I know it's been forever AND that I said I'd be doing a challenge and I totally didn't.
Turns out I don't multi-task as well as I once did.
This is the kitty stash I found when I moved our coffee table in the old apartment. I'm going to miss those floors... windows... woodwork... light... AHHHHHHH.
I've thrown all of my concentration into moving, unpacking, cleaning, working, running errands, and... yeah, it's been insane around here. However, our new apartment is starting to feel like home, we'll be completely out of our "old" apartment on Saturday, and this place is even looking like home because I spent a great deal of time sorting things out today.
At some point, I'll post photos of what our home is looking like at this point, probably on our other blog - & Fox. For now, though, I've seen one of my faithful blogging friends (Catherine Valentine) post "Quick Thoughts Friday"s, so I thought I'd try it, seeing as it's Friday.
1) Mini blind sizes are tricky.
2) White Christmas lights make rocking ambient lighting.
Proof our new apartment has its own charm. Christmas lights atop the kitchen cabinets.
3) When buying a new couch as a cat owner, one should really thoroughly research the best type to get before buying it. (Although it has already gotten some snags, I'm really enjoying our new couch.)
4) Our new KitchenAid mixer is fabulous and I've baked more in the last couple weeks than I have in the past year.
I made citrus date scones with an orange glaze.
5) Putting our stuff in an apartment makes it feel like ours - and building new stuff for it makes it even better.
The pot rock Tom built, loaded up with all of our pots and pans (and a few extras for the time being).
6) Fox's favorite new thing is the bird feeder and its visitors.
Fox likes to check out our rooftop porch.
7) Having a washer and dryer in our home that doesn't require payment is like a slice of heaven.
8) This place is situated perfectly - the restaurant kitchen below provides some warmth, our view includes a lot of trees and plenty of birds, we get a little porch, buildings on either side ensure good insulation, and, wonderfully, we get to hear the rain on our own piece of roof!
The excited look on Fox's face the moment Tom walked through the door after work.
9) Books add so much color, warmth, and personality to a home!
10) This apartment feels like the right place to be at this point in our lives - small, but welcoming, warm, but modern, traditional, but worldly. I'm really enjoying finally getting to decorate a home. This one has its unique challenges, but it's so much fun!
Things are going to continue being busy-ish for a while (unpacking and trip planning), but I'm going to do better with my blogging and my life. As great as I've made things sound, I've been struggling with a lot of things, so I'd appreciate so prayers for appreciation and increased positivity.
Fox on the couch next to me. He fell asleep watching Mad Men.
For now, though, I think I should take a cue from Fox and get myself to bed!
I haven't been writing like I want to, like I should, or how I ever imagined I would. In response, I've found a weird little schedule of things to blog about over the next 30 days. Obviously, there are some things I think are stupid on this list - and I'll use my liberty to veto them, but I think it's a good jumping point. I'll be as creative as possible with some of them. Others, I'm sure, will be less than stellar.
Five Ways to Win My Heart
1) Be honest.
A lot of people say they value honesty, but I don't know if that's true. My friends will tell you I'm a big proponent of "brutal" honesty. I've been duped and had the rug pulled out from under me way too many times to desire anything but honesty. A few years back, when I discovered my then boyfriend's infidelity [read this: NOT TOM], I wasn't upset about it having happened, but that no one told me about it and that my "friends" knew.
I think differences of opinion are valuable, change is inevitable, and life is unmanageable sometimes.
For me, just telling me things straight out helps us all get along.
2) Feed me.
Now, this one can get a formerly larger girl in some trouble [read this: I've gained approximately 20 pounds recently], but there is no quicker way to my heart than to buy me some good food and feed me. You'll know I'm happy if I'm dancing in my seat.
If you hadn't realized that my pounds have been upping, you are either the sweetest person in the world or you don't see me very often. Either way, thank you for not noticing. I notice fairly often, but it's okay. I know how to get back on track; I'm just not sure I'm ready to just yet. I struggle with making good decisions - not because I don't know what they are, but because I just want to eat.
That being said, feeding me is a way to win my heart, for sure.
3) Be furry.
