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About kb

free spirit, lover of red wine, bacon, sushi, the ocean, and adventure. I work in the legal field, do freelance writing, and take care of children.

On Art. and Expression.

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I can never decide what to write when I’m staring at the blank screen. It’s so….empty.

Sometimes I want to write what I’m thinking; mostly, I feel the need to catalog my day. It’s as though I can tell my state of mind simply by remembering what I did, where I went, what I saw. 
Tonight is a little bit of both. There’s so much happening, not happening, swirling around. And there are so many thoughts, too. And a rant, if you’re lucky. 
Ike, my cousin in town for the holiday weekend, and I went to the Art Museum today. I spent a lot of time trying to think of something that he might like to do; I didn’t want to disappoint him. We had a good time, checking out all of the art as we chatted. As we got back to Grandma’s door, we were talking about how we’ve never hung out as adults (we were born two weeks apart but are separated by so much – experience, space, time, etc). “It’s nice to meet you,” he said. It’s nice to meet you too, Ike. 
Foxes. 

This painting was fabulous, but strange. I liked the way that Ike melded chromatically into it. 

This painting caught my eye. It was painted in 1898, yet the colors are still so vibrant. 

Jesus. 
Lately, I’ve been hearing a lot of mixed opinions about the fact that I blog so much about my life. First of all, this is hardly scratching the surface. This doesn’t serve as a diary. It’s not my every thought or feeling. Trust me – what you see is not always what you get here. Sometimes, yes. 
This is my place to collect things. I love reviewing it. Sometimes I’m struck by my insight, other times I disagree with my past self entirely. Sometimes I use this a marker, to see how much I’ve grown as a person. Sometimes it’s just purely nostalgic. To be honest, there are moments when it’s downright embarrassing. 
Either way, the same thing holds true now that has always held: If you don’t like it, don’t read it. There are other blogs. But there are no other Katie Barry’s. (Actually, there are. I’m Facebook friends with most – many – of them. They’re a fun bunch.) 
I’m going to spare you the rant I’d decided I wanted to throw here. Hopefully when I sleep on it, it will turn into something more beautiful than the angry ball it is right now. It’s about honesty. Honesty with yourself and with everyone around you. It’s one of the things I value more than anything else in this world. I live by full disclosure (mostly). I believe that the truth of our reality lies in our experiences. If you can come to terms with events and realizations as they occur, you’re more able to process, cope, understand. The understanding that comes from honesty beats anything kept hidden by a shroud of secrecy. 
Sleep sweet, world. 

On Simon’s Back Bumper

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Yesterday, Mom’s five-year old neighbor Avery came over.
“Katie,” she told me. “Your car is all smashed.” (Simon’s been lacking his normal duct tape lately. I really do need to do something about this.)
I tell her that it happened a long time ago, when I lived in Chicago.
“You should just take your car back and get a new one,” she said.
Good advice.
Too bad the insurance company doesn’t see it the same way.

On Pictures from Mom’s phone

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Assorted pictures from Mom’s phone – since it’s dying and we had to do a data swap, I ended up with all of them. I thought I’d share a couple with you: 
Grandma Mary and Uncle Mark, Vermont
I so very much love this picture.
Mike and Lola

I have more, but I desperately need to get to a computer charger. So those can come later.

On Tuesday, fondly

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Jumbled thoughts, collected below: 
I am pleased to report that I have successfully returned all six books to the Denver Public Library, one day before their due date. No fines! 
Your song for the day is Regina Spektor’s Us. I’m starting to get nostalgic – this week last year was the beginning of the end of South Africa. I remember so badly wanting to get out of the tangled mess that was the end, but I knew even then that an impermeable love for that place had settled in my soul. Every time I hear this song, I think about my commute to and from work. It reminds me of the jangle of the chain as I closed the front gate at Priscilla’s; the hustle of Wynberg market; the way the street smelled in the morning; the narrow, slanted sidewalks. I wish I had a jar of South African sand. I would open it right now and dig around, letting the sand slip through my fingers. I would think about wine, and the waves, and looming mountains. I would be home. 
I’m happy. I woke up this morning and I was utterly content, all the way to my bones. I didn’t want to get up; I didn’t want to leave; I just wanted to roll over and shut out the day. I wanted to nuzzle in, close my eyes, and pretend that the alarm wasn’t going to ring obnoxiously in another nine minutes. 
But of course it did, as alarms are wont to do. Even though I’m not nesting happily somewhere, there’s a constant current running through me. I can dig this. 
It’s too bad we couldn’t have just ray-gunned the Jackson 5 so they would have stayed in those childhood moments forever. Much better than their later selves, less creepy. 

On Monday, quickly

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As a rule the purchase of books is mistaken for the appropriation of their contents.
-Schopenhauer

I found this quote after I’d decided that I’m going to buy everyone I know books for Christmas. Okay, back to square one. 
I love that this is a short week! I’m so frazzled right now, trying to get everything done. M is in town tomorrow night with her boyfriend, P, so I’m going to meet up with her and the family for dinner. I am so excited – I didn’t think I was going to be able to see them before they headed up to the mountains for Thanksgiving.

