Never Seen

While sitting in the kitchen with my husband discussing potential eye surgery for our dear puppy, Mea, I had an amazing feeling of déjà vu. I interrupted my husband and gasped "I've experienced this exact moment before!"

Everything about the moment was familiar. From the way we were sitting at the kitchen table in front of the laptop to the words Scott used to describe the logistics of the eye surgery. My inner emotions even felt repetitive.

And I was flabbergasted.

I have only experienced déjà vu a couple of times in my life, and whenever it occurs I feel breathless. There is something so odd about the déjà vu experience- it’s familiar, yet unsettling; comforting, yet awkward.

I have heard some people claim that déjà vu is simply a memory from our previous lives that has surfaced to our subconscious. I could buy into this theory and spend hours fantasizing about what I was in previous lives. I would love to picture my past life spent as an Arabian princess, a Japanese warrior, a lonely fisherman, or a famous Opera singer. It all sounds so thrilling.

But my cases of déjà vu are too specific to be a memory from a previous life. It is implausible to believe that in a past life I experienced that EXACT same situation. For one, computers and laptops haven’t been around long enough. And two, the emotional experience is also too precise.

Other déjà vu believers theorize it’s a spiritual experience. Our soul has left our body and experienced the moment before our body is given the opportunity. Once our soul re-enters the body and lives the moment in real-time the experience becomes déjà vu. That too, is fascinating. It also lends the question, what else is my soul capable of doing? Does my soul leave my body often? Perhaps when I am dreaming? Are these experiences buried somewhere in my mind?

Do I even have a soul?

Fictional Dialogue

In an effort to expand my writing style, this entry will be my first stab at fictional writing. I do well with non-fiction- my life’s experiences and the thought process of my mind. However, if I plan to write a novel one day, which I do in case you were wondering, I need to work on dialogue, developing the context and detailing the surrounding environment.

Here’s one for dialogue:

Entering my apartment door, I exhale the evening’s stresses and look forward to a relaxing evening on the couch sipping a glass of wine and watching the newest Shark Week on Discovery.

“Where have you been? Have you not received my calls? Why in the world didn’t you text me back?” Lucia, my roommate for more than three years, asks in bewilderment before I even finish pulling my keys out of the lock.

Frazzled and clearly desperate about a new dilemma in her life, she looks like hell standing in our apartment’s foyer. Disappointed about a missed opportunity for an easy night, I will myself to look concerned about Lu’s latest problems.

“My phone died and I forgot to bring my charger,” I say in a tone of convincing empathy and worry. “What’s wrong? You look frazzled!”

Hesitating for dramatic effect, which is something Lu has perfected over the years due to her on and off acting career, she murmurs “Yesterday evening I saw Kevin with another woman at the farmer’s market. They were holding hands,” she continues as self-pitying tears fill her eyes, “and he looked so happy and comfortable cuddled next to her.”

Kevin is the same guy who she broke up with two years ago. He was a bastard. Correction, is a bastard. Kevin was a cheating, two-timing, good for nothing, jobless fool who strung her along their lengthy five month relationship. She hasn’t been able to move on even after filling her evenings with other men, and much better looking men in my opinion, that she meets at various auditions around the city.

“Lu,” I begin trying to hide my irritation, “it’s been years since you and Kevin were together. You truly need to move on! He was useless when you were together and he’s still probably still just as awful. You know as well as I do that he is good at faking interest and is probably screwing around on her the same way he two-timed you!”

Flopping on our overstuffed red leather couch, which I can’t stand the sight of but gave in to Lu’s insistence on the importance of dramatic surroundings, she says “That’s not fair. You know how much he means to me.”

“Meant, Lu , past tense. Can we move on? I know it sucks to see an ex, but it’s been over two years and you two didn’t date for that long,” I pause long enough for this information to sink in and continue to change the subject, “Have you even showered today? Your hair looks greasy! I thought you had an audition?”

There is no better way to get Lu interested in another topic than talking about her appearance. She prides herself on her long, curly, blonde hair and hates to think it is anything less than perfection.

