I recently downloaded the Timehop app on my iPhone and it has been bringing me lots of laughter these days. This time travel thing has reminded me of just how darn funny I used to be - and possibly still am.
Like today, for instance, 3 years ago I posted the status "If you can't make money, make out with somebody" and I kind of scrunched up my brows and wondered what the heck I had been talking about. So I took to the googles and typed in my status.
Turns out, it's lyrics to a song. David Bradley, more specifically.
Three years ago on January 12th I apparently posted "I plan on staying in bed and dying today." Which just, if you know me, I was channeling my inner Lilo that day and avoiding my college classes and any semblance of responsibility because three years ago I could pull that kind of crap.
Lately, because it's January and February, my timehops have consisted of my really obnoxious break up with Matt statuses and holy buckets you guys, I just want to apologize all over again for that. I was...I don't even know how to put it... Pathetic, maybe?
And I literally posted almost every single thought I had onto Facebook - did I have no boundaries? How even did I retain my friends because good golly I was just dragging it oooouuuuutttttttt. So, thanks for not getting sick of me and never speaking to me again.
I have been thinking about that time in my life though. For the obvious reasons and the not so obvious. You see, when I first had a Facebook, I was also still in my myspace phase as well. I was just fresh out of high school and there weren't really any rules for the internet yet. At least not in my world. So I used my Facebook page as an online mini diary to supplement all my lamenting on my blog about this terrible, horrible, no good thing I was going through. I never realized at the time that those things would live on forever inside the bowels of the interwebz.
Now, I look at people who still post every little thing that pops in their head or post every picture they take on the cell phone and I think, why? Why are you doing this? Why do we feel compelled to share every aspect of our lives with people we really don't hardly know?
And maybe I'm hypocritical because here I am, posting a blog essay and sending it off into the world wide web where people I may or may not know can read my own personal thoughts. But hey, these days I am more careful about exactly what I'm putting out there.
I mean, I could write about all the things I've done lately and how work went and what sorts of things I ate today, which actually would just be coming full circle to when I started writing and was still trying to figure out my voice and just exactly what I was going to do in this little internet corner.
But you know what, there's also something stupidly beautiful about seeing the sort of annoying things I used to put into cyber space because it reminds me that I used to be this little naive person who still believed in all the good in the world and had a lot of growing to do.
It reminds me that I've come such a long way, and I've overcome so many obstacles.
And even though those days were hard to live through, I came out on the other side stronger and with a clearer vision of what I wanted out of life and how I was going to do it.
So maybe I was crazy and a little pathetic and incredibly naive, but I was also displaying my very human emotions and learning how to be the girl that I was created to be. Am I glad I posted all those obnoxious statuses to Facebook all those years ago? Not necessarily. But I'm also not really mad about it, so there's that.
Showing posts with label memories. Show all posts
Showing posts with label memories. Show all posts
Thursday, February 19, 2015
Thursday, March 27, 2014
FOUR YEARS AND CHANGE
In the year 2010 in the month of March, I lost my grandfather.
Well, I guess I didn't lose him, I mean, I know where he is. But he's not here. It's hard to believe that it's been over four years since I've heard his voice or felt his arms around my body, enveloped in a tight squeezing hug.
Sometimes I get really sad about it, and I don't know that I can figure out exactly why. I'll just find myself thinking about him and wishing that I had been given the opportunity to really get to know him. I feel robbed, is the word that most accurately describes my emotion I think.
I suppose I'm lucky, though. I do have three remaining grandparents. I also don't know what it's like to lose a parent, a pain that I can't even fathom if I try my hardest.
Actually, this was probably the first real tragedy I had experienced in my life. I remember coming back from dinner and finding my phone in my dorm room with six missed calls from my father. I was wearing a purple shirt. With a pounding heart I called him back and then subsequently collapsed onto the bed in tears, phone in hand, dad still on the line.
Parkinson's disease is cruel. It affects the motor cortex of the brain, thereby affecting their ability to walk and talk. There are a plethora of other ugly things that come along with it and the medication prescribed to help handle it, but it's a slow moving disease and unfortunately for me I don't remember the early years of the Parkinson's - before it had taken its toll on my grandpa.
Now I'm left with stories and pictures of a man I desperately wanted to get to know. He was almost always happy, with a very sweet and caring disposition. I know a lot of times people tend to glorify someone after they die, making them seem more amazing than they actually were. But I really don't believe that's the case here. And that's part of why I'm upset that I only got to know him for so short of a time period.
Nineteen years is not nearly long enough, especially when you live in two separate states. But at the same time, nineteen years is better than no years at all.
Love you, gramps.♥
Well, I guess I didn't lose him, I mean, I know where he is. But he's not here. It's hard to believe that it's been over four years since I've heard his voice or felt his arms around my body, enveloped in a tight squeezing hug.
Sometimes I get really sad about it, and I don't know that I can figure out exactly why. I'll just find myself thinking about him and wishing that I had been given the opportunity to really get to know him. I feel robbed, is the word that most accurately describes my emotion I think.
I suppose I'm lucky, though. I do have three remaining grandparents. I also don't know what it's like to lose a parent, a pain that I can't even fathom if I try my hardest.
Actually, this was probably the first real tragedy I had experienced in my life. I remember coming back from dinner and finding my phone in my dorm room with six missed calls from my father. I was wearing a purple shirt. With a pounding heart I called him back and then subsequently collapsed onto the bed in tears, phone in hand, dad still on the line.
Parkinson's disease is cruel. It affects the motor cortex of the brain, thereby affecting their ability to walk and talk. There are a plethora of other ugly things that come along with it and the medication prescribed to help handle it, but it's a slow moving disease and unfortunately for me I don't remember the early years of the Parkinson's - before it had taken its toll on my grandpa.
