It's not often that you get to meet your childhood-friend's children. Think about it. A lot of times, people don't stay friends that long. From my own pink-corduroy, pigtailed days with Pamcakes to now, when I meet her at her house and meet her beautiful, thriving twins after a long, complications-frought pregnancy and delivery. Post ICU, post-hospital, and now, we are officially post-childhood. She has two absolutely perfect babies of her own.
I'm still in shock even though I've had more than 9 months of knowing this would happen, and was there at the hospital to witness it myself.
One of my oldest, bestest friends in the world has two baby girls. And although we are not related through blood, I love them with the intensity of an auntie. Their mom and I are like chosen sisters, rather than blood relatives. I love them thoroughly and completely, even if I just met them for the first time today, nearly three weeks after their birth. (Hey, that's not bad considering the circumstances.) Trust me, it killed me to wait those nearly 21 days to hold them in my arms and to inhale their baby scent and touch their tiny fingers and feet, and kiss their sweet cheeks.
Today I held a baby that shouldn't have even been born yet, not for at least two more weeks, this little negative-aged being. And they are both so, so, so tiny, their heads fitting neatly into the palm of my hand, their body fitting the space between my wrist and my elbow. They are petite, but they are fighters. Like their mom.
One of my nearest and dearest friends is a mom. We are no longer playing hide-and-seek, swimming at the public pool, throwing parties at our college apartment, or meeting for lunch on break from our first real jobs. She is a mother.
I will love you babies, forever and ever. You can always call me Auntie Katie. And I will always be there for you. Always. For every reason. You can call me late at night, ask me the embarrassing questions, and I will always bring you frivolous gifts, and I will always tell you the truth. I will let you chew the flavor of bubble gum that your mom hates the smell of, I will take you shopping and to the movies, and buy you treats you're not supposed to have, and I'll always, always, always love you. Always.
Showing posts with label love. Show all posts
Showing posts with label love. Show all posts
Saturday, November 14, 2009
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Simple Goodness
Today has been like the third or fourth day that it's been in the 60-degree range, and man, I'm taking it in. It won't last much longer--it's unseasonable now, anyway. It might be dark at 5 p.m., but it's warm.
And that makes me really happy.
Also, I finally get to meet my quasi-nieces this week. And I could not be more thrilled.
Also, I added a little Greatest Hits Collection of some past posts. Maybe more to come? People, going through my old posts, I need to step up the game. Word.
And that makes me really happy.
Also, I finally get to meet my quasi-nieces this week. And I could not be more thrilled.
Also, I added a little Greatest Hits Collection of some past posts. Maybe more to come? People, going through my old posts, I need to step up the game. Word.
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Walk the Line
Sometimes it's hard to blog when things are happening, and they're affecting you and yours, but they aren't your stories.
I try very hard to walk that fine line between talking about my life and William's life, our life together ... and talking about our world. Two completely interconnected, but yet different, sets of reality and privacy. This week has presented some challenges, but William and I are simply Support Staff, not Chiefs of Staff.
So, with that, I'll just say that healing powers sent this way are all to the good and will go to several deeply good people who deserve all the love and support in the world. Want to join me in sending some up into the atmosphere and aimed this-a-way? I'll be sure to cast the net and bring them to those who need it most.
Thanks, friends.
PS: How do you overcome the idea of blogging about you vs. your world?
I try very hard to walk that fine line between talking about my life and William's life, our life together ... and talking about our world. Two completely interconnected, but yet different, sets of reality and privacy. This week has presented some challenges, but William and I are simply Support Staff, not Chiefs of Staff.
So, with that, I'll just say that healing powers sent this way are all to the good and will go to several deeply good people who deserve all the love and support in the world. Want to join me in sending some up into the atmosphere and aimed this-a-way? I'll be sure to cast the net and bring them to those who need it most.
Thanks, friends.
PS: How do you overcome the idea of blogging about you vs. your world?
Monday, October 19, 2009
It's So Hard to Say Goodbye...
This morning, I got up at 5 a.m. I showered, put on my makeup, and got dressed in the dark, so that Wm could sleep til our usual wakeup time.
It felt like a normal day, except it was early, and I was going to say goodbye to my best friend.
About two and a half years ago, C and I sent the Kilipino, our other best friend, off to South America, to join the Peace Corps. It was the hardest thing I'd had to do with my friends, to see one of them get on a plane and know that definitively, our lives diverged at this point. We were here, she was there.
And it doesn't matter how supportive you feel and excited you are for that person--you still have that corner of your heart that feels sad. And it's for multiple reasons: one, you're not going along for the adventure; two, you know that things will not be the same. The rest of the reasons just sort of spiderweb out from that and are small but sting all the same--your friendship just doesn't have the same immediacy when you can't dial up the phone and talk about the latest. We'll have a twelve-hour time difference between us.
It doesn't even mean it's all bad; but no one can remain unchanged, and we're all moving forward at a different pace, or on a different path, with our life plans. A little reminder that we're all growing up.
Last spring, C told me that she was going to go to Thailand for a semester to teach. After the total shock wore off, I rallied into excitement mode. The rest of the year was spent in preparation; helping myself get used to the idea, starting to plan a trip to visit, and keeping her spirits up if ever they faltered.
But still, even though I've been in this place before, in an airport, crying, knowing this person will be chasing their dreams ... it was hard. it was hard to say goodbye, even if it's just a "pause." Even if it's just a couple of months -- and haven't I been talking about how fast time has been going lately? I had convinced myself that this goodbye would not be difficult. It would be joyous and I would say the right thing and feel just fine afterwards. But after waving at her one last time as she walked through security, I had a tough time reining in the tears. OK, I cried. A lot.
This is a friend who extends far past the term friend. When you've been close for more than twenty years, that person is your chosen family. We know nearly all the things about each other there is to know--for instance, when she said last night, "I never sleep the night before flying." I said "I know," and shot her a pointed look--indeed, we've shared that before our own trips together. We laughed then.
We grew up just three short blocks from each other; we began playing together as soon as our parents would let us cross the busy street by ourselves. We met each other halfway each time; indeed, people must have seen us walking the neighborhood daily. We rode bikes, our hair blowing out straight behind us, transitioning from little kids in terrycloth shorts to teenagers, from corduroys to flannel shirts and Doc Martens, braces and too-skinny bodies, secrets and rumors, drivers' licenses and boyfriends, dance clubs and library research, high school graduation and college graduation, plus all the challenges life tends to throw your way once in a while, just to see if you're still paying attention.
There have been a million transitions we've faced together, and always come out the other side. This challenge will be no different. But I'm here and she's there. She hasn't even touched down in Bangkok yet, but I already miss her. My little friend group has dispersed; they're there and Im here. Things will feel just a little emptier while she's gone.
It felt like a normal day, except it was early, and I was going to say goodbye to my best friend.
About two and a half years ago, C and I sent the Kilipino, our other best friend, off to South America, to join the Peace Corps. It was the hardest thing I'd had to do with my friends, to see one of them get on a plane and know that definitively, our lives diverged at this point. We were here, she was there.
And it doesn't matter how supportive you feel and excited you are for that person--you still have that corner of your heart that feels sad. And it's for multiple reasons: one, you're not going along for the adventure; two, you know that things will not be the same. The rest of the reasons just sort of spiderweb out from that and are small but sting all the same--your friendship just doesn't have the same immediacy when you can't dial up the phone and talk about the latest. We'll have a twelve-hour time difference between us.
It doesn't even mean it's all bad; but no one can remain unchanged, and we're all moving forward at a different pace, or on a different path, with our life plans. A little reminder that we're all growing up.
