminded me to slow down and enjoy the ride.  She has never left my side or fades very far from my mind especially now being back in the Brainerd area, the same place I would travel several times a year to visit her home just outside of Crosby.  The little green house surrounded by lilacs and chokecherry trees.  The original home of my Kitchen Aid.         

Relays Of Yesteryear

This past fall I made one of the hardest decision I have yet to make - I walked away from Relay.  This is my first summer not scheduling trips around opening ceremonies and not waking up with a Relay hangover that could kill a rhino.  My first summer without purple.

 

First Relay in Alaska!

Relay For Life was not only my passion - it was my job.  I lived, breathed, died purple.  The adrenaline rush that I would get the night before checking weather reports, running donation strips, and counting teams would feed my ego and my desire to succeed.  I loved the high I would get the day of the event - meeting so many new people, working side by side with my volunteers, and running around putting out an little fires that may pop up (figurative fires and real ones - luminaria bags and flames don't always play nice).  And then as darkness would fall, I would relish in the glow of the luminaria bags and be reminded why every year I do this over and over again.  Every year but this year.

Uncle Leo and Marjean 

It is Relay season once again and I find myself missing my Relay family.  From my crazy uncles and aunts to my favorite cousins - all of my Relay coworkers and volunteers made my Relay world a wonderful one for so long.  All of the friends I have made because of Relays - so many of my closest friends were coworkers and volunteers first and became amazing friends that  I cherish everyday.

But as many things in life, there were the downfalls - the stress of trying to make a fundraising goal in a bad economy.  Dealing with mother nature - ps she ALWAYS wins.  Dealing with people who made you feel like you were horrible at this.  Remembering that this was my job and how the weekend went dictated how Monday morning would go. The negatives could really wear a girl down, but then like clockwork I would see a luminaria bag or my favorite volunteer smiling and boom - I was back up!  I would feed off of the energy of the hundreds of people who had come out to support the fight again cancer.  A fight I still support today.

Adam and Amanda after our 8 hour Relay Roadtrip!

So as another season of Relay kicks off, I find myself at an odd crossroads.  On one hand I am happy to have so many of my summer weekends back and am in love with my new job, but on the other I find myself missing my purple people.  All of the memories from the last six years of Relay in Alaska, North Iowa and Eastern Iowa seem to flood over me at once.  From silent auction battles; misspelled t-shirts; rain, tornadoes and 105 head indexes, every Relay told a story and gave me a reason to love my job.

So for those of you will be venturing out to Relay For Life event this summer - thank you.  Thank you for continuing to support a cause that, even though it is going through some growing pains at the moment, is a cause that still matters and is still making a difference.  Cancer still is a very ugly word in my world and one that causes so much pain, but those of you who Relay, you truly are helping to ease that pain.  Continue to walk, continue to rock your purple, and continue to fight.  And while I miss my old Relay Staff Partner life, a life filled with Relay yard signs, purple tablecloths and a belly that was constantly filled with walking tacos, I know that now I get to start a new Relay life as a volunteer and donor.

My first Relay ever!  Mason City - 2007

To those who I met because of Relay - thank you.  Thank you for volunteering and playing such an amazing role in my life, you truly will never know how much I love you.  And to my fellow staff partners - I miss you everyday and think of you often during this time of year - you are truly the glue behind this event.



Finish the fight.    

Relay For Life of Jones County - Luminaria Ceremony 2013

Sunny Cedar Falls

With Memorial Day here, the girls (Tessa and Tessie) and I decided to make our way down to Eastern Iowa to visit some friends and get a few Iowa miles in.  As I made my drive down from Minnesota, I couldn't wait to leave behind all of the traffic and noise for my little Iowa escape.

My first stop was at Sarah's house.  Sarah and her husband Charles, along with their son Hudson and dog Pete, had recently moved into their new home in Cedar Falls, Iowa.  This was my first time seeing their new place and immediately felt that it was meant for them.  As I put the car in park, I was greeted with "Aunt Dia come jump!" - I did not relize this house also came with a trampoline!  I enjoyed an evening filled with blonde little boy curls and laughs shared in a hostea filled backyard, while catching up with my friend from the front seat of her porch.