Now, this won't work if you're a humanoid, but if you're an animal, watch out. Admittedly, however, this has little to do with anything smaller than a cat. Rodents of any kind are pretty disturbing, I hate raccoons with a burning passion and delight in seeing them become roadkill, but anyway...
I am especially soft on my own pets. I can't handle seeing them in pain or distress of any kind. I have babied every pet I've ever had, to my knowledge.
Fox is my darling little munch-kitten, Fox-kit, and baby boy kitty. It's sickening, but it's true.
4) Help me when I'm in a jam.
I've had people I don't like in the slightest help me out of a car problem or compliment me and - for a moment, they have my heart. Of course, I'm not easily moved permanently, but they get a bit of my favor for a moment or two.
5) Be Tom.
Yeah, you're not going to master this one, but it's the truth, even if it's mushy and sappy and dripping with the type of sentimentality that would disgust me if anyone else was writing.
But seriously.
I don't know exactly what it is about him but this man with whom I'm spending the rest of my life, but he's the one for me. It's been nine years since I first started crushing on him, nearly four since he started crushing on me, three and a half since we started dating, and about 10 months since we got married. He's my kind of crazy-cute-smartypants-smirking-giggly-logical-ticklish... He calms me down when I'm upset. I can tell him anything. He taught me the importance of honesty, brutality, and love. He's my best friend, my favorite, and always around, even when we get sick of each other. We pat each other's knees under restaurant tables when someone says something that makes one of us uncomfortable or inadvertently touches on one of our inside jokes. It's good to have a partner, a friend, and someone I can't stay and at very long.
Day 1, consider yourself complete.
However, I'd also like to say that I'm going to be getting busy getting ready for a move right quick... and I'm not looking forward to it at all. I'm sure I'll be happy in our new space when we're moved in, but right now, it's daunting, promises to be exhausting, and shall require more stair walking than I'd wish on even my worst enemy!
It's been a week since our wedding and we've been on a roller coaster of planning and family time. Just wanted to let anyone who reads this know that my adventures are now going to be split between this blog and what we're currently calling "& Fox" at yvonneandtom.blogspot.com.
I've decided to make this my icon to warn ya'll that I'm about to step up onto my soapbox. (4th birthday)
Last night, while doing something that was making me happy, I received a text from my dad. Simply, "RIP Robin Williams."
I Googled. And suddenly, though I was standing in a space that will someday be my home, with the husband I love, I felt all alone. I felt joy leave my life. I told my husband. I tried to shake it off. We hugged. I still couldn't let it go.
When we got home, I cried a bit. And today, driving from my babysitting job to the grocery store, I shed a few more tears.
You see, for me, Robin Williams has been more than a celebrity. His was the first name I learned for Hollywood. He was the first actor I recognized, whose work I loved, and whose entertainment was equal to none other.
You know how early memories tend to muddle if the stories aren't repeated often? Well, I'm not sure which is the first movie I remember seeing in theaters - it's a tossup between Beauty & the Beast (premiered November 22, 1991) and Hook (premiered December 11, 1991). I was splitting my time with my parents then and I remember seeing each one with each of them. I must have seen Hook three times in theaters because one of the stories that has been recounted again and again is one of my dad's favorites. It goes a little like this. (Keep in mind that I was actually a fairly quiet child in public.)
"You were pretty little. You were at that age when you weren't sure that movies would end the same way and you'd seen it before. And when the crocodile falls and swallows Captain Hook at the end, you yelled, 'He did it!!!!!' and everyone in the theater laughed - and clapped. You were so surprised and so happy. It was amazing."
Similarly, when Aladdin came out, it had to be seen more than once. The first time, though, my dad looked over to see my reaction and I had disappeared! I was hiding under the seat during a scary part. Hook's lessons are all over the place - never grow up too much, don't trade imagination for responsibility, and you're never really alone. And, as time went on and my dad repeated that story over and over, I came to believe that every father's "happy thought" is that moment when he first holds his child and realizes that he's a daddy.
And then came Mrs. Doubtfire, a movie that seriously changed my whole perspective on life. I'd been living with my grandparents full time for just over a year at that point and Nana and I saw it in the theater. Yes, it was funny. Yes, over time, I've realized that it was my first exposure to many things that became controversial as I grew up including homosexuality and cross-dressing, but that it blurred those lines with humor and wit. But for me, really, the end speech is what got me. I remember finally feeling like someone understood me - and that person was someone who needed simply faith, trust, and pixie dust, and whose friendship the likes of which I'd never before had - Robin Williams became my hero.
