Stuff

What would you like for your birthday?

Why is this such a hard question for us? With birthdays within five days of each other, Brian and I have been pondering this question individually and jointly for weeks. Mostly for the benefit of our families, who are eager to shower us with their generosity and have been waiting for the email to inform them how to shop. What would we like for our birthdays?

Stuff has never been a huge part of my life. We didn't have a lot of new stuff growing up, and making my own money has mostly led me to spend it with Scrooge-like practically with the biggest sales and most inexpensive solutions to needs and desires. While I never had much new stuff, I always liked stuff, and a simple walk through Target makes it clear that I'm their target market. Purses, scarves, bathing suits, jewelry. Stationary, stickers, journals. Music, dvds, books. Pillows, tableware, vases, mirrors. Candy, pretzels, soda. Sigh. All this stuff to enjoy life more.

Since getting married and getting tons of new stuff, I've been working to build a life and enjoy the life we've built more. It seemed like the perfect start, with shiny new knives and fluffly towels, crisp sheets, an HD TV. This great new stuff to start a new life. But seven months later, what do we want for our birthdays? Please, not stuff.

We stew and ponder the question. What can we use? What do we need? Okay, well then, what do we want? While there are a few things I could think of that might be fun (and many more waiting for me on endcaps at Target), our answer is an anticlimatic...money for our bills? I guess I'll need an eye exam soon? How about a grocery store gift card?

What we want, and what will mean the most, is to live simply. To live on the least possible. And after every apartment cleaning, we purge the unneeded stuff, every time. The longer we're in this place, the less we wish we owned. It feels like a purer form of living, and intentional.

While I will need new sneakers soon, necessitating a trip through the Target shoe aisles (danger), and sometimes it's nice to have something shiny and new, I'm going to ride this trend as long as possible. It's making room for creativity and thought and much refection (of course). Valuing the stuff we have (as I'm certainly not giving up those gorgeous knives). Being excited by having a little extra room in the drawers.

Mom and Dad, you can get us eye exams. :)

Another sunny Friday morning. Praise God! I am getting very used to my Friday mornings in the boss' chair soaking up rays before I'm on the clock. *Leisurely, a sip of coffee* Ahhhh.

(Here I wrote about five different entries saturated in my usual nostalgic tone. I think I'll try again tomorrow morning.)

Choppy thoughts on the coming of summer. Unedited, sorry.

March 4th has brought hope to Chicagoland. We're all already dreaming of a sunny and warm summer, laying out on our crowded faux-beaches and elbowing our way through clusters of yuppies to get a seat at one of the popular patios and drain pitchers of mojitos. In a place that doesn't often seem to notice nature or enjoy it at all, it's surprising to me how many of us have simultaneously cliche and very genuine things to say about the gorgeousness of the sunshine today.

I realize this is all I talk about. That's how important it is, really.

We had such an easy winter. So far, as it's bound to cross us a few more times, but it has been easy--even I admit that. And such an early promise that it might turn around, blossom to spring, is the ultimate of refreshing. And, we all feel owed for last summer's cold and drear. These things have really brought a crescendo of optimism around here. It has also reminded me that even in a world of status and money and business, people still need sunshine, which is free (even if it is accompanied by front row Cubs tickets and followed with a five star meal and $20 martinis afterwards).

Waiting on the train platform this morning reminded me of waiting for my carpool in my middle school days, and how every morning in Tucson is quiet and sometimes cool and almost always bright and sunny and beautiful. Even if it's not, rain is a blessing. Sitting 46 floors up in the heart of the loop, I still wonder (as I did as a freshman in college), what on earth possessed the explorers to settle in wintry swamps which were noted to smell like bad onions and call it Checagou.

I vowed to consume many a margarita, grill whenever possible, and live it the heck UP around here in the summer of 2009. All the cloudy days and sweater-wearing of last summer put a damper on those hopes and dreams, but not this year. I've renewed my resolution. That crowded beach has my name on it. Mix up my pitcher, I'm headed to a patio.