“I couldn’t bring myself to even get dressed,” she responds pulling at her PJ pants. “After the incident I came straight home, changed into these and fell into bed. I’m so distraught I can barely eat and when you didn’t come home last night I only got worse,” she complains while putting her head in her hands to further illustrate her anxiety. “Where were you anyway?”

“Working late,” I respond. It’s a bold faced lie, but it’s not worth getting into with Lu. She doesn’t really know much about my real life and I think it’s much better that way because she’s too sensitive and chatty to deserve the truth. It sounds harsh, but it’s simply the way it goes. It’s not that I don’t like Lu, because I do; in fact, I adore her. She’s quite spunky and usually suggesting fun events for us to go to together so in that way is a great form of escapism for me.

“You work too hard. I think we need to find you another job because that PR Firm is slowly killing you,” she responds. She hesitates for a minute and with a serious look on her face suggests, “We’ll find another career opportunity for you once we figure out how to murder Kevin. Or make him love me again.”

Accepting the fact that my DVR’d Shark Week is no longer on the agenda tonight, defeated I walk over to the fridge, “We’re going to need a bottle of wine for this one.”

“Or two,” Lu responds with a giggle.

Carrots are good for you?

I’m prone to anxiety attacks. Ever since I was a little kid, I have had terrifying bouts of crying, hyperventilating, panicky breakdowns. When I was younger they were triggered by smaller things such as having to go to bed at a certain time or a test I was supposed to take the following day. As I have gotten older, the attacks come at about the same frequency but usually require tougher issues to push me to that breaking point.

On Sunday night I reached the edge. After seeing $25k in hospital bills from a “troubled appendix”, weeks of pain with my back, frustration at work, and days of more intense back pain from the cortisone shots – I lost it.

Blubbering about my issues to my exhausted husband, I felt as though the weight of the world was on my shoulders. The heaviness on my chest increased as I went down the list of all the things that were worrying me and the more I thought about my concerns the worse I became.

During my attack I couldn’t understand why life was so difficult. Isn’t it supposed to be easier than this? Why do I always feel like I am on a treadmill sprinting without any opportunity to press the emergency stop button? Why did the reward, or the figurative carrot, never come? Had I betrayed my younger self by settling down in a passionless job to simply pay the bills? What was the point of working my ASS off in college?

After letting me bitch for about 30 minutes, Scotty took a deep breath and explained that, as unfortunate as it may be, this is life. There are tough moments and there are glorious moments. He attempted to remind me of all of the good things in my life (of which there are plenty), but in my condition, I didn’t let him get too far down the happy road.

Exhausting the ‘life has moments of rainbows and butterflies too’ angle, Scott took a more realistic approach and offered some invaluable advice. He told me I needed to slow down. That everyone is chasing that damned stringed carrot, and in fact, it never goes away.

The reward is always changing and morphing into something bigger and better- the carrot gets juicier and fatter- and I always feel as though I am not reaching it. But I am reaching it! I am making progression toward my goals, but too concerned with the next step to take time to enjoy the smaller rewards.

He advised me that instead of running full speed after the carrot, I should take a leisurely stroll toward it. He encouraged me to stop to smell the flowers, take breaks once in awhile and cut myself some slack when I slip and fall along the path. The carrot is always going to be there, so what’s the point in exhausting yourself on the journey to get it?

His advice dried up my tears immediately (which for anyone who knows me well enough understands that this is no easy feat). I slept soundly that night and woke up the next morning with a more optimistic and fresh perspective.

I am still going to chase after the carrot, after all I am a driven and ambitious woman, but I am going to make an effort to enjoy the journey. And, of course, with my Scott’s hand in mine it should go a lot more smoothly.

Calm Minded

Last week I attended a Hatha Yoga class for the first time. Although quite different from many of the other yoga styles I have tried, including Vinyasa and Bikram, I quite enjoyed the class because of its differences to these other yoga styles.