Now I'm left with stories and pictures of a man I desperately wanted to get to know. He was almost always happy, with a very sweet and caring disposition. I know a lot of times people tend to glorify someone after they die, making them seem more amazing than they actually were. But I really don't believe that's the case here. And that's part of why I'm upset that I only got to know him for so short of a time period.
Nineteen years is not nearly long enough, especially when you live in two separate states. But at the same time, nineteen years is better than no years at all.
Love you, gramps.♥
Thursday, July 26, 2012
blast from the past
So I'm sure you're all aware that my computer broke a few months ago and I had to take it in to get fixed. 150 dollars later and it still wouldn't connect to the internet. Plus, because a large amount of files had mysteriously become corrupted, I lost a whole bunch of my important documents. Needless to say, I was not a happy camper. I pretty much threw my computer in the corner of the living room and refused to look at it.
It would call to me from under the blankets beside the couch, but I was too mad to even pretend I wanted to deal with it. All my photo editing software had been removed in addition to it not being able to connect to teh weefees and I just couldn't bring myself to open it up.
My mom took it back in to one of her friends to see if they could figure out why it still wasn't connecting to the wireless internet after windows had been uninstalled and reinstalled and it was basically back to the factory settings. And miracle of miracles that dude got it to work!
So after I did the necessary internet stuffs that needed to be attended to, I thought I'd sift through what pictures were left on my laptop. All of my new pictures that I took with my cannon are missing and a bunch of my school documents are nowhere to be found, but my entire high school career in pictures still exists. And let me just say, that definitely took me back. So many memories! So many things I forgot about until now!
Man, there are some things about high school that I do certainly miss. It's nice to see the photographic evidence!
It would call to me from under the blankets beside the couch, but I was too mad to even pretend I wanted to deal with it. All my photo editing software had been removed in addition to it not being able to connect to teh weefees and I just couldn't bring myself to open it up.
My mom took it back in to one of her friends to see if they could figure out why it still wasn't connecting to the wireless internet after windows had been uninstalled and reinstalled and it was basically back to the factory settings. And miracle of miracles that dude got it to work!
So after I did the necessary internet stuffs that needed to be attended to, I thought I'd sift through what pictures were left on my laptop. All of my new pictures that I took with my cannon are missing and a bunch of my school documents are nowhere to be found, but my entire high school career in pictures still exists. And let me just say, that definitely took me back. So many memories! So many things I forgot about until now!
Man, there are some things about high school that I do certainly miss. It's nice to see the photographic evidence!
Monday, May 30, 2011
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
I Had Some Milk
I was sitting in the van with five other people on our way to the airport in Phoenix. It was sunny outside, and not to mention deliciously warm. We were talking about this and that and just about everything in between when, as is hardly ever to be avoided, the conversation drifted towards the traffic, police cars, and eventually we ended up trading ticket stories.
My great uncle told a story about his mother, who was speeding, and talked her way out of a ticket. I don't believe I'd ever heard as many stories about my great-grandmother as I had during our stay in Arizona, and this one just added to the hilarity of the previous stories making me wish once again that I had known her better.
My mother has been pulled over, but being the wonderful soul that she is, has never received a ticket. She's nearing 50 people (but don't spread that around, she likes to believe she's still young), and she's never been the recipient of a speeding ticket. If only I could have been so lucky.
Since everyone else was sharing their various escapades, I thought it only fair that I contributed to the conversation instead of just soaking in all of my relatives words. I'd done a lot of listening this weekend, and it was finally time that I could share.
You see, I've been pulled over two times in my life. Both times Prince Charming was with me, and only one time did I land a citation. But, the first time I was pulled over was the funniest, although at the time my heart was pounding and laughter was the furthest thought from my mind.
It was late at night, dark, and clear skied. The moon was brilliantly shining, and also very big. I was driving Princey back home for the night, and we were headed down an extremely familiar and very empty road. We were both deeply contemplating the moon instead of focusing on driving, and before I'd traveled very far I glanced in my rear view mirror to see a riot of red and blue flashing lights.
My hands started to shake, my breathing was irregular, I quickly racked my brain for what I could have done wrong as I pulled my mother's Yukon XL to the side of the road. Had I been speeding? I didn't think so. Was a tail light burnt out? Who knew!
The cop came up to the car as I rolled down my window and stared at her, shocked and frightened. She reeled back a little, as if I was not the person she had been expecting to see behind the wheel of the vehicle. At the time I had thought her reaction strange, but as the events unfolded I realized why she did that.
"Ma'am, have you had anything to drink tonight?" She asked, in a tone typical of traffic cops.
I looked at Prince Charming to see if he would offer help as I thought about her question. I didn't know what she meant, or why she would want to know what I had had to drink. I thought quickly about all that I had consumed prior to our departure from my house.
"I...I had some milk," I answered honestly, unsure if that was the correct response.
Her face relaxed, and she asked for my license and registration and then told me why she had pulled me over. Apparently while moon gazing, I had drifted over the center line of the road. I guess this is typical of drunk drivers, but having never been one or been around one I didn't know this. Which was also why I was totally perplexed by her opening question.
She gave me a warning and told me to have a good night and pay better attention to the road. I breathed a heavy sigh of relief as Prince replaced the registration and insurance back into their respective locations and the rest of our drive was uneventful.
My story got a good laugh and we traded more memories in the warmth of the sunshine on our beautiful last remaining hours surrounded by family.
My great uncle told a story about his mother, who was speeding, and talked her way out of a ticket. I don't believe I'd ever heard as many stories about my great-grandmother as I had during our stay in Arizona, and this one just added to the hilarity of the previous stories making me wish once again that I had known her better.
My mother has been pulled over, but being the wonderful soul that she is, has never received a ticket. She's nearing 50 people (but don't spread that around, she likes to believe she's still young), and she's never been the recipient of a speeding ticket. If only I could have been so lucky.
