But the transition has been rough for Toad.

This little dog has been through more than her fair share of change in the last few years. We just passed the 2-year anniversary of her amputation, which is right around the time she came to live with me. In less than two years, she’s been through three moves, lost her dog companion when Becca got married and took Gabe with her, grew out all of her fur just to have it shaved off, and has tripped and scraped her nose more times than I can count. Through it all, she just keeps hopping along.

But my new next-door neighbor (with whom I share a wall) recently told me that when I’m not home, Toad barks. This is surprising to me, since Toad never barks when I’m around – she’s a silent, sleepy mutt who, for hours at a time, barely makes her presence known. But it appears that she has an alter ego, and as soon as I’m out the door, starts barking – and she doesn’t stop.

Last night I came home from guitar class, and had to park on the street a few houses down. As I walked toward my front door, I started to hear it – a desperate, throaty cry. “That’s not Toad,” I told myself. It couldn’t be her. But as I got closer, I knew it: my dog was barking incessantly, to the point of losing her voice, and she’d been doing this for the past 2 hours straight.

After an apology text to my neighbor, I sunk onto my bed feeling exasperated. Doesn’t this dog know that I take good care of her? Doesn’t she know that I always feed her, always make sure she has what she needs when she needs it? Doesn’t she trust that I’m never going to leave her alone, that I’m always going to come back for her?

She doesn’t believe it, so she cries. And I am no different.

How often do I buy into the lie that I’m all alone and that no one is going to take care of me? How often do I overlook the ways I have been provided for? How often do I draw conclusions based only on what I can see? How often do I assume the worst?

I’ve lived alone before, but something about being the only signature on the deed to this house has exposed my “aloneness” in a new way. Have you ever tried to hang a picture on a wall without someone standing back, telling you whether to move it higher or lower? Or deciding to change the placement of the rugs after the furniture has been set without someone else to lift the corner of the sofa? Not to mention being the only person earning money for the bank account to pay for it all. If I think about it for too long, I start to feel a lot like my little dog: frantic and afraid.

But here’s the good news: when you’re alone and you know it, you’re so much more aware of the ways in which you’re taken care of.

If I didn’t feel the full weight of my aloneness, would I feel the value of a Home Depot gift card from Luke and Maggie? Would I understand the thoughtfulness of flowers from Allie on my doorstep? Would I fully appreciate Steve coming over to drill things into the walls? Would I know the significance of Graham taking his entire Sunday afternoon to help me move a washer/dryer? Would I acknowledge the Denver map from Hitoshi, the rosemary plant from Isreal, or the bottle of wine from Erica as so meaningful? Would I read all of the well-wishing words with as much gratitude? Would I wake up each morning well aware that I’m living in a home that I didn’t even know to ask for or expect?

In the morning, I’m leaving for a 36-hour work trip, and I have an Anna-Hannah-Becca tag-team to make sure that Toad is never left home alone to bark. I don’t know what I’m going to do about this problem long-term. But despite the aloneness I am so tempted to feel, this little stressor of a dog is being provided for and taken care of – and so am I.

Tonight, I came home to ants in the kitchen. Everywhere. This is bad, because REMEMBER THE LAST TIME I HAD ANTS?

In other gross news, I cracked open a pistachio today and found two things: a rotted nut and a WORM.

It’s been 16 years since I’ve thrown up, but today almost broke me.

Back in February, I was not looking to buy a home. It was not a thought in my mind. You know me – I’m a rolling stone, a vagabond gypsy, a tumbleweed of a girl – and the thought of “settling down” makes me break out in hives. Of all of the feelings, trapped is the worst one I can think of.

But there’s a difference between being trapped and making a decision. When you go to a restaurant, you can’t keep staring at the menu forever just to “keep your options open.” That would be dumb, because LAY OFF ME I’M STARVING. There is goodness to be enjoyed and life to be lived, and sometimes you just have to choose.

Two months ago, Greta was here for a visit and we walked past an open house. I can’t resist an open house, because apart from becoming a lawyer, it’s my only legal-slash-socially acceptable chance to be nosy. I took two steps into the house before I realized I was in love.