Walking out of the class, I didn’t experience my usual post workout symptoms- fatigue, sore muscles, shortness of breath- all the typical signs of a challenging physical workout. And surprisingly, I was fine with that because for the first time in weeks I had a clear mind.

The class centered around seated positions and encouraged a strong connection to the mind’s eye, also known as the third eye. We were consistently reminded by our instructor to concentrate “between our eyebrows” and pay particular attention to our breath. And because the poses weren’t overly challenging, I was able to connect with my breath better than other yoga practices.

Toward the end of the class, we engaged in a breathing exercise that the instructor described as “cooling”. Sitting upright with our legs crossed, we were instructed to breathe in through the mouth with our tongue formed in a roll, and to exhale out of the nose. In any other situation this would have been hilarious to me; in fact, for the first minute I had to suppress a few giggles. But the breathing exercise was no laughing matter- it was wonderful! Not only did my entire body literally cool down, but my mind and body were able to fully relax and surrender to the flow of my breath.

After the breathing exercise, I entered into the final savasana pose with a calm mind and body. I always enjoy the savasana pose in my yoga practice because it allows me to, of course, take a break from the challenging practice, but also gives me an opportunity to relax and center my being. Usually though, my mind is filled with so many tasks and to-do items, that I can only fully practice savasana for about one minute before my mind takes over and anxiety sets in.

This class was different. I was relaxed enough to let both my mind and body completely go. I didn’t engage in any thoughts that entered my brain, and instead took the advice of the instructor to let my thoughts pass me by. Ideas floated through my consciousness, but not once did I engage any of my thoughts- I simply let them flow unattached.

The disconnect from my mind was an interesting experience, and more importantly a relaxing and calming one. Usually, due to my controlling nature, I have difficulties “letting go” and panic when I don’t feel in touch with myself. But I reveled in this new experience and I hope to practice it again soon.

First Day

Very few of my childhood memories are as clear as my first day of kindergarten. I can still feel my five year old heart pounding in my chest, my tiny palms sweating and my quickening breath as I entered the doors of CH Decker Elementary School for the first time.

Needless to say, I was terrified. There were so many strange faces looking at me, wearily judging me the same way I was taking in their differences and similarities. Many of the children had formed bonds and friendships in Pre-School, and clustered together in small groups through out the classroom reviving familiar relationships. I didn’t attend Pre-School so the classroom scene was a brand new experience for me.

It was easier to face the students and teacher with Mom and Dad at my side- as long as they stayed close to me I felt much more assured that I was safe. Thirty minutes into cursory introductions and Ms. Dickinson explaining to the parents her plans for the year, the parents were told they could leave and come back at noon for dismissal.

LEAVE????????????!!!!!!!!!!!!!?????????? I think not. Stricken with panic, I wrapped both arms and both legs completely around Daddy’s right leg before he had the opportunity to get out of his chair. Bending over he whispered, “It’s time for me to go. You’ll be okay. See all of the other children’s parents are leaving.”

I looked around the room and examined the other children’s faces. They all looked calm and comfortable as their parents left the room. None of them showed the same signs of anxiety that I was experiencing; in fact, most of them seemed excited to have a parent free classroom. I did not share their sentiments.

“I want you to stay,” I said to Daddy as I began crying. “I am too scared,” I continued as I buried my head behind his leg. Noticing our scene, Mrs. Dickinson came over to try and persuade me to let Daddy go home. She said that all of the other children were okay, so I should be too. She promised that we were going to have a nice day and Daddy didn’t need to be in the classroom.

I didn’t even look at her. I refused to bring my head from behind Daddy’s leg. As far as I was concerned, Mrs. Dickinson was officially the devil and no matter what she said or did or promised I absolutely was not letting go. And I didn’t. Daddy told Mrs. Dickinson that he didn’t mind staying and it would probably make the adjustment to going to school daily much easier for me. She assented and proceeded with the curriculum for the day.

As we went through names, numbers and the alphabet I kept myself wrapped around Daddy’s leg. I refused to relent and kept a tight grip for the entire day. It was much easier for me to watch everyone from behind Daddy’s leg as I could study the other children without them realizing it. Daddy’s presence was my safety blanket.