Tonight was supposed to be cleaning night, but instead, it’s throw everything around in an attempt to make organization piles. Instead of actually dealing with these piles, I think I’ll just leave them and get around to them later, as per usual.
I’m also facing the wrath of Carlos at the moment; I got home and he’d gotten into something he shouldn’t have, and consequently, he had to have a bath. Great. Now I have damp cat sitting on everything but his blanket. He’s furious at me. Instead, I’m practicing excellent escapism and going out to dinner with K. I think I’m making a much better choice. He’s more fun than laundry and wet cat any day. 

On the Weekend

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Don’t ask. We didn’t take any good pictures that night. I tried. But know that these two people are the two most beautiful people I know.  

apparently, I’m too pale for cameras. 

All ages shows make me feel old. 
Friday. Really fun night. The owner of the PS Lounge remembered me and K from last week and bought us drinks while Em and J ate at the Thai place, so that was nice. Then the concert happened. Em and J danced, K and I danced. I was blissfully happy. I love my friends. I love my life.  
Saturday. We ran errands – made a Costco run, ate burritos, washed the car (not mine, of course). I babysat. The little girls are always such a delight. 
Today. Woke up at 5. Made some muffins. Snowboarding with K, K, and E, Friends-giving in the evening. Cranberries turned out alright! 
Can you tell I’m too tired to actually type words? Going to bed early. Going to be a productive human being tomorrow. (maybe)
Day three. We’re going to get this by the end of the season, I promise. 
I guess I enjoy standing in front of people and blocking them in pictures. 
Em, K, me, K, day 3, Breckenridge

On Everything

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The Broncos won last night!! Such a good game to be at! The fourth quarter was lovely! And the weather was nice. I’m still not on the Tebow bandwagon, but at least I’m feeling a bit more proud of our team. Uncle Mike wins awesome Uncle of the Year award for hauling us back to the Light Rail station at DU, and also because his commentary during the game always makes me smile. He’s the best to sit by.  (Also, Mom and I were reminiscing about the drive to Chicago all those years ago. And he still wins for that.)

Tomorrow is National Adoption Day. Did you know that there are over 107,000 kids in foster care waiting to be adopted? A lot of them won’t ever be, which is really sad. Every child deserves a family.
I hope that when I grow up (a little more), I am able to be a foster parent or at least get involved in helping foster kids find good adoptive homes.

http://www.ccainstitute.org/our-programs/national-adoption-day.html

Also, Mike just finished writing a big paper for his psychology class about adoptions and success in life. If you’re interested, you might email him and ask for a copy. I know that he spent a lot of time working on it and considering all of the factors that can affect people who’ve been adopted.

My boss (who has four adopted children of his own) always says that kids who are adopted only want to know two things: why they were given up and who their birth parents are. He’s so right. I know why I’m where I am today and I know half of who my birth parents are, but I find that as I get older, the desire to know just what my biological father looked like grows stronger. Where is this nose from?!

I’m stoked to procreate the regular way one day and have kids who look like me, but I think that should I run into conception challenges – I’d absolutely consider adoption over other fertility stuff. (Not knocking all the IVF and surrogacy stuff, just saying.)

Today is Grandpa George’s birthday (he would have been 86) and my half-birthday. Mom always sends me a text on my half birthday, and every year, I have no idea that it’s today until I get it. (This is also just another piece of evidence that she loves me more than Mike – he doesn’t get half-birthday texts or facebook wall posts.)

Happy Birthday Grandpa George! I emailed Grandma to say that this would have been the age we would have started to tease him about being very elderly.

Pretending that you’re not as poor as you are is getting to be really stressful. I know that I make a lot of lifestyle choices, including my adventures, but each of those choices involve a lot of careful planning and sacrifice. I am so grateful for all of the support systems I have in my life – I know that if I was desperate, I could call Mom, but at the same time, I’m so determined to be completely independent that I won’t dare. There’s no need. I won’t rely on anyone to take care of me. Not now, or ever.
Once bills and rent and loan payments are made, the daily budget sits somewhere around $15 (give or take) – which sounds like it’s good enough until you realize that filling your car up with gas is two days worth of life expenses. Everything comes down to “how many days do I lose?” if I do or eat or buy this or that or the other thing. That said, I refuse to let experiences pass me by. I will not stay home and let life go on without me.  There are so many things I’d like to do (like get Simon a new bumper, one month of life expenses) that fall by the wayside. I spend a lot of time stressing out about this (and retirement), especially since I feel like so many of my friends (all of them) are making more than me.
I realize I shouldn’t complain. I’m really lucky. I’m happy at work; I’m learning a lot; it’s a laid-back environment (which I need and thrive in).
But it makes me feel like I’m not good enough, not as smart, not as talented, not as driven, not as successful, not as goal oriented, not as focused, utterly lacking potential for growth. (There’s a lot of NOTs in there, and I’d like to be able to focus more of my energy on being less NOT and more BE – as in I AM successful, I AM goal oriented, I AM focused, driven, etc.) It’s just overwhelmingly frustrating and really scary. I would like just one month where I could buy a new pair of jeans (a week or so out of my budget). Or boots that didn’t come from Target (3x the daily budget). Or eat three meals a day. Maybe next year. Maybe I just need to find another weekend job. Or start babysitting more. I’ve been eating the same damn baguette (1/7 of the daily budget) for three days now, and I’m getting about as annoyed as it is stale.

