Tonight, my husband and I went to my parents’ house to help them with some gardening work. They have several nicely landscaped and mulched areas, but they haven’t really been able to get around to weeding and mulching them yet.

We spent an hour pulling and digging and grunting and squatting and bending over. Honestly, I did most of the grunting and complaining, because I’m kind of dramatic that way. We filled up two wagon-loads with weeds and invasive plants and dumped them in the woods. OK. Honestly, HE dumped them in the woods.

Even though I got filthy and sweaty and kept forgetting i shouldn’t use a muddy, mulchy glove to push my hair out of my face? It was amazingly fun. I already hurt. My poor knees. I have elderly knees, I fear.

It also got me thinking about roots. I mean, above the ground, there is this green thing. Maybe tall and spindly. Maybe with dark green, broad leaves. Maybe with odd, purplish pods. And you look at that thing, and you think, that’s that. That’s a plant. That’s what I need to pull up.

And I understand that you need to pull things up by the roots. But man!

The roots are a whole other world. They are colorless, and dirty, and stinky. They are spindly and strong. They are wide, and when you pull them up, stuff moves. The surface does not look the same, just without the plant. Mulch that was underground is now above the ground. Worms and spiders erupt from the ground at the disturbance. The roots break and run.

Tonight, I was pulling tall grass. The really thin stuff with a little plume on the end (not a gardener). And you’d think – OK, easy! It’s skinny. It can’t have these gnarly roots like the blue things! And it doesn’t. The roots are thin. But they also snake up to a foot away! So pulling up the grass upsets lost of other stuff. Even stuff I didn’t want to pull out of the ground came up because pulling the grass root up just kind of bumped the other stuff out.

So, of course all of this got me thinking metaphorically. And I was thinking how sometimes when you get the root of weeds in your life, you accidentally knock some other plants out of the dirt too. But, I guess the good thing about plants and dirt, even metaphorically, is that with some care, you can usually get things to grow again.

Mr. Thor and I just got back yesterday from a whirlwind trip to Boston. Don’t you love when people say “whirlwind trip?” Maybe I shouldn’t say it, because there was actually a tornado in Mass today. Do you think we left our whirlwind there?

We said that we were just going to take it easy. No plans, just meeting up with friends on Sunday afternoon and a Red Sox (!!) game on Monday night.

What actually happened? We were both like kids in a candy store, unable to stop moving, looking, touching, walking… until our bodies simply gave out under the forces of heat and/or exhaustion.

I was too hot to eat much, and in the mornings I couldn’t handle more than coffee. Mr. Thor, on the other hand, was an eating machine.

I want to write a more extensive post, maybe even a little hotel review here. But for now, I leave you with this. Sunday night, I totally and completely “crapped out” – no more walking, no putting my glasses back on, not really even getting out of bed.

However, I was also completely ravenous, as I had eaten approximately one cannoli and five slices of portabella mushroom that day and walked approximately 73 miles, also.

Apparently, Mr. Thor was more tired than he initially let on, because it took me 2.5 seconds to convince him to… order ROOM SERVICE!

The previous night, I had tentatively pulled out the menu and he scoffed. This night, he asked to take a closer look. Hallelujah.

I ordered a cup of clam chowdah, a wedge salad, and a cheese plate. I think Mr. Thor thought this was completely ridiculous. OK, I know he thought it was. He kept shaking his head (as he shoveled in steak) and saying, “I can’t believe you ordered THAT.”

It was wonderful, and marvelous, and everything in between. I wish I could touch 39 any night of the week, honestly.

While I was still processing my Oprah-tastic insights, I stumbled upon something in my google reader lineup that made me stop in my tracks. I almost skimmed right over it because of the post’s title (“pleasing dishtowels and good for them“), but i caught a glimpse of the dishtowel fabric and i really liked it.

The blog, is, to oversimplify, a sewing and craft blog. I love the tone, the inspiring fabrics, the tutorials, the title, and the coolness. This is exactly the kind of blog that spurs me to want to create. Which means that in the end I usually just do nothing and feel guilty and inferior to pretty much every crafter I have ever known or seen.

But this post gets at how we should kind of stop doing that. And that is what stopped me in my tracks. She presents this idea: rather than examining the achievements of others and possibly comparing them to your own achievements…maybe just letting it go. To say “good for them” and move along.

When the film Garden State came out, it crushed every dream I had ever had of making a movie. I had a very Garden State-ish phase in my late teens and early 20’s, and I had sort of fictionalized it and cleaned it up and made it into a movie in my mind. And then I saw Garden State. And then, I called my friend Stephanie on the phone, and I said, “Zach Braff made my movie.” And I cried. Hard.

Which leads me to the other earth shattering, yet completely common-sense point that Amy Karol brought to light in her blog: There is enough.

Saying to myself “good for them” also reminds me what I have believed for a long time now—that there is enough. Enough creativity, success, achievement, accolades, attention, for everyone. The achievement of any one person doesn’t take away the potential or realized achievements of anyone else. There is enough for all. By saying “good for them” I take myself out of the comparison—it has no bearing on what I do. Or what I choose not to do.

I chose to quote her directly because there is no better way to say it. I can’t stress enough how important it was to see these concepts in print. Creative people are sensitive, and also critical of other creative people. And also, themselves.

In the end, everything I do is about me. It’s not about other people, it’s not about expectations, it’s not about disappointment, and it’s not about making stuff that is better than other people’s stuff.

