the dusting

Thanks this week to Sarah, for chocolate.

It snowed here. Just the tiniest bit. I'm jealous of my mother up in Boston because I love snow storms, the big ones, they turn regular cities full of regular people into cities filled with hyper children. I think about dad in the drafty house in Vermont, alone during the week when my mother's at work. I picture him down in the kitchen, making his tea and squinting out the window as fat white flakes swallow the road. He might consider the view for a few moments, VPR classical on the radio, before slumping back up the stairs to his office, hoisting up his pants with one hand so he doesn't step on the cuffs, the tea cup rattling in the saucer. He'll be stuck for a few days.

Here in Asheville we only got a little, a dusting we'd call it back home, but down south it was enough to let the kids out of school early, enough to make the bread vanish off of the shelves.

My photographer friend wanted to shoot bikes in the snow, and the great jaws of Asheville-Buncombe Technical Community College Chem 132 Organic and Biochemistry Laboratory had just released me with a few hours to spare. We went over to Richmond Hill and rode through a forest that looked just like a backdrop for the Royal Ballet.

Derek DiLuzio Photography

That was a cold and slippery and magnificent break from the routine.

The routine that is school (still), me and grinning Billy and the rest of the class memorizing tables of hydronium ion concentrations and streaking E.coli across petri dishes. I have a morose and chaotically unorganized professor, one who likes to talk about famous molecular biologists in history having sex with each other. "Doing it," he calls it. He'll pull up an illustration of a cloaked man peering into a microscope and say, "Look at that guy. He just can't wait to get to a dinner party with some other scientists and then they're all going to do it." Then he'll pause for a moment, finding enormous enjoyment in the idea, if enjoyment is really the right word, while the whole class sits in silence and looks at him, expectantly.

That professor has been late to every class except one, when he didn't show up at all. A terrible car accident on I-26 caused a horrific back up that he was stuck in it, him and the rest of the school. Almost nobody made it to class that day, including me, although I had a different reason. I was shuttling around my uncle who lives in Caracas and plays Oboe in the Venezuelan National Orchestra. My uncle was in town because he's on a US tour with the Mexican National Orchestra (he's moonlighting) and one day after a particularly frustrating performance, he pulled off his bow tie with such force that it ripped in half, so I had to take him to buy another. A white bow tie.

I wasn't caught in the traffic jam but I did see it from an overpass; a long snake of cars, unmoving, and a little squad of policemen zipping around shaking flags at them, even though they had no where to go. A friend of mine said he witnessed the accident. He said a flatbed truck did a couple of flips and then the driver flew out of the window and his guts 'sort of flopped out' onto the road.

That's the thing, that shit can happen. And we just plod along as if it can't. But if I think about that too much then I'll be up all night with my stomach clenched in on itself like a prune. That actually happened to me the other night. I kept watching those little ASMR videos of a girl melting soap and sorting legos, but they didn't do the trick. I couldn't fall asleep, nor could I get my stomach to release, so when morning finally came I just sat up, the way vampires sit straight up in their coffins. Time to start another day even though I never ended the last one.

I decided not to apply to nursing school this year, even though I'm finally wrapping up the prerequisites. Roots has offered me a few more assignments and I'm going to try and write full time. I will apply to the program in a few years, but David assured me that for now, we will have enough money to keep food on the table and a house to put the table in. It still feels like a risk. "I'm rolling the dice!" I crooned, on the day the application was due and I had not done it. He responded, "You're not really rolling anything."

Which leads me to our next decision, an obvious one, to get married this summer and not the next. Two weeks ago David and I sat on the porch, I made mimosas, and we had this long and very adult conversation about not rushing things, and using the next year and half to Celebrate and Self Reflect, and we felt very smug and satisfied with how mature we were. Until the next day when we both realized we wanted to get married and we wanted to have a party as soon as possible and to hell with the rest.

There was an opening for one weekend at a little Vermont inn and we snatched it up. So now while grinning Billy is dutifully jotting down the Seven Strong Acids and flashing me his brilliant metal smile every few minutes, I'm scribbling little notes like Steak or Chicken? and striking up deals with God in my head, you know the type, Hey, if you can just keep everyone alive and safe, forever, but especially until after my wedding, I promise I'll turn into that type of person who traps spiders in cups and brings them outside. I feel like it should mean more from me, being an atheist. I don't pray often, mostly airplanes and family events, so when I do it should count.

Flowers- Colleen? I write in the margin of my notebook. Cake- no matter. Boxed? And then I pause, and scribble down: Call mom. Remind her to wear seatbelt. At least, when a city is buried in snow, nobody is on the roads. Still- and I'm thinking about the eviscerated man and how he backed up traffic for miles- still, it's worth a call.

Come along. Follow us on Instagram @melinadream

sapphire

One winter morning a few years back, I was walking with the dog on the foggy shores of the Puget Sound. We were alone and I was wearing a teal raincoat and drinking Cafe Fiore espresso. The dog was running like mad on the empty beach, barreling towards the sea gulls and crows perched on driftwood, sending them into the air in a burst of wings and noise.

I stopped when I found a piece of blue sea glass lying on the cold sand, just beyond the waves' reach. I stooped to pick it up and then studied it, rubbing it between my thumb and forefinger like a worry stone. It occurred to me, for some reason, that blue glass could make one lucky in love. The idea just landed in my head like a bird.

If blue glass brings good luck in love, what then will a blue gemstone bring? 

You can't know exactly until you're in it. So when I saw the dog bounding towards me on a bright, cobalt day in the Blue Ridge Mountains with a sapphire ring tied to her collar, I studied it the way I did the sea glass that morning on the beach. I held it up against the sun.  

 And then I said Yes. Yes, let's find out. 

blue fog

taking your cheerful suggestions: instagram @melinadream

You all were enormously helpful this past week with your suggestions on how to cheer up the dismal winter days. I know that some of you live up North or up high and you're treated to powder snow and boiled blue skies- not so much here. In the Blue Ridge, we've been immersed in fog and rain for five days straight; I swear I was almost hit by a runaway train. 

I wrote this article about where to go to keep your spirits up in Asheville. 

I've said this before, but after a decade in Seattle, I'm conditioned to think that the rain will be with us, stubborn at the doorstep, until late spring. But it doesn't work like that here: today the sun appeared, it was a bright, crisp 30 degrees, and I stood outside between biology lab and chemistry and I blinked. After school was out for the day, I put on my running shoes and did a loping, have hearted trot up to town, then treated my bewildered muscles to a hot bath, dark beer and a book. (Thank you Alice, perfect medicine.)

Lori, I found myself a vial of liquid Vitamin D, Mariel and Carolyn I keep my copy of Yes Please! next to my bed, stacked on top of Bossy Pants and Mindy Kaling's book.  Marie and Carolina I took your advice and started planning my March trip to Seattle, when the cherry blossoms will be in bloom and I can visit the islands and eat pho on Ballard Ave. 

Also, and you're going to want to pay attention to this, David and I came up with an invention. It's called Bed Cape. It's a big cape, multilayered, made of fleecy blankets that you wear around the house. When you want to nap, simply flop over- you're in bed! Dave added an attachable pillow like they have on life preservers to keep your head floating. He calls it the Patented Pillow Flop technology.

Brilliant. 

And now, the winner of this week's sunshine Mystery Prize!

 Erin Macauley said...

Reading these comments! No joke...we readers are some sunshine folks. I love it.
This year it's taking my boyfriend's ole lady beagle (14 this month) for a walk every day at lunch. LORD was it a nasty day today...but I found a break in the rain to run home and walk her the quarter mile? Half mile? that her hips will let her, and the grin on her face became my own.

January 12, 2015 at 5:46 PM

 

Congrats Erin! Hometeam demands that I walk her nightly - the nerve - but thank goodness, otherwise my evenings might be crushed under the meaninglessness of my favorite activity: picking up the house while The Office plays in the background, and I wish I were kidding. Erin, email thewildercoast@gmail.com and we'll get you all set up.

Thanks for the hints everyone, I'll see you soon. I've got some partnerships in the works, very excited for what's to come. 

hatred of sound

2015 so far. 

Thanks this week to Stormin' Norman. For everything.

School started today but it wasn't so bad. It's my third semester at Asheville Buncombe Technical Community College, so, you know, I'm a big kid on campus now. This morning I sat down next to Billy, my old friend from Anatomy & Physiology. "The parking situation is out of control right now," he whispered to me. "I had to park in a hole."

I thought about Billy and his wide grin, metallic with braces, emerging from a hole in the earth like a gopher, shaking dirt off of himself as he tromped to Organic Chemistry, and I began to feel better about the semester.

