Hermit the Blog

The new year began outside my comfort zone. I planned it that way and I'm so glad that I did. You see, I am a Hermit. I love my home. I love the safety of my daily habits. You might call me less than social. I can spend days on my own and feel just fine about it and yet I know that the really enriching times in life don't usually happen solo. I know it, but I rarely make myself do things outside what I consider comfortable and safe for me.

For two weeks I was with family up in the freezing north pole.  Okay okay not the north pole technically...Washington State felt like it had inched up a bit since I lived there. Maybe Canada lost weight? So there I was, cold and out of my element. I spent time in four different homes with four different families (yes Jill I consider you and your kitties a family) and their very different ways of doing things. I did my best to embrace each day and it's various activities and challenges and I found that the days flew by because I was having so much fun! 

I learned a lot about what I'm capable of and what life holds for me when I take a break from my regular Hermatic existence. I had more wonderful conversations that I can count. I ran into old friends and extended family. Relationships were strengthened and wonderful memories were made. If I'd stayed home, I would have been just fine but none of this could have happened if I had. 

So now you know the truth. I'm a Hermit and I'm not ashamed of it! However, I will be making sure to venture out of my shell more often. If I don't, I'll be missing out on special moments like these:

Junie B. and Me

Little Dancers

Just Jill and Just Me Actually
Back together at last!

My talented sister, Leah a.ka. Soft Spiral

Stacy, my wonderful and amazing sister (in law)
and her little Juniper. 

the manor

     

     She lives in an apartment building with a fancy name: Hepburn Manor. Katherine not Audrey. Although, depending on her mood, she does change which leading lady must be haunting the halls.  Number three-oh-five is on the west side and three flights up.  Thirty-two units, both one bedroom and studio, mean no fewer than thirty-two people reside there and yet she catches barely a glimpse of one or two a week. Usually it's of the same two guys who obviously don't have nine to fives as is the case for her. One of them has hipster facial hair and always does laundry on the same day she tries to. This clearly means they own the same amount of underwear.  The other has a punk attitude with strangely shaven and yet longish hair, no color in his wardrobe, and a certain pained look at having to nod or say hello. She sees very few, but she hears the sounds of their day to day lives. Footsteps one floor up, a door closing after a jangle of keys, late night laughter through the wall. She can smell their soup and burnt popcorn. She hears when they practice guitar or have loud parties. She know's how often the people overhead have sex. But for all that, she feels as though she could be living in a building of silent film ghosts.