As much as I love seeing Sarah and family, my favorite part of my visits is their guest bed.  You see their own a fantastic bedstore, Fosters Mattress, so of course they have the BEST guest bed of all time.  I soon drifted off into a deep slumber only to wake up around 5 a.m. feeling like I had slept for years.  With my eyes open, no chance of closing again, I peered at my phone.  50 degrees, sunny, and no wind.  The makings of a great morning bike ride.  I quickly assembled my gear, grabbed a breakfast bar and was out the door with a text - "Went for a bike ride, be back in an hour or so."  

As I rolled out the alley and down the road, I felt the first kisses of the morning sun.  They reminded me that even though this had been a long, hard, cold winter - summer was finally here.  At first I didn't find the bike path like I had intended but instead rolled along a shared roadway and found a cut down street.  I have learned over the years that roads with name like "Lake St,""Bluff Rd," "Riverview Drive," are roads I should be rolling on.  In this case Lake St didn't disappoint.  I followed the quite road as it passed beautiful homes and rolling marshes, and then eventually pointed me in the direction of the Cedar Valley Bike Trail System.

I had been on this trail before, and well, to be honest, it sucked.  It was last spring and it involved me getting lost several times, an emergency call to Max at Wayne's to help with a bike repair, and snow.  Yep, snow.  Lots of snow.  Let's just say that it was a rough ride, and walk, for Tessa and I that day.  But today was different.  The trail was lit by the morning sun and the only trail hazards came in the form of several deer.  And they were some stubborn deer at that.  They took their sweet time moving their tails off of the trail as I whistled and stomped my cleats.  I learned from many a moose in Alaska, that is best to make sure all animals are off the trail or you may find yourself in a fight with four hooves and a tail.

Downtown Cedar Falls

As I coasted along the trail, I relished in the twists and turns of the route.  I drank in the views of the Cedar River and took deep breathes of the fresh Iowa air.  As my wheels turned and gears shifted, I made my way back downtown and towards Sarah's.  Since I had started my ride just shortly after 5:30 a.m., the town was now starting to wake up and move.  I cranked my way up Bluff St and rolled into the downtown area.  I had been here several times in the past with Sarah and is one of my favorite downtown areas.  Normally when I am here it is bustling along with college kids and the daily hum of town.  But this morning it was quite, peaceful and serene.  I crossed over from downtown to the river walk area and let Tessa take a break.  The view spread out for miles and filled my soul with so much beauty.  Summer was finally here.

Tessa and I made our way back to our starting point and with the promise a bike ride to the farmer's market and some of the best croissants in Iowa, we watched as the sun continued to rise and fill the morning air with the makings of a beautiful day.

 

Iowa Legs

Last year when I moved to Dubuque I knew it would be a challenge.  From my work, to making new friends, and finding new roads to ride.  And Dubuque held up its end of the deal and pushed me farther and harder in every area than I had been in a long time.  But eventually I made progress - fantastic friends, tough but needed job decisions, and many, many miles on some very hilly roads.  Now as I settle into my life back in Minnesota sometimes I fear that I am losing my Iowa-ness.

I was reminded this week that even though my feet may be in Minnesota, Iowa is still in my legs.  I went on my first group ride with the Central Minnesota Bike Club, a group that was the brain child of bike junkies from Bowlus who were looking for a way to meet more like-minded bike riders and to embrace the miles and miles of rail-to-trail systems here in Central Minnesota.  As I started to unpack my bike at the trailhead, I met some of the club members and learned about the ride options for the night.  During all of the information, I latched onto a rider, Beth, a seasoned rider who was going to ride the same course option as me. We soon turned onto the road and into our first little climb that would lead us over I94, and then rolled down and back up into another climb.

Over 24 CMBC riders for the night (photo credit - Jan Lasar) 

As we settled into this second climb, I was amazed at how strong my legs and breathe felt.  Beth even gave me the most wonderful compliment of "you are a good little climber!"  As soon as she mentioned the hills, I immediately thought of my rides in Dubuque where the hills go on forever and you felt like you never had enough gears to shift through to help ease the ride to the top.

But on that day, these Minnesota hills seemed much simpler.  They still required some shifting and extra pedaling, but I began to notice that my feelings towards these hills were different.  My legs didn't loath the climbs, instead there were happy to push up them, to see what was at the top.  It was as if I was smarter about these hills and even though I had never ridden or driven them before, I wanted to be on them because I knew my legs were strong enough to take them on.  Legs that were built and trained in the Mississippi valleys of Dubuque.

