a treasure hunt on a rainy day

Ahhh Saturday! Everybody's favourite day of the week...  As soon as your eyes open in the morning, you are filled up with the joy of endless possibility that comes from the complete freedom of not having to work.  You are free to do as much - or as little - as you please!

At our place, spring Saturdays usually mean the outdoors: hikes, picnics, visiting new places and having new adventures with the pups.  Then again, waking up this morning painted a different picture: it was cold, gloomy and miserable so our day trip had to be postponed and we needed a new plan. (Can I just add here how useless weather apps in Texas actually are?  I mean we've been promised a thunderstorm all week and instead it's been sunny/ then this weekend was meant to be 'partially cloudy' and it's freezing and raining instead! Grrr! Whatever Texas weather apps,whatever!)
After warming up with some coffee, Will and I decided to head over to Nature's Treasures - Austin's largest gem store - in search of some new crystals.  Recently, we've become quite taken with tourmaline: a gemstone with the incredible ability to literally repel negative energy!  W & I have some all around the apartment, in our cars, bags and even pockets most of the time.

Even if you don't believe in the metaphysical properties or energy transfers of crystals, you've got to admit, it's a beautiful stone!  With it's smooth, shiny jet black surface and vertical grains that form wands of either polygonal or triangular shapes - they're unlike any other crystal W or I have seen.

With a new tourmaline each and a spectacular crystal cluster for the coffee table, we headed home to watch movies with the pups and binge on antipasti for the rest of this rainy day.  Here's hoping tomorrow brings that highly anticipated thunderstorm at last!  (Then again, the weather app says 70% chance, so probably not!)

No.12 | five miles to downtown

While I'm on the topic of downtown, it warrants mentioning that the apartment we are leaving is only five miles away from it!  Although we only go down there (on average) about twice a month, being so close has unlimited advantages, but to list a few: 10 min travel time // traffic = 20 mins // we can see the skyline and enjoyed 4th July fireworks display from down the street // its convenient for friends to stay with us when visiting from out of town // it's not a stretch to enjoy a night on the town or one of our fave restaurants ... and so on! 

Goodbye Northwest Hills and this amazing location!  I won't ever take you for granted xx.

things I'll miss about living here | No.2 happy doggies

My doggies are my children so that being said, their security / confidence/ happiness is important to me.  They were ok with highrise living in Atlanta, where they would wait inside all day until we got home from work and take them for a walk, but they really really love having a yard and all the other features that come with this place!

After living here for a year, they're familiar with the streets and the directions in which lay their park, the grocery store, vet and of course, where their little friends live.  On our walks, we always have to stop outside the gate where Banjo lives and then the gate where Sunny lives so they can say hello.  Even though they don't realise such a big change is coming, I feel sad about uprooting their lives and sense of familiarity, placing them into a brand new setting (again) where they will have to relearn where everything is (again).  I don't know if this makes dogs as insecure as it makes children feel, but I worry all the same. They're presently so blissfully happy!

One of my personal favourite features, and one that I will miss most dearly about living here, is how super sweet all the neighbours are towards them; always stopping for a pat, a scratch behind the ears or just a friendly 'hey there Baxter!', 'hello little Dorothy!'  when they see them outside.  It warms my heart.  Over time, all of our neighbours have become okay with the doggies running around our front yards off their leashes chasing balls, birds, squirrels, being silly... just like children... while we stand talking to one another and supervising them... just like parents.

It all makes me apprehensive about moving away.  Will our new neighbours like our doggies?  Will they even care?  Apathy is better than intolerance but I dislike the thought of keeping them on their leashes 100% of the time outside when they are good doggies that can be trusted, simply because our neighbours may not be dog people.  Both Bax and D have become a lot more confidant and trusting of people since we moved here, I'd hate for them to regress....

this week's tip | how to avoid the 'petty purchases' conflict

Whether you're a young couple that's starting out in life like Will and I, or a couple that's on a budget; chances are, one member of the relationship wants pretty, new things more often than the other and feels the need to justify certain purchases from time to time.  In fact, this petty purchases conflict seems to be inevitable in most households no matter the relationship phase!

