I’ve been dying to put my spin on this magical floating candle trend for years, and this Halloween, we finally had the perfect outdoor porch space to hocus pocus my dreams into a reality. And while I wouldn’t label our family as true-blue DIY’ers, the mulit-day task was a frightfully fun way to spend a weekend with the little guy, getting our house ready for the “spookables.” We even tasked him with a few small projects – pulling apart the “fluff” to turn into clouds, loading up the candles with batteries, etc – to keep his little hands busy while we charted our course through this *somewhat* challenging setup.
Magical Floating Candles
One of the most challenging elements of this enchanting display was finding the materials that would work best for our setup. Our porch is not blessed with an external outlet, so finding a battery-operated, weatherproof set of string lights that had the colorful “storm” effect we were looking for was a little exhausting. But find it, we did! The project took roughly two afternoons – one to put together the “clouds” and let them dry and a second to formally hang all of our materials on the porch.
In case you are interested in knowing how we did it – and how you can do it too! – read on for a list of supplies (all Amazon finds) and step-by-step instructions.
Prepare your space and choose a spot in your home to create the magical effect. An area with a low ceiling or in front of a window would work well. We chose to make an outdoor display on our small front porch. Clean the surface well and let it dry completely.
Measure carefully to make sure you know the full size of the space so you can buy the correct size sheet. TIP: Size up on the sheet so you can cut it down to the right dimensions. Our porch space was the perfect size for a twin sheet.
Cut your sheet according to your measurements. Use your spray adhesive to glue the polyester stuffing (our little one enjoyed referring to it as “fluff”) to one side of your sheet. Pull the stuffing apart a bit before gluing it down for that extra fluffy cloud look. No need for the distribution to be perfect, an uneven application of “clouds” makes for a more visually interesting piece.
Back in your location, plan out where you want to stick your 3M hooks to the ceiling. Make sure to account for utility and access if necessary. For us, the home’s entrance was a major obstacle and we needed to make sure candles wouldn’t hit the screen door each time we opened it.
We decided to use the 3M hooks for three purposes – stringing the LED lights, hanging the “cloud” sheet, and hanging the floating candles, so plan a 3M hook path that will work for all – including weight distribution of the sheet. Make sure to stick the 3M hooks on and let them set before hanging anything from them.
String your LED lights through the 3M hook path. Make sure the lights spread out in a way that will feel like the magical “lightning” is rolling across the “clouds.” Since our front porch doesn’t have an electrical outlet, we went with battery-operated string lights. Also, make sure the battery pack is accessible on the side, so you can easily change the batteries when they inevitably go out. Our set used AA batteries.
Hang your “cloud” sheet by cutting holes where the 3M hooks are. If any areas need reinforcements, add a few extra 3M hooks. This may take an hour or two of trial and error.
AddAAA batteries to each of your floating candles and tie on the provided string. Create a small loop and hang one floating candle per 3M hook. Hang them at slightly different heights for a more visually interesting display.
With just a few simple materials and a touch of creativity, we loved transforming our home into a Halloween wonderland filled with floating candles and colorful storms. The only thing missing are thunderstorm sound effects and wizard-worthy musical scores… but that’s something we gather our neighbors would not be too fond of.
Of course, we did end up topping the whole setup off with a delightful display of colorful pumpkins, picked fresh from a local farm. These gorgeous gourds and LED candles with lanterns added just the right touch of Halloween spirit to our otherworldly porch.
Special thanks to the hubby for putting up with my constant need to take photos and videos to document our process.
We are definitely not an “influencer” family and he graciously took on the lead role in my production of “Practical Porch Magic.” ✨
I hope you enjoyed seeing our haunting porch transformation. Let me know if you tried this candle trick – or any other spooky-fun decorating ideas – this Halloween.
As I sit here watching you sleep, I can’t help but think about how lucky I am to be your mom. You may not know this yet, but I’ve been waiting a long time to meet you. And not just the 40 weeks it took to grow you in my belly. I’ve been dreaming of this day for years; before I even met your daddy (but that’s a story for another day).
This is the story about how I met you – in person – for the very first time.
It started nearly a year ago, with a slight hunch and a trip to the doctor’s office. Your dad and I were beyond thrilled to learn that you would soon turn our dynamic duo into a party of three. But it was early and mine was what they call a “geriatric” pregnancy. Since you’re probably still a little young to understand, that means mommy was older (aka 35) when she had you, which meant that I was at a higher risk for complications.
P.S. – 35 is NOT too old to give birth. Don’t ever let anyone tell you you’re too old or too young to do the amazing things you are bound to do in this world.
But even outside of the doctor’s labels, I was afraid. Afraid that, having waited so long to get pregnant, I would be at a higher risk to lose the pregnancy early on. So we waited. We waited to tell our friends and family (yes – we even kept Nana, Popsicle, Papa Doug, and Grandma Brit in the dark!) our wonderfully exciting news to make sure that you were definitely on your way.