In the last year I have learned so much about the hills in my life and which ones I want to be on and which ones will teach me something.  But that is the funny thing about hills - when you find yourself in the middle of a climb you learn so much.  You learn about what you are capable of, who is there to support you, and to train yourself and your legs on how to be a better climber.  As we finished our ride for the night,  Jan, one of the club leaders, asked me how I liked the ride.  I wanted to burst with expression as to how much I enjoyed the night - the group, being back on my bike, the conversations, the post ride meal to come, and the beautiful route.  But, of course I simply replied - "I loved it!"

You know found the right group when bike maps
are passed around and routes are traced with butter knifes
and stories are swapped with great hand gestures

Once I loaded my car back up and made my way to the American Burger Bar to our post ride meal, I smiled as I felt the breeze hit my face.  This had been a long and cold winter and I never thought this day would come.  A day filled with new faces, two-wheels, and lots rolling hills.

A Domestic Import

Five years ago, I drove my parent's Chevy from the MSP airport to my new home in Clear Lake, IA.  When I passed the state line all I could think was, "ok, just put in a year and then you can move again."  Well after a year or so, I did move but it was only 10 miles down the road to Mason City where I would live for two more years.  They were years that were filled with amazing friendships, some tear-stained relationships, and countless Relay For Life fundraisers - and I wouldn't trade one day.  And now being back in Minnesota and living in a winter that seems to never end, I find myself craving my North Iowa life.

Tessa (the bike) and I head back to Iowa this past Thursday night after an all day conference in Minneapolis.  We made a pit stop in Forest City on the way down to catch up with Mark and Joy Newcom and get a brief night bike ride in on the Waldorf Campus.  After which I promptly went to my little Mason City getaway at the home of Bob and Teri.  I was greeted by Shatzie, Smokey D, and Marshmellow - my little feline welcome party.

After a busy Friday filled with work, breakfast at HyVee, lunch at Wok'n Roll and an AMAZING Latte del Amore (hazelnut and honey) from Coffee Cat - my fun filled weekend began.  It first started with a bike ride followed by a trip to Wayne's Ski and Cycle to get a tune up for Tessa and a catch up for me with my favorite bike boys.  After a deep clean and a couple beers, I left Wayne's to head downtown to meet Julie and Abby at the Quarry for appetizers before heading to the play at Mason City Community Theater.

As I talked with Julie and Abby, we enjoyed some of the best edamame covered with jalapeños and Parmesan cheese.  Julie then looked at her watch and realized that we needed to get moving to get to the play in time.  Megan, Reagan, Angie, Joshua, and Ana Maria were all waiting for us as we walked up to the theater to catch Brian's latest theater production, "Boeing, Boeing."  The play did not disappoint as we learned about Bernard and his three different air hostesses, each of with he was engaged to.  While the entire play was fantastic, some of the loudest laughs could be heard when Bernard's french house keeper, Bertie (played by Michele Murray), would walk onto stage.  From the wig to being able to see the whites of her eyes from our seats in the back row, her comedic timing could not be missed and she truly made the show.

As the production finished up and I wiped the tears filled with laughter from my eyes and we quickly huddled up to see where we would head next.  The verdict?  Mason City Brewery.  We headed out from the theater and walked under the night sky to the brewery and was greeted by their friendly staff and bearded owners.  We got our pints and then headed out back to their patio area and enjoyed.  I was able to catch up with old friends and enjoy the much warmer temperatures than what I had been experiencing in Minnesota.

Once the glasses emptied, we walked over to the 1910 Lounge and met up with Zach, who was bartending.  As the night proceeded on, it was time to head back to my fancy little B&B and once Julie dropped me off and the cats said hello, I rolled into my bed to only wonder what tomorrow would bring.

I was greeted by my alarm clock reminding me to was time to get up and start the day.  After logging on to reserve my BushConnet tickets, Teri started to make some danishes with jam and cream cheese.  Of course she claimed to have made some mistake on them that I seemed to miss as I gobbled the warm goodness down.  A little while after breakfast, I hopped on the bike and rolled down the street to meet up with Brian and, once again, catch up.  But as normal, I had a schedule to keep and after hearing updates about the play, work, and life, I waved goodbye and rolled along my favorite route downtown to the Quarry for lunch with Heidi.