I don’t remember what I said to Mommy that evening about my experience at school after she left, but she has since told me I only had positive news to report. I told her the teacher seemed nice and I hoped some of the girls would become my friends.

The next morning Daddy took me to school and walked me to the door fearing he would have to sit through another day of kindergarten. I surprised him, and myself, when we reached the doors and I kissed him goodbye. “I don’t need you to stay today. I can do it all by myself.”

My Interior

I am growing and changing all the time.  Each day, I encounter new adventures that help me flourish as an individual.  I am not the Davina I was fifteen years ago.  Hell, I am not even the Davina I was three years ago.

But that doesn't mean I can't channel her.  

I remember who I was five, ten years ago and can empathize with that person.  I believe this is crucial to my humanity.  Although I have made mistakes in my past, or made decisions I am not entirely proud of, I don't punish or disregard the person I was when I made those choices.  

I know quite a few people- more than I would like to count actually- that try to abandon the person/self they were in the past.  They are ashamed of a previous relationship, or a bad addiction, and make an attempt to erase those years of their lives.  

I've heard it a million times.  "I try to forget it even happened."  "It's as if those years happened to someone else."  "The decisions I made were ridiculous.  I have no idea who that person was- it definitely was not, and is no longer, me."

But it was you.  You can't change the core of your being.  And I don't believe you should try.

I can still channel my five year old self that would throw temper tantrums over my dad not giving me enough time to pick out a Barbie Doll.  No, I do not throw raging fits over toys anymore, but I can still remember why I felt those emotions.

I am not proud of the Davina who continued to date a boy for months even though he cheated on me with numerous hussies.  But I don't want to forget her either.  

I want to remember why I made the choices I did, no matter how ridiculous they were in order to continue my personal development.  If I abandon, or even try to ignore the person I was, then I am cheating.  I would be fooling not only those around me, but most importantly, I would be tricking my soul.

Because even after all my years of physical change and development, the core of my being, my soul, has generally remained the same.   

Child Star

I was born to be on stage.

Unfortunately though, I wasn't blessed with the talent. My father’s singing gene did not get passed down to me, which was something I didn’t become painfully aware of until just before puberty.

During childhood I held allusions that I would grow up to be a famous singer. I promised my daddy that the singing business would never leave the Coady family. I would take over Dave Coady’s Irish Express when he retired. Of course the name would have to be changed, but we would handle that when the time came.

I spent weekend afternoons running errands with daddy, which I saw as a perfect opportunity to showcase my singing talents. While in the car, between the post office and the cleaners, I would belt out my favorite Mariah Carey or Celine Dion songs—with my headphones on.

I actually feel sorry for him now. He never once told me I was a terrible singer. He simply encouraged my other talents and told me to explore different options.

But I was relentless. I watched Grease like it was going out of style. While dancing and singing in front of the television dressed up in purple pants, faux leather jacket, and blue cowboy boots all topped with bright red lipstick (all borrowed from my mother’s closet), I believed I was the next Sandra Dee.

It wasn’t until I recorded myself singing that I realized I was awful. It is uncanny how similar I sound to a Tom Cat alley fight. Needless to say I was heartbroken. Devastated. Shattered.

I abandoned my dreams of starring on Broadway. I found other dreams and left my singing career as a thing of the past. I continued dancing and actually found decent success, but honestly, you can’t be a real star unless you can do both singing and dancing.

I still have an affinity for singing- I sing while showering, cleaning, driving, and sometimes working. But it is now done in private as I prefer not to have an audience. And I definitely do not sing loudly while wearing headphones. I no longer have the confidence or reckless abandonment as I did as a child.

But sometimes, while no one is watching or listening, I imagine my bedroom is the stage and the center spotlight is shining directly on me.

Pining

While driving through my college campus last weekend I was struck by the oddest feeling- sadness.

I really miss college.

