Listen

This is my goal for the week. To consciously stop thinking about my next sentence and just listen to exactly what I’m being told. (Not that I will follow directions or agree, to be clear) It’s part of my 90 day sanity project. Maybe I should explain.

Everything happens in threes. First, my 25th birthday sucked. Beginning at midnight with a complete meltdown and anxiety attack, carrying over into a terrible day at work, culminating in an evening of scrambling to finish my last paper for the semester. Second, a boat ride in Central Park reminds me why I love this city and why I moved here. Thirdly, a dear friend was attacked and lost her memory –since recovered.

Thus, I realized from these three things that –I am not getting any younger, I love NYC when I explore it and life is fleeting. Many trips to the bookstore later and I’d picked up The Happiness Project. I read it and decided that I had all summer to change my life – before I missed out. So, my “90 Days to Sanity” experiment began.

June: De Clutter and De Stress

July: Try Something New

August: Be Ashley

June is almost over and I really didn’t decide until half way through that this was actually something I was going to do. I made a three page to do list that I am geeking out over, I completely cleaned out my room of the clutter and am trying to stick to keeping it that way and I’ve been reading books on how to rethink the day so I’m not stressed out or tired so much. I say No more often but Yes more enthusiastically. My daily to-do lists have 4-6 items on them- that I complete. I’ve identified what keeps me up late at night and do things during the day to prevent that.

June’s goals:

-de clutter my life (why do I keep certain things? Use everything now!)

-Plan for school (if I can do something now, why wait till I’m going to be stressed anyways?)

-leave work at work (I work to live, not the other way around)

-Listen, not wait to talk.

-Enjoy the moment – like going on the Wonder Wheel. I HATE ferris wheels, but would always have regretted not trying it. I did it! (with my eyes closed 80% of the time)



July begins next week. The overall theme is “Try Something New” Not just going back to my old “one new thing in NYC a week” goal (which I miss and feel guilty when I take the time during the school year), this is larger than that. Its things like, “shop at the farmers market” or “go to Yoga on the River”- Stuff I say I don’t have time for, when really its me getting more out of my comfort zone. Like homemade pickles or joining a book club. Most new things I try, I actually like. Funny how that is.

Turning 25

I've become obsessed with travel, with maps, with stories of adventure. Some days, I imagine selling everything and buying a car and couch surfing my way across the US. Other days, I imagine opening a bookstore, soup kitchen, bed and breakfast or bar somewhere and staying put for years to come. 


How did the lyrics go? "We gotta make a decision- We leave tonight or live and die this way" 


I've found a sense of urgency lately. Maybe it's getting to be that time again. The longest I've lived my adult life in one town was almost 4 years to the day. On August 27, 2011 I will hit that 4 year mark. Maybe I find myself devouring Paul Theoreaux and Bill Bryson because I want to resist settling. 


Maybe I'm just protesting 25. 

10 Things From My Bucket List

Some of my Bucket List: (in no particular order)

FLY A PLANE:  why not? I've ridden shotgun in a helicopter

SEE THE GREAT PYRAMIDS: perfect construction, mysteries abound, Egyptian greatness

ride a 650cc Triumph Trophy TR6 like Steve McQueen in The Great Escape: a sweet indulgence. 

CLIMB TO THE TOP OF THE EIFFEL TOWER: they say if you leave one thing undone, you have a better chance of going back to do it. After ten years, im inclined to agree with them. 

PLAY ROULETTE AT MONTE CARLO CASINO AFTER WATCHING THE GRAND PRIX: 5 years too young to get into the lobby. Standing outside, watching the million dollar cars pull up and seeing the prix cars parked outside? Such torture!

WRITE A SCREEN PLAY THATS OPTIONED: its like being published. Leaves hope that one day it will be produced. Also the only success that F. Scott Fitzgerald never attained. He died writing his only screen play.

WATCH THE SUNSET IN SAN FRANCISCO: does the sun look different from the other coast? 

GET MY PHD: 3 years, 1 semester left

COOK THE PERFECT EGG: could take me the rest of my life. Not intimidated.

LEARN TO JUGGLE. WELL: tired of only being able to do one revolution. its time to get better.

Christmas is here and I have Finals

It is with great reluctance that I am not celebrating my favorite time of the year. School and work calling me. However, in honor of finishing the final for one class and only having two finals left to go, I decided to take a few minutes to point out my top 5 Christmas movies, the ones you might not have seen in a while.

Leaving out the following because EVERYONE shows these movies before the holidays. 

Home Alone

How the Grinch Stole Christmas

The Santa Clause

Christmas Vacation

Miracle on 34th Street - old one

 In no particular order, my year round favorites also include the following. In no particular order: 

White Christmas:  Rosemary Clooney, Bing Crosby and Danny Kaye? Yes please. Plus, seeing Bing and Danny perform "Sisters" is a must watch. Its got wit, heartfelt stories and behind the scenes of producing a live show. I can curl up and watch this movie any day of the week and it slows life down. 