Since everyone else was sharing their various escapades, I thought it only fair that I contributed to the conversation instead of just soaking in all of my relatives words. I'd done a lot of listening this weekend, and it was finally time that I could share.
You see, I've been pulled over two times in my life. Both times Prince Charming was with me, and only one time did I land a citation. But, the first time I was pulled over was the funniest, although at the time my heart was pounding and laughter was the furthest thought from my mind.
It was late at night, dark, and clear skied. The moon was brilliantly shining, and also very big. I was driving Princey back home for the night, and we were headed down an extremely familiar and very empty road. We were both deeply contemplating the moon instead of focusing on driving, and before I'd traveled very far I glanced in my rear view mirror to see a riot of red and blue flashing lights.
My hands started to shake, my breathing was irregular, I quickly racked my brain for what I could have done wrong as I pulled my mother's Yukon XL to the side of the road. Had I been speeding? I didn't think so. Was a tail light burnt out? Who knew!
The cop came up to the car as I rolled down my window and stared at her, shocked and frightened. She reeled back a little, as if I was not the person she had been expecting to see behind the wheel of the vehicle. At the time I had thought her reaction strange, but as the events unfolded I realized why she did that.
"Ma'am, have you had anything to drink tonight?" She asked, in a tone typical of traffic cops.
I looked at Prince Charming to see if he would offer help as I thought about her question. I didn't know what she meant, or why she would want to know what I had had to drink. I thought quickly about all that I had consumed prior to our departure from my house.
"I...I had some milk," I answered honestly, unsure if that was the correct response.
Her face relaxed, and she asked for my license and registration and then told me why she had pulled me over. Apparently while moon gazing, I had drifted over the center line of the road. I guess this is typical of drunk drivers, but having never been one or been around one I didn't know this. Which was also why I was totally perplexed by her opening question.
She gave me a warning and told me to have a good night and pay better attention to the road. I breathed a heavy sigh of relief as Prince replaced the registration and insurance back into their respective locations and the rest of our drive was uneventful.
My story got a good laugh and we traded more memories in the warmth of the sunshine on our beautiful last remaining hours surrounded by family.
Sunday, March 27, 2011
Sunday, January 2, 2011
First Some Review
You know what's crazy? New years are crazy. One more rotation around the sun. Twelve new months that have never been experienced before! How fun! What an adventure! And we all know around here that I do love a good adventure.
But before we fancy about what the future holds, let's look at where the past has taken us. This year has been one of its own - that's for sure.
But before we fancy about what the future holds, let's look at where the past has taken us. This year has been one of its own - that's for sure.
May.
June.
July.
When I think about 2010 I think about all the stuff that happened this year. There was a lot of it. And there was a lot of stuff that happened this year that hurt. I can't explain how deep heart break affects you, how much you hurt, how much you want to just forget about it, and how much work it is to move on from heart break. And I feel like this year held the most hurt for me out of any other year I've been alive.
I know some people have had a great year, and for you, I could not be happier. But for me, I simply just can't wait to start this year fresh. I want to leave 2010 behind as a year that I would rather just erase from memory. We all have had those kinds of years. Some more than others.
But among my "resolutions" I just want to say, don't worry about losing weight. Don't worry about 'being a better person' or whatever it is that you continually resolve year after year and just do this: be yourself.
Friday, October 15, 2010
Musical Memories
There are songs that no matter where I am, they will always take me to a memory. The first few melodic bars hit my eardrums and all of sudden I'm not longer in the present, but back far off somewhere with a people from the past.
Take Collide by Howie Day for example. Whenever I hear that song it makes me think of the Big T and I have to change the song in slight disgust. The same for Daniel Bedingfield, though that makes me think of a different boy it still gets the same reaction. I can't listen to it anymore.
When Heartland by George Strait blares over the radio I'm in the front seat of our '93 GMC Sierra. I'm in elementary school on a family vacation. Sneaky Snake and I like Beer by Tom T Hall, Redneck Girl by the Bellamy Brothers, and Toby Keith's Who's Your Daddy all do this to me.
Complicated by Carolyn Dawn Johnson sends me straight back to high school. I wanna hold you close, I wanna push you away, I wanna make you go, I wanna make you stay. Such teenage angsty lyrics to sooth my soul.
Switchfoot puts me in a car with the windows down on a hot summer night headed to the lake with friends. It makes me think of Aly & AJ when Ariel and I would sing to their songs at the top of our lungs. We thought we were so cool in high school.
Most of my music on my iPod now makes me think of Prince Charming because he feeds my musical hunger like it's nobody's business.
Songs can speak words that you're too scared to admit, they can put lyrics to feelings that you didn't even know you felt. Melodies and harmonies find their ways into your brains, into your feelings. You can go from sad to happy or vice versa just by turning on the radio. The mood of a room is set by the type of lyricals rhythms you choose to send out on the waves.
You can relate a song to a person, to a feeling, to a memory, a time, a place, a scent, a sound. It can speak volumes or it can be fun loving and fancy free. Sometimes it can be twisted around into something that it's not. Sometimes you can apply it in a way it wasn't written for but fits perfectly.
I ponder the songs I want played at my wedding when I have one, songs that I wish played during my life a real life soundtrack. We all do this. I wonder what it would be like to be completely deaf and never hear a song in your life? Would I miss this? Could I concoct my own music in my head?
What do you think?
They convey love. For people, for things, for places. Lost love, changed relationships. Love for the Holy Father, love for your earthly father, love for the guy that's not your dad but he might as well be. Love for everyone, love for no one. Is there a song that's not about some form of love?
That question was posed to me a few years ago and not a song came to mind that wasn't somehow about love.
So why is it, exactly, that that's all we sing about?
Take Collide by Howie Day for example. Whenever I hear that song it makes me think of the Big T and I have to change the song in slight disgust. The same for Daniel Bedingfield, though that makes me think of a different boy it still gets the same reaction. I can't listen to it anymore.