"Dear Mrs. Doubtfire, two months ago, my mom and dad decided to separate. Now they live in different houses. My brother Andrew says that we aren't to be a family anymore. Is this true? Did I lose my family? Is there anything I can do to get my parents back together? Sincerely, Katie McCormick." Oh, my dear Katie. You know, some parents, when they're angry, they get along much better when they don't live together. They don't fight all the time, and they can become better people, and much better mummies and daddies for you. And sometimes they get back together. And sometimes they don't, dear. And if they don't, don't blame yourself. Just because they don't love each other anymore, doesn't mean that they don't love you. There are all sorts of different families, Katie. Some families have one mommy, some families have one daddy, or two families. And some children live with their uncle or aunt. Some live with their grandparents, and some children live with foster parents. And some live in separate homes, in separate neighborhoods, in different areas of the country - and they may not see each other for days, or weeks, months... even years at a time. But if there's love, dear... those are the ties that bind, and you'll have a family in your heart, forever. All my love to you, poppet, you're going to be all right... bye-bye."
And, from then on, that was it. I respected him, I followed him as loosely as one can, I watched movies of his which interested me (Patch Adams, I, Robot, Jumanji, Good Will Hunting, etc.), rooted for his success, and loved every minute of revisiting my childhood and inviting him into my adulthood.
I've been bawling all while writing this. I've honestly never cared much when celebrities leave this world, but this man - this man changed my life. Last night, my dad suggested that Robin Williams is almost like a goofy great uncle. He was someone who was unattainable in a completely different way that most of Hollywood is. Throughout my life, if you had asked me which celebrity I'd most like to meet - and I'd have actually thought about it, it would have been him.
I'm unsure how best to segue into what I'm about to say, so I'm about to dive right in.
There is a certain conservative blogger who has come into vogue within the conservative Christian community whose posts I regularly see cross my news feed. What frustrates me the most about this guy is that he starts off sounding reasonable and then hops on the crazy train to Hatesville and Bigotton. I hate it. And yet, I feel like I should inform myself of others' thought processes. So I try.
Today, as I am trying my damnedest to focus on the joys, laughs, and pains Robin Williams's career has brought to my life, I noticed this conservatidiot has posted today that suicide is a choice, not a result of a disease. Now, I can go along with it being a choice - with the caveat that a choice made at that point is little choice at all. I've touched on my depression before. It seems to come in waves. Ebbs, flows, you get the gist. The last few months have been particularly hard for me, as it seems like every three steps forward, I take ten back.
And that's the thing about depression - it's nothing if not illogical. Part of the madness of it all is that you're aware it doesn't make sense. You don't want to tell people about it because you don't want to bring them down with you. It's lack of logic and the lack of communication that make it worse. I don't think we have any non-expletive words in English (if you know of some, let me know) that describe how frustrating and exhausting depression is. You don't want to do anything. You feel alone even when you're with loved ones. Sure, there may be a burst of something amazing during which you forget it all, but then that stops and your adrenaline slows and you feel even further from amazing. It's illogical. I'm coming out of this wave, fighting with all my might, and I find that I'm totally fine with making chicken stew for dinner, but I have zero willpower if it must include cutting up actual chicken breasts. So I bought cut-up chicken. And we're barreling through.
Depression is weird because without it, we would have no humor, most of our great writers would be average, and... it's just painful, but for some reason, it fuels much of the creativity our species knows.
So for those of you who have never known depression, hopelessness, or had your first thought at a setback be, "This could all be over - and everyone would be better off," I'm begging you to try to understand how hard it is to keep going, to support those you love, and to not judge people who make "the choice" to free themselves from the shackles of this world. I know that I have a tendency to make rash judgments about these things, to consider them selfish, to forget the humanity behind them, and to think only of others, but that when I exmaine my motivations, so much is about everyone else.
It's not your job and it's unbecoming that you believe you have any right to judge anyone, let alone the man who taught me so much about life, happiness, and yes, even suicide and depression. He has taught me to look at the bright side, to search out the laughter, and to bring light into the world, even when I can't feel the light.