In our home, I'm usually the culprit or purchaser (surprised? I think not...) and my weakness and compulsion is things that make the house smell good, which are harder to hide than, say... a top (oh honey, I've had this for ages, you never notice! - sound familiar?).  I like to have a candle burning beside me whenever I write, read or have a bath and I light one at least once a week inside our wardrobe to keep our clothes smelling fresh.  Basically, Will knows the moment he steps a foot through the front door whenever I've spent money on fragranced candles, satchels or wax for the burners (especially if I change the scent!) and this is followed by a nice, lengthy conversation that goes a little like: "LENA!! Do we really need this right now? This is a rental for heaven's sake.  We're buying a house soon, you need to stop these petty purchases!"   :)

**My usual justifications include 'it's still cheaper than if I was a smoker,' 'studies have shown that clean smelling air is cleaner, period' and 'the place is old and smells bad without it.' **  - NB: I do not condone arguing!  Just saying.

I have found that his negative reaction is heightened when the house smells 'girly,' 'fuity,' or 'cakey.'  I also discovered, when I purchased a masculine-scented reed diffuser for his bathroom, that he didn't say a word about it!  Being a loving, caring wife, I decided to see if I could make him happier by switching out my favourite home scents for spicier, woodier, more masculine ones and, wouldn't you know it, I had positive results!  He definitely stopped complaining about me 'wasting money on things that smell like sh-' well bad!  And now he only grumbles when he notices a new (or different) candle standing on the coffee table or in my office - not the smell!

Now I've come to believe that you can avoid the petty purchases conflict (or decrease it at least!) by finding a balance between what you both like!  I'm lucky in the home scents department because there are so many fragrances available these days to please both male and female alike, but I believe with a little thought and experimentation, you can apply this to just about anything!  Maybe think about how the purchase is a good thing (does it increase your confidence etc) and convey that to your other half who may not understand.  Good luck!  I'd love to hear how it works out!  And I'd love to know what are some of your 'petty purchases?'      

nails without cocktails... a horrible experience

I didn't go to my usual nail salon today (Caesars Palace at the Domain).  A salon where either Van or Gina do my nails and we talk about life... where everyone else knows my name and 'nail shape' preference... a salon that's elaborately decorated and immaculately clean... a sanctuary where every customer is greeted with a complimentary cocktail or beverage of their choice... and then leaves feeling refreshed... the salon after which I named my nails and cocktails segment.

Instead I decided to try another salon closer to home, where I had one of the most frustrating, embarrassing, just awful experiences I've had in a while!  An experience from which I practically ran home and made myself a cocktail just to get over it!

I'm never ever going back - no matter how close, convenient and blah blah it is!  And if I'm ever tempted by those reasons again, I swear to reread this post to snap myself out of it.  I won't be mean and go into excruciating details but I will say that I honestly wonder how a place where no one speaks English can stay open!

I don't mean to sound like a racist, but come on!  You're living in America!  So even if you could somehow find a way to stay within your own community and never socialize with English speaking people: you work at a nail salon where the business is in CUSTOMER SERVICE!

Yes, learning another language is hard.  Yes, it was easier for me because I was a child when my family moved to Australia but I watched my parents struggle and I know it's not easy!  I'm not judging because I'm saying it's easy: my problem is with the sheer unwillingness to try and the utter rudeness of sitting on either side of me (the customer and reason behind their business's survival) and speaking a foreign language!  I don't care what they're talking about... the whole time my face burns because I think it's me!  Especially when they laugh!

Truthfully, I don't know how these places stay open.  I for one, am never going back and can't imagine who's ok with 30 - 45 mins of manicure time like that!  Manicures (to me) are about girl talk, unwinding, reflecting on and sharing news about your fortnight... Not sitting tense and worried the whole time about the nail techs talking shit!