I promptly ordered my strawberry salad with their amazing glazed salmon on top, and I lost myself in the sweet berries and our conversation.  From stories from the prior night, to life in Minnesota and my parent's basement, to my upcoming move to Baxter and her latest organizing projects and mosaic art class - we tried to cover 2 months of life discoveries and challenges all while I watched Tessa from the corner of my eye. I had forgotten to bring a bike lock with me and refused to carry Brian's so I watched as Tessa simply leaned against a light poll without being disturbed.

Soon I was back on the road and heading to Casa de Robe to pick up my car and head out for a traditional DUB sister pedicure.  Megan, Julie, Angie (a Tony's Nail and Spa Rookie!), and I walked in and were greeted by familiar faces and warm welcomes.  We settled our feet into the warm water while swapping stories, jokes, and Snap Chat tips.  After a fresh coat of paint, we headed to Cancun to fill our bellies with some of my favorite chips and cheese.

With fancy toes and filled bellies, Julie and I said goodbye to Megan and Angie, and headed to Rock Falls for a Relay For Life fundraiser that was being put on by Shelly and her team.  I was able to surprise Shelly with my appearance and was reminded of my former purple-filled lifestyle.  We grabbed a pop and made the rounds while checking out the various prizes to be won.  We were also able to run into Linda and her husband Dan.  Linda was one of the first volunteers I met when I was only an college intern for the Society, and when I returned to Iowa from Alaska she was the first event chair I was honored to work with on the Relay For Life of Cerro Gordo County.  Both Shelly and Linda's upbeat attitudes were hard to ignore and one that pushed me on days when I just wanted to throw in the towel.  It was so great to be able to see them while I was in town and at this great event that raised over $6,000 for the fight against cancer.

Julie and I said our goodbyes and headed back to Mason City and to the Park Inn to once again to stop in and see Zach.  The 1910 Lounge is still one of my favorite places in Mason City.  I am proud to say that myself and my friends were some of their first customers and instantly fell in love with the vibe and friendly staff.  We met Zach there when he first started and quickly became a great friend over the years to all of our Mason City group.  As the clocked started to reach 9 p.m., Julie and I left the lounge and walked down the street to Loradoe's to see Justin, another Cancer Society volunteer turned friend, perform with this new band The North Shores.  En route we ran into Kyle and he joined in our venture.

The band started to get ready and I said a quick "Hi" to Justin and settled into a spot to watch the performance.  As the quaint bar began to fill up, it echoed the sounds from the keyboard/organ that was being wailed on by a very talented band member and was supported by Justin's voice and vintage microphone along with his fellow bandmates on drums and bass.  The band did an amazing job and I was so happy to see my friend so filled with joy to be performing again.  As quickly as the music began it soon was the end of their set, and we were all ready to call it a night.  Once again I walked the path to my car and simply took in a deep breath of Mason City air.

I forgot how much this place made me happy.  Enough though I am no longer a resident, I was quickly reminded how much this place was a part of my life story.  I found my DUB sisters and so many friends here.  I was apart of the community here.  I feel in love with cycling here.  I found my voice here.  I thrived here.

I don't regret leaving Mason City when I did and mostly because of how much I love to come back for weekends like this.  Hours and minutes filled with friends, food, and a bike ride or two.  Days that remind how much this community continues to grow and change regardless of the detours and annoying speed bumps along the way.  They continue on.  And most of all, they continue to welcome me back.  Back to a place where my accent sounds funny and where I will always be an Iowa Import.  A place that I use to call home.  My home in North Iowa.

Winter Driving On Our Road

The other day we had a true Minnesotan March snowstorm, complete with 10 inches of heavy wet snow that fell constantly during the day.  The days beforehand had been filled with the start of a spring thaw and residents enjoying the warm weather and dry roads.

And then bam.  Life slowed down once the white stuff started to fly.  My normal commute was greeted by red taillights.

If I have learned anything from my years of winter driving is that the key is to appreciate clear roads, as you never know when that road might change.  It can be a road that you drive every day and know like the back of your hand, but add some snow with a side of ice and that "normal" drive turns difficult.  Every day of our road can change - sometimes we can prepare for the changes and sometimes you truly don't see it coming before it is too late, and we are left with only memories of when the road was clear and easy.