Last spring, C told me that she was going to go to Thailand for a semester to teach. After the total shock wore off, I rallied into excitement mode. The rest of the year was spent in preparation; helping myself get used to the idea, starting to plan a trip to visit, and keeping her spirits up if ever they faltered.
But still, even though I've been in this place before, in an airport, crying, knowing this person will be chasing their dreams ... it was hard. it was hard to say goodbye, even if it's just a "pause." Even if it's just a couple of months -- and haven't I been talking about how fast time has been going lately? I had convinced myself that this goodbye would not be difficult. It would be joyous and I would say the right thing and feel just fine afterwards. But after waving at her one last time as she walked through security, I had a tough time reining in the tears. OK, I cried. A lot.
This is a friend who extends far past the term friend. When you've been close for more than twenty years, that person is your chosen family. We know nearly all the things about each other there is to know--for instance, when she said last night, "I never sleep the night before flying." I said "I know," and shot her a pointed look--indeed, we've shared that before our own trips together. We laughed then.
We grew up just three short blocks from each other; we began playing together as soon as our parents would let us cross the busy street by ourselves. We met each other halfway each time; indeed, people must have seen us walking the neighborhood daily. We rode bikes, our hair blowing out straight behind us, transitioning from little kids in terrycloth shorts to teenagers, from corduroys to flannel shirts and Doc Martens, braces and too-skinny bodies, secrets and rumors, drivers' licenses and boyfriends, dance clubs and library research, high school graduation and college graduation, plus all the challenges life tends to throw your way once in a while, just to see if you're still paying attention.
There have been a million transitions we've faced together, and always come out the other side. This challenge will be no different. But I'm here and she's there. She hasn't even touched down in Bangkok yet, but I already miss her. My little friend group has dispersed; they're there and Im here. Things will feel just a little emptier while she's gone.
Monday, October 27, 2008
Five Months Ago....
I did not have as much love in my heart as I do today, something that I would have thought impossible.
My honey. My love. His face as he turned around and saw me walking down the aisle.
A most handsome man, the first man in my life, who taught me that men should respect me and above all, I must respect myself. My dad did not give me away this day. My dad showed me the way. He will always be my dad, and I will always be his girl.
These rings are blessed by our Hawaiian Ohana, a circle, which never ends. We promise.
I feel like our minister's face says what we are feeling as we kiss.
I felt a mix of adrenaline, anxiety, happiness in the morning, but after we sealed the deal, an enormous sense of relief. Saying those words, even in front of close friends and family, was hard. I was emotional and cried through nearly the whole thing.
We're "going Hollywood" here, to quote the minister. The videographer made his rounds with the photographer and caught this moment, where I can just feel our joy leaping out of the photo. I was so happy that he married us.
This face expresses how I felt inside, too.
Everyone. Thanks again so much for coming. It meant so much to us to have you all there.
Our moms and dads. Who, literally, made all this possible. Thanks for raising us right. Thanks for supporting us. Thanks for letting us be who we are. Thanks for loving us. And thanks for letting us join each other's families so well. We are so grateful.
Check out my grandma!
My best girls. Who have taught me a thing or two about friendship, love, patience, kindness, generosity, and how to have a damn good laugh.
My handsome devil.
Rapture.
I still can't get over my flowers. They were SO BEAUTIFUL. I love how vivid our wedding was.
A whole new horizon, together.
Aw, yeah! Sassy!
My honey.
A photo with a hidden treat. If you look closely, you can see our reflection.
I can't believe it's been five months. I swear life has been on fast forward. And on this chilly fall day, I'm totally feeling sunny just looking at these photos. It's like it was one hot, sunny, gorgeous dream. Only I get to keep living in it.
My honey. My love. His face as he turned around and saw me walking down the aisle.
A most handsome man, the first man in my life, who taught me that men should respect me and above all, I must respect myself. My dad did not give me away this day. My dad showed me the way. He will always be my dad, and I will always be his girl.
These rings are blessed by our Hawaiian Ohana, a circle, which never ends. We promise.
I feel like our minister's face says what we are feeling as we kiss.
I felt a mix of adrenaline, anxiety, happiness in the morning, but after we sealed the deal, an enormous sense of relief. Saying those words, even in front of close friends and family, was hard. I was emotional and cried through nearly the whole thing.
We're "going Hollywood" here, to quote the minister. The videographer made his rounds with the photographer and caught this moment, where I can just feel our joy leaping out of the photo. I was so happy that he married us.
This face expresses how I felt inside, too.
Everyone. Thanks again so much for coming. It meant so much to us to have you all there.
Our moms and dads. Who, literally, made all this possible. Thanks for raising us right. Thanks for supporting us. Thanks for letting us be who we are. Thanks for loving us. And thanks for letting us join each other's families so well. We are so grateful.
Check out my grandma!
My best girls. Who have taught me a thing or two about friendship, love, patience, kindness, generosity, and how to have a damn good laugh.
My handsome devil.
Rapture.
I still can't get over my flowers. They were SO BEAUTIFUL. I love how vivid our wedding was.
A whole new horizon, together.
Aw, yeah! Sassy!
My honey.
A photo with a hidden treat. If you look closely, you can see our reflection.
I can't believe it's been five months. I swear life has been on fast forward. And on this chilly fall day, I'm totally feeling sunny just looking at these photos. It's like it was one hot, sunny, gorgeous dream. Only I get to keep living in it.
Sunday, October 19, 2008
Love Actually
Every morning, I wake up and I feel happy because I have William and he is there to face the day, its challenges and rewards, with me. Every night when I fall asleep, I'm thankful William is there to dream with me about our goals and the hidden, sweet surprises life brings when you're least expecting it. I feel like we fully complement each other, even more so since we got married.
I have just as much fun getting cheap takeout and giggling around our coffee table as I do when we get dressed up and eat a fancy dinner or go for drinks. And even if we bicker and eye-roll at each other (and we do), we still find a way to tell each other we love each other every day. I giggle to myself when I introduce him as my husband, or when I think about the dizzying, giddy past three years of our romance. Not every day is easy, but it's easier because we have each other.
Today is no big anniversary, no special event, no news to impart. I'm just overwhelmed by how lucky I am to love someone with such intensity. And to know that it's returned.
I have just as much fun getting cheap takeout and giggling around our coffee table as I do when we get dressed up and eat a fancy dinner or go for drinks. And even if we bicker and eye-roll at each other (and we do), we still find a way to tell each other we love each other every day. I giggle to myself when I introduce him as my husband, or when I think about the dizzying, giddy past three years of our romance. Not every day is easy, but it's easier because we have each other.
Today is no big anniversary, no special event, no news to impart. I'm just overwhelmed by how lucky I am to love someone with such intensity. And to know that it's returned.
Thursday, July 24, 2008
He's Not Petty
So, last night, because my friend Fatty (who knows of his nickname and is not offended, probably because he's not really fat) is an astute ticket buyer, I was seated in the fifteenth row for a Tom Petty show. (Thanks, Superfat. You rock.)
Tom Petty has been one of my favorite singers for . . . my whole life, I think. It's like I was born knowing the lyrics to all the songs. Tom has comforted me during the rough times. He's celebrated my big moments. He's been with me on summer nights, cruising around with the windows down, volume loud enough to just drown out my singing. Tom understands when I feel like a loser or an outsider. And he understands when I just feel really damn lucky to have the life I have.
I love the jangly guitar, the consistently rhyming lyrics, the basic truths. I love the southern nasal drawl. I love the out-and-out rock. I love his criminally underrated Heartbreakers. I love how approachable and normal they all seem. I love that he loves his job.
I have now seen Tom four times live. Every time has been unbelievable. Last night didn't disappoint. Electrifying. Highlight of the night for me was when he sang "End of the Line," from his days with the Traveling Wilburys (a supergroup that never really became a supergroup...another awesome thing about Tom). I could have died happy. I'm still happy from those four minutes. Sometimes you just have to escape, and I can do that with Tom.