When Heartland by George Strait blares over the radio I'm in the front seat of our '93 GMC Sierra. I'm in elementary school on a family vacation. Sneaky Snake and I like Beer by Tom T Hall, Redneck Girl by the Bellamy Brothers, and Toby Keith's Who's Your Daddy all do this to me.
Complicated by Carolyn Dawn Johnson sends me straight back to high school. I wanna hold you close, I wanna push you away, I wanna make you go, I wanna make you stay. Such teenage angsty lyrics to sooth my soul.
Switchfoot puts me in a car with the windows down on a hot summer night headed to the lake with friends. It makes me think of Aly & AJ when Ariel and I would sing to their songs at the top of our lungs. We thought we were so cool in high school.
Most of my music on my iPod now makes me think of Prince Charming because he feeds my musical hunger like it's nobody's business.
Songs can speak words that you're too scared to admit, they can put lyrics to feelings that you didn't even know you felt. Melodies and harmonies find their ways into your brains, into your feelings. You can go from sad to happy or vice versa just by turning on the radio. The mood of a room is set by the type of lyricals rhythms you choose to send out on the waves.
You can relate a song to a person, to a feeling, to a memory, a time, a place, a scent, a sound. It can speak volumes or it can be fun loving and fancy free. Sometimes it can be twisted around into something that it's not. Sometimes you can apply it in a way it wasn't written for but fits perfectly.
I ponder the songs I want played at my wedding when I have one, songs that I wish played during my life a real life soundtrack. We all do this. I wonder what it would be like to be completely deaf and never hear a song in your life? Would I miss this? Could I concoct my own music in my head?
What do you think?
They convey love. For people, for things, for places. Lost love, changed relationships. Love for the Holy Father, love for your earthly father, love for the guy that's not your dad but he might as well be. Love for everyone, love for no one. Is there a song that's not about some form of love?
That question was posed to me a few years ago and not a song came to mind that wasn't somehow about love.
So why is it, exactly, that that's all we sing about?
Saturday, September 11, 2010
Do You Remember?
I was sitting on the bus riding to school on Ramsey Road outside the neighborhood where they kept the old folks. I was wearing a pink and purple tie dye shirt and a pair of blue jeans. My hair was dirty blonde and cut jaw length in a bob.
My friend Samantha was seated across from me. The bus wasn't that full yet because we were the first stop, so we could speak freely without having to yell.
"Did you know that they were flying planes into the Twin Towers?" she asked to all who were within hearing distance. I had no idea what the Twin Towers were. I was only 11 years old, just turned 11 actually 11 days before. Or maybe 12 days depending on how you look at it.
It sounded crazy, fascinating, and scary all at the same time. At first I didn't believe her, but I had no idea what was going on. The news hadn't been on at my house that morning before I left for school. I dismissed the question as so many others on the bus had also done.
I went through the first half hour before school started in middle schooler ignorant bliss. I talked with my friends, I made jokes, I retrieved my books from my locker for our Advisory period.
My desk was in the first row on the left side of the classroom. Two desks were behind me, and TJ Barns was sitting in front of me. Our teacher, Mr. Bain, was sitting at his desk in the front of the classroom. The bell had just rang signalling the start of the period, but we were still chattering.
The air shifted when our science teacher, a red headed woman with a small frame and a spunky personality entered the room. She wasn't jovial. She wasn't smiling. She wasn't talking. Silently and somberly she walked passed my desk, passed TJ's desk, and to the front left corner of the classroom where the TV was shut away behind a cabinet door.
She pulled it out, turned it on, and started talking. I don't remember what she said, I don't remember what she was wearing (I think there was a green shirt?), I don't remember what other students were doing, but I remember the images on the screen. I remember the terror of watching people die on the news. I remember the black smoke.
I remember that feeling you get when there is a tragedy, that feeling of excitement and fascination that is coupled with fear and anxiety.
I don't know anyone who died in the 9/11 tragedy, and I can't tell you names of any of my friends who did either. Here in Idaho I felt pretty far removed, but I know we weren't. I know everyone knows someone who was affected by the ill fated events of that September morning.
What I also remember though, is the coming together of a community. The love that was poured out for all those lost and all those who lost loved ones. I remember feeling glad to still have all my family. I remember when we started to forget. And now it's like we don't remember at all except for when the anniversary is here.
But as they say, time heals all wounds.
Where were you?
My friend Samantha was seated across from me. The bus wasn't that full yet because we were the first stop, so we could speak freely without having to yell.
"Did you know that they were flying planes into the Twin Towers?" she asked to all who were within hearing distance. I had no idea what the Twin Towers were. I was only 11 years old, just turned 11 actually 11 days before. Or maybe 12 days depending on how you look at it.
It sounded crazy, fascinating, and scary all at the same time. At first I didn't believe her, but I had no idea what was going on. The news hadn't been on at my house that morning before I left for school. I dismissed the question as so many others on the bus had also done.
I went through the first half hour before school started in middle schooler ignorant bliss. I talked with my friends, I made jokes, I retrieved my books from my locker for our Advisory period.
My desk was in the first row on the left side of the classroom. Two desks were behind me, and TJ Barns was sitting in front of me. Our teacher, Mr. Bain, was sitting at his desk in the front of the classroom. The bell had just rang signalling the start of the period, but we were still chattering.
The air shifted when our science teacher, a red headed woman with a small frame and a spunky personality entered the room. She wasn't jovial. She wasn't smiling. She wasn't talking. Silently and somberly she walked passed my desk, passed TJ's desk, and to the front left corner of the classroom where the TV was shut away behind a cabinet door.
She pulled it out, turned it on, and started talking. I don't remember what she said, I don't remember what she was wearing (I think there was a green shirt?), I don't remember what other students were doing, but I remember the images on the screen. I remember the terror of watching people die on the news. I remember the black smoke.