There is a man out in the country who is fixing my back. He twists me, cracks me, hooks me to electrodes and covers me with blankets of ice. Every day I make the long drive out to his office, and sometimes while driving I listen to one of the many Christian radio stations they have down here. Just to see what they're up to. I also wonder if the chiropractor is Christian, and whenever I'm at his office I look for clues. I know it doesn't matter. But being non-religious person in a such a deeply religion area, I'm always curious.

Yesterday David and I hiked to the top of Bear Wallow mountain in Gerton. I interviewed the author of a local trail guide for an article the other day, and this was the hike he recommended. The summit was bald and bleak, in a pretty way. I felt sort of sad at the top. Maybe because it's January, and as we decided one year ago: January is January, wherever you are. Maybe it's because I'm being driven insane by sounds. I'd write more about that, but I have to admit that I don't know how. It would come off as too strange. Maybe one day.

I've written three articles so far for my new job. An interview with an adventure photographer, an interview with Courtney from Holdfast Outfitters (I like her!) and a peppy little thing about creative ways to stay in shape in Asheville over the winter. This week I'm interviewing a contestant from National Geographic's Ultimate Survival Alaska! My first reality TV star- maybe I'll be writing for US magazine one day. But I dream.

Today is wet and grey, which is a mercy because these are the days that were created for classrooms and books. Tomorrow morning Billy and I will be in chemistry lab, a three hour block of time that I will tick off in my notebook in ten minute intervals. I really know how to make myself miserable. But! Already this year I've seen Jerry Douglas play his dobroe live on stage, went mountain biking on a very warm day, slept the whole night through, read a book on the couch, watched Hometeam slide down a river of ice, saw Molly blow out the candles on her birthday pie, taught a friend how to roll a kayak and ate the best hamburger of my life. Small victories.

follow the make more mail initiative on Instagram @Melinadream

I have a few things to catch up on- if you're wondering where the post is about all of us and where we live, I'm still working on it. I almost didn't do a Mystery Prize today, but the truth is, your comments provide such good companionship that I didn't want to go without them during this gloomy week.

This week's Mystery Prize is designed to bring a tiny burst of sunshine to your winter. To enter to win, leave me a comment with your trick to cheer up your January days. Everyone has one hat trick- lighting candles, your favorite book, skiing, juicing; whatever it is, I'm going to try them all. Alternatively, you could tell us how your new years is going so far. Or both.

I read every comment. Actually, a lot of people read every comment. Sometimes they inspire brand new posts. Thank you for them. A winner will be chosen at random from the comments, and sunshine will be promptly sent their way. Good luck!!

stunning

Thanks this week to Elizabeth Q. Without you, I couldn't write this.

I try and give the house a good cleaning before the semester starts. The computer screen plays a looping clip of terrorists running through a supermarket in Paris. It seems that every room I try and clean ends up worse than before. I pull the couch across the room to sweep beneath it, then, satisfied with the block of newly clean floor, I lose interest.

I decide to cook. I have to make something really stunning. A recipe for Homemade perogies looks good, sufficiently complicated, nice and comforting for the weather we've been having. I roll out the dough with a bottle of red wine we've been given as a gift. I can't drink red, anyway. There's flour everywhere. The filling requires me to boil four huge baking potatoes, so I fill up our biggest pot with water and tote it over to the stove. It will take a while to boil so I wander to my room to wait. You know what they say about watching water boil.

When Dave comes home from work, he finds me tucked in bed reading a book. He looks at me for a moment. "Are you cooking?" He asks.

"I was," I say, and turn the page.

On the phone the next day, I tell my mom I'm thinking about dropping out of school. My new job is perfect, I explain, but it takes so much time. I don't see how I can do both.

A few seconds pass in silence. Then I hear her sigh. She's struggling to find a way to say something hard come out soft, and there's something about how earnestly she's trying breaks my heart a little bit.

"The money you're making," she says, "it's good. It's such a good start. But it's not nearly enough to support you."

"I know," I say, cutting her off. "I know that. But we've become really thrifty- now that we buy dry beans in bulk instead of cans, our grocery bill is a lot less."

The words come out so impossibly lame that I want desperately to separate myself from them. I suddenly feel like a third party in the conversation, someone floating on the ceiling looking down on us both. How do you respond to that one? I want to say to my mother. How old is your daughter again?  

My emotions don't seem to have much barring in reality. I can work all day writing an article, doing an interview in the morning, sending out emails and meeting my deadline, but when the evening comes I'll feel gripped by guilt, convinced that if everyone knew just how obscenely lazy I was, no one would want to associate with me.

Other times, I'll quell a rising panic about money and employment by reading some article about 100 ways to use coconut oil. This is the ticket! I'll think. We just need more coconut oil around the house! And I'll bundle up and head to the store to buy a third jar of coconut oil, and I'll feel absurdly productive.

Things can be confusing.

Then there's the news to consider, all those people scared and dead in Paris, an armed man wandering the parking lot of an elementary school in Washington. The new year starting off with a bang, but this is what's normal now. I drag the couch back into its place and pretend like it's not happening, and while I'm at it I pretend the climate isn't getting all screwed up. By lunch I'm playing a game in my head where  the continuation of our species hinges entirely on my floor being swept and dinner being ready at its usual time. The day seems more interesting when I think Big.

****

Now to choose the winner of this week's mystery prize, which I've refrained from opening myself so far, but if it doesn't get dropped in the mail tomorrow we're all toast.

If you haven't checked out the comments, you ought to. Between us all we've had quite the year.

Liz Stout said...

"Something new... Falling into a good yoga habit. I've wanted to for so long and have many failed attempts under my belt, but I now seem to be in a good swing of things and it is so very wonderful. Side effect of good yoga practice = better headspace. I'm able to slow down and get out of my head and not beat myself up so much about things. Giving oneself the benefit of the doubt is so very wonderful. Happiness is much more present as a result."

Congratulations Liz! I commend you, as I've never been able to get into a yoga practice myself- I can't even touch my toes. I lack the discipline, but giving myself the benefit of the doubt sounds nice. Maybe I'll try it again this year.

Stay warm everyone! I'll see you here very soon. 

10 awesome things from 2014

Why does it surprise me when each year is so different than the last? My days feel so linked by routine that I barely notice things are changing unless I look backwards. 

This was 2012.

This was 2013. 

And here are the 10 defining phenomena of 2014:

1. Nicaragua

We barely glanced at a guidebook before we left, we just went. We didn't kayak, work, teach or do anything useful at all. For the very first time, I drank coconut water out of a coconut. It was monumental. 

2. Reunion

In June, on the outskirts of Yellowstone, the Academy at Adventure Quest had its first reunion in twelve years. Everyone who showed up was happy and healthy, with good jobs and pretty spouses and lives still filled with adventure. For the very first time, we talked about what happened there, why the school dissolved. We had a memorial service and kayaked the Gallatin river. It was strange and wonderful and a little eerie, like we had all suddenly found ourselves in the same dream. But that's how it's always felt with that school. 

3. Riding on Trails with Women

Mountain biking was a new phenomenon to me in 2014. This year was all about the women I rode with. They were my trail guides and technical coaches, and they fixed my chain when it broke. They knew more than me and I liked following them as they darted through trees.

4. The Remodel

David bought a house with holes in the walls. It was filled with shot guns and assault rifles. We emptied it, skinned it, wrenched the carpet off of the floor. Our friends stopped by to pull out hundreds of staples. We yanked out appliances as if they were teeth and replaced them with new ones, bright white and shining. The painting was the easy part, the crumbling kitchen was not. For a while we had no bathroom and no shower, but the work we did was so satisfying that for the most part we kept very cheerful. By the end of the summer it was fit for living, with a polished wood floor and new locks on new doors. I've never done anything like that before.

5. Cohabiting 

After the floors were done, but before we had an indoor shower, I moved in with David. Since then we've been living out that particular portion of life that older people look back on with nostalgia- we filled our house with second hand furniture, we're always happy to see each other and we make our own broth to save money. I've never done anything like this before, either. 

6. The Obed

Where the climbing is so good that my friends make the trek all the way from Seattle. 

7. Chemistry

I will remember exactly two things from the basic chemistry class at Asheville-Buncombe Technical Community College: one, I got an A, which felt, as my friend So so eloquently puts it,  like "sweet revenge." Two, my teacher spoke with such a strong southern accent that when he said "Flourine" for the first time I burst out laughing. It sounded like he was demanding the attention of a surly waitress at a Waffle House. It was the only time I laughed that semester.

8. The team that couldn't win 

My fall league ultimate frisbee team had the big idea of donating a canned good to the food bank for every point that we scored. It was a hungry, hungry season for Asheville. On the field we were a weekly disaster with flashes of brilliance; on the sidelines this was the warmest, friendliest team I've ever known. We became the kind of friends who would plan a pizza night and then actually all show up. This was as novel to me as the coconuts. 