I'm learnin' to fly . . . but I ain't got wings.
Everything just feels all right when Tom's around.
Tom Petty has been one of my favorite singers for . . . my whole life, I think. It's like I was born knowing the lyrics to all the songs. Tom has comforted me during the rough times. He's celebrated my big moments. He's been with me on summer nights, cruising around with the windows down, volume loud enough to just drown out my singing. Tom understands when I feel like a loser or an outsider. And he understands when I just feel really damn lucky to have the life I have.
I love the jangly guitar, the consistently rhyming lyrics, the basic truths. I love the southern nasal drawl. I love the out-and-out rock. I love his criminally underrated Heartbreakers. I love how approachable and normal they all seem. I love that he loves his job.
I have now seen Tom four times live. Every time has been unbelievable. Last night didn't disappoint. Electrifying. Highlight of the night for me was when he sang "End of the Line," from his days with the Traveling Wilburys (a supergroup that never really became a supergroup...another awesome thing about Tom). I could have died happy. I'm still happy from those four minutes. Sometimes you just have to escape, and I can do that with Tom.
I'm learnin' to fly . . . but I ain't got wings.
Everything just feels all right when Tom's around.
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
Home Sweet Home (At least, one of them)
Two photos of the home I wrote about last night. Just thought I'd share some of William's talent and give you a little visual.
The yard:
The yard:
Sunday, May 11, 2008
Mommy
My mom:
waves goodbye out the window each time I drive away from the house.
loves true crime books and mobster movies/shows.
makes the best spaghetti sauce you will ever eat—truly, I have never had better.
taught me I'm supposed to iron the collar and cuffs on a shirt first. (and that everything i own needs a better pressing. she's a first-rate ironer).
cries when young kids win olympic gold medals.
loves babies and children and has a knack for communicating with even the most difficult ones. When we go to Target, I know when her students are there because they get the same wide-eyed stare I'd give Madonna if I saw her buying toilet paper.
gave me her: exact color of eyes (blue-gray), pale skin, chiclet teeth, thank-god-its-fast metabolism. Even my knees look like my mom's. I am practically a clone of my mom, although my nose is different and my feet look just like my dad's.
worries more than she should.
has started to call Mo her granddoggie, a day I thought I'd never see!
has always said all we kids had to do was our best. If that wasn't an A or first place or taking the obvious path to our goals, that didn't matter. As long as it was our best.
walks quickly, in shorter strides. Her mom said she ran first.
is usually hurrying, but always has time to talk. ALWAYS.
completes, or nearly completes, the New York Times crossword puzzle.
loves flowers and gardening and hates lima beans.
has been right about just about everything that she warned me she was right about.
including one of her common phrases: this too shall pass.
now I use it all the time, too.
still signs her emails to me "love mommy." even though I don't always call her that out loud anymore.
is still my mommy. Always.
never compared her children to each other. Always made us feel loved equally (although we tease her about Chris being her favorite). I think that's a pretty amazing feat.
understands both sides of stories most of the time. She's a true middle child.
is an adventurous eater and taught me to be one, too. (Although I still hate bananas and melon.) we like to go out to eat together.
loves to be included in new adventures, travel, restaurants, or hearing a new CD. Life is learning.
once cut out a photo of George Michael (this was the '80's after all) in his Faith days, and hung it on the inside of a cabinet door in our kitchen. She liked him.
and Cher, and Bon Jovi. And I can remember dancing around to Bruce Springsteen's album Born in the USA in our living room with her.
puts everyone else first.
wears Calyx perfume.
always made us the dinner of our choice on our birthdays. Also, we were allowed to choose a cake, and she made it at home.
didn't go to college, but I'd hazard a guess and say she would have majored in architecture or interior design if she had.
is incredibly intelligent. She's a voracious reader and puzzle do-er. She 'gets' people, too.
read to me every night when I was little. Even as the books got longer, we would just read a chapter or two aloud every night. one of our favorites was Island of the Blue Dolphins.
enjoys setting a table. Maybe she wouldn't think so, but the effort she puts in shows. She loves getting the right napkins and cute salad plates and even covers the chairs. She makes events more special because of it.
has completely rocked at being a mom. It's just her nature. She has connected with her children and grandchildren and their significant others and just about everyone around her because she is a good listener, fast with a laugh, and kind. She's engaging and charming and beautiful, too.
As I get older, I realize what a sacrifice being a mother is. On how many days it is a completely thankless job. I realize how not everyone is meant to be a mom. How selfless and giving you'd have to be to become a successful one. How much love you have to give. How lucky I am to have gotten such an amazing mom, who is my friend and mom. Who I respect and adore. I am not even a mom yet, but I feel like I get what she has done for us as a mom, sent us out into the world prepared as well as a mom can, continuing to send us home with leftovers and sometimes calling to make sure we got home safely.
Thank you, Mommy, for the sacrifices you have made for your three kids. I realize now how difficult some of them might have been, but you never making us feel like they were. Thanks for always being proud of my "best." For supporting my decisions and my emotions, and for even telling me when I was completely crazy in a nice way. Thank you for being enthusiastic about all my successes and telling me my failures were just learning experiences. thank you for telling me when I feel down and out that "Mom still loves you, Dad still loves you, Susie and Chris still love you, William still loves you" and on and on until I smile at all the people who love me and realize my troubles aren't so bad. I hope someday, I can repay you. Perhaps one day I will show up at your door with my coat pressed, after all. I love you so much.
waves goodbye out the window each time I drive away from the house.
loves true crime books and mobster movies/shows.
makes the best spaghetti sauce you will ever eat—truly, I have never had better.
taught me I'm supposed to iron the collar and cuffs on a shirt first. (and that everything i own needs a better pressing. she's a first-rate ironer).
cries when young kids win olympic gold medals.
loves babies and children and has a knack for communicating with even the most difficult ones. When we go to Target, I know when her students are there because they get the same wide-eyed stare I'd give Madonna if I saw her buying toilet paper.
gave me her: exact color of eyes (blue-gray), pale skin, chiclet teeth, thank-god-its-fast metabolism. Even my knees look like my mom's. I am practically a clone of my mom, although my nose is different and my feet look just like my dad's.
worries more than she should.
has started to call Mo her granddoggie, a day I thought I'd never see!
has always said all we kids had to do was our best. If that wasn't an A or first place or taking the obvious path to our goals, that didn't matter. As long as it was our best.
walks quickly, in shorter strides. Her mom said she ran first.
is usually hurrying, but always has time to talk. ALWAYS.
completes, or nearly completes, the New York Times crossword puzzle.
loves flowers and gardening and hates lima beans.
has been right about just about everything that she warned me she was right about.
including one of her common phrases: this too shall pass.
now I use it all the time, too.
still signs her emails to me "love mommy." even though I don't always call her that out loud anymore.
is still my mommy. Always.
never compared her children to each other. Always made us feel loved equally (although we tease her about Chris being her favorite). I think that's a pretty amazing feat.
understands both sides of stories most of the time. She's a true middle child.
is an adventurous eater and taught me to be one, too. (Although I still hate bananas and melon.) we like to go out to eat together.
loves to be included in new adventures, travel, restaurants, or hearing a new CD. Life is learning.
once cut out a photo of George Michael (this was the '80's after all) in his Faith days, and hung it on the inside of a cabinet door in our kitchen. She liked him.
and Cher, and Bon Jovi. And I can remember dancing around to Bruce Springsteen's album Born in the USA in our living room with her.
puts everyone else first.
wears Calyx perfume.
always made us the dinner of our choice on our birthdays. Also, we were allowed to choose a cake, and she made it at home.
didn't go to college, but I'd hazard a guess and say she would have majored in architecture or interior design if she had.
is incredibly intelligent. She's a voracious reader and puzzle do-er. She 'gets' people, too.
read to me every night when I was little. Even as the books got longer, we would just read a chapter or two aloud every night. one of our favorites was Island of the Blue Dolphins.
enjoys setting a table. Maybe she wouldn't think so, but the effort she puts in shows. She loves getting the right napkins and cute salad plates and even covers the chairs. She makes events more special because of it.
has completely rocked at being a mom. It's just her nature. She has connected with her children and grandchildren and their significant others and just about everyone around her because she is a good listener, fast with a laugh, and kind. She's engaging and charming and beautiful, too.