During school I spent most of my time thinking about how much “easier” and “better” life was going to be when I graduated. I anticipated the days when I would no longer have the responsibilities of writing papers, studying for exams or attending lectures. When I felt bogged down by the amount of studying or writing I had to do, I always made myself feel better by counting down the weeks left in the semester. To help me trudge through I would reason, “Sure I have a 22 page paper to chunk out in three days, but in two more weeks it will all be over!”

Life didn’t get any easier. In fact, it got a whole lot harder.

Gone are the days of variety and discovering new things. The workday generally consists of the same routine day in and day out and surprises don’t happen very often. Classes on the other hand were always introducing new concepts or ideas, and although I didn’t always agree with these thoughts or theories they usually gave me something new to think about.

I yearn for the challenges of college. I miss juggling my various classes and the feeling of achievement when I received a good grade on a test or essay. The constant feedback of doing well, or not so well, gave me a sense of progress. I was on a path to self-betterment.

I also miss the freedom. If I wasn’t feeling well, or simply wanted to skip down to the beach for the afternoon, I had no one to answer to except myself. As long as I made up the work, or received the notes from a classmate, I was in the green. Could you imagine skipping out on work for the afternoon simply because you thought it was nice outside? Hardly. I can see my boss’ reaction now.

I went to one of the most beautiful colleges in the country. Nestled upon a hill in San Diego, the landscape and location always made me feel as though the world was at my feet. I felt that equipped with a Liberal Arts education from a good institution, I could accomplish anything. Upon graduation I would start my ideal job and my career would take me to fun and exciting places. Office work was not what I had imagined.

But there is still time, and I am still quite young. The world is my oyster and I have the opportunity to make whatever I want out of myself. Hopefully, my college education will help take me to those career places I dreamed about only a few short years ago.

If not, I could always go back.

Food Evolution

I grew up in a house where food was a necessity. Eating wasn’t something we particularly enjoyed doing. We simply did it because we needed it to survive. In fact, cooking (and the inevitable long clean up) is something my family members, myself included, didn’t enjoy doing. We ate out quite often and did our best to have simple and smaller meals.

Not to say that I didn’t enjoy the occasional Irish Stew Mom would make on ‘colder’ winter days (please note that colder is in quotations as it refers to Vegas cold and after living in Michigan I know that is NOT cold). I also looked forward to the Irish Breakfast Fry Dad would do on Sunday mornings. But I definitely didn’t think about the food I would be eating. Or long for it.

Things have since changed. I now dream about what I am going to eat, how I am going to eat it, where I am going to eat it, and what exactly it is going to taste like.

And no, I am not a fatty.

Scott opened my eyes to the world of food. When we started dating he pushed my food comfort zone and encouraged me to try food I had refused to even look at only months prior. He pushed me into eating sushi, Thai food, Mexican food (because I learned that Taco Bell was in fact not Mexican food), Vietnamese food, Spicy food, Health Nut food- you name it, he encouraged me to try it.

Now, I must be upfront here, my husband is a fantastic cook. And, truth be told, if he wasn’t so good at it I probably wouldn’t be open to eating all these different types of meals. But I struck gold with Scott (in more ways than one), and everything he touches in the kitchen tastes like heaven. I’m a lucky girl.

Over the course of our five year relationship, I have become more and more involved with his cooking and food choices. In the early stages I was simply a food victim, being bullied into trying the different, and sometimes odd looking, plates he put before me. I have since evolved and now like to help pick out the recipes in our cookbooks or on various internet cooking sites. I also, and this is a huge change from pre-foodie Davina, enjoy accompanying him to the grocery store to pick out the necessary ingredients.

Unfortunately though, his cooking abilities have yet to rub off on me. Meals I attempt to make never taste as flavorful and always seem to be missing something that he nails every time. As my mom said after sampling my fish tacos, “It’s good, Davi, but it’s obviously not Scotty’s.” Thanks, Mom.

In the meantime, I will continue to be Scott’s little sous-chef. But I won’t complain, it’s actually quite the gig.