9. Roots

In my first six months here, I don't think I got it through my head that I was really going to stay.  I felt like a happy tourist, always a few weeks away from flying back to my apartment in Seattle. Then one day I had a house, and a student ID, and a boyfriend who speaks with a heavy southern drawl. The ribbons of trails that surround the town were all of a sudden familiar. Then, as if to drive the point home, I got a writing job as the 'local expert' of the outdoor scene here in Asheville; the organization is called Roots Rated.  When I go out exploring the Blue Ridge Mountains, bizarre thoughts float through my head, things like "This will be a good spot to take our kids in a year or so." 

10. Make more mail 

follow the make more mail initiative in 2015 on instagram @melinadream

I finally figured out the purpose of this blog. 

Speaking of. 

What's on your list from 2014? Tell me something new that you were introduced to in the past year, and you'll be entered to win this week's mystery prize. Which, I have to say, is so incredibly appealing that it's difficult to not open it myself and dig in. It will be the Best Thing Ever to find its way into your mailbox. And the brand 2015 Wilder Coast photo thank you cards turned out pretty well, too. 

Happy New Year my friends!! I can't wait to read about your phenomenal phenomenons. 

the house suspended in amber

I'll remember this Christmas for the snow and the chaos of dogs. I'll remember that I gave David a magnesium fire starting gadget and he loved it, and he started a fire that morning and every day after, in front of which would amass a pile of snow-wet boots and scarves and sweaters. This was his second visit to our home in Vermont- he met my parents for the first time last year on Christmas morning, something I've always felt he should receive a reward for- but this is the first time I was able to relax and not worry that he was going to run full steam away when he discovered that my family, like all families, is nuts.

When my sister and I go home, we get a little lost figuring out whether we're still technically children- we're not, but we're my parents children, and sometimes we'll regress just a bit, out of old habit.

I think only the appearance of grandchildren will cement into place a sturdy organization of generations- we'll be the parents, little kids will be little kids, and my parents can be grandparents and get old. It seems suitable that grandparents be old. But for now, my mom and dad are just my mom and dad, nothing else, and when I stop and realize that they're aging, not suspended in time like flies in amber, as they should be, and how one day we'll be celebrating Christmas without them, well, that's just not what I signed up for.

Being home is so wonderful, but thoughts like this drift through my head all day long like passing snow flurries, and make me feel a certain sharp anxiety that is much more muted during my normal life. In addition, my dad is going through an intense phase of Anglophilia, and every night he tries to get us to watch British comedies, and my mom refuses, and the whole family erupts in an argument that leaves dad acting all wounded and everyone else on edge, except for David, who, from his place on the couch, seems to float above it all.

Such are the holidays.

But mostly, it's books and sledding and cousins. It's an entire extended family wearing Darn Tough Vermont socks, tromping through the woods and drinking champagne around 5ish. It's endless bananagrams, maple syrup bottles in the stockings, cherry juice and Cabot Cheddar and that certain joy that comes from watching short legged dogs try and hop through deep snow.

But this Christmas has come to an end and tomorrow morning we strike for home. Leaving is always wretched, like that terrible moment when you declare your hot bath has run its course and you have to get out of the tub, shivering inside your towel in the freezing cold house. Only one hundred times worse.  

But there's some relief that comes along with it, because deep inside you know you can't live forever in the bath, alone and peaceful in the steam. Eventually you have to return to your real life and get back to Getting Things Done.

That's where I'm at now. The last night in the warm house in the deep snow, itching to get back to my life and wanting to stay here forever. 

And now to announce the winner of the Vermont Themed Mystery Prize! Reading about all your Hygge was so fun- my favorite prompt yet. And when the post-Christmas depression rolls in, I'll read them all again for the comfort. Thank you for writing. I wish I could send you all a box of maple pops.

 Congratulations Jess! I agree that the best route to Hygge is to decline any invitations, and dive under the covers with some books and movies. And yes, coziness is next to godliness for sure! Please email thewildercoast@gmail.com and I'll get your mystery prize in the mail.

Now, I'll be driving from Ithica to Asheville all day on Monday, but I'll see you here very soon. Merry Christmas everyone, and to those who suffer from the post Christmas depression, best of luck, I'm right there with you. Feel free to reach out.

Hygge! & a Christmas Mystery Prize

It's Monday, it's late at night, and this is the very first time I've been able to steel myself away from all the Hygge. Hygge is a Danish word with no English translation, but it means something like 'being warm and cozy inside while outside it is dark.' And it's my very favorite thing in the entire world.

I made it to Vermont after fifteen hours of white-knuckling the steering wheel through a rainstorm which did not let up once between Durham, North Carolina and White River Junction, Vermont.  My route took me through Manhattan, which I did not become aware of until I was crossing the Tappan Zee bridge, listening to the audio version Growing up Duggar because I have a morbid fascination with that bunch, and wondering, "What the hell happened to Pennsylvania?"

Now I understand that the route from Durham to home is quite different than the route from Asheville to home. One includes a lovely glide through Pennsylvania Dutch country, and the other, a miserable crawl through the Bronx at 13 miles an hour.

Once I crossed over into Vermont, the rain turned to ice and coated the empty highway with a slippery gloss, and then my car couldn't make it up my road and we slid backwards, the dog leaping out of her seat and into my lap, coming to a crunching stop against a snowbank. We had to go the rest of the way on foot.

My dad, who had waited up for us, was very agitated because he doesn't like when I drive long distances, and while he waited he'd watched the Wolf of Wall Street which he found very upsetting. In the morning I found out that my car had slid off the road because no one had sanded or plowed the road because two Vermont townships were having a sort of turf war, and the whole thing was a big mess.

But it was worth it for all the Hygge that's been happening since I made it home.

The snow has been coming down for days and the sledding is perfect. David went into town and bought a smooth-bottomed sled called the Easy Glider which can ramp up to terrifying speeds and is impossible to control. My brother in law claims to have broken his neck on it. Dave has an affinity for sledding through the woods, which is actually terribly dangerous. Today while we were out playing in the field, he put his arm around me, surveyed the steep, thickly wooded hill behind our house and said cheerfully, "If I'd grown up here, I definitely would have died."

We've spent these days before Christmas in the woods, in the general store in town choosing buckets of candy for our little cousins' presents, kicking at rat-king-esque piles of snarling corgis when they fight, baking, playing banana grams, and listening to my dad say things like, "It was too easy to find a parking spot, Kid. Small town life is decaying," And "steak houses are a cult, kid," and "life just gets worse and worse, kid. Worse and worse."

But still, such Hygge!

And now if you don't mind, it is cold outside and inside this warmly lit house, there is coziness to attend to. But first! In keeping with our Make More Mail initiative, let's do a giveaway- a Christmas Mystery prize! And if you don't celebrate Christmas, you can call it something else, like a Cozy Fun Pack.

To win, simply leave a comment and tell me what sort of Hygge you're up to this winter.

Are you drinking porter in a ski cabin in the Grand Tetons? Pouring tea in your city apartment? Curling up with a good book under the blanket? Snuggling away with your companion watching a little something on the TV? 

The winner will receive a Vermont themed mystery prize. It may be delicious, it might be fun, it could even be drinkable, it's bound to be rustic, and I promise, it will enhance your Hygge. 

I have a feeling that this week, there will be a smaller group of us writing. The holidays are a festive and busy time. But that's okay. It will be a small group of good friends and I'm happy with that. Small is cozy.

 I hope you are having a very warm and very entertaining time, wherever you are and whatever you're doing! I cannot wait to read about your coziness.  I like you all a lot, have a safe, peaceful and hygge Holiday.

The Worst Journey in the World / drawing winner

I'm going to tell you what happened and I'm going to make it quick. I promise you, you won't want any more details.

Over the past week, I've enjoyed reading about why you love where you live. So much so, in fact, that I was inspired to knit your words together with mine, and write a whole post about all of us, scattered across the map, going about our happy everyday business. I asked for you to send me a photo of the place you call home, and I was rewarded with beautiful shots of snow and sunsets, street corners and oceans and outhouses. (That last one was from a Vermonter.)

The timing was perfect. I was about to embark on my annual Christmas Expedition to the North: a 17 hour drive from Asheville to Vermont, just the dog and I, listening to audio books and eating a bag of snacks picked with careful deliberation from Whole Foods. The snack bag is a splurge, bought with cash from the AB Tech textbook exchange, a Christmas present to myself.