As I get older, I realize what a sacrifice being a mother is. On how many days it is a completely thankless job. I realize how not everyone is meant to be a mom. How selfless and giving you'd have to be to become a successful one. How much love you have to give. How lucky I am to have gotten such an amazing mom, who is my friend and mom. Who I respect and adore. I am not even a mom yet, but I feel like I get what she has done for us as a mom, sent us out into the world prepared as well as a mom can, continuing to send us home with leftovers and sometimes calling to make sure we got home safely.
Thank you, Mommy, for the sacrifices you have made for your three kids. I realize now how difficult some of them might have been, but you never making us feel like they were. Thanks for always being proud of my "best." For supporting my decisions and my emotions, and for even telling me when I was completely crazy in a nice way. Thank you for being enthusiastic about all my successes and telling me my failures were just learning experiences. thank you for telling me when I feel down and out that "Mom still loves you, Dad still loves you, Susie and Chris still love you, William still loves you" and on and on until I smile at all the people who love me and realize my troubles aren't so bad. I hope someday, I can repay you. Perhaps one day I will show up at your door with my coat pressed, after all. I love you so much.
Thursday, February 28, 2008
Bullitt
*It's been a very busy week. It will be busy into the weekend.
*I hope I get some sleep and relaxation soon.
*We had a meeting of the moms for the wedding. It went well, despite my bad directions. (Sorry again Mom.)
*Dessert and good conversation goes a long way for mental well-being.
*Babies are great.
*I'm glad I don't have one right now.
*We are getting married in less than 90 days. Say what-what?
*I hate money.
*Also, cramps suck.
*William and I both had terrible. horrible, no-good, very bad days this week.
*Please, please let it stop snowing.
*The sun is sort of out when I get out of the shower int he morning now. And sometimes the sun is still out for a few seconds when I leave work. I count every second as important.
*There are a lot of details to be wrapping up. I hope to be blogging regularly, but As you can already see, it's been spotty.
*Looking at photos of Hawaii makes me happy.
*Molly's sweet darling personality melts my heart afer a long day, her little stumpy tail and butt wagging.
*I feel really lucky that the person I am marrying is someone that I can argue with and in the same sentence laugh. I can cry and make jokes. We can stay up late into the night talking. That security is such an amazing feeling. I am so lucky.
*I hope I get some sleep and relaxation soon.
*We had a meeting of the moms for the wedding. It went well, despite my bad directions. (Sorry again Mom.)
*Dessert and good conversation goes a long way for mental well-being.
*Babies are great.
*I'm glad I don't have one right now.
*We are getting married in less than 90 days. Say what-what?
*I hate money.
*Also, cramps suck.
*William and I both had terrible. horrible, no-good, very bad days this week.
*Please, please let it stop snowing.
*The sun is sort of out when I get out of the shower int he morning now. And sometimes the sun is still out for a few seconds when I leave work. I count every second as important.
*There are a lot of details to be wrapping up. I hope to be blogging regularly, but As you can already see, it's been spotty.
*Looking at photos of Hawaii makes me happy.
*Molly's sweet darling personality melts my heart afer a long day, her little stumpy tail and butt wagging.
*I feel really lucky that the person I am marrying is someone that I can argue with and in the same sentence laugh. I can cry and make jokes. We can stay up late into the night talking. That security is such an amazing feeling. I am so lucky.
Sunday, December 16, 2007
every time i see you fall . . .
today i went to the airport and had my reunion (with two other very close friends) love-actually style, with the kilipino. she has been away since february, and so much has happened--and stayed the same--since then.
i was overwhelmed, like completely overwhelmed, when the tv lit up at the baggage claim and i knew for sure the flight was coming in. i started to cry before i even saw her. the tears started flooding when i turned around and she was running down the hallway towards us. it felt so good to hug her, to actually have proof of her after very hurried phone calls or hastily typed gmail chats.
the kilipino and i have known each other through a lot. we have been friends now for eleven years... since when our parents had to give us a ride somewhere. then through drivers licenses, proms, college, first jobs, life crises. she has always been there for me when i have fallen. she sings me songs on the phone. she cries if i cry. and if something goes well, she is right there, jumping and screaming and dancing with me. she is funny as hell. i swear that sometimes she has ESP. she knows the right thing to say or do, she picks up on little cues. her kind of friendship is so rare, something i am learning the older i get. i was talking to her mother tonight, and she was saying to me how important it is to have friends with history, people who will be with you through everything, grow old with you.
i have a kilipino-shaped hole in my life while she lives in paraguay, yet i was so for this, so want her to do this and succeed, wholeheartedly. i love how happy she is. it's weird to think that on my wedding day, she will be an eleven-hour plane ride (or more—to hawaii it'd be like 20 hours)—a hemisphere away. but i know i will still feel her.
i'm so lucky to have a few friends who fall into this category, who know me inside and out, who know my imperfections and downfalls, my weaknesses, and still love me. and consider me a friend to them. we have supported each other through ups and downs, be it outside forces or between ourselves, for a long time. today in the airport, i could feel it physically, a pull, my steps quickening, a squeeze, my tears, her tears, my friends' tears. it was like suddenly, seeing her, my heart ached that much more for how much i have been missing her, now having her close to me.
the emotions are so close to the surface today. just bubbling right underneath my skin, cells pulsating. tears at the ready. overjoyed. overwhelmed.
my cup runneth over.
i was overwhelmed, like completely overwhelmed, when the tv lit up at the baggage claim and i knew for sure the flight was coming in. i started to cry before i even saw her. the tears started flooding when i turned around and she was running down the hallway towards us. it felt so good to hug her, to actually have proof of her after very hurried phone calls or hastily typed gmail chats.
the kilipino and i have known each other through a lot. we have been friends now for eleven years... since when our parents had to give us a ride somewhere. then through drivers licenses, proms, college, first jobs, life crises. she has always been there for me when i have fallen. she sings me songs on the phone. she cries if i cry. and if something goes well, she is right there, jumping and screaming and dancing with me. she is funny as hell. i swear that sometimes she has ESP. she knows the right thing to say or do, she picks up on little cues. her kind of friendship is so rare, something i am learning the older i get. i was talking to her mother tonight, and she was saying to me how important it is to have friends with history, people who will be with you through everything, grow old with you.
i have a kilipino-shaped hole in my life while she lives in paraguay, yet i was so for this, so want her to do this and succeed, wholeheartedly. i love how happy she is. it's weird to think that on my wedding day, she will be an eleven-hour plane ride (or more—to hawaii it'd be like 20 hours)—a hemisphere away. but i know i will still feel her.
i'm so lucky to have a few friends who fall into this category, who know me inside and out, who know my imperfections and downfalls, my weaknesses, and still love me. and consider me a friend to them. we have supported each other through ups and downs, be it outside forces or between ourselves, for a long time. today in the airport, i could feel it physically, a pull, my steps quickening, a squeeze, my tears, her tears, my friends' tears. it was like suddenly, seeing her, my heart ached that much more for how much i have been missing her, now having her close to me.
the emotions are so close to the surface today. just bubbling right underneath my skin, cells pulsating. tears at the ready. overjoyed. overwhelmed.
my cup runneth over.
