Thankful -- Grand Junction, CO

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It’s been ages since I’ve written a blog, and I’m struggling with wrapping my mind around the starting point. And the middle point. And the end point. All of the points seem hard and unnatural. Perhaps it’s because I’m sick. 

Yes.

Yes, I shall blame my inability to write on how uncomfortable I feel to be in my body. I shall simply ignore the fact that my best stuff used to arise from situations like this. Situations wherein I needed to write because nothing else worked and writing was all I had left.

My head is fuzzy and my eyes have embers smoldering under the lids and in that unfamiliar optic nerve area. I imagine the embers encountering the tiniest puff of wind and exploding into a glorious blaze, consuming my sclera and vitreous and lens the way wildfires consume the Colorado Mountains during one of our many scorching summers. My nose drips with the same consistency as the cold water of the upstairs bathroom faucet (I anticipate my own rust stain soon, given the astonishing regularity with which I must use the cheap kind of toilet paper to wipe away the slime), and I’m forced to breathe through my mouth due to extreme congestion. My jaw hangs slightly open and my audible inhales and exhales remind me rather painfully of Napoleon Dynamite. Pre awesome dance glory, of course.

I’m glad no one else is around. Rudy is at his mom’s, Dave is on a solo hiking adventure (lucky guy), and Janet is on a drive with a friend.

Hence, the Chipeta home belongs to me this evening. It belongs to me, my nose run, the two overly affectionate (verging on desperate) cats, and my bloated/angry belly.

My belly is often bloated and angry. Perhaps it’s because I’ve been operating as if hot chocolate, candied ginger, and wine can cure all ills. I’m sure this combination cures many ills (such as being too skinny or too serious or too frugal), but it does not cure a nasty cold. Ach. C'est dommage.

My fingers are stiff and my brain is doing an admirable job at refusing to make connections or find the words. The right words. The natural words. My fingers are struggling to find the flow. Like a beginning pianist proudly plunking out the semblance of a tune. Like the characters from Dune hopping about haphazardly to avoid attracting man-eating worms.

I feel like I’m lacing up my shoes to run for the first time in months. I tie the final knot (making sure that it’s loose enough to unravel later on so that I have a “valid” excuse to stop and take a breather). My stomach is churns in trepidation. I fear that I’ve lost something. That I’ll start running and realize my lungs aren’t what they used to be. I’ve developed an injury that will keep me off my feet, or... the most anxiety causing thought... perhaps... perhaps I don’t like it anymore. Perhaps I grew out of it like I grew out of my horse girl jackets and earrings and posters plastering my pink walls. Perhaps writing Aimee is like horse girl Aimee. I needed horses because I couldn’t communicate with people. I gave up my horses when I started college and picked up writing. Writing hasn’t been easy for me, as of late. I know it’s something I need to keep up – a muscle I need to exercise – but other than knowing that I need to write, I haven’t felt much... need. Playwriting has always been a means of dealing with my religious, philosophical, moral dilemmas. My life has been marvelous for the last few months. I have no real dilemmas in which to indulge my angst-addicted personality. I have also become much more efficient at communicating my problems to real people through spoken words – not just to pages that no one will ever read but I still hope will somehow win me a Pulitzer prize for pure genius and perhaps enough money in royalties to purchase all the plane tickets, chocolates, sausage, and cheese my vagabond soul and French taste buds could desire. 

Today is the 19^th of April. I leave for Ireland and George in 7 weeks. Although I’ve been looking forward to this with great anticipation for months, I’m starting to realize all the things that I will miss. I loathe Grand Junction and all its intensely conservative stances. Figuring out ways in which I fit comfortably and honestly in this community has been a nearly insurmountable challenge. 

But I've done it. I found a way to fit. Even here. Even in a town that discourages most of my passions and triggers my PTSD. This is tremendously encouraging to me, because it signifies that if I can make it work here, I can make it work anywhere. This time round, I am leaving Grand Junction with a thankful heart. I am thankful for my year spent with Janet, David, Rudy, and Arlo. 

I've learned more about compassionate, respectful, loving communication from this family than from any experience I've had thus far. It seems silly to say that I'll never be able to repay you for the good you've done for me -- as if what you gave me could somehow translate into a monetary quantity and I could hand over a big, fat check later on in life -- but I will always, always be profoundly grateful for the many ways in which you all have touched my life. 

I am thankful for my time gardening with Judy. Our Fridays gardening and gossiping and my Saturdays digging thorns out of my heels and fingers, cursing my barefoot shoes and flimsy gloves. 

I helped make this.