Attempting to run

I have started running. Which, for anyone who knows me well enough, is odd.

I actually hate running. Well, I used to hate running, now I am starting to find it a little more tolerable.

It all started because I wanted to spend more time outside during the warmer months in Michigan. Why didn't I pick up biking you ask? Well, my poor baby, Mea, is stuck inside all day and she needs to spend some time outside too. It's really hard for her to keep up with the bike, so I usually end up pedaling at snail pace and get absolutely no exercise out of the routine.

So, Scott and I decided on running. He began first- taking Mea for a brief one mile run in the mornings while I worked out in the living room to various Exercise TV routines. When he came home he always looked refreshed and ready for the day. Eventually his comments about the gorgeous flowers blooming made me jealous and I decided to sign up for running too.

I have been running religiously for a week. We did about 4.5 miles last week (I know, I am almost a pro) and some days were better than others. Friday was a tough fun- I truly thought I was going to die at the end of it.

I am hoping I stick with this as I usually tend to abandon things after a week or two of zealous effort. It's actually quite nice to run in the mornings when the rest of the world is slowly waking up. I love the smell of the morning dew, the soft sunlight breaking over the trees and houses, and the lack of noisy distractions.

It's my time of reckless abandonment, as silly as that may sound. Although I feel like keeling over, or vomiting from exhaustion at the 3/4 mark, I am always really glad I decided to do it.

My relationship with running, thus far, is quite contradictory. My joy peaks twice during the jog- at the very beginning when I first hit the pavement and then again at the very end when I know it's all over.

Michigan Circle

Making friends isn’t always easy.

You pack up your life, move 2,000 miles across the country to a new city, which although is still in the United States, has a whole different culture and feel to it, you can’t expect to make friends overnight.

But that’s exactly what I expected.

I have always been a ‘social butterfly’, as I have been fondly referred to over the years. I am used to having a social circle, that I prefer to be in the center of, at all times. Throughout my life, I was never alone on a Friday or Saturday night- there was always someone I could call up.

When I moved to Michigan that all changed. Of course I had Scotty to hang out with, and although we always have a great time together, I needed more friends. I also needed girlfriends.

I needed girls that I could complain to about my period, my overly logical husband, my bad hair, my fat belly and the importance of eating chocolate on a daily basis- because they would share their experiences and empathize with me. Boys usually have a tough time understanding certain women’s tendencies or cravings.

My first closest girlfriend in Michigan arrived just when I needed one most. She worked with me at my last company, and although quite a few years older than me and pregnant, we had a lot in common. We connected instantly and she became my best friend when I needed a girlfriend most.

She listened to me bitch about the shared problems we were experiencing at work. And she helped me through my roughest time of traveling- when panic attacks consumed me by night and exhaustion ruined me by day. I listened to her adventures of being a stepmom, her apprehensions about becoming a new mother, and her excitements about the sex of the pending baby growing inside her (which turned out I was right, and it was a girl!)

For a year, we spent Monday through Friday together in a shared office. We worked together, laughed at our shared work misery, goofed off playing Reversi and watching True Blood, and dreamed about the joys of summer when things were miserably cold. I am not sure she has any idea how much her friendship means to me, or how much she saved me when things were really rough in Michigan, but she truly did. I would be lost without her.

Stacey helped me get back on the friendship horse.

When I started at my current job, I was able to quickly build a social circle of friends. Stacey built up my friendship confidence again, and our friendship reminded me of the importance of having close friends in my life.

A number of my co-workers are around my age and share a lot of common interests, so it was actually quite easy. They are a great group of people and my days wouldn’t be the same without them. I have finally started building my Michigan social circle, and they are really starting to feel like a second family.

Browser Addict

I am addicted to online… browsing. I enjoy spending time on my favorite clothing stores’ websites. On a weekly basis I find myself placing new items in my Ann Taylor, Nordstrom, Express, Victoria’s Secret or Banana Republic virtual shopping bags. 