Because the journey is long and the days are short, I drive in darkness for the majority of the trip. Sometimes, sailing alone down interstate 95 in the blackness, a certain loneliness will seep through the car windows and fill the space around me. On either side of the highway, the land rushing by looks bleak and unfamiliar, occasionally illuminated by fast food restaurants. I begin to feel very far from home.

This year, things would be different. I heard from many of you who live in Pennsylvania, West Virginia and Maryland, and all up and down the Northeast Corridor. Now as I drive I can picture your bustling town just over the hill, the woods laced with running trails, your five roommates all cooking dinner together, and you at the grocery store, or at the late night coffee shop with your head bent over your work, drinking an Americano. Your words made the long road between my home and my other home feel familiar, friendly.

This year I broke up the trip into three days. I injured my back while putting my mountain bike on top of my car ("a bike accident that involved a car", is how I like to put it), and I can't sit down for long periods of time without pain roaring down my spine. My first stop is Durham, to pick up David's Christmas present I'd commissioned from his best friend, Ann. I planned to spend the night with David's parents, then drive up to Ithica to see my sister. On the third day I'd make the final push to Vermont.

The last week was a rigorous one as I doggedly tried to keep up with final exams. I had a test every day and ended up with straight A's, even in Chemistry, which I thought would do me in. So it had been a few days since I'd last posted. As I flew around the house getting things ready for departure, I tried to write something about the upcoming trip, cheerful sentences like 'the dog and I are about to do what we do best- drive!' But I couldn't swing it. Too many other things to do.

Finally, we pulled out of the driveway and made our first stop at Whole Foods.

I would tell you about all the nice things I chose to sustain me over the next three days, but it would make me too sad now. Let me just say this: I am so skilled at selecting road snacks that when I drove across the country, from Seattle to Asheville, I was never even tempted to stop for food.

When I left the store, the bag was heavy and I was brimming with optimism and holiday cheer. I sang along to the radio as we pulled onto the interstate. The dog sat upright in the passenger seat, smiling.

Then, not two hours into the trip, it hit me: this overwhelming feeling of exhaustion and the desperate urge to shut my eyes. I rolled down the windows to let the cold wind whip me awake. At 5:30 in the evening after a good night of sleep, this was completely out of the blue. Maybe it was the stress of exams hitting me after the fact, or the accumulation of medicines I'd been taking for my back.

By the time I made it to the Greensboro countryside to pick up Dave's present, I knew things were about to get ugly. This was no post-finals fatigue. I walked into Ann's house, and there on the mantle was the gorgeous knit piece that she'd dreamed up, designed and been working tirelessly on. She had put the final touches on the frame just a few hours before I arrived. As I stumbled in the front door she was holding her breath with excitement, anticipating my reaction.

"I think I'm going to barf," I said, and ran into the bathroom.

I threw up like, right after this.

Half an hour later, I was driving the winding dark road back to the highway, David's present carefully wrapped in plastic in the back seat. Ann had given me pieces of crystallized ginger and offered me a barf bag for the road. But for some stupid, illogical reason, completely unfathomable to me now, I'd turned her down. 

Twice on that country road I pulled over and dry heaved into the ditch, but nothing came up. I felt dread as I merged onto the wide, busy interstate. "Eighteen miles," I chanted. "That's all I have to do. I can survive for eighteen miles."

I lasted four miles. And then it was all happening. I tried to get off. I safely merged three lanes over and reached the off ramp but it was too late. I grabbed the only bag in the front seat- the one from Whole Foods full of my snacks and coconut waters, and threw up with a terrific slosh. The bag sat warmly on my lap until I found a gas station.

Crying and wiping my nose, I got out of the car and threw the bag and all its contents into a trash can. I bought a blue flavored Gatorade. I managed the rest of the trip to Dave's parents house without further incident, and that's where I am today. Marooned in Durham, too sick to continue.

As it turns out, David also got sick that evening, as did a number of our friends who attended the same company Christmas party last Friday. One that was richly catered by a local restaurant. "We never get to eat this kind of food," I recall whispering to Dave. "Dig in!"

So we all ended up with food poisoning. But I am the only one who ended up with food poisoning at 70 miles per hour.

For more photos of this girl and this dog and all the fun they have, find me on Instagram @melinadream

****

This week we are taking a break from the giveaways, for reasons that should be apparent. Next Monday we'll be back with a Christmas Mystery Prize (or two).

Until then, I'll be inching my way up North, slowly and less exuberantly than I'd intended. I look forward to that moment when I can sit down at the Cafe in White River Junction, Vermont, watch the snow pile up and type out the post about Home with all your words and photos.

Thanks to everyone who entered the drawing. And thanks to Appalatch, a company of true integrity and talent. The winner of the Custom Fit Sweater is....

Congratulations Grace! I understand that love of change- Vermont has four distinct seasons and the years felt dull without them when I moved away. Minneapolis sounds lovely, and you seem to be in good company- there were a wealth of comments from some very content people in Minnesota. Please email thewildercoast@gmail.com and we will get you all sorted out.

Thank you everyone for reading and writing. The make more mail initiative has been a smash hit so far! I hope you're having a safe and warm Holiday, and I'll see you back here in a few days.

think of a place

Thank you this week to Steve and Paula. You make it possible. Keep an eye on your mail!

I love it here at night, when the whole neighborhood is asleep but I am awake. I can hear the strains of The Crane Wife coming from the living room where my books are laid out on the table, the pair of ugly terriers at the end of the street barking at the night, and every now and then a siren wailing from town a few blocks away. Other than that, it is remarkably quiet. 

When we first bought the house, we spent a week pulling up the heavy grey carpet, which was spongey with decay. Now I can glide from room to room in the lamplight, not making a sound on the polished wood. 

We wanted to live in a place where we could walk everywhere. This proximity usually translates into noise, the sounds of traffic and people shouting as they come home from the bars.  The quiet of our street is unexpected, a bonus. In Seattle I lived in eleven different houses and each one was on a roaring bus line; at least that's how I remember it. 

I do miss Seattle, but I don't talk about it, because who doesn't miss a place? It's surprising to me how I miss it- not in words but in vivid and specific images. I'll wake up in the morning and a picture will have emerged, floating belly up and glistening in my head: a ferryboat lit up at night. A charcoal sky with a torrent of water rushing down the street, swamping the gutters, the sound of a city swallowing itself. 

In some ways our neighborhood, West Asheville, is like Seattle shrunk down to the head of a pin. There is one of every thing I need, instead of hundreds.

Instead of water everywhere there are mountains that turn purple at sunset.

But it doesn't have the slickness of Seattle. It costs less to live here, and it lacks the brilliant shine of a city well nourished by Microsoft, Amazon and Boeing. The houses I pass as I walk into town are small and, for the most part, falling apart, with leaning door frames and sunken roofs. Their inhabitants sit on the porches and smoke cigarettes. They'll nod as I pass by, but not always. 

The main street of West Asheville is a mix of new restaurants and empty brick storefronts. There is an organic food co-op, and a tiny shop called the Asheville Bee Charmer where you can sample honey from a row of tiny jars. There is Buffalo Nickel, a restaurant that glows invitingly each evening but always seems to be empty. The old barber shop with its striped pole rubs elbows with the West End Bakery, crowded and fragrant and loud with voices and the hiss of the espresso machine. The ceiling is covered in cotton spider webs from halloween, which was five weeks ago, and the glass cases are crammed with so many cakes and tarts and round loaves of bread you wonder why a small town bakery could ever need so much. 

Although, is Asheville a small town? It hasn't decided that yet. That's one thing I love about it; it can be a small town when you need it to be a small town, and a much bigger one when you need something new to look at. I shared this place with an ex boyfriend for a year and, conscious of one another's corners, we never had a run in.

At our favorite bar, Pour, an entire wall of different beers flow from silver taps when you wave a wristband in front of them. There are darts and shuffleboard and a giant, life-sized Jenga game that collapses loudly every ten minutes, sending a roar of screams and laughter throughout the place.  The cafe where I study is in the same building. When I am done for the day I can pack up my papers and step smartly into the next stage of the evening without even going outside. 

There is is a bookstore, a cider house, a pinball museum. There is Ingles and shabby Save-a-lot food stores and the sprawling new Whole Foods that glitters with salt out near the box stores. UNCA is tucked behind the botanical gardens, while just across the river and up a hill you'll find the squat, colorless buildings of the community college where I go to school. From its perch I can look out over the Biltmore Estate- America's biggest house, a castle, with its sprawling, 8,000 acre grounds. It is brilliantly lit up for Christmas, but I only know that because of a billboard on I-40. It costs seventy dollars just to visit.    

There is much more to this town and to our house, with all its cheerful oddities, but I have plenty of time to tell you about it later. Looking at the calendar I can see that it's Monday, and I have something up my sleeve for you.  