Built in 1900, the house is 11 feet wide and 55 feet long, four rooms stacked one right after the other: living room, dining room, bedroom, kitchen. It has hardwood floors, 9 ft. ceilings, 3 skylights, a brick wall, and the tiniest backyard perfect for a 3-legged dog. Two minutes from downtown, the Jefferson Park neighborhood has a history of violence and crime, but it’s in the process of development and change. The area is still gritty, but right now is an exciting time to buy here (even though you know I’m still using the Club on my steering wheel).

It all happened pretty quickly: I got a realtor and a lender, sent off a bunch of paperwork, had an inspection and an appraisal, wrote some checks, and bam, signed on the dotted line. Call me crazy, but I didn’t look at a single other house; I saw this one, loved it, and bought it.

The entire experience has been surreal, and I have a lot of emotions swirling around in regards to buying a house as a single woman, the financial commitment, the fact that this house is in Denver, and the dead mouse decomposing on the cellar floor. I also have emotions about the skylight right above my bed, forcing me to wake up with the sun (I welcome your solutions to this problem).

I’m sure that I’ll write about these things in the future, but for now, I just wanted you to know where I am. Home.

It’s impossible to count how many hours I spent playing with this dollhouse. It’s one of the main icons of my childhood.

But as the years went on, I became less and less interested in make believe. As is the case with many little girls, my focus turned first to horses, and then to boys – and before I knew it, I was off to college. I always hoped that one day, I would give the dollhouse to my own kids – but until then it sat untouched, usually under a sheet in one basement or another.

In the 13 years since I graduated high school, I’ve moved 18 times. This Saturday, I will move a 19th – this time to a place with very limited storage. This has made me reevaluate just about everything I own, and it’s led to the realization that it doesn’t make sense for me to hold onto the dollhouse. I can’t keep moving it from place to place and finding a spot to keep it, only to let it gather dust – so tonight, I decided to give it to some dear friends who have daughters.

Despite my hope to give it to children of my own one day, it was time to let it go – because it’s okay if there’s a gap between the life you thought you’d be living and the life that you actually have.

And when you find the courage to release your grip on the thing you thought was so important, you might just find that the bitter is overpowered by the sweet.

Fine, that was dramatic.

They say the only constant is change – and I hate them for it – but it’s proven true in my life time and time again. In the past few weeks, I’ve experienced changes at work, changes in relationships, changes in my bank account, changes to my reality. I’m about to be a bridesmaid for the 13th time, our family changing yet again – this time the addition of another brother-in-law. I’m in the process of purging my closet and household items, preparing for yet another move. I’m behind on all forms of personal communication, and the thought of catching up is exhausting. I just got a haircut that surprises me every time I look in the mirror (not in a good way). All the while, I’m working my tail-end off at work, coming home so mentally drained that all I want to do is turn off my phone and lean my forehead to the doorframe.

Life is going fast, and I can’t keep up. I’m trying to do everything well, which leaves me doing nothing well – and man, I love to hit the mark.

All this to say, thank you for being here, no matter how much or how little I have to offer. Right now, it feels like very little. But the opportunity to share a little sliver of my life and have it received for whatever it is (currently Crazy-Town) helps me breathe just a little bit easier.

Hanging in there, cat on a tree branch,
Annie

Not cool, April 9th. NOT COOL.

After several days of near-70 degree weather, I was starting to believe that spring was here to stay – but leave it up to April, the hormonal teenage girl of Colorado’s calendar year, to slam the proverbial door on that idea. She’s all “I HATE YOU” and then storms off to her room to hang out on Instagram, all the other months looking on befuddled.

And that’s the way it goes – two steps forward and one hissy-fit back.

Since my 30th birthday last summer, I’ve been making a conscious effort toward health and wholeness. With the realization that no one is going to fix me, I’ve taken personal responsibility seriously, owning up to some shortcomings, working on my (many) faults, and making the hard-fought choice to live and believe differently. For a while there, it was exciting – so much growth, so much change, hopeful rays of sunshine after what had felt like years of winter.