So today, my prayer is this: that I'll someday meet Robin Williams. I remember the directions, do you?
Second star to the right and straight on 'til morning.
Last time, I wrote about my bridal/wedding shower. The waffle maker was the first thing we broke out of the box. So far, it's been used to make ham and cheese paninis and three types of waffles.
"Three?" you ask, incredulously.
Well, maybe five... but three batches, for sure!
Let's just say my dear husband is very happy about the decision to put the double waffle maker on the registry!
See, sometimes I see a recipe and make it as directed (or approximately as directed) the first time, but feel free to wildly experiment the next time. And I keep pushing the envelope until it no longer tastes delicious. The healthy and delicious point is the sweet spot for which I aim.
So, I started out with our handy dandy red Betty Crocker cookbook, but the recipe is actually available online, too. The first time, I did my basic switches: added some vanilla and did half whole wheat flour and half all purpose - and added a little milled flaxseed to test it out. The second time, I did that and I used coconut oil - and made half of the batch with chopped walnuts. The third time was my boldest yet - and probably where I'll let it rest. And that's what I'll tell you about today. I'll also let you know how to avoid my little mistake.
Now, I don't actually know how many grains something needs to be considered "multi-grain," but this one has two! I busted out the food processor attachment of our new blender and made oat flour, which I've been reading about for ages, but unable to make because I didn't have a food processor! I made the mistake of thinking that 1 Cup of rolled oats would also equal 1 Cup of oat flour, but it doesn't quite - it's about 1/4 Cup off, so you need to put 1 1/4 Cup rolled oats in to make 1 Cup oat flour. I threw a spoonful of all purpose in and called it a day.
So here's the scoop (and my altered BC recipe):
Ingredients
2 eggs
1 cup whole wheat flour
1 cup oat flour*
1 tablespoon sugar
6.5 teaspoons baking powder**
1/4 teaspoon salt
1 3/4 cups milk
1/2 cup coconut oil***
2 tablespoons milled flax seed****
Vanilla extract to taste - probably about a teaspoon
1/2 cup (full batch) or 1/4 cup (half batch) chopped walnuts, optional
Directions
Heat waffle iron. (For those of you who don't use your waffle irons often, all I do is turn it on just before I start mixing and it's ready about the time I'm ready to pour the batter in!)
In a large bowl, beat eggs with wire whisk until fluffy. Beat in remaining ingredients until smooth.
Pour slightly less than 3/4 Cup batter onto center of hot waffle iron. (Your waffle maker has a specified amount somewhere in the manual. I saw a bunch of teenage boys make one explode once by putting in far too much batter. Cleaning waffle/batter off of the ceiling is a task and a half... especially if you're trying to hide it from unsuspecting parents!)
Our waffle has a timer that lets us know when it's done, but the BC recipe says to make about 5 minutes or until the steaming stops.
Remove and eat. Or, if you're like me, try to save some, let them cool, and put them in individual baggies, freeze, and toast them the next time you want one!
*Oat flour directions a la one time experience: Put 1 1/4 Cups old fashioned rolled oats into your food processor and pulse until it looks like flour. Tada!
**The original recipe calls for 4 teaspoons of baking powder, but my research has shown that the lack of gluten makes the waffles rise less, so adding 2.5 teaspoons of BP per cup of oat flour will yield the correct results!
***If you're not familiar, coconut oil is cholesterol free and pretty amazing stuff. Google it. The only little issue you could run into here is that it melts at 76 degrees Fahrenheit. That means that if your home is climate controlled (not like our poor old apartment), yours probably will need to be put in the microwave to melt - it doesn't take long, maybe thirty seconds - before you put it in the bowl. It also gives just a hint of coconut flavor and makes the whole thing even more delicious!
****Also amazing for you. I've read that the milled stuff is better, health wise, because our bodies can't break down the outer shell to access the nutrients, but milling them exposes everything! Keep refrigerated!
This is totally worth the time, in my opinion. I think the next time I spy almond milk on sale, the 1% cow's milk might have to be replaced just to try it! :)
Oh - topped with real butter and maple syrup and served alongside some real bacon has been my favorite way to eat them so far!