Photo Credit: Appalatch.com

This week I am partnering with Appalatch, a local clothing company that makes exquisite wool shirts, sweaters, capes and scarves. We have a unique and lovely giveaway to brighten these dark days and keep you warm this winter.

Photo Credit: Appalatch.com

First a word about Appalatch. I am enamored with this company not only for their luxurious, handsomely made products, but also for their dedication to environmental responsibility. Every piece of their operation, from the farm where their wool is sourced to the textile mill, is certifiably sustainable. Their clothes are soft, long lasting and handcrafted in small batches.

This week we are giving away a gift card for a custom-knit sweater, valued at $189 dollars.

Appalatch will take your measurements, chat with you about your specific wants, and then custom knit a gorgeous sweater just for you. "Clothing companies tend to generalize our shapes, and tell us what is good and what is bad," the marketing director, Ella, told me over coffee. "This sweater is designed precisely to fit you." Literally, a perfect fit.

In addition to the giveaway, from now until December 17th, go to Appalatch.com and enter coupon code WILDERCOAST for 15% off.

In keeping with the theme of 'A Perfect Fit,' this week's prompt was inspired by a photo, taken by Maggie Jones. Maggie loves where she lives, and does a terribly good job of making me homesick for Washington State. Follow her on Instagram- Theruralroost. She comes highly recommended. 

To be entered in the giveaway, leave a comment and tell me one reason why you love where you live. 

I know we can't all live in our ideal place, but it's good to recognize at least one thing that you makes you happy where you are.  I'm looking forward to reading them and taking a virtual trip around the country and beyond. I savor these comments. They're like jewels or chocolates to me. 

The winner will be chosen at random and announced in one week. Go to town and good luck!

the teeth

I am in the teeth of finals. During times like this, my body, feeling neglected, likes to throw punches. I'm not the type to snap or yell or slam doors when I feel overwhelmed with demands and responsibilities, instead I swallow the stress and watch as it emerges in mysterious side effects. I have an infected tooth, an infected outer ear, and a slipped disc in my lower back. I've taped all my papers to the wall so I can do my work standing up, the pencil in my hand cramped at an unusual angle. Sitting is excruciating. During class, I lean against the wall in the back, awkward, like someone loitering in a parking lot.

I've been given a body that never presents the same symptoms twice, because that would be too boring. Hypochondria has rattled me my entire life, but I do marvel at the innovation that comes from that deep part of my brain, the secret laboratory that I am unaware of and have no control over, for constantly thinking up new aches and pains, disruptive yet undiagnosable, all creatively worrisome.

If you were to come speak to me while I'm sitting (standing) at the cafe, or lying face down on the floor in a sea of papers, I would not raise my voice, or be short with you or say something to make you feel lousy. Some people go this route when there is too much to do and not enough time. Not me. Instead I will tirelessly try and convince you that my number is up, and this time I mean it. I'll pull my hair back to show you the infected red stripe on my ear that's no doubt marching towards my brain. I'll take your hand in mine and press it against that misplaced bone in my back.

To live with me requires some patience.

That said, there is a faint light at the end of this tunnel. In less than two weeks I should be home in New England, the ACS exam passed or failed but over either way. Same with all the others.

I have to return to the belly of the whale now. It's been nice coming here and having a gasp of fresh air.

Coming up on Monday, I'm excited to present the grandest, coziest, warmest giveaway yet. I can't wait! But I will. One question for you before I announce the winner of the In Blue bicycle journal: for Monday, would you like a prompt, or should I leave the comments open this time around? That way you could say anything you'd like and write as much or as little as you please. If you have an opinion, let me know.

Now for the winner. Thank you to everyone who nominated a hard working person in your life. Here is what I took away from your comments: people can take on a whole lot and make it work. It's difficult but it's possible. And maybe I shouldn't be so daunted by the idea of finishing school, starting a career, having kids and getting enough sleep all in the next few years, because people are doing exactly that, and far more, every day.

I have to use the computer instead of the drawing hat because everyone I know is either at work or at school right now. (The nerve!)

Congratulations Bekah, comment #18!

"I want to say my momma, because all of the stuff you just said about raising kids, she did it. I never (ever!) knew we were poor until kids in middle school told me we were...personally I think they got it wrong, but I guess by the numbers we were. I loved my childhood, and I try hard to raise my boys the same way. We have been up and down financially in the five years that I have been a momma, down as low as literally living in an unfinished basement with a five month old baby. And you know what - I wouldn't change a damn thing about when I had my babies. We done some pretty amazing things with the boys, and I will tell you right now that as much as they liked disneyworld (which was a gift - because holy shit tickets are absurd) they still mostly talk about our fun times hiking nearby or throwing rocks at the river. I don't know where my comment is going, and I'm not trying to preach, all I'm trying to say is you can do it. And it can be amazing."

I know where your comment is going, girl. It's going towards a home-made leather bound journal for your innovative and hard working mom. Please send her mailing address and yours to: Thewildercoast@gmail.com

Keep up with Monday giveaways on Instagram: @melinadream

The Lean Years and an In Blue Giveaway

--Drawing Over--

Thanks this week to Michelle. You may know her as FacingWest. Thank you for making it possible, Michelle.

One of the reasons that I'm scared to have children is because I can't give them everything my parents gave me. I was raised in the roaring 90s and things were different. I call this time now 'the lean years.' It has a Steinbeck-esque feel to it, which I like. It also carries with it a touch of nostalgia, which makes it feel as though these days won't last forever. Which they probably won't, but it's nice to be reminded of that.  

It's not that my kids won't eat or have a nice place to sleep. It's just that it feels irresponsible to even consider having another little person around to pay for when my finances are uncertain. There- that's a good word for it. Uncertain. The other day I got out a calculator and a piece of paper and I pushed a bunch of numbers, and I figured out that I will be perfectly 'financially ready' for my kids to arrive by the year of 2021.

I didn't like that number. So I flipped over the paper and I drew a line through the middle of it. On one side I wrote a list of things that I grew up with that my kid probably won't, like 'country house.' On the other I made a list of all the things my parents gave me that I could do right this very minute. For example, my mom read to us every single night. I could afford to do that. We played outside all the time. We saw our cousins constantly.

I was sincerely surprised to find that most of my memories from childhood, which are all good and I'd like to replicate them all for my kid, were not the product of money, but just the product of having really good parents.

Now, if you think that what I'm trying to get at is that kids are free, money is meaningless and life is easy, hush, because that's not what I mean and you know it.

Since coming to that somewhat startling realization, I have been paying attention to the good moments in my life that cost very little or nothing at all. Like playing card games with our friends, radio shows, taking the dog on long walks or spending all day on the river in a borrowed canoe. Like being all alone and getting naked and lying in bed with your favorite book. Or cooking a nice dinner that didn't cost much, but you've finally figured out how to use spices so it still tastes good.

I have a lot of those free moments, free days even, because when it comes to being thrifty and innovative, my boyfriend is Superior, capitol S intentional.

You could argue that everything has a cost, the gas in the car to get here or there, the cards on the table and the tea in the glass, but that's okay. A little money is okay. A little money doesn't scare me.

There are a lot of pleasant blogs, books and websites out there that have photos of very beautiful, soothing scenes of mountain cabins and great, white swathes of living room with big fire places and ocean views. And big wooden tables of sparkling glass wear and artesian salt and crushed velvet blankets and Kitchen-aid appliances and I could go on! Because I, like a lot of people, have spent time, and continue to spend time, just gazing at those pictures. They're really quite nice.

But what if I could find a way to document the things we do that don't cost as much, those things that we are guaranteed to be able to give to our kids? To recognize those moments, to seek them out more often then not, and present them so they look just as appealing as they truly are- I think I'm up for the task.

Alright, it's Monday. And it's the first of December, not technically but for all intents and purposes the beginning of winter, so we ought to start it out with a giveaway.

I'm thrilled to introduce to you one of my very favorite makers. In Blue Handmade is a small, local business from right here in the Blue Ridge Mountains. The bags, wallets, leather bound journals and flasks are gorgeously soft and handmade. And to really bring it home, they can be custom printed just for you.

I love my In Blue sketch book. Here is where I record the random post ideas that walk through my head, keep track of the assorted blog mail that comes in and out, and straight up write letters of encouragement to myself. If I die tomorrow I'd like this to be firmly sealed shut, then bronzed.

I chose to wait until the holidays to introduce In Blue Handmade, because you'll find some unique and affordable gifts on this site. The pieces are pretty and functional and design-y and if you're like me, you'll fall head over heals for the flasks in particular.  