And on your way, you certainly were.
Photo by Michelle Mattox Photography
Despite advice to the contrary, Dad and I decided we didn’t want to know if you were a boy or a girl. We decided that whatever you were, it was meant to be and we would love you regardless. Almost everyone we told thought we were crazy, citing a relentless desire to know so that they could “prepare” appropriately. We just enjoyed basking in the idea that we would be surprised on the day you arrived. But it definitely didn’t keep us from guessing every few weeks. Boy or girl? We’d ask. And yes, we had a few gut feelings about it and a few different names picked out… just in case.
Flash forward. Your due date was still a little over a week away, but mamma was ready to get down to business. While I had enjoyed our time together, I was ready to get back to a time when little baby feet were not kickboxing my lungs every five minutes. I also wanted to get back to regular clothes. You’ve probably already learned that mamma loves to shop and maternity clothes are simply not her thing.
No longer working, I had nothing but time to think about everything that was about to happen – and everything that could ultimately go wrong. Your dad and I decided I would have a walking epidural – the kind that eases some of the pain, but still allows you to get up and walk during contractions to help move things along. We also discussed that in an emergency, we would happily take the doctor’s advice, no matter what the surgical implications may be. Little did we know how important that conversation would later become. We also decided that Dad would stay up by Mommy’s head and hold her hand while she was delivering because… well, you’ll understand one day.
Dad did everything he could to try and help me help you along. We read all the blogs about how to naturally induce labor and as the day drew closer, we upped our efforts. We downed juicy fresh pineapple slices and tacos from Taco Bell (did you know some women SWEAR that Taco Bell tacos induce labor?). And while I was feeling some minor contractions, none of it really worked until the night before you were due, when Dad brought home spicy curry from Mommy’s favorite Thai restaurant. Around 6:45pm, I started feeling the contractions move closer and closer together and we knew it was time to hit the road.
I’ve never been more nervous and more excited in my life. The car ride was luckily quite smooth – very little traffic for mid-week in Los Angeles. When we arrived in the maternity ward we quickly filled out the intake paperwork and answered questions about whether or not we’d recently been to China, a question we would learn a few weeks later would mean a worldwide pandemic was about to turn all our lives upside down. But for now, we were in our own little bubble, unfazed by the news spreading around the globe. We were happy to just be you, me and daddy… and the amazing nurses who were helping us, of course.
When we arrived, I wasn’t quite far enough along to technically be admitted, so they asked me to walk the maternity ward for an hour to see if I dilated any further. I was at 4 cm when we arrived and they wanted me closer to 6 cm. So I threw on some cozy socks and Dad and I started walking. Around and around and around. Passing doors of other women who were in labor or who had just given birth to their little loves. Every few feet another contraction would hit and I would double over in pain, gripping the wall to try and stay steady.
And buddy, let me tell you, Dad was amazing. He rubbed my back and held my hand. He offered to get the nurse when things felt too intense and he took breaks with me when I couldn’t keep moving. Dad was an all-star. I would have been lost without him.
Thankfully, the walk worked, and soon enough we were settled into our room and waiting for your arrival. The anesthesiologist arrived soon after to give me the epidural. After a long conversation with him regarding my birth plan and my wishes for the next few hours, I decided that a full epidural was ultimately right for me. It was nearly 11pm by the time he arrived and together, we felt that sleep that night would be a better use of my time – since I would likely not be ready to start pushing until the following morning.
Now, everyone has their opinions about what is best for childbirth. I believe that no one path is right for every woman. I am glad that I went into the situation flexible and willing to listen to the advice of the doctors who had our best interest at heart. While I had an idea of what I had originally wanted, after discussing my personal situation with the doctor, I truly believe we made the best choice for me at the time – especially given how events would later unfold. He administered the epidural and I blissfully felt the pain from the contractions disappear.
Nana and Popsicle arrived soon after and we visited for a while – until, that is, a group of concerned looking nurses swooped in, started flipping me over and supplying me with an oxygen mask. A few minutes later, we learned that your heart rate was dropping dramatically and they were attempting to move you into a different position, one that would keep your heart rate from plummeting and keep us both safe. It was a scary scenario, but the nurses assured us they had it under control and that they would be monitoring us both very closely over the next few hours.
Scarily enough, your heart rate dropped again later that night – making rest for Mamma nearly impossible. Luckily, around 7am the next morning (your actual due date!), the doctor told us we were ready to push. And push we did…
Bud, let me tell you, even with an epidural, this was the most uncomfortable experience. You, of course, were well worth it, but I want you to know that it was no easy moment for Mommy – or Daddy for that matter.
The nurses and doctors switched shifts exactly at 7am, so I was awkwardly introduced to my new lead nurse and we got straight down to business. First things first – she asked Dad hold one of my legs! Poor Dad looked at me and asked what I wanted him to do. Remember, we had agreed he would be staying by my head and holding my hand while I pushed. But with only one nurse in the room and no time to dilly dally, I apologized for what he was about to witness and told him to grab an ankle.