Amber and I in 2005

This week I witnesss a friend's road in life completely change.  Amber and I had become fast friends when we were at high school and working at the Royalton Dairy Queen.  She was from Little Falls and I thought she was (and still is!) the coolest thing since sliced bread.  Her blond locks were in dreads, ears were gaged out, lip pierced and her skin covered in tattoos.  She was everything I felt I couldn't be or pull off and somehow she did it will flair and confidence that I envied.  Amber and I logged hours upon hours together at the DQ, and I loved every moment of working with her.  Many times after late weekend nights at work, we would road trip to the IHOP in St. Cloud for pancakes and a rendition of "Sugar...danna danna dan da...Oh Honey, Honey" supported by dancing sugar and honey packets.  

When I left for college, and Amber a year later, we tried to stay in touch.  She would send me postcards to add to my collection, and we would try to get to together when were both back in town, especially for a late night movie on Christmas and Chinese food.  We would both share life updates and different experiences we had both been going through.  As the years came and went, our catch-ups would tend to get farther and farther a part, but none the less we would always try to find time.  I was so honored to be invited to her wedding a few years ago and be a part of her and Jason's road.  And this winter, she even braved the cold to come to watch the Hollidazel parade for my Birthday.  We weren't always a part of each other's daily lives, but we were there when it matter the most.  This week really drove that message home to me.

Sunday I received a text from Amber that her Dad had passed away unexpectantly and that she would be in town for most of the week.  My heart immediately sank and went into response mood - what happened and how can I help?  As the week unfolded, Amber and I were able to get together at Perkins, and she shared everything that had happened and all that she was trying to deal with in the aftermath - funeral plans, title transfers, and, the oddly painful yet blissful, going through of old pictures.  I didn't know Amber's dad all that well except from the stories she would tell me and the beautiful pictures she had posted of him on Facebook over the years.  And when time finally came for the wake, although I was completely saddened by his passing, it was seeing the tears in Amber's eyes that completely broke my heart.  My friend was missing a part of her normal road.



It is so bitter sweet when we lose someone we love, and you start to think about the memories - the time traveled together on our road.  Many times after we start thinking about the memories shared, we start thinking about the upcoming events and memories to be made that they will not be able to be a part of now.  But we push on, we move forward and find ways to make our past be apart of our present.  New memories are made and old ones serve a constant reminder as we continue to move down our road.

Even though the road we travel in life is constantly changing, as much as the weather does, they are our roads.  There will be those along the way who join you in the ride and support you wihen your tank gets low, and then there are those special ones who we know are always watching over us and who help us keep it between the lines when the days get long.

In each other's lives, we have a role to play today, tomorrow and even beyond.  We walk into each other's lives and find a place where we fit and find comfort.  And even though some may physically leave their spot inside of us their spirit and memory never truly does.  Much like the potholes that start to form after a brutal winter, over time the holes that we feel will too be filled with their memory and ways they have shaped our life.  Soon those holes start mesh back into our everyday, ever changing road of life.  And our job is to simply enjoy the ride and to appreciate a good, dry - yet curvy - road.      

Eat Your Heart Out Sochi

Facebook Status Update:

Wishful thinking.

<Delete>

Dreaming of spring

<Delete>

Indoor spinning is my new favorite part of winter!  - Liar.  

<Delete>

Only 5 feet of snow until grass!

<Delete, delete>

Final Status: You know what is better than biking in your dad's
 garage when it is -35 degrees out??

Spinning with a beautiful view of the falling snow!  

Bring on the white stuff - love me a Midwest winer! 

This morning I spent a half hour in the warmth of my Dad's garage with Tessa and my new indoor bike trainer.  I bought the trainer as a knee jerk reaction to horrible cold snap we were having.  I just wanted something that would help me get moving when all I wanted to do was sit around and watch TV.  So I have used it a few times with it planted in front of the TV all while talking about summer biking trips and thinking of warmth.  I do enjoy my new trainer, it helps me to get my legs spinning, is near my current home, and I get to control the remote.  But incase ANYONE tries to lie to you, indoor cycling sucks.  Now let me clarify - cycling classes =fun workout!  Indoor biking by yourself = who else can I call while I pedal??  It is boring and SO not the same as being out on the road, but in the dead of winter it gets the job done and helps you do the necessary breaking in of your butt.