 
But this week's giveaway is not entirely for you- it's for you to give to someone else.

photo credit: in blue handmade

In the comment section, tell me about a friend who deserves some recognition. Someone who sets the clock an hour early, goes to bed after everyone is asleep, scribbles down ideas in the checkout line or waits tables to support their woodwork or their husband's paintings. Someone who works a twelve hour shift and then comes home and makes dinner, or has played every open mic in town even when there is nobody to hear it, or who opened their own business even with absolutely no guarantee of success, because there never is.

Tell me about someone who raises their kid and then stays awake at the kitchen table with coffee and a calculator, stretching every single cent that comes in. Tell me about that person especially, because that's going to be me one day.

It does not have to be a creative endeavor, although everything that's difficult is kind of a creative endeavor. It doesn't have to be anything in particular. Just tell me about a friend who works hard, who could use a little honor, and a beautiful leather-bound journal full of blank space that they don't have to share. (Who couldn't use a little space?)

As always, I will randomly select a winner from the comments. If you're chosen, your friend will receive this leather bicycle journal in the mail, from you and In Blue Handmade. I will inscribe the front page with the words you wrote about them in your comment.

photo credit: in blue handmade

I can't win the giveaway, but I still want to play. I would nominate my sister, Anna Coogan. Anna has given her entire life to music. She's hauntingly talented in a brutal industry, and I have never seen anyone work harder. Holy shit, I don't know how you do it.

Have you ever?

If you like this post, share it. If you share it, tell me, I'll send you a thank you via snail mail. Let's make more mail, people! 

thewildercoast@gmail.com

Have you ever run 62 miles in one straight shot after giving birth to twins? Have you ever quit the job that was making you miserable, with no money in the bank, because you knew your happiness was more important than anything else? Have you ever defeated an injury and reached the top of the mountain- red faced and sweating but still, there you are, or signed up for a race while holding your breath because you're not sure you can do it but you know you have to start somewhere?

Have you ever set down your pen after finishing the 321st and final page of your novel, or accepted your PhD after years of budgeting and criticism and self doubt? Have you ever stopped to take a breath, to treat yourself kindly and deny the inner demon that always speaks up? Have you ever been completely honest with your child when they ask something hard? Have you ever given birth and then lay in bed with your infant, thanking your body and your mind for this impossible feat they just accomplished? 

Have you ever taught yourself to cook, one recipe after the next, and delighted in the disasters because of what a good story they will make? Have you ever refused to apologize, or rang that fucking bell after the chemo is over, and maybe one small cell of you started to believe that you actually are a warrior and a survivor and maybe that mess is all behind you? 

Have you ever caught a 4 am flight with three little kids? Or raised two babies in a city far away from your family with no car and endless errands? 

Have you ever held back a panic attack while 70 feet underwater? Or you couldn't hold it back but you got on the plane anyway?

Have you ever bought the house, read the book in French, word by word with the dictionary next to you in bed? Have you ever held onto the A in your class till the bitter end, or painted your nails just for fun for the first time and they actually looked okay? 

Have you ever had to say you're sorry and you said it, even though it's uncomfortable and squirmy and you'd rather be talking about anything else? Have you ever chosen exercise over anger, or put the bike away because you're pregnant and you have to take it down a few notches or so they tell you, or rid your life of the toxic people and the unnecessary things in one satisfying rip?  

Have you ever painted your way through the loss of a parent, or put yourself to bed before 2am even though you could stay out in the garden forever if people didn't need you so much, or fought the road rage or quit cigarettes or kept very calm when the spouse beside you is having a stroke in bed, and you saved his life by doing everything right? 

Have you ever entertained a ten year old with a broken femur, in a body cast, for weeks on end?

Have you ever kept yourself in check when you know your anger is misdirected? It's harder then it sounds. Have you ever sat with a client for months without her saying a word, and finally you figure her out and she starts talking and you can finally get to helping her, which is what you wanted to do the whole time? Or gone to the gym even though if sucks after so long, or been stripped down to the bones and found, at the last minute, the courage and resilience you never even knew where there? 

Have you ever killed it at a job interview while holding your two week old son? 

Have you ever let yourself be a normal, messy, flawed human in front of your partner, or celebrated 18 years without cancer with the three children who watched you fight it? Have you ever been pregnant? Have you ever packed your damn lunch to save your damn money even though packing lunches is the worst? Have you ever shown patience with an animal or done yoga every day even though you're new and the postures are terrifying? Have you ever joined a ballet class, as an adult, because damn it you want to do something for yourself alone?  

Have you ever stopped running and stayed put, and now you're in Colorado and it's going to work out, even if you don't know how? Have you ever helped out when you didn't have to, even though it's 20 degrees and you're freezing but you know you're capable? Have you ever picked up the luggage of a perfect stranger and walked them to their gate, because you see they're wrestling two little kids and they're alone? 

Have you ever stayed in school, even when you have a husband and pets and a house and a job that all need you at once? Have you ever changed the oil in your car, or survived four days alone with a crying newborn and no sleep? Have you ever been in your first bewildering and chaotic year of med school or done 80 push ups in one set? 

Have you ever taken an exam and got a 4.0, after a 12 hour shift? Have you ever delivered the speech without tears, or quit the xanax and faced the cross-country move with an optimism you've never felt before, or cut out the sugar because it's the first step? Have you ever said 'no' to a second date because you're done wasting your time? 

Have you ever finished school and got your degree, and thank god because the husband left, and there you are with your two year old son, not looking back, equipped to work and support and love and nourish all by yourself and damn it, you're doing it? 

You have. 

Just in the past few weeks. 

And I'm keeping those comments forever as a source of strength and inspiration and pure delight for when I need a reason to keep swimming, as they say. You can use them, too. You know where to find them.

I had no idea what sort of experience we were all in for when I wrote that prompt. I am so proud of you. Thank you for sharing that tiny, huge part of yourself. 

We'll be back this Monday with another giveaway, one I'm very very excited about. And until then, the winner of the 50 dollar Holdfast Giveaway:

"I'm proud of myself for taking the bus everywhere. I mean, EVERYWHERE, with two kids in tow. We go to the grocery store with one strapped to my front and one holding my hand and somehow I manage to carry groceries on my shoulders. We take an 85 minute ride to doctors appointments. It's hard not having a car but we're making it work. I'm a tough Mama and I'm proud of that."

Congrats Jessica! Email thewildercoast@gmail.com and we'll get you all set up. I hope you get your babies all suited up....but you also get something for yourself! 

Recently & a Holdfast Giveaway

--Drawing Over--

Thank you this week to Jane, Jody, Jamie and Liz. You make it possible.

Dave's brother and sister in law arrive from Oakland. She brings me artesian salt in a little tin. It's pink, and I want to keep it by my bedside as a good luck charm. They also bring us a bottle of California wine as a housewarming gift. David pours it into jelly jars because we are not at the wine glass stage of life yet. He studies the fine pale salt and smiles and says thank you, but he does understand the significance; he doesn't read the blog very often. That seems to sit well with us both.

We have no wine glasses or living room table. Dave says he likes to 'wait for things to arrive' rather than go out and buy them. Since he was born with a lucky star on his forehead, this has always proved an effective strategy. He also has the gift of not wanting and not needing very much. Unlike me! Last Friday, I walked into The Frugal Backpacker and there was a whole wall of sample pieces, which are much cheaper than normal price outdoor stuff yet still remarkably expensive. Everything was my size and looked beautiful and would have given me the life of my dreams, if I could have bought all of it. I had to exit the building. I had to call my mother, then go home and lie down for a little while.

I know that you understand this feeling, that the addition of one more thing could really make the difference. Could really hit the spot. Could really tip the scales. They say that it can always feel just out of reach, and that's the trap, but for me it often feels really really out of reach. Like, maybe a football field away and moving fast. 

My chemistry teacher is beginning to lose his patience. Just a little. I hear it in his voice, slightly strained, the way he hesitates for a moment before taking my question. He is a very nice man and I don't blame him. 

I ask a lot of questions and they always begin with "wait, back up-". Who ever wants to back up? No one. I'm the only one who asks questions. I guess everyone else is mute. Before the class begins we sit and stare at the board, or down at the phones we've hidden in our laps, and when it's over we shuffle out silently. I've never heard them talk. Yet they must be geniuses. I marvel at how efficiently they appear to understand the concepts of enthalpy and the gas postulates, never asking a question, or sighing, or whimpering, or making an expression of any kind with their faces.  

The class, however, is shrinking. It's been a slow drain throughout the semester, gradual and barely noticeable until now. Half the class was quietly flunking and have quietly withdrawn. At least I'm still in the Octagon, even if it makes me frustrated and furious. Anatomy and Physiology is great. It's a steaming hot bath compared to chemistry. I get perfect scores on the tests and I credit that to not having children and not having to work much.