Monday, November 5, 2007
on grandparents
on the way home from the grocery store, i got to thinking. . . and this is the total word-nerd in me. . . why do we call grandparents, grandparents? after all, usually, someone who comes before or above another is "super". . .supervisor, for example. then i started thinking of how funny it would be if we called our grandparents "superparents" instead. it's like they are comic book heroes with extra-special parenting skillz! i had a good giggle, picturing my grandma with a cape with a big capital J on it. yes, i know. big nerd.
but i got around to thinking that i never wrote about my grandparent-filled weekend when we went to south dakota for william's grandma's funeral. i never knew his grandpa on that side; and it'd be a big stretch to say i knew his grandma. but i have gotten to know his mom's parents, and his grandpa makes my heart ache for the ones that i haven't had since childhood.
there is something about grandpas. i want to bake them cookies and make them flirt with me and have them teach me everything there is to know.
william's grandpa's name is ernest, let's start there. perfect grandpa name, right? he's 90 years old, has nine children, and farmed his whole life. i think he still would if he could. but 90 ain't got nothin' on this guy. his mind. . . i actually don't even know any 26-year-olds with a memory like his. he remembers being three years old and sneaking into his dad's sled under the blanket to try to steal a ride into town for candy. that was EIGHTY-SEVEN years ago, in case you need the math. he remembers his dad selling a car in 1925 for $50 and a bad cow. he can tell you all about all about the destruction and aftermath of leaving nine teenager-aged childen home alone on the farm when he finally took his first vacation with his beloved wife, betty. (". . .and the snowmobile, it was up by ted henning's house. . .") he loves baseball and bingo--although he says "that's not gambling, that's recreation!" and he loves his family. he drags out large photo albums and details all their accomplishments and relatives and goings-on over the years in his fargo-like accent (tinged with a kind of stoutness that must be the polish he can also speak). he's a master of the wink. he loves the ladies. the love that he has for his wife (and she has for him) brings tears to my eyes. they have been married for sixty-something years (i hope that's right) and it's like they're still seeing each other for the first time. they live each day trying to outdo each other in acts of kindness. it's the kind of marriage that i think everyone dreams of, once they realize that they too will get old, and hopefully they will still be with that person they fell in love with before they got wrinkles and arthritis, when they still danced on friday nights.
betty tells me, "you know, ernest tells me every day that he loves me. and sometimes he forgets if he said it or not, so he'll ask, 'did i tell you i loved you yet today? well, i love you.' " her eyes twinkle when she tells me this. "i guess that's why he had nine kids."
we had a good laugh over that. but i made this little wish that william and i could still be that in love that far down the road.
it's amazing, the marks that our grandparents leave on our hearts and minds, the ghosty way that i'm still tethered to mine after so many years of them being gone. i can remember sitting at my grandma jeanne's kitchen table with grandpa bill, before we knew he was sick, and him singing 'the three little kittens' to me. and me carrying on, 'no, grandpa, no! not again!' because he knew it drove me crazy. he loved to drive kids crazy. i can remember him showing me the cookie jar and telling me that cookies were not worth eating if they weren't double-stuf oreos. i can remember him taking me to the park with my cousins, and opening up the trunk of his car, and inside it, a cooler. filled with pop. . . grape, orange, you name it. and telling me, "you can have as much of this as you want today." it was like we'd struck gold. he also bought me pink minnetonka moccasins and a care bears necklace for christmas. he really seemed to know a girl's heart.
my other grandpa was very different from my grandpa bill, from what i recall. he was quieter, a bit gentler. he loved golf. he once had a heart attack on the green. . . but finished his game before going to the hospital. (so i heard once). he loved mountain dew and doublemint gum, which he kept on a shelf above his desk. he taped shows for me off the disney channel. . .he came to regret that. annie and the secret of nimh. . . required watching every time i visited. he had a beautiful little rose garden in his backyard, which he meticulously maintained. i can remember climbing the apple tree, he putzing around in the yard. i can remember what his giggle sounded like, and that he always was jingling the change in his pocket. i loved going to their house, there was something so safe and warm there, and like there was so much to get my hands into. i don't remember my grandpas telling me many stories about growing up or any of those things, yet i still feel like i carry them around with me.
and if i'm marrying into this family, then they are kind of my grandparents too, right? i'm going to soak up as much of it as i can. tell me your stories, so that i know what it was like. and how i can live a life as decently, as love-filled, as miraculously, as you have yours.
but i got around to thinking that i never wrote about my grandparent-filled weekend when we went to south dakota for william's grandma's funeral. i never knew his grandpa on that side; and it'd be a big stretch to say i knew his grandma. but i have gotten to know his mom's parents, and his grandpa makes my heart ache for the ones that i haven't had since childhood.
there is something about grandpas. i want to bake them cookies and make them flirt with me and have them teach me everything there is to know.
william's grandpa's name is ernest, let's start there. perfect grandpa name, right? he's 90 years old, has nine children, and farmed his whole life. i think he still would if he could. but 90 ain't got nothin' on this guy. his mind. . . i actually don't even know any 26-year-olds with a memory like his. he remembers being three years old and sneaking into his dad's sled under the blanket to try to steal a ride into town for candy. that was EIGHTY-SEVEN years ago, in case you need the math. he remembers his dad selling a car in 1925 for $50 and a bad cow. he can tell you all about all about the destruction and aftermath of leaving nine teenager-aged childen home alone on the farm when he finally took his first vacation with his beloved wife, betty. (". . .and the snowmobile, it was up by ted henning's house. . .") he loves baseball and bingo--although he says "that's not gambling, that's recreation!" and he loves his family. he drags out large photo albums and details all their accomplishments and relatives and goings-on over the years in his fargo-like accent (tinged with a kind of stoutness that must be the polish he can also speak). he's a master of the wink. he loves the ladies. the love that he has for his wife (and she has for him) brings tears to my eyes. they have been married for sixty-something years (i hope that's right) and it's like they're still seeing each other for the first time. they live each day trying to outdo each other in acts of kindness. it's the kind of marriage that i think everyone dreams of, once they realize that they too will get old, and hopefully they will still be with that person they fell in love with before they got wrinkles and arthritis, when they still danced on friday nights.
betty tells me, "you know, ernest tells me every day that he loves me. and sometimes he forgets if he said it or not, so he'll ask, 'did i tell you i loved you yet today? well, i love you.' " her eyes twinkle when she tells me this. "i guess that's why he had nine kids."
we had a good laugh over that. but i made this little wish that william and i could still be that in love that far down the road.
it's amazing, the marks that our grandparents leave on our hearts and minds, the ghosty way that i'm still tethered to mine after so many years of them being gone. i can remember sitting at my grandma jeanne's kitchen table with grandpa bill, before we knew he was sick, and him singing 'the three little kittens' to me. and me carrying on, 'no, grandpa, no! not again!' because he knew it drove me crazy. he loved to drive kids crazy. i can remember him showing me the cookie jar and telling me that cookies were not worth eating if they weren't double-stuf oreos. i can remember him taking me to the park with my cousins, and opening up the trunk of his car, and inside it, a cooler. filled with pop. . . grape, orange, you name it. and telling me, "you can have as much of this as you want today." it was like we'd struck gold. he also bought me pink minnetonka moccasins and a care bears necklace for christmas. he really seemed to know a girl's heart.
my other grandpa was very different from my grandpa bill, from what i recall. he was quieter, a bit gentler. he loved golf. he once had a heart attack on the green. . . but finished his game before going to the hospital. (so i heard once). he loved mountain dew and doublemint gum, which he kept on a shelf above his desk. he taped shows for me off the disney channel. . .he came to regret that. annie and the secret of nimh. . . required watching every time i visited. he had a beautiful little rose garden in his backyard, which he meticulously maintained. i can remember climbing the apple tree, he putzing around in the yard. i can remember what his giggle sounded like, and that he always was jingling the change in his pocket. i loved going to their house, there was something so safe and warm there, and like there was so much to get my hands into. i don't remember my grandpas telling me many stories about growing up or any of those things, yet i still feel like i carry them around with me.
and if i'm marrying into this family, then they are kind of my grandparents too, right? i'm going to soak up as much of it as i can. tell me your stories, so that i know what it was like. and how i can live a life as decently, as love-filled, as miraculously, as you have yours.