I remember that feeling you get when there is a tragedy, that feeling of excitement and fascination that is coupled with fear and anxiety.
I don't know anyone who died in the 9/11 tragedy, and I can't tell you names of any of my friends who did either. Here in Idaho I felt pretty far removed, but I know we weren't. I know everyone knows someone who was affected by the ill fated events of that September morning.
What I also remember though, is the coming together of a community. The love that was poured out for all those lost and all those who lost loved ones. I remember feeling glad to still have all my family. I remember when we started to forget. And now it's like we don't remember at all except for when the anniversary is here.
But as they say, time heals all wounds.
Where were you?
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
On Being Little
When I was little I didn't have a favorite color. My favorite color changed all the time. Some days it was purple. Some days it was green. One day I got a yellow towel because that's what I thought was my favorite was. When people would ask me what my favorite color was I would either tell them that I didn't know, or I would make up a color that sounded good and really convincing.
But I didn't have a favorite color. It was devastating. Life-threatening. I must've been the only kid without a favorite color, I thought!
It's funny how little kid minds work. Obviously I wasn't the only kid to not know what her favorite color was, but I sure felt like it.
And when I was six we were selling my mom's car because our little family had outgrown its spacious five seats. We would run errands around town with a black and orange For Sale sign in the back window. I was absolutely petrified that someone was going to come and buy our car while we were out and we would be forced to walk home.
I remember going on vacation to a resort where we got to stay in a cabin with my father's parents and his sister and her family. My cousin and I were sharing a room, and it was really hot in our room. She insisted that the window be open to let in some cooler air, and I insisted that the window stay closed lest a bear pop up out of nowhere and gobble us up! I think I was about nine or so.
Also, I played a lot of pretend when I was little. Other kids have memories of all these movies they watched and all these video games they played and I have memories of pretending to be a little Indian girl. I pretended to be Fern from Charlotte's Web and bring my momma a basket of 'eggs.' I would periodically ask her "Where's Poppa goin' with that ax?"
Some days I was Laura Ingalls Wilder living in a cabin in the woods. I would run around outside barefoot doing all sorts of things that I thought Laura would have done. I pretended my bike was a horse. I even gave her name and rode her around everywhere.
I absolutely loved to pretend I lived on a ranch. I would run around the backyard completing invisible chores like feeding horses, mucking stalls, collecting eggs, herding cattle. Life on my ranch was so busy! I had dogs and cats to take care of and chickens to feed!
My old neighborhood was filled with children around my age and TheKeeper's age. We would do all sorts of outrageous things. We fantasized about starting a neighborhood newspaper until my mother called that one to a screeching halt by asking who was going to pay for all the paper and the ink we used? Thwarted, we moved on to bigger and better things. Like starting our own band.
And by band, we meant 'singing group' because none of us could play an instrument besides faking the keyboard like the good elementary schoolers that we were. We even got in a fight about it and formed two 'rival' bands. We were going to put on concerts the same day and whoever got more people to show up to their concert won bragging rights.
We were going to hit it big for sure.
We climbed tress and hay bales from the farm that lived at the end of our street. We used to feed their cows grass too. But now the farmland is all houses and subdivisions, no little kids riding bikes on the old dirt road and wreaking havoc and running amok.
And by the way, my favorite color is blue.
Sunday, May 9, 2010
Mommy Day
My mom hates having her picture taken.
She always has answers - even if they're not the ones I was looking for or wanted to hear.
She's always been there for me 100% of the time.
My mom was built to be a mom. Everyone always comments on how motherly she is.
My friends adopted her as honorary mom. So have all my brother's friends.
She can bake an apple pie that will knock your socks off and make them fly around the room.
She was the best nurse when we were sick, and she shared her barf bucket with us when we were that kind of sick.
She doesn't like cats. Hates them actually.
But she loves, loves, loves to fish. Dad says he created a monster.
My mom didn't drink coffee until her mother-in-law tricked her into it with tasty flavored creamers. Now she drinks it everyday and she drinks it black.
She still hates mustard. Except for onetime that my dad thinks otherwise.
My mom was a goody two shoes with a slightly rebellious side. She had to be slightly rebellious because otherwise I wouldn't know how she ended up with my dad.
When she was six years old she walked home from school because she didn't like her substitute teacher.
She used to get in trouble for combing her hair during class.
My mom is a mom to four kids - that's no secret around here. And she and my dad have raised us all the best they know how.
We were taught to ask questions. Don't take things at face value - find out why it's that way.
I don't like rules that I don't know why they're there. If they make sense, that's fine. If they don't, they drive me nuts and I don't want to follow them. I got that from my momma.
She taught us to love Jesus and prayed before bed with us when we were little.
She taught us to bake. Cakes, cookies, pies, we loved being in the kitchen. (If only to steel the dough.)
My mom taught me to hold my head up high and be myself, even when being myself meant being different than everyone else.
She taught us to have morals. She taught us to have values.
She taught us to learn the other side of the story so we could argue our points more effectively when we came across opposition.
Throughout our lives she has backed us up in whatever we do. Gymnastics, Track and Field, Soccer, Attempting to Ride a Unicycle, Drawing, Mathematics, Painting our fingernails, she's been there for it all.
My mom is a beautiful, strong woman of God. She's modeled what a good mother should look like and she's modeled what a good wife should look like.
And most of all, she's always loved all of us kids through the good, bad and ugly moments of life. I love you mom :)
Thursday, April 22, 2010
I Was A Little Girl Once, I Promise
My friend Em had a closet full of 'dress-up' clothes. It consisted of some hand-me-downs that were too big and too out of style, a couple of old prom dresses, some old Halloween costumes, a few wigs and shoes that were either two sizes too small or two sizes too big.
Hours we would spend trying on one garment after another trying to find the perfect look for whatever character we had decided to be that day. Sometimes we were princesses. Sometimes we were fairies. Sometimes we were poor little homeless girls.