It’s about, “what is in me that I am willing to move to the outside of me as a work to share with the world?” It should be that simple.

Yesterday, one of my facebook friends posted a link to the transcript from Oprah Winfrey’s last show. I have never been a huge follower of Oprah, but I have definitely admired her for her accomplishments.

OK. I would be a serious liar if I said that I never watched one (or maybe several) of her shows and just bawled like a little baby.

Oprah said that the episode was her love letter to her followers. She said some lovely things about her time on the air. I have always been amazed by the level of grace with which this woman seems to operate. Even on her final show, the words she chose conveyed such a level of grace and wisdom.

What struck me the most as I read through the transcript of the last show was the sense Oprah gave of passing the torch. She basically said, “Thank you for doing for me what you claim I have done for you. Now go, and do unto others.” She spoke of our circle of influence and how we can have an impact on even a small number of people.

This really resonates with me. I have always wanted to be a person who can make a difference, somehow. I don’t care if I ever cure a disease or end hunger or suffering (although, who wouldn’t want that if it were within the powers of one person?).

Honestly, more than anything, I just want to get to the end of it all and realize that I did the best I could with what I was given – the best I could to show love, patience, kindness. The best I could to make people feel welcome and not alone. The best I could to listen, understand, and “be there.”

The only problem that I see with this grand mission of mine is… well, me. I am tired. I am unfulfilled. I am lonely. I have needs. I am creatively stagnant (and that is an understatement).

It takes all I can muster, once I am done with the commuting and the working, to do things like: go to the grocery store, pack lunches, go to the library, and stop eating ice cream. I have a ridiculously short attention span. I have a ridiculously low level of follow-through.

Some days, I can’t even find my pants.

So. Oprah. Dear Oprah. How does a mildly ambitious (when I am paying attention), bleeding heart, compulsive eating, lucky-to-even-be-wearing-pants kind of person even begin? Where is the love letter for that?

On my lunch break today, I decided to check on something to see if I could FINALLY share my jubilation with the world.

I can.

For probably the first time since I was 17 or 18 years old, I have no credit card debt.

This doesn’t count the brief few months when I took a personal loan from my mom to get out from under my debt, and then… opened up more credit cards. To “rebuild my credit.” Except I bought things. Many things. Things I couldn’t afford, when you added them all up. 

Let me tell you. You might pay now, or you might pay later. But trust me, you will pay.

Make it easy on yourself and pay now. Don’t buy things that you can’t afford. Save up and pay cash when it makes sense.

It might be too much information, but I’m going to tell it: by the time I sought help through a credit counseling agency, my credit debt was over $13,000. I could not keep up with the monthly payments due to being laid off, moving, and subsequently being under-employed.

I have paid almost $17,000 in the past 25 months. I have sent in bonuses and windfalls. I have sent in $400 extra per month. I grew to loathe my monthly statement and viewed it as my personal enemy. Cash was the only weapon against it.

So, right now, I can say with pride – I defeated my monthly statement. It has been reduced to a giant line of zeros down the side of the page.

I am credit card debt-free.

The sad thing about all of that spending is that I have nothing to show for it that I remember buying. Except my iPod. I wanted a pink one when they first came out with the Nano, and, truth be told, that was the reason that I signed up for that first credit card (of NINE) in 2006.

The $17,000 iPod. Not quite worth it.

…that things are about to start busting loose? and it might be bad, but it might be wonderful too, even life-changing? and that now, more than ever, is the time to listen to that still small voice that nudges you toward scary things?

Yeah. Me neither.

You know there will be days when you’re so tired that you can’t take another step,
The night will have no stars and you’ll think you’ve gone as far as you will ever get

But you and me walk on
Cause you can’t go back now
And yeah, yeah, go where you want to go
Be what you want to be,
If you ever turn around, you’ll see me.

I can’t really say why everybody wishes they were somewhere else
But in the end, the only steps that matter are the ones you take all by yourself.

–the weepies, can’t go back now

I hate weeks like this.

Just… do this one thing for me.

Click on over here. Then click play.

Then come back over here and tell me if my best friend didn’t just write a super-fresh song.

I love it!

To thee, oh 124, do I give thanks and praise. Thank you for checking my idle blog. Thank you for hoping, against all odds, that one day? there would be something posted here.

Even though I’m pretty sure that at least 20 of you were spammers or spambots or whatever the kids are using to conquer the internet these days.

So. How’s life? I have missed you. I have missed blogging. I gave up facebook games for lent and decided to start journaling on paper instead, which kind of sapped my write-power. I am happy to report that I am still off the juice, a.k.a. Bejeweled Blitz. Don’t even go there.

Spring is springing all over the place here in New York (not the city), and I see electric green fluffs on the hillsides now during my morning commute, as well as rushing streams and swollen rivers and all of those other springy-type things.

I don’t know about you, but I hate winter. After Christmas, I pretty much can’t see the point in going on. Winter, that is. Winter going on. February and March are the bane of my entire year. They hurt me. They burn me with cold and scare me with ice and weather warnings. They glue me to my computer, checking forecasts, rendering me incapable of deciding whether it’s worth risking my life to drive to work that day (or will the snow miss us again??).

So, basically, I just wanted to pop by to say, giddyap, or giddeup, um, maybe giddy-up? Know what I mean? I’m trying to convey that I am back on that durn horse again.

That so didn’t work out the way I planned.

See you soon.