Most of the clothes I browse look much better online than they do in person. Those two-bit skinny models have the capacity to make almost anything gorgeous, thus increasing my odds at wanting it for myself. I usually pick a random assortment of items, and to be completely honest, most are things I normally wouldn’t purchase while shopping at a ‘real’ mall. 

$250 peep toe shoes- no problem- throw them in the shopping bag! $100 passion pink colored pencil skirt- I would look fabulous in that too- throw it in! $80 silk scarf with beaded accents- it’s the perfect spring item- adding it is only one click away. CLICK!

I enjoy picturing myself in these different outfits (and of course I look just as good, if not better than the models pictured in the outfits). I like to imagine where I would wear my new sexy outfits, and how multitudes of people will stop me in the streets to compliment me on my style and grace. During my virtual shopping sprees, I am a more sophisticated, better dressed, elegantly clad Davina. 

It’s all fun and games until I actually click on “Purchase Your Items”. Those three little words have the capacity to make my online fantasy instantly disappear. And I am left with the hard truth that my new shoes, pencil skirt and scarf are going to put me back about $330- and that’s before shipping and taxes!!! Puh-lease. 

And reality begins to set in. It takes me about 2 days of work to make that kind of money. 16+ hours of slaving away at the office to only buy 3 pieces of clothing??!! I would be insane to make that type of purchase! I have a mortgage, student loans, car loans, insurance, and various otheI am addicted to online… browsing. I enjoy spending time on my favorite clothing stores’ websites. On a weekly basis I find myself placing new items in my Ann Taylor, Nordstrom, Express, Victoria’s Secret or Banana Republic virtual shopping bags. 

Most of the clothes I browse look much better online than they do in person. Those two-bit skinny models have the capacity to make almost anything gorgeous, thus increasing my odds at wanting it for myself. I usually pick a random assortment of items, and to be completely honest, most are things I normally wouldn’t purchase while shopping at a ‘real’ mall. 

$250 peep toe shoes- no problem- throw them in the shopping bag! $100 passion pink colored pencil skirt- I would look fabulous in that too- throw it in! $80 silk scarf with beaded accents- it’s the perfect spring item- adding it is only one click away. CLICK!

I enjoy picturing myself in these different outfits (and of course I look just as good, if not better than the models pictured in the outfits). I like to imagine where I would wear my new sexy outfits, and how multitudes of people will stop me in the streets to compliment me on my style and grace. During my virtual shopping sprees, I am a more sophisticated, better dressed, elegantly clad Davina. 

It’s all fun and games until I actually click on “Purchase Your Items”. Those three little words have the capacity to make my online fantasy instantly disappear. And I am left with the hard truth that my new shoes, pencil skirt and scarf are going to put me back about $330- and that’s before shipping and taxes!!! Puh-lease. 

And reality begins to set in. It takes me about 2 days of work to make that kind of money. 16+ hours of slaving away at the office to only buy 3 pieces of clothing??!! I would be insane to make that type of purchase! I have a mortgage, student loans, car loans, insurance, and various other bills to pay first. So, I don’t. I clear out my shopping bag and abandon the site.

Not to worry though, like clockwork I will be back next week. r bills to pay first. So, I don’t. I clear out my shopping bag and abandon the site.

Not to worry though, like clockwork I will be back next week. 

Puppy Obsession

Back when I worked part-time at State Farm, I used to spend my ‘downtime’ browsing pictures of puppies for sale. I could spend hours (of course without my boss’ knowledge) looking at all of the adorable puppies for sale. I spent months scrolling through the different sites, with hundreds of furry little faces peering out at me begging to be taken home.

I bugged my boyfriend, now husband, incessantly about my dire need for a dog in my life. But he insisted that neither of us were in a position to take care of a puppy at that time. And, as usual, he was right. I lived in a tiny 200 square foot studio apartment with no yard. He shared a two story house that had a minimal yard with 2 other recent college grads and a golden retriever- it hardly needed another creature to add to the mess.