It just depended on our mood.
And always, always, always we had to do each other's hair. Em had a million and ten little clippy things that one uses to hold strands of hair in place. They were all different colors and different shapes and sizes. We would grab pony tail holders and banana clips. We would use bobby pins and scrunchies.
It took us a long time to get the hair to match the outfit and sometimes we would have to redo the hair a few times in order look 'just right.'
(See Prince-y? I can totally be a girl.)
But what's really anticlimactic is that we would spend all. that. time. getting. ready. and then we wouldn't even play pretend! Dress up, do your hair and make-up, admire yourself in the mirror, rinse, and repeat.
Which reminds me of a dumb joke that I learned from Em. I'll type the questions and then you have to answer them. Don't worry, it's not a test or anything. I'm sure you'll do fine.
Pete and Re-Pete are sitting in a boat. Pete fell out, who's left?
Pete and Re-Pete are sitting in a boat. Pete fell out, who's left?
Pete and Re-Pete are....well, you get the idea. I told you it was dumb.
Hours we would spend trying on one garment after another trying to find the perfect look for whatever character we had decided to be that day. Sometimes we were princesses. Sometimes we were fairies. Sometimes we were poor little homeless girls.
It just depended on our mood.
And always, always, always we had to do each other's hair. Em had a million and ten little clippy things that one uses to hold strands of hair in place. They were all different colors and different shapes and sizes. We would grab pony tail holders and banana clips. We would use bobby pins and scrunchies.
It took us a long time to get the hair to match the outfit and sometimes we would have to redo the hair a few times in order look 'just right.'
(See Prince-y? I can totally be a girl.)
But what's really anticlimactic is that we would spend all. that. time. getting. ready. and then we wouldn't even play pretend! Dress up, do your hair and make-up, admire yourself in the mirror, rinse, and repeat.
Which reminds me of a dumb joke that I learned from Em. I'll type the questions and then you have to answer them. Don't worry, it's not a test or anything. I'm sure you'll do fine.
Pete and Re-Pete are sitting in a boat. Pete fell out, who's left?
Pete and Re-Pete are sitting in a boat. Pete fell out, who's left?
Pete and Re-Pete are....well, you get the idea. I told you it was dumb.
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Closer to Closure
So I know I disappeared from BlogWorld for a few days, but hopefully you all know the reason I was missing. It wasn't because I hated you all, because I don't. It wasn't because I needed some 'me time,' because I take that anyway and sometimes 'me time' includes 'blog time.' It also wasn't because I was taking a trip to San Diego.
Oh wait. That's exactly what it was. Nevermind.
Wednesday afternoon we flew to San Diego to spend some time with family and attend my Grandpa's memorial service Friday afternoon.
The weather was glorious and I'm really ridiculously sad that we had to return to drab little Idaho and once again bask in the greatness of low temperatures and overcast skies. Also, there are no palm trees here. Which makes me cry a little on the inside because that's one thing I look forward to in California. Palm trees.
I must admit though, that it was all sorts of different to be at my grandparents' house with only one of them present. I kept expecting Gramps to come around the corner and take up residence in his big red chair, only to be disappointed when that never happened.
I caught my dad sitting in that chair once and first glance I thought it was Gramps and had to double check to make sure it wasn't. What chaos these last few days have been.
The memorial service, though, was cleansing. It held a sense of closure. A way to honor someone that so many people loved so dearly. He was a man that found his way into the hearts of almost everyone he knew. He was the kind of man that would get down on the same level as his grandchildren, to really get down into their world, and play their games.
We all had stories.
He was the kind of man that could eat a whole pint of ice cream by himself and he instilled in all of us the love of ice cream. We all talked about how that man could polish off more ice cream than a football team. Grinning the whole time.
Such fond memories we all carry.
We choose not to remember the Parkinson's. We choose not to remember the disease. We choose to remember him as loving and caring. The definition of a man living out a Godly life. The finest example of a life lived with purpose.
He was always optimistic. He never had anything bad to say. His smile could light up a room.
I felt awkward grieving by myself in Moscow. No one to share my memories with. No one who would completely and totally understand. Prince tried. But it's just not the same.
I was weepy sometimes and mad sometimes and sometimes I just wanted someone to hold me and love me and spend time with me, but sometimes Prince just couldn't. I just needed to be with my family. To share my thoughts. My feelings. To let my raw emotions show. To let the truth hang out.
The truth is that I had some guilt and some regret about not being around as much. I harbored some jealousy for the relationship that my cousins got to have with their grandparents that I never experienced because I lived so far away.
But my cousin told me that there's nothing I could do about it. I couldn't hold on to this jealousy, to this regret, to this guilt because it wouldn't do anything for me. She told me I did the best I could at the time I could with the cards that I was dealt.
And she was right.
You can't go around living in the past of should haves and could haves. You just have to live your life to the best of your ability and love those around you and love God. Because that's what you'll be remembered for.
I am blessed with the family that I have. Truly blessed. And I work hard never to forget that.
Oh wait. That's exactly what it was. Nevermind.
Wednesday afternoon we flew to San Diego to spend some time with family and attend my Grandpa's memorial service Friday afternoon.
The weather was glorious and I'm really ridiculously sad that we had to return to drab little Idaho and once again bask in the greatness of low temperatures and overcast skies. Also, there are no palm trees here. Which makes me cry a little on the inside because that's one thing I look forward to in California. Palm trees.
I must admit though, that it was all sorts of different to be at my grandparents' house with only one of them present. I kept expecting Gramps to come around the corner and take up residence in his big red chair, only to be disappointed when that never happened.
I caught my dad sitting in that chair once and first glance I thought it was Gramps and had to double check to make sure it wasn't. What chaos these last few days have been.