Today as I walked to the garage to put my time in I noticed the recent snowfall that we were receiving and decided to post the picture above of my bike and the snow once Facebook.  As I started to think of a witty status to go with it, I started to have issues.  Why was I wishing so much for summer?  Why was I pretending that I hated the winter?  Why am I inside on this stupid trainer when I could be outside enjoying the ABOVE zero temps!  But most importantly - Why I am not out enjoying the snow instead of wishing it would melt away?

I am a snow lover.  Hold your rotten tomatoes back and just listen.  You see I absolutely love snow - the way it falls so gracefully and softly.  It coats everything in a blanket of pure white bliss.  I love the way it drapes and hangs on trees and buildings, and I love how it makes you slow down.  This morning as I was outside walking in the snow, I stopped for a moment and just listened.  I listened to the snow fall on the trees.  I heard the whirl of the snow blowers and the sound of the snow crunching under my feet.  Have you ever stopped to listen to the snow?  Now many of you may think that snow sounds like cars crashing into each other, the beeping of snow plows, and TV telling you how to stock up on life supply of water bottles and toilet paper but it is the worse snowfall since...well since the last snow fall.  But trust me - that isn't what snow sounds like - it is so pure and soft, and it will make you fall in love with it all over again.

The trail to the chicken coop

So as I continued outside with the idea of just simply walking around and enjoying the snow, butnI realized that much of the snow was getting into my fleece-lined Crocs, and I was going to need another mode of transportation to get around in the snow.  And at that moment I saw my skis.  I quickly laced up boots, grab my polls and when into my snow globe of a back yard.  I decided I would blaze a trail in the tracks of where my dad had plowed to get to the chicken coop.

Now this section was only covered with the fresh few inches that we have received over night.  As I started to get my skis on, I felt a bunch of snow being blown my way, and as I looked up I saw our neighbor, Bill, armed with his snow blower that he was using to clear the path from our house to his.  He laughed as I tried to dodge the incoming flakes and asked me what I was up to.  I informed him of my plan and he had the same look on his face that I had when I reliesed that after the chicken coop - well there was no plowed path, I would be blazing my own trail if I wanted to go farther.  He told me to have fun and took off to finished his snow blowing.

I came, I saw, I made my own trail

As I made my way to the coop and start to turn around the bend I ran straight into my father's new winter hobby - chopping wood.  There stood in the middle of my intended path was a large pile of fresh cut wood.  But on the side was a small path, so I decided to continue on made my way around.  As I cleared the "wooded" area, I was greeted by the beginning part of my unplowed path - snow that came up to my knees as started to push my skis forward.  I started to wonder if this was the best idea. I could feel the snow stinging on the bare parts of my ankles and my fingers trying to fight back against the cold and the wet.  But I pushed on and finally blazed my trail as I lopped around to my starting point.  I hadn't gone very far, maybe 25 yards, but it felt good to be out in the snow and back on my skis.

The "wooded section"

So I did a handful of laps around my new track and Sochi has nothing on my course!  Mine came with a few obstacles and even had a small downhill section, and it also had some spectators cheering me on. But most of all, I made my course.  I saw where the tended path should be and I blazed ahead.  And like may new paths - it only got easy each time around.  The snow shifted and settle more into my trail and I was better prepared to deal with any obstacles that occurred.  In a very short time, I was the sole owner of the world record and personal best that this trail had ever recorded.  I even made a "short track" for times I didn't want to deal with the wooden section - and once again guess who had the fast time on the course??  Yep.  Me.  Gold medal contender.

Ever heard a hen heckle someone - those lady can get mean!

Sometimes I think we get freaked out by having to learn new things or trying to blaze our own trail.  What if we do it wrong and no one else likes it?  What if someone could do it better than me?  What if I fail?  I have been facing this a lot lately - that self doubt of whether or not you are doing it "right."  Then you realize, that this life didn't come with instructions telling you the right and wrong way to do everything or how to think.  Instead you can use what you have learned from others, what you know from your experiences, and just go.  Build what you need to build, because nothing will ever be perfect.  And yes, I too saw the Lego movie and loved this same message that they sent out to adults and children alike - perfection isn't the only way to live, sometimes you truly need to color outside the lines.  Or build a double decker couch.