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
this will be the day where you will hear me say that i will never run away
this should have more accurately been the title of my anniversary story but instead it's my prince review, which i'll keep short. playing three shows in three consecutive blocks on 07/07/07--with one being appropriately shut down by the cops (if de-elevator tries to break you down, go crazy!) at 4 a.m.
the man is 49, and he can rock harder than i can.
can i say that i fall in love with prince more every time i see him? the man is a genius. he's an amazing performer (check those moves), an amazing musician (he played guitar, bass, and piano on saturday night)--my thought is always: does he sit down and write a song.. and think to himself "awwww yeah. 10 million records, right there!" like, who writes raspberry beret? what a perfect pop song.
i think the best part was that he really seriously seemed to be enjoying himself. he was having fun. quoted as saying "if you got a cell phone, yo better use it to call the babysitter, because we're going to be up alllll night."
the fashion sense. mm-hmm. sharp white suit. the only man i know that can wear heels and be sexy. that smile... he maintains that serious-ity so much that it's enjoyable to see him smile.
of course, he's from minneapolis. and there's some hometown pride there, too.
highlights for me: his piano pieces, which he ended with the title line up there...the beginning of diamonds and pearls. i just loooooove when he sings in his lower register, which he doesn't do that often. he stopped the song right there, smiled, giggled, and said "i just have too many hits, y'all... i can't play 'em all!" and strapped on a guitar and rocked out to something else (i can't remember what because i was too busy quivering from diamonds and pearls intro). sheila e rocking out with him--esp. on a glamorous life. wendy melvoin flying into the twin cities at 9:45 when the show was to begin at 8:30...to open the show alongside prince.... purple rain. last time i saw him, he ended with it. he sang cream, which is one ofm y favorite, favorite prince songs. he sang satisfied, off 3121, which isn't one of my faves on the record, but damn if it isn't now.
prince has always been in the background of my life. stuck in my head. sung even when i was playing hopscotch. i remember calling and requesting the song 7 when i was babysitting once, and i made it on the radio. i guess prince has made his fans all feel pretty special at one point or another.
oh. i did a video about prince fans waiting in line for The Work, and the local news channel saw it, and i was on the news, too. it's kinda nerdy but in a post about prince, i can't not say that.
and go read found out about me for another side of the coin--one of my friends who joined me that night.
the man is 49, and he can rock harder than i can.
can i say that i fall in love with prince more every time i see him? the man is a genius. he's an amazing performer (check those moves), an amazing musician (he played guitar, bass, and piano on saturday night)--my thought is always: does he sit down and write a song.. and think to himself "awwww yeah. 10 million records, right there!" like, who writes raspberry beret? what a perfect pop song.
i think the best part was that he really seriously seemed to be enjoying himself. he was having fun. quoted as saying "if you got a cell phone, yo better use it to call the babysitter, because we're going to be up alllll night."
the fashion sense. mm-hmm. sharp white suit. the only man i know that can wear heels and be sexy. that smile... he maintains that serious-ity so much that it's enjoyable to see him smile.
of course, he's from minneapolis. and there's some hometown pride there, too.
highlights for me: his piano pieces, which he ended with the title line up there...the beginning of diamonds and pearls. i just loooooove when he sings in his lower register, which he doesn't do that often. he stopped the song right there, smiled, giggled, and said "i just have too many hits, y'all... i can't play 'em all!" and strapped on a guitar and rocked out to something else (i can't remember what because i was too busy quivering from diamonds and pearls intro). sheila e rocking out with him--esp. on a glamorous life. wendy melvoin flying into the twin cities at 9:45 when the show was to begin at 8:30...to open the show alongside prince.... purple rain. last time i saw him, he ended with it. he sang cream, which is one ofm y favorite, favorite prince songs. he sang satisfied, off 3121, which isn't one of my faves on the record, but damn if it isn't now.
prince has always been in the background of my life. stuck in my head. sung even when i was playing hopscotch. i remember calling and requesting the song 7 when i was babysitting once, and i made it on the radio. i guess prince has made his fans all feel pretty special at one point or another.
oh. i did a video about prince fans waiting in line for The Work, and the local news channel saw it, and i was on the news, too. it's kinda nerdy but in a post about prince, i can't not say that.
and go read found out about me for another side of the coin--one of my friends who joined me that night.
Monday, May 21, 2007
aiming for happyment
I hate to getting to waxing philosophical too much, but I’ve been thinking on a movie I saw this weekend—that was much different than I expected it to be.
William and I watched The Pursuit of Happyness, that Will Smith-and-son movie. I totally thought it would be a good story, couched in Disneyfied terms. After all, he primarily plays to a family-friendly audience, etc. I didn’t bother to check beforehand who produced the movie. Sony Pictures, not Disney. At any rate, I figured it’d be sugarcoated and it’d be a happy ending (since there really was a happy ending in the real life version) and we’d all feel warm and fuzzy and that’d be that.
It was a fantastic movie. But it was so hard to watch. Just sad, sad struggles most of the way through. An intense, stressful process. As William said, “I think that movie gave me an ulcer.” I had to work really hard not to sob—I did cry a bit, but tried not to let it devolve into one of those swollen-eyes-stuffed-nose-can’t-go-out-in-public affairs. Will Smith is great, and the chemistry between he and his real-life son transfers over to the fictional one.
It really got me to thinking about happiness though. I feel like, in the mid-20s, we’re all struggling for the things that we’ve all dreamed of as children, young adults, collegians—our friends, us, and even extending to our families, which range in age quite widely.
What are we willing to give up to be happy? If we feel like we have to give it up, then does that thing make us unhappy? How do we feel about compromise? How do we feel about unflinching dedication to either the pursuit of the perfect job, the perfect mate, perfecting a hobby, or donating our time?
I haven’t found the right balance yet. I don’t know that anyone my age has. And I think it’s a lot easier to focus on the things that are a thorn in the side than it is the good things.
Obviously, this man was an extreme example. He went from being homeless, wifeless, and prospectless—then took an UNPAID internship—managed to finagle a job through it, and all the while kept his son. But I don’t know how far I’d go to be “happy”. After all… if I lost William because I wanted some crazy job, or I lost friends because I’m devoted to William, there would be a huge hole in my life. Or if I left a job to make more money but wasn’t doing what I wanted to do. . . I would still be frustrated.
I can see the value in having an imperfect life. Nothing’s always going to be perfect, there’s always something to chase. Sometimes it’s just hard to turn it into a goal to pursue rather than just be frustrated. Or it’s hard to set the boundary.
Or sometimes, it’s easy to know you’re unhappy but not be able to pinpoint what would make it better. Now that I’ve graduated, gotten engaged, gotten a job, what are my next goals? What am I willing to do to get there?
I’m not sure yet.
Still, after all this time, I feel like Winona Ryder in Reality Bites. “How do we repair all the damage that has been done? The answer is, the answer is…I don’t know.”