The memorial service, though, was cleansing. It held a sense of closure. A way to honor someone that so many people loved so dearly. He was a man that found his way into the hearts of almost everyone he knew. He was the kind of man that would get down on the same level as his grandchildren, to really get down into their world, and play their games.
We all had stories.
He was the kind of man that could eat a whole pint of ice cream by himself and he instilled in all of us the love of ice cream. We all talked about how that man could polish off more ice cream than a football team. Grinning the whole time.
Such fond memories we all carry.
We choose not to remember the Parkinson's. We choose not to remember the disease. We choose to remember him as loving and caring. The definition of a man living out a Godly life. The finest example of a life lived with purpose.
He was always optimistic. He never had anything bad to say. His smile could light up a room.
I felt awkward grieving by myself in Moscow. No one to share my memories with. No one who would completely and totally understand. Prince tried. But it's just not the same.
I was weepy sometimes and mad sometimes and sometimes I just wanted someone to hold me and love me and spend time with me, but sometimes Prince just couldn't. I just needed to be with my family. To share my thoughts. My feelings. To let my raw emotions show. To let the truth hang out.
The truth is that I had some guilt and some regret about not being around as much. I harbored some jealousy for the relationship that my cousins got to have with their grandparents that I never experienced because I lived so far away.
But my cousin told me that there's nothing I could do about it. I couldn't hold on to this jealousy, to this regret, to this guilt because it wouldn't do anything for me. She told me I did the best I could at the time I could with the cards that I was dealt.
And she was right.
You can't go around living in the past of should haves and could haves. You just have to live your life to the best of your ability and love those around you and love God. Because that's what you'll be remembered for.
I am blessed with the family that I have. Truly blessed. And I work hard never to forget that.
Friday, April 2, 2010
Finally Friday
My aunt uploaded a few older pictures to Facebook in her "Memories of Dad" album. I promptly stole this one for my own. Not only is it a picture with Gramps, but it's also a picture of Goose Dog. And we're camping! And seriously, what's better than family camping?
Unicorns.
But that's it.
Unicorns.
But that's it.
(I'm the baby)
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
An Ending
Sunday night I found out some horrible news.
I talked to my dad on the phone, knowing something was wrong but not sure exactly what. I thought about his cancer. Maybe something had gone really wrong?
Until he said these words "Grandpa died today"
I didn't understand. Grandpa wasn't supposed to die. Grandpa was supposed to live forever.
I had heard that it was bad. Our trip down to SoCal for Christmas was because my dad really felt like this would be Grandpa's last Christmas. His dementia was worsening. His health was deteriorating. Still, I didn't want to believe.
I wanted to think that my grandpa would make it to see me graduate college. It's just a couple years away. I wanted him around when I finally got married, to see how beautiful I will look on that day. A big part of me knew that he would never make it that long, but still there was that little part of me that hoped beyond hope that maybe, just maybe, he'd still be around.
It's hard. It's so hard to look at pictures, taken just a year ago. To think about Christmas, just a couple of months ago. It's hard to do that and not tear up at the thought of never being able to wrap my arms around him again.
I'm so far away from what's going on, that I feel like I will be able to fly down there and he will be there, ready to hug me when I walk in the door. We can go for a walk around the neighborhood like we used to.
I loved the sound of my name from his lips.
My grandpa was an amazing man. An awesome husband, a good dad. He was a rowdy kid. A rolled up newspaper out one side of the car on the morning paper route and a lit match out the other.
I've heard his mother broke a broom over his backside on a weekly basis.
He taught my dad to drive in a time where manual transmissions were the norm and I've heard the man could make gears sing. I've heard my dad tell stories of driving advice when he was having trouble keeping the car in the lane. "This isn't a sail boat, you don't need to tack into the wind."
He hated mushrooms.
I remember feeling like his disease had robbed me of getting to really know him. To know the him that was happy and active and didn't stutter when talked. But even though I felt like I wasn't as close to him as my cousins were, I could still hug him. I could still talk to him. He still loved me.
I was his pear thief when I was little. He used to eat a lot of pears. Before we moved all the way to Idaho I would crawl up in his lap and steel bites of his pears. I still like eating pears, though these days they are the canned variety and not the fresh. Unfortunate.
Everyone keeps asking me if I'm okay. And to be honest, I have no idea if I'm okay or not. I feel like if I don't think about it, then I can't be sad. But then in quiet moments, or when I see a picture of him (because on FB we've all changed our profile pictures to ones with him) and it's hard to imagine that he's gone.
It's hard to imagine the severity of someone's gone-ness. We say goodbye, but we never really say goodbye. Our farewell's are much more in a 'I will see you again later' form and less in a 'This is the last time I will see your smiling face' manner.
Which is for the most part how we operate. And we do see each other again. So wrapping my brain around the fact that my grandpa is missing? Not something I'm too keen on doing.
I'm missing a man whom without I wouldn't even be around. He's been a big part of our family. He was my grandma's best friend. They were married for over 50 years.
It's hard to write about him in the past tense. It's hard to know that next week sometime I will be making a fast trip to San Diego for a funeral. Funeral is such a HARD word to think about. My mom told me that if I want to say a few words about him I'm more than welcome too.
I may or may not write anything. Who knows.
But one thing is certain, he's with his Maker now. And probably the happiest he's been in YEARS.
Today it thundered. It's been a joke in our family that the thunder happens when the angels go bowling and get strikes. Well, I choose to believe that he's up there bowling with them and playing a perfect game. Because everyone knows that that old man could skunk us all at bowling, even with Parkinson's disease and he grinned like a little boy the whole time he was doing it.
I just can't believe he's gone.
I talked to my dad on the phone, knowing something was wrong but not sure exactly what. I thought about his cancer. Maybe something had gone really wrong?
Until he said these words "Grandpa died today"
I didn't understand. Grandpa wasn't supposed to die. Grandpa was supposed to live forever.