I pushed and pushed and pushed. But nothing. We changed positions, pushed some more and then changed positions again. Two hours later, the doctor was by my bedside with a concerned look on her face. As it turns out, you were already showing a little bit of your stubborn streak. She explained that each time I pushed, you would begrudgingly make your way up the birth canal, only to retreat back again once the pushing stopped. And to make things worse, your heart rate was dropping to alarmingly low levels each time. They were asking me to move into different positions to see what you liked best. Apparently, the answer was that you hated them all.
So the doctor gave us options:
We could keep pushing to see if we could get you far enough down for her to vacuum you out (absolutely not)
We could talk about a c-section (also not what I wanted to hear)
She said that she was happy to help facilitate continued pushing, but Mommy was concerned that we would go through so much extra work (remember it’s already been two hours of pushing) only to find that it wouldn’t work and we’d have to do a c-section anyway. Plus, we were all quite worried about your dipping heart rate each time I pushed. So Mommy and Daddy made the very hard decision to deliver you through surgery. Scary, but necessary.
Once we officially made the call, the situation blurred. Daddy was given protective gear and Mommy was quickly prepped for surgery. They wheeled me down the hall to an operating room and strapped me to a table where a very lovely anesthesiologist talked me through the next few steps. He was honestly so sweet – telling me I was an A+ patient for how calm I was being in the face of unplanned emergency surgery. But all I kept thinking was… what other choice do I have?!
I listened to the doctors and nurses as they ran down their pre-flight checklist, ensuring that they had everything they needed. As their conversation slid closer and closer to the first cut, I became worried that Daddy wasn’t in the room yet. To be honest, I was terrified they had forgotten about him (he was asked to stay in the hallway until I was fully prepped). Thankfully he showed up just in time.
What does a c-section feel like? It’s kind of hard to explain. You don’t feel pain, but you do feel… pressure. With every tug and pull near my tummy, I imagined the doctors pushing my organs out of the way to get to you. I couldn’t see anything, of course, because a large sheet intersected my body, blocking all the action. But before I knew what was happening, the doctor announced that we had a brand new baby boy and asked if we knew what his name was. And Daddy, who was still right by my side, confidently gave them your name.
Immediately, you were whisked over to the side of the room where Daddy ceremoniously trimmed your umbilical cord, and they cleaned and weighed you. And I cried, Baby Boy. I cried at the overwhelming feeling of what I had just done. I cried because after all of the waiting, I just wanted to hold you in my arms. I cried as my love for your Dad overcame me while watching him beam with pride as he watched his first son being placed in my arms.
And – of course – once I had hold of you, I cried a little more. I cried when they told me that your umbilical cord was wrapped around your neck and that your head was a little flatter than most, making it hard to get past my pelvic bone. I cried thinking back to all that pushing and your dipping heart rate and realizing what you must have been going through when all of that was happening. I cried with a grateful heart for the amazing nurses and doctors who helped shepherd you safely into the world without any issues.
Once I got ahold of myself, all I could think about was holing you forever. But we couldn’t hang out for long. I did still have a pretty big surgery to finish up.
So Daddy took you back to our room and held you skin-on-skin, while I stayed with the doctors so they could make sure that I was okay.
Baby, a lot more happened over the next few days; I wasn’t allowed to get out of bed for 24 hours.
24 hours.
That’s nearly a lifetime for a girl whose nickname from her parents is indicative of her inability to sit still. I’ll spare you the details of how that all went down exactly, but it meant Daddy had to do a lot of the heavy lifting (aka change your diaper, swaddle you, and take you to have tests done) in those first few days. Although I did stay up with you all night that first night. You cried every time we put you in your little hospital bassinet, so I held you and watched late night talk shows on TV with no sound because Dad and I couldn’t figure out how to turn it up. A silly detail, I know. But it’s one that I will cherish forever because it was more time that I had to breathe in your amazing new baby smell and hold you tightly as I began to love deeper than I had ever loved before.
As I write this, I am sitting uncomfortably bundled up in our living room, 9ish months pregnant and 3.5 weeks shy of giving birth to our first child. My feet are swollen, my wedding rings no longer fit, and it feels like this baby is doing backflips in my belly. It’s a mildly uncomfortable, wholly beautiful place to be.
But three years ago, I was teetering on the edge of wondering if I would ever start a family.
Mainly because my now-husband had successfully diverted my attention away from anything even hinting at the idea of marriage.
“What’s next for us?” I had asked him that October. To him it may have sounded like a direct dive into “Why aren’t we married yet?” territory, but all I really had on my mind was a commitment to some kind of timeline, particularly moving in together.
The conversation didn’t go my way.