I thought after awhile I’d be able to stop drawing comparisons to my own life from that movie…I guess it’s just a classic.
Right now, I don’t feel pressured to make the decision. I just want to know where I’m headed.
What I am lucky to know: I have a loving fiancé, supportive friends, a kind and generous family. I have a job in my field, a snuggler of a dog, and a home. Considering the struggles of others, I’m actually in a pretty good spot.
I am a lucky girl. I’m just trying to figure out where to aim next.
William and I watched The Pursuit of Happyness, that Will Smith-and-son movie. I totally thought it would be a good story, couched in Disneyfied terms. After all, he primarily plays to a family-friendly audience, etc. I didn’t bother to check beforehand who produced the movie. Sony Pictures, not Disney. At any rate, I figured it’d be sugarcoated and it’d be a happy ending (since there really was a happy ending in the real life version) and we’d all feel warm and fuzzy and that’d be that.
It was a fantastic movie. But it was so hard to watch. Just sad, sad struggles most of the way through. An intense, stressful process. As William said, “I think that movie gave me an ulcer.” I had to work really hard not to sob—I did cry a bit, but tried not to let it devolve into one of those swollen-eyes-stuffed-nose-can’t-go-out-in-public affairs. Will Smith is great, and the chemistry between he and his real-life son transfers over to the fictional one.
It really got me to thinking about happiness though. I feel like, in the mid-20s, we’re all struggling for the things that we’ve all dreamed of as children, young adults, collegians—our friends, us, and even extending to our families, which range in age quite widely.
What are we willing to give up to be happy? If we feel like we have to give it up, then does that thing make us unhappy? How do we feel about compromise? How do we feel about unflinching dedication to either the pursuit of the perfect job, the perfect mate, perfecting a hobby, or donating our time?
I haven’t found the right balance yet. I don’t know that anyone my age has. And I think it’s a lot easier to focus on the things that are a thorn in the side than it is the good things.
Obviously, this man was an extreme example. He went from being homeless, wifeless, and prospectless—then took an UNPAID internship—managed to finagle a job through it, and all the while kept his son. But I don’t know how far I’d go to be “happy”. After all… if I lost William because I wanted some crazy job, or I lost friends because I’m devoted to William, there would be a huge hole in my life. Or if I left a job to make more money but wasn’t doing what I wanted to do. . . I would still be frustrated.
I can see the value in having an imperfect life. Nothing’s always going to be perfect, there’s always something to chase. Sometimes it’s just hard to turn it into a goal to pursue rather than just be frustrated. Or it’s hard to set the boundary.
Or sometimes, it’s easy to know you’re unhappy but not be able to pinpoint what would make it better. Now that I’ve graduated, gotten engaged, gotten a job, what are my next goals? What am I willing to do to get there?
I’m not sure yet.
Still, after all this time, I feel like Winona Ryder in Reality Bites. “How do we repair all the damage that has been done? The answer is, the answer is…I don’t know.”
I thought after awhile I’d be able to stop drawing comparisons to my own life from that movie…I guess it’s just a classic.
Right now, I don’t feel pressured to make the decision. I just want to know where I’m headed.
What I am lucky to know: I have a loving fiancé, supportive friends, a kind and generous family. I have a job in my field, a snuggler of a dog, and a home. Considering the struggles of others, I’m actually in a pretty good spot.
I am a lucky girl. I’m just trying to figure out where to aim next.
Wednesday, March 7, 2007
sun is shining in the deep blue sky
i'm working from home today, post-Molly-emergency. two days ago we came home to a very sick puppy. full of doggie doo, puking, shaking, clearly in pain.
off to the emergency room we go, in fear of the bill. several hours later, the vet gives us some scary news...it could be serious but they won't know more until they have her overnight and run $800 worth of tests....um, no.
we declined, they gave her fluids and painkillers, and we took her home. all the while, i worried. the next morning she was still sluggish. william stayed home with her and took her out every half hour or so. slowly but surely, she started to come around. she wagged her tail and ran to the door when i came home.
at the vet appointment, she stood up on her hind legs and threw her "arms" around my neck and nuzzled my face in while they examined her (two rectal exams in two days--and she was a champ). it felt like the most tender moment we've ever had, and my heart melted on the spot. she is our little furbaby.
she is seeming to get stronger and more like herself by the hour. but she is still refusing to drink water. this makes me worry.
the vet called and said that she has a UTI but that her blood levels are all normal, so that is great news. no serious condition! disaster averted!
so right now i'm sitting here, feeling her furry body on my feet, and i can actually hear birds singing outside. i kid you not. it's like the coziest moment... i love her so much it makes my heart hurt. and birds are singing like on frickin' snow white.
it's sunny, it's partway through march, my dog is ok, my boy is ok, our house is ok, our friends and families are ok. it's so nice to emerge, even momentarily, from winter and feel like sunshine and puppies are ahead.
off to the emergency room we go, in fear of the bill. several hours later, the vet gives us some scary news...it could be serious but they won't know more until they have her overnight and run $800 worth of tests....um, no.
we declined, they gave her fluids and painkillers, and we took her home. all the while, i worried. the next morning she was still sluggish. william stayed home with her and took her out every half hour or so. slowly but surely, she started to come around. she wagged her tail and ran to the door when i came home.
at the vet appointment, she stood up on her hind legs and threw her "arms" around my neck and nuzzled my face in while they examined her (two rectal exams in two days--and she was a champ). it felt like the most tender moment we've ever had, and my heart melted on the spot. she is our little furbaby.
she is seeming to get stronger and more like herself by the hour. but she is still refusing to drink water. this makes me worry.
the vet called and said that she has a UTI but that her blood levels are all normal, so that is great news. no serious condition! disaster averted!
so right now i'm sitting here, feeling her furry body on my feet, and i can actually hear birds singing outside. i kid you not. it's like the coziest moment... i love her so much it makes my heart hurt. and birds are singing like on frickin' snow white.
it's sunny, it's partway through march, my dog is ok, my boy is ok, our house is ok, our friends and families are ok. it's so nice to emerge, even momentarily, from winter and feel like sunshine and puppies are ahead.
Friday, March 2, 2007
"just knowing"
I was reading my usual daily fix of blogs the other day when I stumbled upon this beauty of an entry: http://www.sundrymourning.com/2007/02/22/the-gamble-and-the-guess/
I read her every day. She's amazing. But beyond that, it really made me think about my recently engaged self. How did I know?
When William and I "met," we had already been acquainted with each other since high school...our lockers were five lockers apart. We never spoke a word to each other. He remembers me being loud and "gossipy"--meaning, talky--and I remember him as silent and standoffish.
Fast forward about six years. Here we are. Getting married. To someone who I would consider "out of my league"--but damned if I'm not going to hang on and pretend I'm in this league, too. I was just the other day thinking about how we've lived together almost a year--this is the month he bought the loft we now live in--and how it's flown. We're engaged. We got a dog. We painted the living room wall twice. We just are finishing the bathroom. We grocery shop together. We discuss decorating and daily schedules and dreams with equal time.
On his birthday, I wrote him a short story about how I fell in love. And that's something you can just feel, you just know. You don't know if it's going to last, if you're going to discover some awful thing that breaks the deal, you don't know if yuo will be one of those darling old couples in line at the pharmacy that still holds hands fifty years down the road.
I'm not a religious person, but I liken this to blind faith. The unshakeable belief that it might not always be a fairy tale, but that you know you will try to make it work with all your might, because this is the best person for you that you can imagine. That this is what is meant to be.
