run run runaround

I went for my first run this morning (not first ever in life, first in Vegas). There is a lovely park near our house called The Puebla. It's so close and convenient that it's almost criminal not to spend some time there. It's a desert arroyo—which means a dry desert gully. But that definition doesn't really do it justice. It's a gorgeous little strip of wildlife tucked in the middle of my neighborhood. Lots of trees and desert plants and little critters running all over the place. It was great. So entertaining that I ran two miles straight without stopping...then walked those two miles back home!

If you ever want to go running in the desert here there are two things I can recommend. First go when it's not blazing hot. When I left the house at 6:30 it was a lovely 85 degrees. And second run west. This way the rising sun will cast a long, lean shadow of yourself in front of you. There's no better morning motivation than a taller, skinnier version of yourself pounding the pavement with you!

Now I'm off to do a little yoga and bake some banana-chocolate chip muffins. Happy Saturday!

small, but good

I was taking notes yesterday about things I'd like to blog about (hey, I'm new at this and inherently a bit dorky, so yes, I was taking blog notes!) and I wrote a note to myself about the smile of small things.

I was driving through Las Vegas and I saw someone with a Buffalo Bills license plate holder. And it just made me think that that person gets a little shot of joy every time they see their car with their small way of celebrating a team they love.

The same is true of so many small things in my life...and I do mean literally small. My keychain that holds a little metal e that I bought one spring day in a small shop in Red Lodge, MT while planning Rani's wedding. It's worn around the edges and definitely seen better days. But each time I hold it in my hand it reminds me of the fun we had that year making regular trips to MT together to plan her wedding and of the endearing way my friends call me E. The keychain also holds a a "home sweet home" charm that another great friend, Dawn, gave me as I began considering the move from New York to Las Vegas. Both are little sentimental shots that make me happy every time I grab my keys.

It makes me want to add up and savor all the little things that make me smile. And more than that simply celebrate the fact that there is a smile in the small stuff.

Then, when I logged in this morning I had this link from a friend on facebook. I like the fact that rising, rinsing and washing are right there with addressing the powerful goodness of the day.

The small stuff, the simple stuff is just as important as the big stuff. And think of it this way, I hold that keychain in my hand more often than just about anything else. The fact that it contains a little bit of happiness probably has more impact on my overall happiness than plenty of the big things I put more stock in.

good morning sunshine

I woke up this morning to find not only the expected two dogs and one lovely boyfriend in my bed, but also that one of my two cats had joined our cozy morning cuddle. This might sound like a small thing, and in reality it's no great feat. Except that it is.

I moved my two cats out of my cozy Brooklyn apartment and out of a dozen years of living with just me to a big house that is also home to two dogs. They have been less than enthusiastic about the new environs and while there haven't been any dramatic moments of dogs chasing cats or really any blood shed, their hesitation to roam freely has been an analogy for my own acclimation to this new home.

Seymour and Clementine have claimed a small corner of the house and stayed in that general area rarely branching out unless I pick them up and bring them elsewhere.

Waking up to Clementine purring sweetly beside me I felt more at home than ever here. Now we just need to convince Seymour to shed his crotchety ways and join the fun.

home sweet home

There are so many ways that I think about home. Though I've been away from Wyoming for more than 15 years I still think of the farm where I spent my childhood as *home*. At the same time, every place I've lived since then as felt just as much like home to me. Two college towns: Powell and Missoula then moves farther away for jobs in Boston and Brooklyn.

Now—as of just one short month ago—my home is Las Vegas. And the past thirty days have been filled with thinking and planning and working to make a new place my home. Even though I moved here and into a home I already knew and loved (my boyfriend's) the ways we make ourselves feel *at home* are still so interesting to me.

Is it a question of your things, your rituals, making yourself comfortable by bringing as much sameness as you can from one place to the next? Or is it the real comfort in letting go of the ways things were wherever you were before and embracing the place you are now?