But then one day it snows – and it’s easy to forget how the warmth had felt.

Backsliding into the bleak is discouraging – dis-courage being the opposite of courage. It makes determination and backbone and fortitude and pluck seem futile. If you can’t feel the sun on your face, do you know it’s even there? If a tree falls in the forest, who wants to rub my shoulders?

But the cold can’t last forever. Time moves forward, never backward, and we’re headed for sunny days. Because no matter what April would have you believe, hormonal teenage girls always grow up.

At least, I’m trying.

Can I be honest? I’m glad to have March behind me. March held some wonderful things, but it was a crazy month in which it felt like every minute was booked with something: work, travel, work travel, meetings, volunteering, visitors, get-togethers, occasions, paperwork, budgeting, blowing the budget, and too few workouts. I’m spent. And I’m looking forward to a small spell of relative quiet before jetting out of town again – when little sister Sarah gets married in Kansas City in less than 3 weeks.

In the spirit of a quick catch-up:

What I’ve been [reading]: East of Eden. All of my hours on airplanes in March allowed me a bit of time to read, and I’m so glad that I’ve chosen to spend my time with Steinbeck. “Do you take pride in your hurt? Does it make you seem large and tragic? …Well, think about it. Maybe you’re playing a part on a great stage with only yourself as audience.”

What I’ve been [watching]: Homeland. It’s addictive and I’m obsessed – but fair warning, it’s graphic (in more ways than one), so if you’re sensitive to language, violence, and nudity, maybe just steer clear.

What I’ve been [loving]: humming and strumming. I’m in a group guitar class at a local music school, just for fun, and it’s my favorite thing I do all week.

What I’ve been [wishing for]: a solid week of silence. That probably won’t happen for a while – but I can still wish for it because I’m an American and I deserve whatever I want.

What I’ve been [looking forward to]: Sarah’s wedding this month, a trip to the Florida Gulf coast with some besties for Memorial Day weekend, using my new backpacking sleeping bag this summer (which, between gift cards, coupons, and my REI dividend, I got for over 50% off).

What I’ve been [listening to]: this new song by David Ramirez. He’s giving it away for free in advance of his new EP “The Rooster,” which is out in early May. If you don’t know about his music, you need to.

And now if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to make this week productive, which ultimately is going to make it peaceful.

But each person I’ve been around has been 100% worth it, and none more so than the 5 guys we had staying at our house for 3 nights this week. My dear friend Mark Isakson plays guitar(s) with singer/songwriter Kris Orlowski, and the band was in Colorado for a few shows. We piled them in every corner of our house, had a couple of late (way fun) nights, and on Monday, saw them open for the Last Bison.

The Last Bison are completely mesmerizing. Billed as “mountain-top chamber music,” these kids create an organized sonic pandemonium, all while dressed like Little House on the Prairie (girls in floor-length calico gowns, guys in brocade vests). They are insane and entertaining and completely worth experiencing.

And Kris’s songs – oh my word. As we left the show, Hannah said, “No one would not like that music.” And it’s true – his voice is gorgeous, his melodies surprising, and the musicianship top notch. In the spirit of Hannah’s comment, I dare you to not like his songs.

The guys are touring with the Last Bison for a few weeks, and if they’re coming through your city, you must go. You MUST. Tell them I sent you and get a free hug*.

March 21 (tonight!) :: Treefort Music Fest – Boise, ID
March 22 :: College of Idaho – Caldwell, ID
March 24, 2013 :: Media Club – Vancouver, BC
March 26 :: Doug Fir – Portland, OR
March 29 :: Rickshaw – San Francisco, CA
March 30 :: The Mint – Los Angeles, CA
April 2 :: The Loft – San Diego, CA

*Not a promise, but… well, no, I bet I could promise it.

If you’re like me, you’ve relied on Google Reader to aggregate all of the blogs you follow into one long list. With the recent (horrible) news that Google Reader is going away, I’m switching over to Bloglovin. Maybe you’ll want to do the same.

If you have no idea what I’m talking about, forget you ever read this.