“It’s not really something I’m thinking about right now, babe,” he said in frustration. “I’m in grad school, the holidays are coming, and everything is so crazy.” Obviously, that was not the answer I was looking for; admittedly, what followed wasn’t my best moment. He still calls it out every time we pass the restaurant where the conversation took place.
“There’s the place where I made you mad.”
Yes, babe. I remember.
Contrary to popular belief, I wasn’t upset that he didn’t propose on the spot. I wasn’t expecting anything close to that. But it had taken me about a month to work up the courage to ask the question at all. I finally mustered up the spunk after I truly felt like we might be on the same page. So not only did he shoot me down with one fell swoop, it appeared we weren’t actually on the same page at all. And that was a fairly tough pill for this 30-something, mega-planner to swallow.
Quick backstory: I’ve wanted children since I can remember. I’ve always pictured myself as a mom – twin girls and a boy was how it always manifested in my head – and not having a plan for how to get to that goal stressed me the eff out at times. My twenties hadn’t exactly been ideal breeding ground, with no really serious, long-term relationships to speak of. What I hadn’t yet told Kris (because I actually wanted him to stick around) was that just weeks before he had asked me out on our first date (nearly two years before this story starts), I was making arrangements to see a fertility doctor. Convinced that I would be doomed to repeat my twenties in my thirties, I was resolved to the idea of eventually exploring my dream of motherhood solo, and was preparing to embark on egg freezing.
So when I did end up meeting this funny, amazing human being sitting in front of me, and he did stick around longer than three dates, my always-five-steps-ahead brain was lamenting an insane timeline that no one could have lived up to, and I ended up falling down a rabbit hole of anxiety until I had effectively aged myself out of ever having children, not only with him… but with anyone.
Insane, I know. But anxiety is a fickle thing, and at the time it was overwhelming to have to continue to wonder if we were ever going to be more, let alone if we were going to get to move in together.
What I didn’t know is that earlier that day Kris had ventured out on his very first shopping trip for what would eventually become my engagement ring. His reaction to the question wasn’t because he wasn’t thinking about it; rather he was so caught off guard that I had chosen that night to bring it up. In his retelling of the story, his exact thought process was “Does she know? How the hell did she find out? How can I distract her so that this whole surprise proposal thing works out?”
Thankfully, after a few glasses of wine and a return to reason, I made the quick decision not to be totally insane and instead to give him the year he asked for. Essentially, I promised myself I would not harass him about next steps until he was done with grad school; but dammit if I didn’t have a plan of attack for exactly what I would say come the following year when “time officially ran out.”
By the time we flew to Olympia, Washington in the days following Christmas, the idea that a proposal could be on the horizon was the furthest thing from my mind. Why stress myself out over something I knew was impossible? My husband is a “tell it like it is” kind-of-guy. He doesn’t bullshit and he definitely doesn’t lie. So I knew that there was no shot of anything happening until he was done with grad school. Close the book. End of story.
Of course, I learned later that Kris spent the first few days of that trip attempting to plot out the perfect location. In fact, unbeknownst to me, Kris had been plotting since early November when he first started making attempts to ask my dad for his blessing. He finally made it happen Thanksgiving weekend (while standing in the Wilson driveway, packing the car to go back to LA), but he had asked my dad not to tell anyone – including my mom – so that he could ensure the ultimate surprise.
Washington State Capitol and Capitol Lake. Photo by Heidi Marshall Photography.
He chose the rainy afternoon of December 29 to take me to Capitol Lake, a beautiful area just below the Washington Capitol building and adjacent to downtown Olympia. At first we parked on the far side of the lake –the furthest side from town – and started meandering under a shared umbrella, splashing through puddles and enjoying the scenery. Eventually, my lack of rain survival skills got the better of me and I asked if we could please (*please*) move the car closer to town and find shelter out of the rain. This SoCal-raised girl was not holding up well. Mainly because what I thought was appropriate footwear for inclement Pacific Northwest weather was, in fact, not suitable at all. My socks were soaked, my feet were blistering, I was a hot mess and I was trying so hard not to be that annoying person who can’t handle a little wet weather, especially because he had planned this super cute afternoon date, but I just couldn’t hang.
He lovingly obliged my annoying request and eventually we found ourselves perusing old vinyl at Rainy Day Records (the humor is not lost on me) and finally enjoying coffee and tea at the adorable Olympia Coffee. Once the clouds finally parted and a reshuffling of my soaking wet socks produced a more tolerable pain, we decided to walk (read: hike) up to the Capitol building. For anyone who doesn’t know the area – it’s beautiful and well worth the time, but the switchbacks can be killer on soaked feet and a bruised SoCal ego.
“Where would you live if you could live anywhere?” he asked. Odd, I thought. But I liked where his head was finally at.
“Portland or Washington D.C.,” I said. “But honestly, I’d go anywhere as long as I was going there with you.”
“Me too,” he responded. Major heart eyes.