Anyway, here are some pics of my nails and the Moscow Mule I made myself back at home:

Colour: Essie Saturday night fever

long distance birthdays

#145073671 / gettyimages.com

Emma turns 30 today.  A few days ago it was my older brother who turned 30 and his weekend-long celebrations kicked off last night.  As if that wasn't enough for me to miss out on: in just a few short weeks, my best friend from high school (Sandra) is getting married to the man of her dreams - a man who must be unlike any other to be able to snare a girl as picky and free spirited as her.  A man I've never met.

I'm missing it all.

I feel strangely hollow sitting here, in my usual spot before the computer: coffee at hand and dogs at my feet.  The sun is spilling gloriously into the living room, which smells of fresh apples (thanks to my new Scensy Warmer!) and wildlife is at its most active.  All these things usually bring me joy, but aren't having that affect this morning.  For the first time in a long time, I'm homesick.

I sent presents to Emma and my bro weeks ago and because they arrived on time, I've already had the pleasure of receiving photographs of them been worn or enjoyed.  I've spoken to Emma, bro and Sandra recently and exchanged assurances of being thought of and missed as usual, but today it doesn't seem like enough.  Today, like a big baby, I just want my big brother!  To laugh and joke with in the sense of humour that we alone out of the entire world share.  To just zone out on the couch with a movie and annoy him by talking way too much through it: something I haven't enjoyed since 2011!  Today I want to touch my best friend Emma and give her the customary, celebratory scalp massage that became tradition all those years ago.  And god damn it I want to have a cocktail with Sandra and watch her eyes light up as she talks of her groom, the extravagant one-of-a-kind wedding that they're planning at Brisbane's hottest club and that jaw-dropping gown that's guaranteed to floor her guests.

Her guests.  One of which I will not be.  This shatters me today.

I don't know why I feel this way today, amidst the most social fortnight I've had since moving to Austin, I find myself suddenly yearning for home.  Australia home - not Atlanta home.  It's bloody hilarious that now I think Austin is great and it's getting easier for me to not miss Atlanta anymore I find myself wanting to go home to Australia more than I have in YEARS!

I'm feeling fed up with 'catching up' and photos of cakes, drinks, laughs!  I want to be the one eating the cake, making the drinks, providing the laughs (well for my bro anyway, since no one else gets me).  On occasions like weddings and 30th birthdays, I want to be there in the midst of it all - not toasting to their health from a distance.

My heart hurts today.

It makes no difference that the sun is shining after almost a week of rain, or how heavenly the room smells.  Even if a local whitetailed stag (that I'm usually obsessed with) walked straight into my living room right now.  None of it matters today.  It doesn't change the fact that there's an ocean between me and all I care about.

those days are gone

It's with a heavy heart that I accept a sad truth this week: I'll never be able to wear my super hot, super short denim shorts that defined my late teens and early 20s again.  Those days are gone.  Even if I manage to somehow shrink my hips enough to squeeze these shorts over them once more, there's that niggling realization that I'm on the wrong side of 20 so they may no longer be an appropriate dress choice.  And I'm really bummed about that.

I'm bummed because I'm not sure I'm ready to accept my age or what never fitting these shorts again means. I don't think I'm ready to give up on the chance to relive those super fun, super wild, out-of-control, impulsive years that I wore them, when nothing made sense and everything was a spontaneous ride with no pre-planned destination.  The years I spent in these shorts were those of growth: that musically took me from angry rock to upbeat electronics and then mellow indie and reflective ballads; and emotionally from throwing my heart at the first attractive guy that liked me to locking that same heart away in a chest bound by chains so tight, Houdini himself would have struggled to open it.