I'm 25 years old, married, have two part time jobs, and (at least partially) manage a household. Every day I struggle with the reality that I am, by all practical definitions, an "adult."
"Really?" my mind always balks, "You're a 'grown up?'"
I can't put a finger on why this doesn't seem real, but every day I wonder something different along these lines. For example, I found myself eating Cap'n Crunch for breakfast a few weeks back. "Is this something an adult does?" Well, if I'm an adult, then I guess that's a resounding, "Yes!"
In case you didn't know, this comic is the reason my blog is called Playpen Balls.
And so, since I've been having trouble writing lately - much less posting - here is a list of what an adult (not necessarily me) does/has/is.
An adult...
always has the ingredients on hand to make chicken noodle soup in case someone is sick - or just needs chicken noodle soup.
makes his/her/their bed.
remembers to feed the cat.
remembers to water the plants.
cleans out the shower drain.
can throw together spaghetti in no time flat because he/she has canned sauce and pasta in the cabinet.
wears deodorant.
attempts to look presentable when leaving the house.
keeps on top of the laundry.
doesn't let dishes pile up.
makes his/her decisions.
writes thank you notes in a timely fashion.
knows when to share.
remembers to ask people about their loved ones.
sleeps in maybe two days a week.
wakes up for alarm clocks.
There are more things, obviously.
But here's the deal: I am an adult. I don't do all of these things. I hope I do someday, but I don't know that I can every be the vision of perfection I have in my mind. I know that not every other adult does/has/is all of these things and that we all have our failings.
I am also acutely aware that I wasn't actually raised to be who and what and how I am today. I, in most ways, am totally making it up as I go merrily along. I get lost, frustrated, and discouraged. But there's something to be said for having amazing people by my side.
This weekend, I was blessed to have four people in my life - a great aunt, an old family friend, my mother-in-law, and one of my best friends - throw a wonderful little bridal shower for me. Thanks to the generosity of our family and friends, along with a little help from the magic internet fairies at Bed, Bath, & Beyond and Amazon's registry sections, I now feel ever-so-much more equipped to handle this chapter of my life. I can bake with my new bread pans, cake pans, and a boatload of Pyrex. I can cool those baked goods with awesome racks. My roast meats will now roast properly on a rack in a roasting pan! I can have a smoothie tomorrow if I want to because we received a blender. Our new towels are going to make us - and our guests feel comforted, as well as dry. Our lovely new sheets are going to handle bleaching and hold up to the gentle cycle. Our double waffle maker is quick and amazing. Our someday-children are going to be popular because of it.
And do you know what? Knowing that I have the means to make more things happen is really comforting. Knowing that I can pretty much follow any recipe ever without needing to modify it to fit the neads of a girl going without is really cool.
I've also thought a bit lately about who I was just four years ago. One of m best guy friends and I used to have discussions about who would get married when. We knew one of our group would be first. Neither of us could have dreamed that I'd be next.
Life isn't the contest we once imagined it to be. It's a river we're all going down. Sometimes we fall out of the boat we've had and have to swim along the waters or walk along the shore. Having a good crew is vital.
I'm so glad to be where I am, to have who I have, and to possess what I do - physically, mentally, and spiritually.
"There's bound to be rough waters And I know I'll take some falls But with the good Lord as my captain, I can make it through them all."- "The River," Garth Brooks((Give it a listen!))
I have some perspectives that - trust me! - you'll wish you had heard. These are things that challenge you now, but someday will be second nature. The sooner you believe them, the sooner things will get better.
Change sucks, but it happens. In the next several years, your life will change immeasurably. All that you know now will be lost, but so many things will come into focus as you move along. Two of the women closest to you will be gone soon. As will Tig. You'll cry a lot. You'll be depressed and block out everyone.
Change rocks, but it takes time! This might seem to completely contradict the last life lesson, but they're equally important. Your life is about to become a roller coaster.
You're told every day that the outsiders are the bad people and that differences necessitate divisions. Homosexuality is a sin not to be tampered with. Sexuality is a mystery sealed until your wedding night - and after that, it's simple. Psh. The people you encounter don't venture to some of the surrounding towns because the color of the people's skin there is not pale enough. Thankfully, you already have your mind made up that that's stupid. You're bombarded with the life and death of the Law and Gospel and brainwashed into believing that all other religions are inferior - but you can't shake the idea that it's not true. Keep believing that your God is more gracious than everyone else seems to give Him credit for being. There are some pretty amazing people who agree with you.