Of course, the dilemma remains of when to have the children and where to find the work.

And I will absolutely figure that out tomorrow. 

I'm not complaining about the lack of wineglasses, in fact I've broken enough of those at my parents' house to last until I'm middle aged. I'm really not complaining at all, because we're at a good part in the plot. David may not want much or need much but he wants me and he needs me. We're always walking around thanking each other for everything. We're really polite. At dinner he'll say, 'thank you for making a nice dinner' and I'll say 'thanks for getting all this food at the farmer's market' and he'll say 'well thank you for telling me about the farmers market' and we'll just go on and on. It's got to be awful to be around. Intolerable. I love it.

The semester is almost over, its on its death roll for sure and tougher than ever. But I'll get through it, I'm certain, because I have this fancy salt which is, obviously, more than fancy salt. It's a reminder that sometimes it's better to wait and things will arrive in their own fashion. Damn lucky, tricky star.

Now for a give-away:

Holli wearing the bicycle tank

I have been eyeing- hard- everything from Holdfast Outfitters. Holdfast is a company based here in Asheville, created and run by a hard working, talented and very strong climber named Courtney. Holdfast is everything we love here on The Coast- a local gal with gusto, making things by hand that we really want to wear and use. 

Holdfast blends functional and comfortable outdoorsy with that minimalist design that's very hot right now. Courtney designs and prints all of her clothes, candles, mugs and more at her home studio. 

This Monday's prize is no Mystery- it's a 50$ gift certificate to Holdfast Outfitters. Wow! That splits neatly into 25$ for yourself and 25$ for someone you're fond of. Thank you Courtney!

The clothes, blankets, prints and hardware that you'll find while browsing Holdfast are completely affordable, and the pieces change with the weather. Courtney dreams, designs and creates new things all the time. Here is my pick of the season: 

This week's prompt is inspired by a brilliant woman I met through the process of writing this blog. Her name is Anna Lola. I recently saw this stunner on her Instagram, @anna_lola:

That's Anna, before her morning commute. She's committed to biking to school and work despite the freezing Rhode Island temperatures. I am really proud of her for that and it got me thinking. Today's prompt is to leave a comment about something you've done lately that made you proud. Of yourself. THAT'S RIGHT! Something that you did that you are happy about. 

I'll start. I can't win the giveaway but I still want to play:

I almost cried at the chemistry tutor the other day. I'm not a crier but I was so frustrated and tired. But I took a minute to think about it, and I decided not to. It would have been a really great way to show the tutor just how upset I was, but ultimately, it wouldn't have been very productive. I'm proud of myself for that one miserable moment. 

Alright- what's yours? It can be tiny or enormous. It can be whatever you want. 

I will randomly choose the winner of the 50$ gift certificate and announce it at the end of the week. I can't wait to read them- I'm already proud of you. 

Follow me on Instagram @melinadream for mountains, dogs and giveaways 

Arkansas//Drawing Winner

I would be happy to live in Fayetteville, Arkansas. It was 21 degrees and felt remarkably like Vermont. I spent the weekend with old friends who ran the Grand Canyon with me almost seven years ago. That one icy month plunging through enormous rapids on the Colorado River, in a ditch one mile deep, changed everything. It's how I met Will, and Will is how I met Dave. And that's just one example.  It was worth the frostbite, sickness, raft flips, scary swims and ice storms. At the end of the month, we would have all crawled happily back up that river just to do it all again.  

And now for the winner of the first Mystery Prize Monday! Thank you to everyone who participated, we now have a fantastic source of good things on the Wilder Coast's Pinterest Page : your own creations, handmades from your sister, portraits from your cousin, furniture by your uncle. There is Jewelry with secret messages, hand poured candles, delicate baby things, elegant wooden kids toys, swoon-worthy writing paper and supplies...the list goes on. 

Start here when you think of gift giving, it's more than just small and handcrafted- it's our own community! 

Here is Holli randomly choosing the winner. (And Holli happens to be wearing a bicycle tank from the local to Asheville, one-woman business Holdfast Outfitters!)

Congrats Marie! We love Studio255.com, and how awesome that the very first winner of the Make More Mail Initiative recommended a shop that makes stamps, stationary, and other mail related things. Feels like fate. Marie, email thewildercoast@gmail.com and we'll get your mystery prize in the mail.

Thanks everyone! See you soon! 

mystery prize monday

--Drawing Over--

My mom warned me never to write about writing. She says it's self indulgent to the author and boring for the rest of us. Leave it to Lammot and King. And I will leave it to them; after this post it will be all theirs.

all these letters came from you

(Here's the first part.)

I thought the job in Arkansas was going to pull together all the strings of my life so neatly. The jolt when that did not happen (at all) lead to some clarity of thought.

At least it did that.

1. I am going to have another job apart from writing. That job will not be 'a thing I do on the side while I nurture my writing career'. Life does not seem to allow for such wishy-washy-ness. My other job will be a world within itself. I'll train for it, be overworked and exhausted by it, rewarded for it and wholly involved with it. That is not failure; in fact I hope to be so lucky.

2. I am going to make money through writing. I have made money on this blog and I earned that. But I will not support myself or my family on it. To think that would be delusional. Delusion leads to disappointment and bitterness and other such creatures to be avoided.

3. This blog will not morph neatly into a book deal. Some blogs turn into books but most do not. If I think that it will, I will never have a book published.

Now, here is where Nico and the plate of meatballs enters the stage. There I was, being treated to this night of endless appetizers (say it out loud: endless. appetizers) and laughing so hard that tears slid down my cheeks, and yet my brain was telling me that once again I'd failed at Making Writing Work.

How funny, brain, because I only know Nico because I write and so does she.

At that moment, I started to think in a funny new way. By Sunday it was snowing in Fayetteville and I made it out just in time. I arrived home very late and the first thing I did was open the box full of letters I've received from readers. I carefully read them one at a time. Then I had to go to bed. The next day I read through the rest.

I received most of these letters while I was working on the boat and having a hard time. The letters are full of encouragement. It turns out they're still just as encouraging, years later and on dry land.

If you've sent me a letter, I've saved it. If you've left a comment, I've read it, and then hunted around to find your blog, if you have one, to see who you are. If your comment is anonymous, I've tried to imagine you. If you've donated to this blog, I remember your name, and I've sent you a letter. (And by the way! If you donate and did not get a letter, let me know! It happened to one person, she was overseas, and the letter got lost. I wrote her another one. Please do let me know.)

What did you picture your life would be when you were younger? I imagined that "life" was a big clean room with a fine desk made from a single polished piece of wood. (That desk does exist by the way, but it ended up in the wrong house! Kerry, please send me your dining room table when you get a chance, I'm pretty sure I dreamed it first.) From that desk I would type out book after book, hand them off to my agent, and then lots of money would arrive in my mailbox. My salt was artesian, my children healthy and quiet, and my dog's fur never fell out by the fistful for no apparent reason.

I have a great life but it doesn't look like that. And thank God because how boring does that sound.

I did not know that I'd connect with people all over the place who would take the time to read my posts, write me letters, leave comments, and send me books they thought I'd like. I had no idea the economy would nose-dive the moment I graduated college and despite that, people would donate their own money to support a very lengthy 'book' I was constantly writing on the internet.

I am not failing at writing because I have found you.

That's what the Make More Mail initiative is about. I love sending letters and things through the mail. Connecting with you is joy. I have some give-aways lined up, some ideas of more excuses to send out letters and photos, and something called Mystery Prize Monday.

It will happen on Mondays. Not every Monday. There will be a little post and a prompt to leave a comment. One of the commenters, chosen at random, will get a mystery prize in the mail. The mystery prize will be small, fun, maybe delicious, could be a book, it's possible you could wear it, not unlikely you could play with it, but there is one rule: if you don't like or can't use your Mystery Prize, you have to send it along to someone who might better suit it.

You cannot chuck your Mystery Prize.

You can share your mystery prize with the world and with the internet if you want. But I won't. From my end, it will be our secret.

Today is the inaugural Mystery Prize Monday and here is the prompt.

This holiday time, I'm hoping to buy all my presents from small, independent businesses. Dig, Holdfast and Melody come to mind. Who else is out there? Do you have a favorite small business, artist, or maker? Is it you, your friend or someone you just found and fell in love with? Do you donate to a certain charity instead of giving presents, or do you make your own with the help of some ninja-level-midnight-difficult craft site? Leave us the link in the comment section.

You can just leave the link, or you can tell us a little about it as well. I will compiled the links on The Wilder Coast's Pinterest Page, on the board "Local, Small, We Want it All!"  (Please don't feel bad for me because I have no followers, because I just started it. If you want to feel bad for me that my urinary system is allergic to alcohol, you may.)