Per usual, I ignored his practical advice and begged for a puppy (and a ring) every Christmas. Begging might be a bit too extreme; rather, I implored for those items. And each Christmas morning, much to my disappoint and surprise, they never came.

The ring actually came first on a beautiful August evening in San Diego. After that, I was able to check the ring off the next year’s Christmas list and focus my efforts on adopting a puppy. That coming Christmas, I made sure to write PUPPY three times at the top of my list. I reasoned that it was my year to make it happen- the ring had finally come so the puppy was sure to follow.

Once again my fiancé (no longer boyfriend, but not yet husband) reasoned that a puppy was impractical. He was applying to grad schools all over the country and there was no way to guarantee we would end up in San Diego, let alone live in a pet friendly place.

Reluctantly I abandoned the argument for a couple of months. I was in the middle of finishing up my senior year in college and planning the wedding of my dreams. I was too busy disagreeing with him about wedding colors and menu choices to even mention what type of dog I wanted.

But that doesn’t mean I had stopped dreaming about my future puppy.

Whenever I was frustrated with writing a paper, or sick of looking at different wedding favors I would find myself searching for puppies, or better yet- my puppy. I reassured myself that one day, when all of the craziness of wedding planning and moving across the country was over I would get a cuddly little puppy to call my own.

I actually had a name picked out before I even decided the type of breed I wanted, let alone actually adopted my puppy. I knew I wanted a girl- boy dogs can be a handful with the need to mark their territory everywhere. I also knew that we were headed to the cold, freezing, snowy and landlocked Mid-West so Scott could attend grad school at the University of Michigan. With those two things in mind, I decided I wanted her name to remind me of the ocean- soft sand, sunny skies and beautiful waves- so I picked Waimea. It is one of my most favorite beaches in Hawaii.

After my years of waiting, the day we finally decided to buy a puppy was upon me much faster than I expected. And much to my surprise, my puppy didn’t come from one of the thousands of websites I had spent countless hours perusing. She came from a lovely breeder where I was given the opportunity to hand-pick her myself.

She came home with us when she was 7 weeks old and has filled our lives with joy and happiness since then! Of course we have our ups and downs- as a puppy she had an affinity for going #2 on my most favorite rug because it slightly resembles grass. And now, as an overgrown puppy she enjoys chewing magazines, paper and the blinds in my kitchen. But I wouldn’t trade her for anything in the world.

She is the bright spot in my day when everything else in the world is dull and gray.

Spring is coming!

The last 4 to 5 months have been nightmarish. I went without seeing the sun for weeks at a time. I trudged through snow up to my knees. And was frozen stiff from the blistering 10-20 mph winds.

But, I am glad to say, I believe it may be over. For the last week or so, I have felt the warmth of the sun on my face. The snow is melting- only a few patches under incessant shade remain stubborn. And the buds, yes buds, are sprouting on the tree in my front yard.

Winter has been hellish, but I am glad to leave it behind me. Farewell to nights spent on the couch cuddled under the blanket wondering if I would ever feel warm again. Adios to the days where it was so cold I was in pain, severe pain, running from my car into the grocery store. And au revoir to the 4:45 pm sunsets- going to and from work in the dark can really take a toll on my overall well being.

Winter can make people do crazy things. In A Reliable Wife the author talks about citizens from the early 1900s living in Wisconsin committing heinous, gory crimes with characters reasoning these acts away simply- they are the affects of winter.

With modern conveniences such as heat, TV and the internet, people have found better ways to pass the cold and bitter nights. But there are still some of us that feel an unsettling feeling stirring inside of us when winter is in full swing. I will admit that there were times this winter, I almost lost my mind. I was insensibly emotional, slightly erratic and almost constantly irritable. There were days when I was brought to tears for no other reason than the cold.

I am ready to embrace my spring and summer self. Delight in the Davina that relishes in the warmth. The person who has the energy to exercise, to stay out later at night and wake up feeling refreshed! I am ready for the spring, in all its bright and beautiful color, to awake my hibernating soul and come out and play.

Like a child anticipating summer break, I am breathlessly awaiting that first blossom.