The Family Stone: I think I'm mostly in love with the house. But its also Rachel McAdams being amazing, Diane Keaton being awesome and SJP being the neurotic I know is inside me. Makes me want a huge holiday gathering with all of my friends and family. And a house in Greenwich, Connecticut. I actually like watching this at Thanksgiving- and this year, I got to! 

The Holiday: Jack Black is amazing and the older gentleman in the movie is actually the same guy in How to Steal A Million with Audrey Hepburn. I like to think I have gumption and throughout the whole movie, feel like Kate Winslet's character was written by me after a break up. Oh and Jude Law's house- I WANT THAT! I love watching this movie after any break up or in the middle of summer. Its coming home with me this trip- just so I can watch it on the plane. 

Christmas in Connecticut: A movie about a writer who creates a world and then to keep her job has to make that world work? Sounds like a romantic comedy if I ever heard of one! Such a lovely snowy day film. One I can't resist and love to watch any day of the week. 

You've Got Mail: New York City in the wintertime. A woman and her children's bookstore? Of course I would love this one! I love the soundtrack and listen to it all the time. Using the holidays as an excuse to watch it whenever I want- SCORE! 

So those are my holiday favorites, if you find yourself looking for something to watch that gets you thinking of snow and evergreens and blinking lights and fireplaces. Or if you can't go outside and walk down fifth avenue looking at the lights or the window displays. Now back to my final exams. 

Why My Roomates Are Awesome

The Amanda Show 1 from Ashley Goforth on Vimeo.

Two Houses. Two sides.

There's an apartment in the city, a 5th floor walk up somewhere between 3rd avenue and the park. Inside the door is a place for galoshes, umbrellas, coats and a bowl for keys. A leash is abandoned on the floor and the large mirror hints at your possible need for a comb. Looking forward, you can see right through to the patio. Beyond the rails, the city sounds whisper "Come back! We're not done yet!" but you know better. The kitchen, dining room and living room are just one big room. The two largest items in the room are a huge oak table with scratches from budding scrabble masters and a couch that swears its a bed after midnight.

You never worry about missing anything in this room. You can cook, write, draw and catch the morning news without missing a step. A couple of cats play at your feet, and a lazy dog is sometimes mistaken for a new golden rug strategically placed at your feet. Books act as the main decor, with drawings, sketches, canvases blurting their purpose along the routes of roads less traveled. The tv remote is velcroed to the wall with a post it note: If remote is gone, read a book.
The only other room in the apartment is the bedroom. A huge bed stands in the middle of the room. Books stack up around the corners, as if picked up and begun and then added to the stack as you nodded off to sleep. A cat lies curled up on the pillows. The bathroom is large- but the mirrors are hard to see into. Written across are words, thoughts, notes of love etched into the glass with care. Somewhere, a radio is playing, a cat is meowing and you can hear the plants growing on the window sill. Its easy to be productive here.

There's a house in the woods, wrap-around porch and swing. Here the screen door always slams, but no one really cares. The driveway is unremarkable, but someone's put a sign on the far left side that reads: Uhaul parking: $50. Inside, the fireplace doubles as a stage for brother and sister traveling circus/magic/vaudeville acts. A deer head hangs on the wall, decorated appropriately to match the current mood of the house, complete with thought bubble to express social comments. When you walk in, your things drop from your arms and tomorrow you will find them just as you left them at the door.

Step lightly over the sleeping dog, and head into the kitchen. The windows are open and every inch of the counter is covered in half decorated cupcakes. The microwave is not in use, in fact, if you open the door, you will see its not a microwave at all, but a shelf holding bread and the occasional bagel. A sign hangs on the wall- "If the doorbell rings or the fire alarm goes off: DINNER'S READY". A door leads out to the back a garden of tomatoes, carrots and basil off the side of the house. Another door leads to a living room with photos of friends, family and pets lining most every available space. There are two tvs- each on different football games because sometimes you can't compromise.

The most remarkable room in this house is the room at the farthest end of the house. A sign warns you upon entering that its loud inside. Here, the walls are covered in thoughts, lost ideas, dreams and promises. The imagination never tires of the games and never hesitates for lack of supplies. Dreams are realized, memories scrapped and futures built. The word no is banned and the words Of course written across the wall. Its hard to take yourself seriously in here, but it could be the carnival mirrors laughing at your changing reflection. One chair sits in the corner, worn at the corners from lazy days reading. This is a house where its hard to take yourself seriously.

Which house is yours?

More Talking Points for my Therapist.

Saw this. Thought of me. Assesed my apt. Realized I need to move somewhere with a skinny house.

Just thought you should know.

MY FAT HOUSE

New Fish, New Year, New Me

Update on earlier post: http://ashleygoforth.blogspot.com/2008/03/we-got-fish.html

The "we" (and Rhett) is no more. I moved into another apartment, have a new job and have started collecting the pieces of my life i'd left in random places down 14th street.

