1. For those who sent their address for the extremely sought-after Colorado post card, they’re going out this weekend!  Yeeha.  Try to control your thrill.

2. I have one more thing from the list to share, but I haven’t typed it yet.

3. I like cake.

4. I lied, I also cannot wait for 4 November.

I’m having a lot of trouble with this one, this Number 17 from the 29 in 29 for 29 list. Writing myself a letter, for me, leaves two options: get really deep and serious, or don’t. Bear with me—all this is almost over.

Lesley,

You’ve started this letter about, uh, forty times. What were you thinking when you added this to the list? Sure, you’ve asked yourself that a lot while going through this list, but what’s the purpose of writing yourself a letter? Advice? Planning? Analysis? Insanity?

But don’t think about that, because if there’s ever going to be a day to not worry, this is it. You turn twenty-nine today. Not at all to your surprise, it feels like any other day. And rather than go through all the lessons or experiences of the year, I just want to remind you that the most important thing you did this year was live it.  You did not sit back. You did not observe. You participated.

Some things didn’t work out how you’d hoped, and nearly most not how you’d planned. Work took an odd turn, you struggled with a lot of the same personal battles you have in the past, and, let’s face it, the floor was almost never as clean as you’d like it. None of that stopped you more than momentarily, though. You moved on. You looked forward. If nothing else, all of that helped you realize that doing nothing changes nothing. So you keep doing. You keep talking, working, living, loving, helping, whining, caring, hoping.

And I don’t want to get all emotional here, but dare I say that you did that because that’s who you are. That’s who you’re becoming, at least. I’m not sure, but I think that if today, on your twenty-ninth birthday, and all the days that follow that you’ll end up nothing less than happy if you just keep doing that.  Keep living.

Love,

You

When I come home in the afternoon, most days I can count on waving to my neighbors.  There’s Pauline, who’s outlived two husbands.  There’s Laura, who has a dog that just may be older than all of us.  There’s Rick, who lets me know if the mail has come if we pass in the road. And there’s Leta, who, if you ask, will let you know about everything else.

I live in a neighborhood of old folks. Folks who keep a look out. Folks who could teach us a thing or two. It’s really nice.  They’re just nosy enough, and aside from the time Pauline tried to set me up with the Jeep-driving (good) pot-smoking (maybe not-so-good) renter four doors down, I have never had a disagreement with any of them.  They’ve become the family that’s watching over me without my even knowing.

When I think about that, having all these substitute grandparents, it does warm my heart. It does make me feel lucky.  Mostly, it makes me think of my grandma. So when I thought about who I’d spend the afternoon with for Number 18, I really didn’t have to think at all. I don’t know if that’s what those who suggested this had in mind, but it sure worked out better than I could have dreamed.

For several years, my grandma and I have talked about taking a day to sit down and go through some of her photos.  She has hundreds of them, most not labeled.

Little did I know, that by going through these, asking where they were taken, and who was in them, I’d learn more about myself.

Exhibit A, my grandmother and her friends at the beach:

And, my grandma and her friends at the beach, and on the ranch:

I always knew we were alike, but seeing these photos made it that much more obvious.  And hearing the stories?  Well, that was just awesome. People say, when you look back in time, we only tend to see the good.  That we’re just ignoring the past and seeing what we want to see. I disagree.

Sure, we all have our truths … things that stay with us.  But I think that if we choose to look back, then we also have the opportunity to decide what we get from that. And what I see, from my family, from the people that lead to me, is joy.  I see these moments in photos and it reminds me to enjoy my own moments. My own history.

Like my grandmother holding my mother:

Or my mother with her first little sister:

And cowboys.  Or at least, wannabe cowboys:

Or my grandfather getting “branded”:

And, of course, the opportunity to embarrass my mother:

And the town I grew up in, long before the roads were paved:

My grandmother is special. I’ve always known that.  I know she values every relationship she has in this world— 82 years of them. When I think about how I want to be, the woman I want to be known as, I think a lot about my grandmother.  We’ve spent countless afternoons together, and I know there are other people in this world that can teach me things, but what it comes down to is this: there’s no one else I’d rather learn from.