Okay, looking back on it now, it is very clear that he was waiting for the right moment to do something crazy romantic. But again – in my defense – I was in absolute heart protection mode. There was to be no proposal because the man said he needed a year. It had been two months since that conversation and I would have been absolutely nuts to think anything had changed in the meantime. So no… I remained completely oblivious to everything that was right in front of my face. And to be honest, I am so happy that I did.
We drifted back down the hill as it was getting dark and headed out onto a small dock over the water. We plotted new adventures together and rambled on about how much fun the last two years had been. It was all straight-from-the-end-of-a-RomCom-stuff until he abruptly interrupted the moment with, “We should move. It’s too dark here.”
Too dark? I thought. Are we going to get mugged out here?
Moments later we were nestled under our large umbrella further down the lit park pathway. “I hope you know that these past two years have been the happiest of my life,” I said.
Without realizing anything, I had set it up perfectly.
Photo by Heidi Marshall Photography.
“I’m glad you feel that way,” he said, reaching into his pocket. “Because if you’ll let me, I’d like to make you happy forever.” He pulled out the ring and got down on one knee. “Will you marry me?” he asked.
I stood there, stunned.
Complete shock overcame me as I tried to process what was happening. Had I suddenly, without realizing it, transported a year into the future? Because by my understanding, this scenario was not possible. “Are you serious?” were the only words I could summon.
His face cringed a little not knowing exactly what to do with my ridiculous reaction. I’m not usually one to be at a loss for words (hello, have you been reading this super long blog post?), but in this particular moment, I couldn’t summon anything that even resembled a coherent thought other than… “Are you serious?”
After repeating the phrase a few more times, I finally gathered myself together enough to give an enthusiastic “Yes!” and broke into tears. It was beyond perfect and while the emotional turmoil of the preceding months had wreaked havoc on my nervous system, looking back on it, I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Kris quickly (a little too quickly) mentioned that we should go to dinner; it was getting late and he was hungry, but I wanted to call my mom. “We’ll call her as soon as we’re done,” he said. And of course, I was too blinded by the brand new (totally stunning) rock on my finger to do anything other than blindly follow him anywhere he wanted to take me.
On arrival, the bartender pointed us toward the back of the restaurant and Kris led me through the maze of empty tables with precision and purpose. When we rounded the corner, I was shocked to see a room full of faces I knew. Kris’s family had gathered for a celebratory dinner! It was so sweet and my heart was so full. I found myself relishing the moment and as overcome with the thought that my little world had collided so splendidly with the worlds of these amazing humans.
And then it happened. As I scanned the room further, my eyes finally landed on my parents.
Yes, the ones who live in San Diego. The ones we had said goodbye to three days earlier before boarding our flight for Christmas break part two: Olympia edition.
I broke into tears*sobs* again. To make for the perfect evening, Kris had managed to pull my dad aside during the Christmas holiday in San Diego and ask if my parents could fly up the night of the proposal. My mom was brought into the scheme as soon as Kris and I left town for Olympia and even though it was last minute, they dropped everything to be there for the big moment. It was truly the most magical moment and my heart bursts to this day thinking about the time and attention to detail that my amazing husband put into making it perfect for me.
Flash forward to three years later.
We’re bundled up on the couch, experiencing an uncharacteristically cold December weekend in Los Angeles and eagerly anticipating the birth of our first child. We opted to stay close to our OBs and hospital this holiday, for obvious reasons. We miss the Washington family dearly and we miss doing our walk around the lake. But feeling cozy under the handmade blanket given to us by my sister-in-law for our wedding, I have loved recounting every minute of this very special day.
And when the time comes, I can’t wait to return to this important place in our family’s history and tell Baby O all about the time Dad asked Mom to spend the rest of their lives together.
Footnote: if you’re in the Western Washington state area, give Heidi Marshall Photography a ring. She has an awesome eye and perfectly captured our engagement walk nearly 8 months later (luckily, when it wasn’t raining).
The glitz and glam of the holidays has come to an end. I’ve kicked off my party shoes and slipped my aching feet into the less glamorous, but oh-so-comfy, Uggs we lovingly call life-per-usual.
Maybe it’s the stress of the two full time jobs that I’m currently working – or the fact that I’ve spent the last three days glued to my couch, knocked out with the gnarliest head cold I’ve had in years, and nothing but a marathon Game of Thrones session with the hubsters and my thoughts to keep me going – but I’ve been crazy for change lately.
Not grand gesture, big announcement, I’m going to live-off-the-grid kind of change, but change that moves you nonetheless. While I’ve been settling back into the swing of our typical day-to-day grind, I’m realizing that the only thing that’s really grinding is me… and it’s not working. I’m not as healthy as I could (or should) be, I’m not as organized as I’d like to be and all of it is driving me (and let’s be honest, probably also my husband) just a little insane. So something needs to change.