I wore these shorts as I transitioned from wine spritzers to beer, to real wine and then, when I could finally afford to thanks to a real job, cocktails.  Through the years of camping and bonfires, when my friends and I would laugh at retold stories or get lost in deep meditation as one of them strummed a guitar.  The years of blissful sunny days, cruising with the windows down and hair billowing out, screaming Pussycat Dolls songs the top of our lungs.  The carefree summers when days were spent sun-baking and nights were danced away because we had nowhere to be in the morning.  The years I wore these shorts were the years of karaoke sing-offs, public displays of affection, nudie runs, pranks and complete and unabashed freedom ... Though at times I cried in these tiny shorts, I always took comfort in knowing that it was my decisions that caused those tears to flow and that I alone would fix the issues.  Or perhaps with the help of my friends who were just as reckless and whose shorts were just as short.

Those years really are gone.  That part of my life ended.  I smile sadly to myself now here in this office in a still foreign city, one dog asleep on my lap - the other on the floor beside me, a pile of bills I paid yesterday that I need to stamp and file and a clock creeping onward to lunchtime when I will need make a meal for Will and finish the final load of washing before the weekend.  It seems strange to think that those tumultuous years lead to this place of stability and peace.  And that I spent my morning reliving them because of a ritual as mundane as packing away my winter clothes and replacing them with summer ones.

This ritual is the usual cause of my donation piles, when I stumble across those 'what was I thinking?' fashion choices from the previous season that will never be cool again and ruthlessly cull them from my wardrobe. When I came across these tiny little shorts (that have long since been nothing more than a weight motivating tool) they that acted like a portkey (Harry Potter reference) to my past and had me sitting on the floor in my wardrobe watching a reel of memories that included places, faces and many other 'what was I thinking' scenarios that I wish I could cull from my life.  The biggest is my own self-perception.  What was I thinking calling myself fat or being self-conscious about anything?  No matter what bodily issues I convinced myself of having back then, these days I'm a mess in comparison.  My stomach is no longer THAT toned and I for sure don't look THAT great in a bikini.  Why couldn't I see how amazing my legs were until these shorts no longer fit?  I wasted time feeling bad while wearing these tiny shorts!  Shorts I would give anything to simply zip up again!

Now, here in this office and place of life, I should know better than to waste more time feeling bad about shorts not fitting.  My waist may be 28 inches instead of 25 but someday that same waist might be 30 inches and I'll feel silly in retrospect again at the moments I'm wasting here.  The days of fitting these shorts may be over but my life doesn't have to be.  I'm not quite finished with those reckless, impulsive days yet.  Nor am I done music festivals, hangovers or falling asleep on the cool sand by the seashore - even if my new shorts have to be a little longer. 

This week's tip | finding hot tea in America

Americans don’t drink hot tea.  Iced tea is available EVERYWHERE – even McDonalds sells it like a soft drink – but ask for hot tea and you’ll be greeted with a puzzled expression or at best; a ‘Lipton’ tea (which in my opinion is horrible)!

I spent my first year in America bitching about all of this but then realized  that hot, boiled water was available almost everywhere that coffee is percolated so no when I travel, I carry my own tea bags!

After extensive market research (and many disappointments) I can now confidently recommend these 3 types of hot black tea:

Out of these three, the Bigalow is the cheapest and most readily found at any grocery store – but any of these taste amazing and are preferable to (piss water) Lipton!

Sleep doesn't come

I haven't slept very well lately. Night after night I keep tossing and turning, unable to get comfortable under the bed sheets or switch off my brain.  I'm not thinking of anything in particular, I'm just restless.  To be completely honest, I think that for the first time in years... I'm feeling frightened.  I don't know where this could have come from: I thought it had do to with Will's absence but now that he's home and I'm still scared, I really can't explain.

He goes to sleep before me while I remain on the couch, watching something on TV or reading, with as many lights on as possible, in an effort to preoccupy my mind and keep scary thoughts at bay in the fringes of darkness.  When my eyes start to close and my neck droops, I admit defeat and prepare for bedtime.  I stand and look all around me, surveying the perimeter of the room - front door locked? Check.  Windows shut? Check. Then I make my way down the hall and peer into the office: back door locked? Check.  I don't dare go up to any of them - I prefer to stay safe and close to the inside of the house and to Will, just in case.  Even as I process this thought, I am aware of its frivolity - since I have a very protective poodle at my ankles who would surely not be this relaxed or leading the way drowsily to sleep before me if something in the slightest was amiss.