One of my spectators enjoying the snow

I also learned today that we can't yearn for better times to get us through our current day-to-day.  Complaining about the snow isn't going to make it melt any faster.  Instead we need to embrace what is around us and find the best way to enjoy all that is given to us each and every day.  To get outside and to simply slow down.  To find a way to enjoy and be happy in each moment.  To appreciate the good times, when everything is what you exactly want and need in that day.  And most of all - to get outside and to listen to the snow.

Missing My Jimmy and Beans

My winnings from the recent meat raffle!

When I moved back to my hometown of Royalton, I knew I would need to get use to some changes.  From the obvious of going from living with me, myself, and I to living with my parents - which, up to this point has gone well once we installed the babygate policy.  But there were also some minor changes that related more to moving back to a smaller town - where you can get breakfast, lunch, and dinner AND win some bacon at the meat raffle at the local bar in town.

You see, over the years I have gotten use to some conveniences that come with communities that bigger in size than Royalton that I never thought would effect me. They included, but are not limited to: Jimmy Johns and skinny vanilla lattes. You may be shaking your head but this the honest truth - out of all of the different things that make all of the communities where I have lived so special and unique, it comes down to Jimmy and beans for me.

My love for Jimmy Johns took time to form over the years.  I remember when my friend, Greg Berube, took a couple of us to the Twin Cities while I was in college and we HAD to try this new, up and coming sub shop.  I came, I ate - I wasn't impressed.  Now fast forward some years to Waterloo, IA - we use to have our Cancer Crusher team meetings in Waterloo and our manager, Heather, would order in lunch from us.  Since JJ delivered it was an automatic choice.  I rolled my eyes, ordered my sub - but this time I was surprised.  Now I started to get the hype again - the bread, the avocado spread, the simplicity of the whole sandwich made it so delicious.  Well, when Heather realized we all enjoyed Jimmy Johns, she started to order them for us all. the. time. until we told her we were going on strike from the sandwiches.  So once again, I was at odds with Jimmy - I simply had too much of him.

THEN fast forward a couple of more years and the big JJ arrives on the fast-food scene in Mason City.  Which when any new restaurant opens in Mason City, it is a big deal - doesn't matter if they are amazing or fall flat.  So when longtime lunch time friend Heidi mentioned that we should go there for our next lunch date, I sighed and replied "Oh that sounds good."  But again to my shock, I ordered my Turkey Tom with a avocado spread on it and fell in love again.  And then to top it off - "what do you mean you will deliver to my office??"  Now it was on - Jimmy Johns was a new go to staple for me when meetings would go late at night or I simply couldn't leave the office for lunch and had forgotten to bring anything in.  They were light batman sweeping in to save the day, a teenage boy with a Jimmy Johns sign would show up with my salvation.

When I moved to Dubuque this tradition remained the same except now there were a few more of us ordering the life-saving sandwiches - but there was one, there is always one, who didn't understand the joy that comes from the Turkey Tom - Ms. Jodi.  She would go on to inform me that the sandwiches tasted "like dirt."  Yep you heard me.  Dirt.  I could not believe my ears, how could ANYONE not find the same joy as I did in the bread and mayo??  But I learned to accept this one fault of Jodi's, especially when she would offer to drive Jen and I there to pick up much needed sandwiches.

Now I know that me missing Jimmy Johns doesn't have too much to do with the actual sandwiches but more about what they represented - in Royalton the idea of food being delivered to your home is for yuppies.  The local Dairy Queen is the only fast food type of option, and after working there for over 7 years of my teenage life I simply could only eat so many blizzards and cheese burgers with only catsup, pickles and ultimate sauce.  So when I found out that there was a Jimmy Johns in Brainerd, only a short 30 mile jont up the road, the Avenger and I made the trip to north to once again enjoy the bread, the mayo, the turkey and the avocado.  And yes, it was a amazing.

Now about these beans.  I never thought I would be a coffee person.  You see I worked at the local coffee shop that once existed in Royalton and never really liked the taste of coffee.  The bitterness that I couldn't seem to kill with chocolate, sugar or cream never won me over.  I just never got the whole thing about coffee.  Then I moved to Alaska and moved in with two coffee lovers in the form of my cousins - Eric and Molly.  The daily buzz of the coffee grinder served as my alarm clock that was followed by the fresh smell of coffee.  Eric and Molly soon had flipped me to the coffee side of life.  Once I was good with my drip coffee they brought me to Kaladi Brothers - a chain coffee shop in Anchorage that quickly turned into a goto for me and Howard (my laptop) to visit and sit for a while enjoying my fresh brewed skinny vanilla latte or chia tea.