But the memory of made and abandoned resolutions is a hard pill to swallow. Remember 2014, when I attempted to take and post an Instagram photo every day? Well I abandoned that in late-August when an unrelenting anxiety about posting finally got the better of me. And while I was bummed I made it that far and didn’t finish out the year, what I lost in unfulfilled resolutions I gained in time, which allowed me to meet my now-husband just a few weeks later. I’ve also vowed numerous times to return to blogging at the start of a new year. I won’t make any major promises on that front this time around (lest my two-full time jobs get the better of me in the next few months), but I’ll do my best to get back to the one true passion that ultimately drives me.
So what is all this about? What exactly am I going to do? Well, I am not going to do is make a resolution that I’ll start some fancy new diet or go to the gym every day. If you know me, you know that’s crazy. First, I love cooking and baking and food (oh my!) and second, I don’t really love how smelly and gross the gym can be this time of year. I can’t guarantee that I am going to be as clean as I should be, or that I won’t always be stressed out. I’m a stress case. We all know it.
But what I will promise myself is to be more mindful. More mindful about the food that I eat. And the choices that I make. In fact, I promise to make one small choice for change a day – whether it’s making an effort to clean the house on a random Thursday night or choosing to listen to my body and stay out that extra hour after work so that I can make it to the yoga class I used to love so much. Maybe it’s waking up 30 minutes earlier than normal to assess the day and get prepared for what’s ahead or resting my mind with 30 minutes of meditation one night after a truly stressful day at work. It could be going through my closet and donating the old clothes that I haven’t worn in years, or finally picking through the boxes under the bed in the spare room, filled with treasures I couldn’t bare to part with when I moved out of my last apartment, but honestly haven’t looked at since.
Above all? I promise to make mindful moments matter in 2019.
So help keep me accountable, okay? And feel free to leave behind any tips you may have for staying mindful in 2019.
Recently, the future hubsters recommended we take date night to a pizza place. I laughed and nearly choked on my water. Wasn’t he there for the whole “I’m foregoing cheese and wheat for the foreseeable future” conversation? I’m pretty sure I remember him being present.
In his defense, I’ve been known to fall off this no-cheese, no-wheat wagon a time or two (or twenty). But we are currently in a place where we’re roughly 200 days away from the wedding and I’m being forced to go to dress fittings, so for now, we’re (read: I’m) really trying to stay on top of that constantly wobbly wagon. Also in his defense, he was super on top of things (as always) and he thought ahead.
Did you know Blaze Pizzaserves a gluten-free crust (cool!) and vegan cheese (super cool!)? I’m apparently quite late to this party, but… after a quick glance at their website, I was stoked to find a build-your-own pizza option that offers both (P.S. all of their crust is also vegan). And because I am suspiciously intrigued by taste testing “faux” cheese, I eagerly agreed to the date (let’s be real, I would have agreed regardless, but this news made it extra sweet).
The “fast-casual” dining experience is a Chipotle for pizza. It has a ton of amazing pre-built options for the wheat-eating, cheese-consuming among us (jealous) and a BYO option for those of a more food-sensitive persuasion. Kris ordered a delicious looking pesto pie (not dairy-free FYI) while I set my sights on the assortment of fresh veggies they had on display behind the counter. After piling marinara sauce, vegan cheese, spinach, banana peppers, minced garlic, roasted red peppers, and a pinch of salt on top of a gluten-free crust, they threw it into the large pizza oven and we waited.
And… waited.
My BYO Blaze pizza, burned edges and all.
My pizza took far longer than others. Like, Kris’s pizza was close to getting cold before my name was called. I’m assuming the vegan cheese threw them. As many of you well know, faux cheese can be difficult to melt. Depending on the brand, you can blast it with a blowtorch and it stays perfectly proportioned into straight little shreds.
But melt it they did, my friends! They burned the edges of the crust just a weeeee bit too much for my liking, but all was forgiven as soon as I bit into it, because OH-EM-GEE this pizza was amazing. I don’t know if it was the minced garlic or that extra pinch of salt, or if Blaze really is that skilled at making gluten-free crust, but this pizza seriously rocked. The crust lacked that chalky, often dry texture that usually comes from a gluten free dough. And the cheese was melted to perfection and had that delicious balance of creaminess and saltiness that you expect from the real thing. My only regret? Not adding the artichoke hearts and, like, the thousand other toppings they had.
As luck would have it, there was a soft-serve place in the same shopping center that served vegan ice cream (we spotted it while standing in line!). So we each only ate half of our pizzas, boxed up the rest, and took our date-night over to Swirl. This very simple ice cream spot is small, but serves up a heck of a lot of charm. The vegan ice cream is limited – one rotating item per day – but what they lack in options, they surely make up for in super cute decor. The vegan item of the day was Pistachio Coconut. I was hesitant at first (coconut and I are super cool, pistachio has never been a flavor I get the feels for), but I am so glad that I went for it anyway.
The cutest wall decor at Swirl
The flavor was rich and seemed to get more complex with every bite. Kris layered his non-vegan lemon flavor with a ton of fruit flavored cereal, which looked (and smelled) delicious. He assured me it was.