If you’d have asked me in the beginning of this 29 in 29 for 29 thing, I would have told you that Number 26 would be the item I’d be least likely to complete. I mean, “Get someone to let me drive a Zamboni” is just so out there to begin with, and then to actually find a way to do it in 29 days? It didn’t seem likely.

But, like almost every other item on the list, there was a lot more to it than a task.  Ohhh, deep, right?

Luckily, having grown up in what was a budding hockey-loving town and is now booming if not on the verge, I did have the advantage of being part of a little piece of the community that has access to, among many things, Zambonis.  Nothing like calling in favors to people who don’t even owe you in the first place.

So, without further rambling, my Zamboni experience:

[Disclaimer-- It is important to note that though I was in the driver's seat, and though I moved while on the Zamboni, I did not operate said machine. Insurance covers a lot of things, but apparently not 29-year-olds on ridiculous missions.]

The view from the top

Trying not to feel like the biggest doofus ever

It was almost like my own little rink parade

So there’s Number 26. Who knew I could be even more embarassed than usual?  Who knew I could feel more akward than usual?  Who knew the boy giving me instructions would be young enough to be my son?  Who knew lighting in the rink was so awful?

Sigh.

I really hope this 29  in 29 for 29 list thing isn’t getting old.  Honestly, I lost a little interest toward the end of last week that carried over into Saturday.  Actually, I lost a little motivation for a lot of things come Saturday.  If there’s one thing this list has kept me from, it’s sitting down and typing out endless paragraphs about my feelings on my blog. And trust me, right about now that’s a good thing.  Aside from a few of you blogging angels who’ve put up with me and my emails about everything from politics to the economy to dating, no one else has had to suffer that rambling. I thank you, blogging angels, and probably so does everyone else.

All told—or not— Saturday became the perfect day to unplug myself from the world. I didn’t do it on purpose, but I accomplished Number 6, and turned off my cell phone for an entire day.  And my television. And my computer.  And my lights for part of the day, truth be told.

I did run on the treadmill, which I cannot apologize for because it was a 30-degree windy, foggy, rain-mixed-with-ice-balls (not kidding) day and I am just so not ready for that yet.  Or ever. I made white chili, I vacuumed, and I dreamed of someone coming to clean the bathroom.  That, of course, made no difference, but I promise one of these days IT WILL.

A couple weeks ago when I dove into my closet (one of them, anyway) to give away sweaters I had to fight to ignore the fact that, well, there was a whole lot more than sweaters to go through. Like five shopping bags full of clothes I no longer like and/or wear.  And we thought the eighteen sweaters was bad.

This turned from going through clothes to cleaning out one closet after another, and then a few drawers. I know no one sees inside closets and drawers, but I couldn’t help but feel so much better about almost everything after that.  So there it is: Number 27, reduce clutter in at least one area of my life. Which happened to carry over to a few other areas, too. That’s fine with me.

Once I heard a financial advisor say that you can almost always tell how someone thinks about money by looking at their house. No matter how much or little they own, it will be organized, neat, and clean.  I’ve always aspired to that if not accomplished it. I don’t mean to talk about money again (Lord knows I could do without the emails) but I can’t help but be reminded that the Everything in It’s Place principle is either adapted or not, and therefore applies to almost every part of your life.  Things are either in place, or they’re not.

I was very thankful at the end of the day on Saturday. I took a break from the norm, I was completely disconnected, and found a way to reconnect, too. Things are a little more in place, and hopefully that means I can stop abusing my internet friends. However, I do not plan to stop complaining about cold weather. That would be too much to ask.

I don’t know anyone who isn’t thinking about money right now.  I don’t know anyone who isn’t trying to cut back, cut down, or cut out something they don’t need.  I know more people that have lost their jobs in the last month than ever before in my life.

I’m not sure I know what Doom and Gloom is, but a lot of what’s happening around me right now seems to fit the description.