Howard III and I enjoying the view while blogging

Over the years, there would be other coffee shops and my choice of drink would sway from drip to latte to tea to iced to chai and then back to my trusted skinny vanilla latte.  The warmth and light sweetness from the drink always seemed to make me slow down and enjoy.  Add in the fact that I normally got my lattes only every once in awhile vs daily, I always saw them as a special treat.  Well needless to say Royalton's coffee shop is gone, but my parents have a Keurig that has brought me much joy.  But for those lattes, I have to travel a little ways and have been testing out a few different places to find just the right spot to sit and sip with Howard the third with much success.

So as I begin to settle into my most resent move and temporary residence in Royalton, I am starting to learn all of the little things that make my life hum along.  Even though I am missing my Jimmys and lattes, the addition of beautiful snow-covered views, seeing and catching up with so many faces from "back when," to learning my role with my new job - it all makes up for it.  Plus, hopefully in only a few months I will be moving into a new home in the Brainerd area.  And do you know what Brainerd has??  Jimmy Johns and several coffee shops.  Until then I will sit here, enjoy the view with Howard the third, and sip my coffee fresh from the Keurig.  

Following My Compass

Yeah it's been a bumpy road,
roller coasters high and low...

In the last year my normally pretty quite road of life had taken many different turns, had changed speeds, and endured many stops at the mechanic.  I had experienced some new highs, but unforchantly the lows out weighed them.  It seemed like nothing was truly working out for the better...

Fill the tank and drive a car, pedal fast, pedal hard,
You won't have to go that far,
You wanna give up 'cause it's dark
We're really not that far apart...

Then changes that I knew were coming finally came, I headed back to the one place that always comforts me and resets me - back home.  I moved in with my parents, rolled the dice on finding a new job, and packed up my life once more.  Hard decisions were made and I always had to wonder if I was making the right ones.  But regardless of the decisions my friends and family stood by me in so many different ways.

So let your heart sweetheart be your compass when you're lost
And you should follow it wherever it may go

But then things started to fall into place. A new, amazing job that gives me ways to grow and challenge myself and even lets me be back in my old communications multi-media world while being a part of so many change agents in Central Minnesota.  Being around my parents and getting to know them all over again in a  different way.  Seeing familiar faces and catching up with so many voices that I hadn't heard in so many, many years.  Before when all I could see where "Round-about" signs, I finally felt as if these new signs were trying to show me that I was actually going in the right direction.

When it's all said and done, you can walk instead of run
'Cause no matter what, you'll never be alone

So now here I sit.  At the same computer desk that I used in high school, typing this blog.  Incase you had notice, it is newly named blog.  I started writing this to share my bike/life stories but had noticed that it has changed into more life stories while I am running around barefoot (I hate socks and shoes, and yes, even in the winer - no socks.) on and off my bike.  So I thought a name change was needed.

But as I was thinking about how to write something about all of the changes that have happened since I moved back inside the city limits of Royalton, a started to think about signs and directions.  Lately I have been noticing them more - little things that I do believe God has been putting in my life to show me that this is exactly where I am meant to be.  Breadcrums if you will.  From being able to share a final meal with Mary Rose before she passed away, to seeing Deb Dixon in Nisswa by random chance, to having a car die in the middle of a frozen lake only to make for great story, and so many more little things that reminded me that I actually feel like I am going in the right direction again.

I first heard the song Compass by Lady Antebellum at the CMA awards this fall while watching them at Jodi's house.  I feel in love with the song immediately because I felt that I could completely relate to the lyrics and the message.  I was just trying to follow my compass and listen to my heart.

So I did.  And I thought it was only fitting that Compass came on the radio each time I interviewed at the Initiative Foundation.  The words also filled my car when it was packed to the gills with my life and headed up the road the Minnesota.  And it also came from my speakers on a foggy night adventure to try something new.  The lyrics and the message did not fall on deaf ears, instead it helped me see through the dark.

So here I sit.  Still writing and still trying to follow the signs and my compass.  All while trying to convince my mom that not wearing socks with my Crocs is completely and 100% normal.

So let your heart sweetheart be your compass when're lost...