All-in-all, it was a sweetly successful FriYAY date-night (thanks, babe!) and super fun checking out not one but TWO local eateries that cater to the food sensitive and vegan among us! See the location deets below for more info if you’re L.A. local and want to check these super awesome options out for yourself!
Blueberries and papaya and hay… oh my! This is the story of how a small section of the Okimoto kitchen turned into a bunny feeding factory.
A little less than a year ago, I (halfway-jokingly) came home and announced to my fiance that I thought we should get a bunny. We had just moved in with each other and had been debating the merits of adding a pet to the mix when a co-worker had introduced me to photos of her beautiful little bunny. I laughed at first, thinking back to my childhood when we kept bunnies in the backyard in a giant hutch that always smelled and was a nightmare to clean. Surely, caring for a bunny in an apartment was not a possibility.
Wrong.
I went home to Kris that night armed with the stories of apartment dwelling rabbits who could be liter box trained (just like a cat!) and – in all honesty – expected him to laugh at me. Instead, in true Kris fashion, he suggested I do a little more research on what we would have to do to make bunny-ownership a reality. The next night, I came home from work to find that he had spent a chunk of his work day “falling down the rabbit hole” of rabbit-owner websites and watching alllll the YouTube videos he could find (I dare you to Google it – there’s a whole world of bunny obsessed YouTubers out there, bless their hearts!). And with that, he was hooked.
As fate would have it, a state-of-the-art adoption center had opened up just down the road from us and were trying to adopt – you guessed it – bunnies! Angelenos who are looking to adopt, PLEASE check out Annenberg PetSpace, I promise you won’t regret it (think clean, friendly and no-kill!). We made quite a few trips down to play with these charming little critters before finally deciding on a spunky little sweetheart they had named, Papita. While we didn’t vibe with the name, we connected with her right away. One of the few bunnies in the adoption center that would let us sit, pet and play with her, we knew she was special from the moment we saw this pitch-black beauty.
Fast-forward four months later and (post-name change) Luna is the true queen of our castle. She loves bluberries and dried papaya, and gets a huge kick out of running laps around our living room ottoman. Plus, her vegan bunny diet has encouraged me to wrap more veggies into our daily dinner recipies (seriously, we’ve had a true broccoli revitalization since little Luna became a permanent resident in the Okimoto household.
She’s probably the most spoiled bunny I have ever seen and to be totally honest, I don’t think I’d have it any other way.
There’s something intriguing about the lives we lead online. Think about it, just 15 years ago our stories didn’t exist on the global level that they do today. When I was in high school (for reference, I’m positively ancient in the eyes of my 18-year-old students) the best way to know what was going on in someone’s life was to pass a brilliantly crafted, multi-colored note in AP US History that was artfully origami-ed into the shape of a heart. There were no hourly status updates and no beautiful images of your last trip to Let’s Make Everyone Jealous, USA. In fact, the only place to store your most precious photos (which were most likely taken by a disposable camera and developed at the 1-hour photo counter in Target) was in a scrapbook or a photo album. You know, the tangible kind you could hold in your hand.
And when high school was over? Well, for the most part you lost touch with people, only getting the chance to hear their story during a run in at the grocery store or maybe at the ten year reunion (if you even bothered to go).
Enter Social Media. A one stop shop to making our stories go totally viral and connecting with people who used to be too far out of our reach. It has its positives and negatives, but I’d like to focus on what makes it engaging and beautiful. It gives us a medium for telling the world who we are. It gives us a unique opportunity to find our individual voices and to express ourselves in new and adventurous ways. I absolutely love that businesses and marketers are finally understanding the benefit of weaving a story to connect with their consumers. What’s even better is there is no right or wrong way to use it. Sure, people (read: marketers and SEO specialists) have their ideas of “best practices,” but the rules go out the window when a truly creative idea comes to bat. What we choose to share with our friends or our followers becomes more than a photo of a gourmet meal or an engagement ring; it becomes a device to pull people into the story we each want to tell.
As you know, I recently began an interesting project. 365 days of Instagram pictures; a photo a day for an entire year. In all honesty, it began as (what I naively assumed would be) an easy resolution for the New Year. How hard can it be to simply snap a picture a day, right? Well, I’m barely 2 days in and it’s actually a lot harder than I thought. Apparently, it’s not as simple as point, click, post. If this project goes as planned then these images, in their entirety, will be my story for 2014. They’ll capture the moment I turn thirty, my spring camping trip with my family, at least two weddings and two births, and those are just the moments I know are coming. There are still so many plot twists that are yet to be uncovered.
As I was traipsing through the shrubbery outside of my office this afternoon, trying to capture an interesting photo to represent Jan 2, I couldn’t help but think about how far I’ve come since the days of passing notes discreetly under desks. I couldn’t help but wonder what my next story will turn out to be. Wherever the year takes me, I’m thrilled to be documenting the journey in such a memorable way.