What am I afraid of?  I wonder as I switch off the hallway light and jet for the bedroom as quick as I can, as if the darkness will somehow scold me if it grazes me in the slightest.  What imaginary creatures are waiting to envelop me in its cover?  I question as I make my way for the bathroom, turn on the light and follow the nightly ritual of prepping for bed.  I hear Will, or maybe one of the dogs, stifle a snore. Why am I the only one in this house that's worried?

Once my teeth are brushed, my skin is clean and moisturized, I take my time putting on my pj's, since after this - the light gets turned off. My heart starts to pound like mad in my chest as I extend my hand to the switch on the bathroom wall.  I hold my breath, preparing to run for the bed and straight into Will's arms.  I flick it but it doesn't go dark!  To my relief, the lamp on my nightstand still glows with a warm yellow light; I am safe.

I inhale deeply and make my way to my side of the bed; Dorothy is snug in her pen, twitching peacefully in her dream state and Baxter is already at the foot of the bed, flat on his back with legs spread in the air, not bothered my anything at all.  I smile as I look upon this scene of tranquility and my courage rises when my gaze stops on Will's face: mouth open, eyelids quivering.

I lay down and pull the blanket around me, reach for the lamp but stop short.  I'm wide awake again, I'll just leave it on until I feel sleepy I think and reach for my phone instead.  I play a few games until once more my eyelids feel heavy.  I reach for the lamp once more and this time I do switch it off but I'm electrocuted with fear as the monesters immediately descend on me!  They quickly creep out of the ceiling, down the walls, out from under the bed, in through the windows... all towards me.  I gasp and turn the lamp back on, damning myself over and over for even allowing these thoughts this far.

I decide to try to sleep with the lamp on but it's no good.  As soon as my eyes close - the monsters are back.  I nudge Will, tell him I'm scared.  He grumbles about the light hurting his eyes and tells me to turn it off, I repeat that I'm scared and he opens his eyes beneath furrowed eyebrows, extends his arms and tells me to come here.  We snuggle for a minute and I begin to relax.  I am safe.  We are all safe.  Will's here.  Baxter hasn't budged.  All is well in my world.  I try to force pleasant thoughts into my head and hope they will carry on into a dream - then Will reaches past me and turns off the light.  My eyes jump open and the monsters are back - creeping, creeping.

I gently unwrap myself from his arms, trying not to wake him and run for the hallway where the light is thrown instantly on.   I turn Dawson's Creek on Netflix and lay down on the couch, wrapping myself in the fleece blanket instead.  Baxter comes trudging reluctantly down the hall then with much annoyance and a deep, loud sigh leaps onto the couch beside me; no doubt hoping this is the end of my shifting so he can settle for the night and sleep through the rest of the night unbothered.  He's been hoping this for the past three nights.

The lonely chrysanthemum

I missed the seasonal decorating again this year.  Previously my excuse was always that we lived in buildings that didn’t allow exterior decorating: no welcome mats, no wreaths on doors and definitely no fairy lights strewn over the balcony rails.  (Tight ass, right!?)

This year, since we moved almost at the beginning of autumn to a place with a front porch, balcony and a fireplace, I thought I could finally go all out with my favourite time of year and decorate to my hearts’ desire!  I was going to have pumpkins, a wreath, lanterns and absolutely the most incredible welcome mat ever!

…then I was going to move the festivity inside to commence my long awaited, very own tradition of seasonal mantel coordinating…

But of course, time has slipped away from me and I’ve barely unpacked our last box which means the only decorations we ended up having are a burnt orange chrysanthemum and very basic wreath, which I purchased on one of our mad dashes to Lowes for other essentials. 

These two will keep each other company for three weeks, until the day after Thanksgiving when the Christmas season officially begins.  Then I'll be going all out!