When I put Number 20, learn and adapt ways to be more frugal, on the 29 in 29 for 29 list, I have to say, I wasn’t really thinking that far ahead.  I’ve always been a pretty money-concious person. If my mother taught me anything that has always stuck with me, it’s always floss your teeth, and always live within your means.  But now, even within my means, even without going to Debtor’s Prison, I’m worried.  I don’t see how we can’t be, and if you do, please enlighten me, because 24 hours can’t really go by where I don’t freak out about this.

Luckily, I also know that you can’t just freak out and not do anything about it.  So yeah, the fact that Number 20 happens to come at the most significant time in history is not lost on me.  In a lot of ways I’ve acted like a lot of other Americans and spent based on want instead of need.  That is ok.  Of course that is ok. Sometimes. The line, though, between some wants and every want can get really blurry when you’re not watching.

But I don’t want to ramble on, because I’m not qualified to give money lessons.  What I will share is what I’ve done in the last couple weeks to cut back.

1) I quit the gym.  (And as an aside, it should just be assumed that if you quit the gym, you’re going to have to fight with someone. Those gym people are ruthless. Period.)  I have a treadmill at home that I use. I have weights at home that I use. I have a dog at home that I walk every day.  And I have a new spin bike at home THAT I USE. Normally, I’m the last person to encourage cutting back on health and fitness, but I’ve made those investments in other places, and the gym wasn’t necessary any longer.  I am going to miss the public  grunting, though.

2) I stopped Netflix. Gah. I know. I could hardly believe it myself.  But there were two realities I needed to face: I haven’t had time to just watch a movie in about six months (multi-tasking while watching movies is wrong), and I have satellite television.  Which is completely enough. More than enough.  And so far, surprisingly, I am living.

3) I stopped buying books.  I go to the library now.  And while I’m completely behind buying books and establishing your own library, today, right now, that is not something I need to do.  (Not-so-secretly though, I really, really hope this doesn’t last long. I like supporting book-buying and good authors.)

4) I called the phone company and changed the service.  It took thirty minutes, and hey, guess what? I don’t call South America.  I realize some people do.  I don’t.

5) I discontinued two memberships to professional organizations that while they’re nice to have, aren’t exactly a necessity to my career or future. And sometimes, with these things, now is as good a time as any to find something new and move on.

6) I make coffee at home now.  I like iced coffee, so I figured out how to make it at home (notice, I did not buy anything special with which to make the coffee. Heh!) and I did.

I was hesitant to admit it, but it’s actually really good.  And because I can choose from all kinds of coffee, sometimes it’s actually better than what I could buy. And speaking of buying, though it hadn’t gotten this out of hand, I could potentially have been spending close to $80 -$90 a month on coffee. I want to throw up just thinking about that, because it’s ridiculous.

My mother is very proud right now.  I just know it.

So with those six things, and assuming the coffee was maybe around a $50 total, I’m saving about $145 per month.  No, it is not tens of thousands, but in a year, it’s over $1700.  That is real money, people.

I do want to say, that I chose these things because they’re what first came to mind.  They are what I could EASILY cut back on and the choices I made are what works FOR ME.  The bottom line is we all can probably justify what we want to— we’re probably really good at that. But what I’ve learned from this is that by justifying just about anything, I’m doing myself absolutely no favors.

So here’s to Number 20, and to all of us not having to freak out for very much longer.

When I thought about Number 3:  Try a recipe that’s always intimidated me, on the 29 in 29 for 29 list, all kinds of ambitions came to mind.  Though I love cooking and can really get into it at times, there are no less than a million things about it that intimidate me.  I mean, terms like reduction and Chitarra and estouffade are enough to send me into complete panic.  I have a friend that makes these beautiful, elaborate cakes with fondant icing or sugary silk-like veils and watching her do it both amazes me and makes me want to run away in fright.  People, I have never even fried chicken, please don’t ask me to use tools with names I cannot even pronounce.