I had heard that it was bad. Our trip down to SoCal for Christmas was because my dad really felt like this would be Grandpa's last Christmas. His dementia was worsening. His health was deteriorating. Still, I didn't want to believe.
I wanted to think that my grandpa would make it to see me graduate college. It's just a couple years away. I wanted him around when I finally got married, to see how beautiful I will look on that day. A big part of me knew that he would never make it that long, but still there was that little part of me that hoped beyond hope that maybe, just maybe, he'd still be around.
It's hard. It's so hard to look at pictures, taken just a year ago. To think about Christmas, just a couple of months ago. It's hard to do that and not tear up at the thought of never being able to wrap my arms around him again.
I'm so far away from what's going on, that I feel like I will be able to fly down there and he will be there, ready to hug me when I walk in the door. We can go for a walk around the neighborhood like we used to.
I loved the sound of my name from his lips.
My grandpa was an amazing man. An awesome husband, a good dad. He was a rowdy kid. A rolled up newspaper out one side of the car on the morning paper route and a lit match out the other.
I've heard his mother broke a broom over his backside on a weekly basis.
He taught my dad to drive in a time where manual transmissions were the norm and I've heard the man could make gears sing. I've heard my dad tell stories of driving advice when he was having trouble keeping the car in the lane. "This isn't a sail boat, you don't need to tack into the wind."
He hated mushrooms.
I remember feeling like his disease had robbed me of getting to really know him. To know the him that was happy and active and didn't stutter when talked. But even though I felt like I wasn't as close to him as my cousins were, I could still hug him. I could still talk to him. He still loved me.
I was his pear thief when I was little. He used to eat a lot of pears. Before we moved all the way to Idaho I would crawl up in his lap and steel bites of his pears. I still like eating pears, though these days they are the canned variety and not the fresh. Unfortunate.
Everyone keeps asking me if I'm okay. And to be honest, I have no idea if I'm okay or not. I feel like if I don't think about it, then I can't be sad. But then in quiet moments, or when I see a picture of him (because on FB we've all changed our profile pictures to ones with him) and it's hard to imagine that he's gone.
It's hard to imagine the severity of someone's gone-ness. We say goodbye, but we never really say goodbye. Our farewell's are much more in a 'I will see you again later' form and less in a 'This is the last time I will see your smiling face' manner.
Which is for the most part how we operate. And we do see each other again. So wrapping my brain around the fact that my grandpa is missing? Not something I'm too keen on doing.
I'm missing a man whom without I wouldn't even be around. He's been a big part of our family. He was my grandma's best friend. They were married for over 50 years.
It's hard to write about him in the past tense. It's hard to know that next week sometime I will be making a fast trip to San Diego for a funeral. Funeral is such a HARD word to think about. My mom told me that if I want to say a few words about him I'm more than welcome too.
I may or may not write anything. Who knows.
But one thing is certain, he's with his Maker now. And probably the happiest he's been in YEARS.
Today it thundered. It's been a joke in our family that the thunder happens when the angels go bowling and get strikes. Well, I choose to believe that he's up there bowling with them and playing a perfect game. Because everyone knows that that old man could skunk us all at bowling, even with Parkinson's disease and he grinned like a little boy the whole time he was doing it.
I just can't believe he's gone.
Sunday, January 24, 2010
Time Warp
This is me when I was a junior in high school. I thought I was pretty cool.
And these two beautiful girls were my best friends. We were crazy in our own right and caused a lot of trouble. We thought we were pretty bad ass.
And then the almost unthinkable happened. We graduated and spent our last summer together apart. I visited Germany right after graduation and then traveled to Utah a few weeks later. But we still managed to celebrate 18th birthdays and shed goodbye tears before college.
I got to college and experienced SWEET FREEDOM! I celebrated by piercing my nose, much to my father's dismay.
In October, I met this cutie who wowed me with his love of art and music. I was smitten.
After freshman year ended, I was job hunting all the local coffee shops. And then Prince told me there was still an opening at camp, and I semi reluctantly applied. I got the job, and haven't regretted it whatsoever.
I also made some new best friends, since things weren't really working out with Belle and Ariel like I'd hoped. (We've since reconciled, but it was a tough second semester of college.)
And then I entered my first semester of my sophomore year. You know what they say - you can tell a sophomore...but you can't tell 'em much.
Only this time around, this kid joined me at school, along with a new major.
So now here I am, in my second semester of my sophomore year of college and some people still think I'm stuck back in high school because I look so young. But you guys know different, right?
Right.
It's been a long journey. It's not always been pretty. A lot of life around me is completely different than when I started this little blog. And we're not even done yet!
And these two beautiful girls were my best friends. We were crazy in our own right and caused a lot of trouble. We thought we were pretty bad ass.
And then the almost unthinkable happened. We graduated and spent our last summer together apart. I visited Germany right after graduation and then traveled to Utah a few weeks later. But we still managed to celebrate 18th birthdays and shed goodbye tears before college.
I got to college and experienced SWEET FREEDOM! I celebrated by piercing my nose, much to my father's dismay.
In October, I met this cutie who wowed me with his love of art and music. I was smitten.
After freshman year ended, I was job hunting all the local coffee shops. And then Prince told me there was still an opening at camp, and I semi reluctantly applied. I got the job, and haven't regretted it whatsoever.
I also made some new best friends, since things weren't really working out with Belle and Ariel like I'd hoped. (We've since reconciled, but it was a tough second semester of college.)
And then I entered my first semester of my sophomore year. You know what they say - you can tell a sophomore...but you can't tell 'em much.
Only this time around, this kid joined me at school, along with a new major.
So now here I am, in my second semester of my sophomore year of college and some people still think I'm stuck back in high school because I look so young. But you guys know different, right?Right.
It's been a long journey. It's not always been pretty. A lot of life around me is completely different than when I started this little blog. And we're not even done yet!
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