Yesterday, I even got my own fish. He's fabulous and pink and I've named him Radclyffe Hall. We don't talk much, but that's alright. My room doesn't resemble the pages of a Kerouac story anymore. Nothing's permanent still though, perhaps its my way of proving to myself that life's too short to stay still for too long. Have I really been here for 2 years? That's halfway to the longest time I've lived in a city outside of my hometown. I've signed up for at least another 2 years for grad school in Gotham City.

I'm still stir crazy in this city. I'm planning a road trip. Across the US. To see Route 66, the Grand Canyon, sleep under the stars in Colorado, swim in the Mississippi River, have a drink at the OK Corral, see the Golden Gate Bridge, tour Graceland and put $50 on 19 in Vegas.

Where would you go if you could go anywhere in the US- if staying home wasn't an option?

Crocodile Tears

I am not a crocodile.
No tears are shed over this business of
drying the dishes.
No tears over chores like making my bed
or taking out the trash.


Perhaps I'm the phoenix bursting into flames
over matters of domestic life.
Burning the laundry or scorching the tile in
flames of rebellion.
A pile of ashes after finally dusting the ceiling fan.

The Library of the Imagination

The following is a story. Of the bedtime kind. It should be read aloud. When one has the time to close their eyes and imagine the things the story describes. It should be read as if one were to be attempting to fascinate listeners.

There is a room that few have entered. It is locked- not by a key- but hindered by the limits of one's imagination. One can access this room only in their dreams. The door to this room is made of the silkiest steel. The knob is no bigger than your hand and when you turn it you know this must be exactly as Mary felt opening the door to the secret garden.Inside, the walls are covered in books. Shelves upon shelves of every story imaginable! The shelves are made of only the strongest oak and if you look closely, the edges of each ledge is etched with scenes from all fairie tales. Look even closer and the lines themselves twinkle with fairie dust.A spiral staircase made of rod iron in the softest hue of green is never cold to the touch with lattice work steps depicting Alice's wonderland. The staircase leads not to the higher shelves but to the deepest literary desires of your heart. "Avast! Ye Matey!" Captain Hook may yell down to Christopher Robin down on the next shelf.The floor is made of green shag carpeting not so unlike the grass in the land of the Shire where Hobbits roam like little boys full of mischief.Lamps glow brightly as if too much light might awaken the Wild Things- yet they light your pages just enough so the voice inside your head never questions if we need more light. Of course when re-enacting scenes from Treasure Island- the lamps glow brighter than the tropical sun.

AND THE CHAIRS! OH THE CHAIRS! All rocking chairs. Light blue crushed velvet cushions and backing with rounded brass buttons as the base. With arm rests so cushy you can't help but swing your legs over the side and nestle into a good book. Or maybe you'd prefer the porch swing hanging from the rafters. Only the most adventurous will chance a ride- Why only yesterday Alexander's terrible, horrible, no good self sat upon it as it came crashing down!The windows are as tall as 5 elephants stacked on top of one another trying to reach the top of a peanut tree. Windows with seats large enough for brothers and sisters to listen together of The Tale of the Great Goforth Brigade Through Huntsville in Search of the Lost Gold of Lipsey Road. Open books never loose their pages and entire series appear in your lap-one book at a time so as not to bother the voracious reader with the ardous task of stopping to search for the next book in the order. Which, I might add, is always the book one's older, larger sibling has hidden in a broken piano bench.Humming birds are the only animals permitted. As their wings sound simply like the fluttering pages of a book left on the porch in the wind. No, humming birds do not disrupt the sounds of a growing imagination.Time stands still in this room. The tasks of the day and the worries of life are checked at the door with the raincoats and mittens and sling shots. The only ticking clock you hear is the grandfather clock in the corner on loan by the family by the name of Weasley.Pimento cheese sandwiches and ice cream are never in short supply. Lima beans are banished and sticky items such as peanut butter and marshmellows are not prohibited.

One can always, however, make a case for chocolate.

I know of a certain book about a certain glass elevator that reads better with a few Hershey kisses.The loudest sounds in the room are childrens laughter and wishful thoughts as the dream "How lovely it would be to meet Mr. Darcy" or "Oh what fun it would be to float down the Mississippi river!"Look closely and you'll see, seated in a chair very similar to the one you are in right now, a sock monkey of considerable poise. With his left eye in a permanent wink after a tragic accident involving one blond little brother, he now goes by the name: Sir George of Brooklyn. An odious fellow, he can explain the purpose of zippers, the desires of torn pages and the temperment of typewriters. In short, Sir George has a doctorate in Writer's Block.He waits diligently by the pimento cheese sandwiches for our weekly meetings. For it is here, in this grand library of the imagination that his own adventure is penned. Tales of flying kites into trees, sledding down hills on boxes, painting pictures on barns and yes, even bats in houses where attack cats live. Only here can the adventures of his life be recorded without fear that the great wangdoodles or the green monsters will eavesdrop.

One day he will quit this room. Not by the great door we entered, but through the ink on the page. And little girls and boys will beg their Mam Maws and Pap Paws for just one more tale before they go to bed. One more tale of the great adventures of Sally and Sir George.