But there is one recipe, or meal, rather, that I’ve always wanted to be able to make. Not because it’s terribly complicated or a huge accomplishment, but rather, when I think of food that I want to make, that I want share with people, this is the thing that always comes to mind:  Chicken Noodle Soup.

So common. So not a big deal.  So nothing I’ve ever had a clue as to how to make.  This is why I chose it. I wanted to make my own noodles, create my own broth, cook the chicken, chop the vegetables, all of it.  I  knew I needed a little guidance, though, if not a recipe.  I called Uncle Joe, because he is one of the cooks in the family. And then it got interesting.

In 1983, Uncle Joe’s grandmother, Serena, came to visit him here in Colorado.  She drove all the way from Indiana, and do you know what she brought with her?  Her Chicken Noodle Soup recipe.  But not purposely, it’s because Grandma Serena brought her recipes with her everywhere— they were all in her head.

Knowing this, Uncle Joe took the time to take notes when Grandma Serena made her Chicken Noodle Soup.  Step by step, he followed her around the kitchen while she prepared a recipe from scratch that had been in her head for decades.

And do you know, since that day back in 1983, Uncle Joe had never attempted to recreate that recipe?  Not once. Apparently, he’s thought of it often in the last 25 years, but until my phone call, he’d never gotten around to making it.  I realize this is only terribly ironic for Uncle Joe and me, but still, what are the odds?  The one recipe I’ve always wanted to make was also the one he’d been waiting 25 years to recreate.

So it was settled.  With the help of Uncle Joe’s sister, we’d recreate Chicken Noodle Soup circa 1983 via Grandma Serena’s portable recipe index.  Kitchen magic was inevitable.

We started with noodles.  This was the “big deal” portion in my mind.  The homemade noodles are the most important part, if you ask me.

And I took pictures.  (And poured drinks, which is the OTHER reason I like cooking with Uncle Joe.)

And then I finally helped a little, and rolled out the dough.  We rolled it out into a really thin, flat sheet of beautiful dough.  You’ll see that later.

While the dough dried (set?) a little, we headed out to the garden.  Yet another reason to hang out with Uncle Joe: a pretty great garden.  With giant pumpkins:

And cauliflower:

And beets:

And the one thing I was absolutely insistent on adding to MY chicken soup, carrots:

I’m sorry to gloat here, but how awesome is that?  I just went right outside and picked carrots from the ground that in less than an hour after I pulled them up, would be IN MY SOUP.  I’m amazed, still.

I should also mention that we’d put the chicken in to cook before we went out to the garden.  It boiled in the pot for like an hour with bullion and celery and onions, and that’s really all I know about that.  Because you may remember how I feel about handling raw meat, so Uncle Joe took care of that.  THANK YOU, Uncle Joe.  I am just not sure I’ll ever be ready for a whole chicken.

But I did cut (slice?) the noodles!  Ohhhhhh, ahhhhhh!  And I think I did a pretty good job with that:

We drained the broth from the chicken, then added the noodles, the chicken (prepared and chopped by, hey, not me!), and, of course, the carrots.  I think a few onions made it in, too.

Judging by looks alone, I felt pretty good about our creation.  It smelled like comfort and home, so I figured we couldn’t go wrong from there.

The ultimate test, though, was the rest of the family.  My aunt, she’s not the harsh critic.  But my two cousins, 18 and 20, are the ultimate judges.  Not because of their fine culinary tastes or their finicky palates, but rather if you can’t get 18 and 20-year-old guys to eat food you made, something is seriously wrong with that food.

But it turned out, they did like it.  Loved it, in fact.  Apparently one of them had his leftovers for breakfast the next morning, which I’m guessing is slightly better than cold pizza when you’re in college. Or ever.

This was a great cooking experience for me.  No longer am I intimidated by making my own noodles or attempting to make a simple recipe from simple ingredients.  It is not always about fabulous technique or intimidating words. (Even if someone adds pepper—no idea what was going on there).

And though I didn’t do this all on my own, I wouldn’t have had it any other way.