Sorry, that was ridiculous and completely self-pitying, but it needed to come out. I need to remind myself that I’m wallowing sometimes. It helps when it’s public – it makes you think twice before having any self-depreciating moments. It also enhances the wince and the inner shame. Both are great character builders.
🙂

Tonight, one of my favorite bands is in town. I didn’t even know they were coming (what does that say about me?) until yesterday when I saw that they had tweeted from Colorado Springs. But they’re going to be here! And I have tickets! And I’m beyond excited! Between this concert and the one in two weeks (Mickey Avalon), I am crossing two bands off my bucket list. It’s going to be a productive end to 2011.
Shwayze – Get U Home
Shwayze – Crazy For You
Shwayze – Drunk Off Your Love

Tomorrow is up in the air. I’m either going to take Mike’s car and go up to the mountains before babysitting, or I’m going to write my personal statement for grad school and get the mountain of laundry done before it threatens to eat both me and Carlos.
I’m secretly hoping that laundry wins this battle. I have just wanted to get rid of everything I own lately. I just want to pare down my clothes pile so that I’m only keeping what I’ll actually wear. I would also like to clean the entire apartment from top to bottom.

It’s been one of those really long weeks. I’m physically and mentally exhausted. I’ve done a lot of stuff, though. Boulder, Broncos game, Suite 200 – never again, whatever it was that I did on Monday night. I’m in a great mood and I’d like to channel this positive energy into something useful, like a clean apartment.

Also, because I haven’t subjected you to the torture that is looking at cat pictures lately, here’s Carlos just waking up. Notice how annoyed he looks to be bothered. I love him so very much. And I’d like to think that he loves me too. I think he does. 

On the Hangout

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I forgot how much I hate driving around in Boulder. It stresses me out. In my mind, all I can see is bicyclists flying over the hood of my car, or stoned college students wandering aimlessly into the crosswalk when I can’t see them. I’m seized by fear. (That’s a lie. I’m very rarely seized by fear. The last time was the bungee jump in Africa. That was scary.)

I only know how to get to E’s house. So I make the familiar drive, chatting with Katie on the way up. (I love her. There is nothing more wonderful than just talking to your best friend.) I make record time – which is good, considering I left nearly half an hour later than I intended to. 
E’s golden retriever Archie is the most wonderful dog in the world. He’s chewing on a squash when I get there and wants to play fetch with it. “Archie,” I say, “I love you a lot but not that much.” He finds a tennis ball instead. This is good. 
E and I haven’t seen each other since our awkward breakup in City Park this summer. We talk pretty regularly, but I’ve been ditching out on plans for the last three months. Both of us were surprised to find that our meeting last night was anything but awkward. (He’s never done the friends with your ex thing before. I find that to be very familiar territory.) We went and grabbed a couple beers and caught up. It was great. We’re a really mismatched pair and it’s hilarious. He towers over me. He’s grown his beard in and now looks like a really skinny Jesus. I look nothing like a bearded Jesus or a mountain man. 
We talk about life, religion, beer, love, mountain stuff. He’s impressed (appalled) by the bruises on my knees from the snowboarding. This summer, he cut his hand while trying to carve a stick to catch carp – although his official story is “fishing accident”, so he’s been healing from the surgery that followed that. We talk physics (he talks physics, I drink), crazies, Ohio. 
It was good. He wants more non-science friends; I fit that bill. I’m looking forward to a nice friendship. I also still need to take him to the 1Up downtown. 

On the lost wallet…again

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E and I are on the chairlift headed up to our new favorite run when I see the boys. They had come down our bunny hill looking for us. I yell. He turns; he’s heard his name, but there’s no way he’ll spot us. So I decide to call them.
While reaching for my phone, I accidentally pull everything out of my pocket. Everything including my wallet, which for the time being is just my cards and cash secured with a hair tie. It plummets down and lands in the snow under the chairlift. Just my luck.
We get off and ride down the hill. K, who rode up and back down in the time it took us to get down, is stopped right where I need to go under the ropes to go start the search. He is kind enough to ski over to the spot and dig around. There is a moment of hesitation where it occurs to me that it might be time to panic, but he comes up triumphant.
“You know,” he says to me, “for someone who claims to have never lost a wallet, you’re having a rough couple of weeks.”
I agree.