The recipient of the Mystery Prize will be announced on Wednesday.

Thanks. I love you. Now go to town.

keep up with the make more mail initiative on Instagram @melinadream

the make more mail initiative

I'm writing this evening from Fayetteville, Arkansas. I came down here to investigate an editing job, but I don't think that job is going to work out. They wanted me to move to Siloam Springs, Arkansas, and I can't do that. There are plenty of reasons that I'm unwilling to relocate, and if you're wondering what those are, just read any of this blog from the past year.

For a few weeks before I travelled to Arkansas, I was pretty convinced that the job was going to happen. I felt certain that I'd hammer out a deal wherein I could work remotely and commute twice a month. The prospect of writing and editing for a good salary thrilled me and I brimmed with optimism. One day I dragged Dave to the brand new Whole Foods. "Look at all the things we're going to be able to eat" I said. "With my new salary we will buy black mushroom Peruvian salt from a barrel and we will eat like kings."

Quitting the nursing track is a big deal, but I was ready to do that. After all, writing for a living has always been my plan A, but I have abandoned my plan A for something more stable and dependable. I want to have children, and one day I'd like to be able to support us entirely on my salary. This was my own mother's goal, despite being happily married to my gainfully employed father. And she was successful. "You never know what's going to happen," my mom would say, "so you should be able to support your family all by yourself. Just in case."

So here I thought I'd finally found a way to write for a good salary. Actually, it was a fantastic salary. My mom bought me a nice new sweater so that I could feel confident. Are you 29 and needing your mom to buy you a nice sweater for a job interview? Because I am.

They were not willing to let me work remotely. The job did not work out. The artisan salt evaporated, so did my optimism, so did my ability to buy a nice sweater for myself.

On Friday afternoon I drove from Siloam Springs into Fayetteville, where I have some very dear friends. As I drove I was forced to think about things I do not relish thinking of. I felt very down. I had that feeling you get when your big break exploded and there's nothing left of it and then you're driving a rental car alone through Arkansas.

But then someone I met through writing this blog, a woman named Nico who looks like a beautiful Sprite, took me out to dinner.

She owns the restaurant. I had never met her before, and she ordered us every single thing on the menu. The plates kept coming all night. I ate a whole plate of meatballs and a tray of cheese and I realized something.

Something that cheered me up immensely.

Then I came up with an idea, and bear with me because it's going to take a few little bit of explanation. It's called the Wilder Coast Make More Mail Initiative. Included in the make more mail initiative is something called Mystery Prize Monday.

I cannot explain it now, because then the post would be too long. I'm going to pick this up on Monday. It will be the inaugural Mystery Prize Monday. I'll see you then, alright? Goodbye.

The Archives of Disappointing Men

My twenties are about over, and thank goodness, because they took a whole lot of energy. For example, every time there was a chance I'd see a boy I liked at a social event, I'd straighten my hair. This may not sound like something that takes a lot of energy, but it does, trust me. I have exceptionally thick hair. And there were a lot of social events. And there were a lot of boys I liked.

I feel so happy that I dated and hung around with so many different people, and that I was single as often as I was. I gathered a lot of mildly entertaining stories, gained some superhero-level interpersonal skills and wept buckets on my friend Steph and Ammen's couch. I was convinced I'd be alone forever, which is a very important thing to be convinced of at some point in your life.

Dave and I talk about how glad we are that we fished in the open sea for as long as we did. I'm not sure why I've been thinking so much about this lately; maybe it's those Duggar girls who are suddenly everywhere, now that they're old enough to hold hands and get married. They didn't get to be unsettled before they settled down, but I sure did.

I'm grateful for that, because when you've had a lot of strange and excruciating experiences playing the field, like I have, you tend to feel keenly aware of how supremely good things are today, now that you've found your player. Even if Today means having an argument over when it's okay to turn the heat on. Or someone forgets to text when they're come home late and dinner is cold. Or maybe dinner is hot and on time and everything is great, and then someone starts to chew very loudly.

If you have a decade plus of dating and disappointment and utterly transparent late night texts behind you, then you know that this is a teeny, tiny, minuscule price to pay for what a great thing you have.

Every day when my boyfriend gets home from work I jump out of my chair and I think, "I'm so glad I'm me, and you're you, and everything happened the way it did, because now we're here and it's fabulous."

In the past twelve years, it wasn't always fabulous. Sometimes I felt like I was on one of those reality shows they have in China where the subject has no idea they're on TV. So many small indignities and tiny fires of frustration. So much time wasted shaving my legs and choosing my underwear and it always, always ended in a long, slow trudge back to the drawing board.

There was the one who who mistook me for a midget. I never even met him. The handsome ski patroller with the strong jaw line who told me about the shingles rash that started in his right nipple as I sipped a Manhattan.

There was the guy who tried to make me eat a cobra on our first date. If I'm to believe the other girls who dated him, who left comments on that post, this was something he routinely did. I guess his 'thing' was to make ladies eat mystery meat.

Then there was the guy who was just a dick.

And the college boyfriend, the one who let a psychopath into my bedroom.

Oh those awkard times when I was single and confused and highly focused on having a fun plutonic time at game night, even though no one else was. The time that dude beat me to the punch and broke up with me, even though I already felt like I was the one settling. And I know that's a mean terrible thing to say but that's alright, because we've all felt that way at least once.

Oh those seriously sad times! I'd lay in bed for days bemoaning those break ups- for weeks! I'd do melodramatic things like wander around a Walgreens at night, far from home, having left my job and my friends for a boy who very slowly and very surely lost interest in me. Once, I saw a picture of my ex-boyfriend with his pretty new girlfriend, on an utterly terrific ice climbing trip, and I politely gathered up my things from the cafe where I was writing and went outside and threw up. And we weren't even ever in love!

I'm not done. There was that boy from the ski race I met when I was wearing the cutest tights. That still doesn't add up to me. I thought he wanted to go skiing, but really he just wanted to send some vaguely (and I mean vaguely) naughty texts about snow pack, and that was about it, apparently. That was all she wrote.

And let us not forget Washington's final gift: the boy who literally swam across a lake to get away from me.

As for the handsome cinematographer, he never did call. What a shame he lost my number, his telephone got destroyed, he became a monk, he was kidnapped and taken to a place without cell service.

The very best part is, these are just the ones I chose to write about. There were others, and for some reason I'm relatively proud of all of it.

All of this is not to say that I was miserable for the last ten years, because nothing could be farther from the truth. And I know the Blogging Hate Site will lose its jar of marbles after reading this post, admonishing me for Counting My Chickens the way I am. And they're right! I could be knocked back in the arena at any time. We all could.

But that's not the point. The point is not how much I count my eggs, or how much I like my eggs and the one basket I've chosen to put them in. The point is this: the experiences that were very difficult and sad, and annoying, and defeating and exhausting and bewildering and even degrading at times, are now proving to be very useful and insightful.

I used to feel, after each break up or near miss, that I had wasted my time. That it had all been for nothing. But that is just not true.

I wasn't wasting my time, and neither are you.

If you like this post, share it! And if you share it, email me at thewildercoast@gmail.com with your address. I will send you a thank you card. I'm growing my 'online platform' on the advice of a fantastic literary agent, and 'Shares' are worth their weight in gold. Also, I want to write you a letter.

The Hard Job, The Waffle House & The Green Race

So it took me seven hours to write this "quick little article" on The Green Race. And that's not counting the hours I actually spent at the event, nor should it, because that was a really fun time. 

Whenever I have to write something that's, how do I say this, not entirely about myself, I remember how difficult and aggravating and itch-inducing writing can be. I take breaks every half hour to sprawl face down across my bed and moan 'This is HARD, this is so HARD, this is such a HARD JOB*!!'

Then I go and work a shift as a bartender at the Cidery and I remember what "Hard Job**" really means. And bear in mind, we really only serve two types of drinks at the Cidery. That, and I only work about once a month. And still I whimper myself to sleep after my shift is over, curled in a ball under the covers like a little mole.

Anyway! Check out my attempt at journalism. I even interviewed people at a Waffle House because I'm so big time.  

*Are you laughing over this phrase? Because I am.

**still funny

Featured on The Dirtbag Diaries

Today I am excited to announce that my episode of the Dirtbag Diaries podcast is live, just in time for Halloween. This Tales of Terror episode features two scary stories of the campfire variety....but they're completely true.

Even if my story sounds familiar at the beginning (for you long time readers out there) keep on listening, because I've never written (or even spoken much) about what happened -what we saw- that second day in the white mountains many years ago....

If you're my family, you're invited to not listen, and if you do, please don't get angry and bring it up at Christmas.

Check it out HERE. Enjoy!