I am thankful for my time auditing Roger's beginning oils class. I took a few art classes as a kid, but nothing that made me feel remotely competent. Visual art has always been enticing but intimidating. The opportunity to work with this brilliant artistic philosopher has been wonderfully validating and has revealed to me another outlet of expression I have at my disposal. Roger has told me that I am an observer of life, and that is what makes painting from life come so easily to me. I enter the art studio and I breathe a sigh of relief. The cluttered, paint spattered space has become a sanctuary to me. Writing is rewarding, but writing is work. Writing is channeling my thoughts and my emotions onto a blank page in an understandable manner. If it ends up being fun to read on top of being comprehensible, that's a definite perk. 

Writing takes passion. Writing takes a sort of commitment to delve into the recesses of my subconscious, the corners of my brain where I sweep away all the fears that I want to ignore for the foreseeable future, analyze them, question them, share them. 

Writing takes courage. Writing and travel provide me with very efficient ways of asking, "WHY?" It's a way for me to figure things out. 

Painting from life lifts the weight off of my shoulders. I don't need to be interesting. I don't need to be original. I don't need to be funny or insightful or intelligent. I don't need to figure anything out.

I just need to observe. I can sit for hours and observe.

To paint from life, I need to be present and I need to be patient.

First pot.

Second pot

Toucan vase

Third pot (ignore the bust. I did)

Vase cave!

Goose and skull still life

Still life for my sister

Painting (IN PROGRESS) for my family of a photo I took in Cahir

Painting (IN PROGRESS) of arranged photographs.

 I am thankful for my time spent drinking chai and discussing the things worth discussing with Sara. 

You have left (and are leaving) a beautiful mark on my life.

I am thankful for the opportunity I've had (through our magnificent dinner parties) to fully explore the many uses of bacon. 

Caramelized bacon...

Terrine wrapped in bacon...

bacon roses dipped in chocolate...

I gets artsy with my bacon.

Bacon bourbon peanut butter cups.

I am thankful for being able to explore our stunning National Monument yet again. A hike up Liberty Cap = a week of smiling Aimee (and achy quadriceps). 

I am thankful for my time gallivanting about Colorado with friends, 

playing ridiculous card games in a very serious manner, 

 making exploding Japanese Braised Pork Belly,

 playing the piano,

 and getting creative with chocolate.

I am thankful for the time I've spent getting to know my new sister-in-law. You have become so dear to me, Chelsea. Your empathetic, generous presence is one I always miss when it's not around. 

My older brother is a tremendously lucky dude.

I'm thankful that I was able to witness the beginning of your marriage. I'm disappointed that I won't be around to see my baby niece or nephew, but I will demand loads of pictures and stories come October. Consider yourselves warned. I know you'll make an extraordinary team -- so you'll have oodles of time to keep me informed. 

Even though I'm quite insatiable when it comes to pictures and stories.

Best team! Jason will carry Chelsea when he has to...

And Chelsea will carry Jason the rest of the time. She seems significantly better at it, what with those Herculean legs. 

I am thankful for the experience I've had teaching at Yoga West and at Colorado Mesa University. Guiding 10-12 yoga classes per week has really cemented my understanding of Yoga Vinyasa. I still have a lifetime of learning ahead of me, but I am confident that what I do know is valuable enough to share. 

 I am thankful for the time spent with my sisters. I love you both to pieces and I hope you get bitten by the same travel bug one of these days, as I would be thrilled to death if we could adventure together.

I am thankful for my Examined Life philosophy class -- the class wherein I discovered my real Plan A. I am going to travel, write blogs, record podcasts, and post yoga videos from around the world. A good friend is building me a superb website and my roommate is designing my logo. It will all be very official and interactive and hopefully... hopefully...

Hopefully people will enjoy it enough to want to keep me going. 

My new podcasting microphone. I'm very excited about the whole thing.

Unless I haven't made myself clear just yet, I have done my absolute best to not squander my time spent in Grand Junction. 13 months spent in one place will be the anomaly for the foreseeable future, and armed with that knowledge, I have fought to not take my community or relative independence for granted. I hop on my bike every morning and I relish the sweet feeling of independence its two wheels and 24 gears grant me. I come home to my same room with my same blankets, art supplies, and a closet full of options, and I savor the sensation of home. I use my phone to send a text and I feel happy that someone in the same town is receiving that text. I walk to my favorite coffee shop and I smile when the barista has my coffee waiting for me because she already knows what I want.

Well. That inefficiently sums up what I've been doing and my general feelings about leaving. I suppose I could have merely written, "Today is the 19^th of April. I leave for Ireland and George in 7 weeks. Although I’ve been looking forward to this with great anticipation for months, I’m starting to realize all the things that I will miss," and my point would have been made. 

My next few posts will chronicle the development of my website and the planning/packing for my trip. Because...

 I LEAVE FOR IRELAND AND GEORGE IN SEVEN WEEKS!