Our second "date" wasn't much of a date, but it is where I fell head over heels, in a way that I have never ever felt in my life, even when I was in wonderful relationships with wonderful people. it was so hot outside that air conditioning was barely working. I don't remember what I was wearing, but I remember what he was wearing: cargo shorts and this light-blue T-shirt that I will forever think of as my favorite. We went to the MOA for some massive air conditioning, and we got lost in Barnes and Noble, poring over photography books and talking about art. We headed back to my house, and I was trying to convince him to go swimming at Fort Snelling. We got back to get my swimsuit, and while I was packing up my stuff, he sat on my bed with his iPod. Then he told me he had some music he wanted me to hear, so we shared his headphones and lay back on the bed, listening to some dreamy hip-hop mashup stuff that I completely fell in love with. I can remember the sun, I can remember the bed, I can remember the song--the one that still makes my heart race when I hear it--I remember being thisclose to him while we listened since we both had an earphone and we held hands. Its was the most indie rock silly little moment where I was so unspeakably happy. It was like he knew exactly what would make me fall in love--and it worked.
I finished the story to him--talking about how I felt like swimming still when he left, how I felt like I was standing on the edge of a diving board as he walked out the door...and I held my breath, and I jumped. And I'm still falling.
That was over a year and a half ago, and I still feel that way, that there are still things I'm discovering about him, he still does things that make me fall deeper and deeper in.
I can't say that I know where we will end up forever. I can't say that I know our future will be perfect with each other. But I know that this is the best gamble I can make. That is the one with the best odds--I feel like it's a sure bet.
In some ways, I was relieved to hear that other people just guess--that they never have an aha! moment where an answer to a huge life question comes clear. I don't think those exist for every decision I will have to make. I think as children we think that as we become adults, we have all the answers, to only find out that the questions get bigger, the risks bigger. And we only have some past experiences to rely upon, or secondhand stories, to help us decide what's best.
But over this past year, which has definitely been a roller-coaster for me, one thing that has been rock solid has been William and I.
And when he asked me to marry him, and I just kept saying "When did you have time to do this?" on some level, I was stalling the moment, there on Ka'anapali Beach, in the dark, with the breeze blowing, in paradise. But when I really, really think about that moment, I can still recreate it in my mind. I still sometimes get distracted by my ring, hardly believing that this moment has happened to me.
And that's what tells me that this is the best, the closest I'm ever goign to get to experience the you just know feeling. No divine interventionist will come and tell me, "Katie, this is the right decision."
Everyone who knows me well knows I like to poll people on things: what to buy, what color to put in my hair, what's going on in pop culture. But this was one time, more than buying a pair of skinny jeans, more than going red, that I understood this was the right thing to do. And, ironically, after telling everyone about it, they have all enthusiastically agreed. I didn't need it beforehand.
I'm not all-knowing, I'm not perfect, and I've definitely made bad decisions that I thought I was initially right about. But when I think about all the times that we have weathered, even in a short less-than-two-years---cancer, joblessness, moving in together, sickness--we've been there for each other. And every day feels just as important and exciting and supportive as the last.
I'm still falling. I hope--and I feel that I'm probably right--that we'll be holding hands in the pharmacy line when we're 70. I just love him that much. And if I love him that much now, it can only get bigger as time goes on. That's the great side of the affairs of the heart: with love, your heart knows no capacity.
I read her every day. She's amazing. But beyond that, it really made me think about my recently engaged self. How did I know?
When William and I "met," we had already been acquainted with each other since high school...our lockers were five lockers apart. We never spoke a word to each other. He remembers me being loud and "gossipy"--meaning, talky--and I remember him as silent and standoffish.
Fast forward about six years. Here we are. Getting married. To someone who I would consider "out of my league"--but damned if I'm not going to hang on and pretend I'm in this league, too. I was just the other day thinking about how we've lived together almost a year--this is the month he bought the loft we now live in--and how it's flown. We're engaged. We got a dog. We painted the living room wall twice. We just are finishing the bathroom. We grocery shop together. We discuss decorating and daily schedules and dreams with equal time.
On his birthday, I wrote him a short story about how I fell in love. And that's something you can just feel, you just know. You don't know if it's going to last, if you're going to discover some awful thing that breaks the deal, you don't know if yuo will be one of those darling old couples in line at the pharmacy that still holds hands fifty years down the road.
I'm not a religious person, but I liken this to blind faith. The unshakeable belief that it might not always be a fairy tale, but that you know you will try to make it work with all your might, because this is the best person for you that you can imagine. That this is what is meant to be.
Our second "date" wasn't much of a date, but it is where I fell head over heels, in a way that I have never ever felt in my life, even when I was in wonderful relationships with wonderful people. it was so hot outside that air conditioning was barely working. I don't remember what I was wearing, but I remember what he was wearing: cargo shorts and this light-blue T-shirt that I will forever think of as my favorite. We went to the MOA for some massive air conditioning, and we got lost in Barnes and Noble, poring over photography books and talking about art. We headed back to my house, and I was trying to convince him to go swimming at Fort Snelling. We got back to get my swimsuit, and while I was packing up my stuff, he sat on my bed with his iPod. Then he told me he had some music he wanted me to hear, so we shared his headphones and lay back on the bed, listening to some dreamy hip-hop mashup stuff that I completely fell in love with. I can remember the sun, I can remember the bed, I can remember the song--the one that still makes my heart race when I hear it--I remember being thisclose to him while we listened since we both had an earphone and we held hands. Its was the most indie rock silly little moment where I was so unspeakably happy. It was like he knew exactly what would make me fall in love--and it worked.
I finished the story to him--talking about how I felt like swimming still when he left, how I felt like I was standing on the edge of a diving board as he walked out the door...and I held my breath, and I jumped. And I'm still falling.
That was over a year and a half ago, and I still feel that way, that there are still things I'm discovering about him, he still does things that make me fall deeper and deeper in.
I can't say that I know where we will end up forever. I can't say that I know our future will be perfect with each other. But I know that this is the best gamble I can make. That is the one with the best odds--I feel like it's a sure bet.
In some ways, I was relieved to hear that other people just guess--that they never have an aha! moment where an answer to a huge life question comes clear. I don't think those exist for every decision I will have to make. I think as children we think that as we become adults, we have all the answers, to only find out that the questions get bigger, the risks bigger. And we only have some past experiences to rely upon, or secondhand stories, to help us decide what's best.
But over this past year, which has definitely been a roller-coaster for me, one thing that has been rock solid has been William and I.
And when he asked me to marry him, and I just kept saying "When did you have time to do this?" on some level, I was stalling the moment, there on Ka'anapali Beach, in the dark, with the breeze blowing, in paradise. But when I really, really think about that moment, I can still recreate it in my mind. I still sometimes get distracted by my ring, hardly believing that this moment has happened to me.
And that's what tells me that this is the best, the closest I'm ever goign to get to experience the you just know feeling. No divine interventionist will come and tell me, "Katie, this is the right decision."
Everyone who knows me well knows I like to poll people on things: what to buy, what color to put in my hair, what's going on in pop culture. But this was one time, more than buying a pair of skinny jeans, more than going red, that I understood this was the right thing to do. And, ironically, after telling everyone about it, they have all enthusiastically agreed. I didn't need it beforehand.
I'm not all-knowing, I'm not perfect, and I've definitely made bad decisions that I thought I was initially right about. But when I think about all the times that we have weathered, even in a short less-than-two-years---cancer, joblessness, moving in together, sickness--we've been there for each other. And every day feels just as important and exciting and supportive as the last.
I'm still falling. I hope--and I feel that I'm probably right--that we'll be holding hands in the pharmacy line when we're 70. I just love him that much. And if I love him that much now, it can only get bigger as time goes on. That's the great side of the affairs of the heart: with love, your heart knows no capacity.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)