Don’t get me wrong, there were a few absolutely amazing things that happened to us along the way. Two dream-worthy career opportunities were probably the highlight. The successful writing partnership, beautiful friends, and the many (seriously, so many) wine tasting trips were delightful. I traveled and I grew. I loved, I lost, I learned. For all of that, I am truly grateful. Lest this anti-love note to the past 365 days take a tone that borders on bitter, let me state upfront, I am most certainly thankful for the countless blessings that have been bestowed upon me.
Inspiration for 2014
But in the name of full disclosure, I’m over it. I’m over the fact that I’ve been neglecting this blog. I’m over the fact that I haven’t even cracked the surface on the editing notes for my novel that I received last January. I’m over the fact that I wrote only ten articles for Cinema Coma this past year. Seriously. Less than one a month. I won’t even attempt to broach the subject of my personal (read: dating) life, which has dealt me quite a few irritating (read: devastating) blows of it’s own this year. Long story short, I let myself slide on more than a few promises I made to myself this year and starting tomorrow, that changes.
I am over being over everything.
Last January, I announced confidently that I would write daily. While I did write something on the regs (yay for small accomplishments), I would like to amend it ever so slightly for the New Year. With that in mind, here is my list of (hopefully not too cliche) goals for 2014:
Love. Bigger and better than ever before. Because… well, I think I finally deserve to cash in on that happily ever after that people keep telling me is coming my way.
Take a picture every day. I know people who did this a few years back and I have been enamored with the idea ever since. If anything, I’ll at least get a few great Instagram photos out of it (look for #instaAttitude).
Work on my novel at least once a week (let’s be real, a daily goal would just be setting myself up for failure). Go ahead and keep me honest.
Spend more time with friends and family. So basically, more phone calls, mid-week dinners, and 3+hour Google Hangouts with a few of my fab East Coasters.
Breathe. Seems simple, but for me it isn’t.
Raise my Cinema Coma monthly article average. Maybe this year, I can aim for 2. You know, reach for the stars and all.
Find a Yoga instructor that I actually like. (PS… apparently, it’s harder than you’d think).
Get back into Yoga. Starting off the New Year with insane back pain is not exactly my idea of a good time.
Turn 30. It was already on the schedule, so why not make it a ressie, right? I’m thinking a huge beachside bungalow blowout.
Start the process of buying a house. I know… that’s a big one. But I’ve decided it’s happening.
Get an article published through another nationally recognized site or magazine. You know, build up my street cred.
And obviously, update this blog a little more often.
So screw the drama, 2013. Things are looking up in the New Year and I’m pretty damn excited.
As an editor for an entertainment website, I’ve had the opportunity to experience so many amazing industry events and celebrity run-ins, in and around Los Angeles. Over the years I’ve listened to George Clooney talk candidly about ‘The Descendants’ at the Arclight Hollywood, I’ve seen pre-screenings of amazing Oscar contenders, I’ve even run into Chris Rock in a production office hallway (literally smacked right into him while turning the corner… awkward!), but none of these big celebrity moments can compare to the satisfaction of being invited to a theater revival event and being re-introduced to a part of movie history that I had long since written off.
I must admit, I’ve never really been a fan of silent films. When forced to watch them in film school, I could most certainly appreciate them for their beauty or for what they did for the film industry, but never really understood the draw. That being said, conveying a story without dialogue is no easy feat. Having written a dialogue-less short or two in my day, I can speak to the intensity of that craft. When it’s done right, it can be breathtaking. When it’s done wrong… well, that’s why not everyone’s cut out for film school.
Thankfully, a little venue in El Segundo recently helped me see that silent films can certainly pack a stellar punch. My co-editor and I were invited down to Old Town Music Hall in El Segundo, CA for an afternoon of music and movies and I am so unbelievably glad I went. We watched an old silent comedy short and it was accompanied by a live organist. The organ was the source for the film’s music and sound effects, so we saw the film the way it was originally intended to be seen! It was stunning. It is hands down the best way to watch silent films. Unfortunately, there are so few places left that are able to show films in this light.
If you live nearby or are in town visiting, you have to stop by OTMH on the weekend, if only to view this amazing organ they call the Mighty Wurlitzer. Seriously, it’s a beast! The theater also specializes in jazz, ragtime and organ concerts for guests. Film admission is $10 and concert admission is around $20 (so affordable and it’s definitely fun for the whole family). As a writer, I am thrilled to take part in getting the word out about this great theater. I can only dream that I am lucky enough to one day have my work featured in a place as fantastic as this.
So much gratitude goes out to Stage 32 for inviting us to the event and introducing us to such a great local theater.
very day. I know people who did this a few years back and I have been enamored with the idea ever since. If anything, I’ll at least get a few great Instagram photos out of it (look for #instaAttitude).
Ashley Okimoto 