You won't always know how to deal with the challenges. You'll get sidetracked, discouraged, and forget what it's like to honestly feel, to freely speak, and to experience extremes of emotion. That you've never felt passionate will pull you away from the things you might become passionate about. That you've never felt "the Spirit" will lead you away from Him. That you're afraid will keep you afraid. And alone.
And someday, you'll have someone push you farther than you want to be pushed. You'll go places you're not thinking - for a moment - that you'll ever go. I mean, really - why would anyone go to college in Kentucky? Oh, wait! Is it 2006? Maybe I should say this... maybe I shouldn't... :cough: Berea College :cough: Oh. by the way, you don't have enough money for college. At all... Also, you'll become even more interested in the Middle East and somehow - no specifics - you'll end up in Aya Sofya - you don't know that by the Turkish spelling. It will make you cry and wish to God you had that boy you have a crush on there to feel so wonderfully overwhelmed.
You'll wake up in countless rooms - the one you have now, the ones you'll stay in at friends' houses, and even your dorm rooms - and wonder how you manage to be the one person in the world who gets everything wrong, who never makes the right call, and how you always come in last. Hell, some days, you'll wake up in a beautiful apartment and wonder the same thing.
Some days someday, though, you'll wake up and your life will feel like a dream - soft blankets, light streaming through ninety year old windows with tired mini blinds, an oscillating fan blowing a gentle breeze, and a beautiful orange fuzzy butt kitty curled beside you. You'll remember the man you love kissing you goodbye as he left for work. You'll look around the room and see the mess that two people and that kitten can make and know that you can either be overwhelmed by falling behind or see the beauty in this life you're building. Because, ultimately, it's not about what life throws at you, it's about what you throw at life and whether you hit or catch the baseballs well.
And you, seventeen year old, Yvonne, are right about one thing: life doesn't get better and no one understands you. Life gets better when you talk, when you open up, when you learn to love, and when you feel the fire of passion. Your husband doesn't understand you, either, but he tries so hard and listens so intently.
Every day has the potential to be a dream day. That's why life is worth living.
Good luck!
-Yvonne
P.S.: Don't get discouraged about the first date you're going on in a couple weeks. It'll work out... eventually!
Today is time for something new for my blog. It's a blog swap with my friend Rebekah. We were West Coast transfer buddies who came into Berea College in fall 2010. Now we're swapping blogs - the topic of the day is friendship as we "grow up." As Rebekah posted on my Facebook wall a few minutes ago, "I'm hitting publish. It's go time!" Oh, and if you're interested in seeing the piece I wrote, visit her page.
* * *
How has your approach to maintaining friendships changed as you've entered adulthood? How do you make new friends? How do you let go of old friends?
When I returned home from 2 years away at college and another 7 months away in the Frozen Tundra for an internship, my dad gave me some words of wisdom: "Expand your circles," he told me. And as most dads are most of the time when delivering wise words, my dad was right. Many of my friendships at home had changed: friends had moved, gotten married, finished school or transferred somewhere else, and had continued living life while I was away. My circle of friends had shrunk to a very small number {and it is at this point that I will give the biggest shout-out ever to my bestie Samara for continuing to grow our friendship over distances great and small - you're the best!}, and Pops saw this and recognized that I needed to be encouraged shoved outside of my comfort zone to forge new friendships, rekindle old friendships, and stop harassing Samara expand my circle.
Slowly but surely my circles expanded. I realize that my sentence is passive and would lead you to believe that my circles expanded all by themselves, but that is not the truth. The truth is that it took me many months and many semi-awkward {at least for me} conversations and much humility and a lot of guts to expand my circles. The humility was the most important part, because I had so many preconceived ideas of who I wanted to be friends with and who I most definitely, under no circumstances, absolutely not would be friends with...and I had to let those all go and actually get to know people. And you know what? I was wrong about those people, and I'm glad I was, because now there are amazing and wonderful people who I get to call my friends!
Bek, give us the 4-1-1 on how your circles expanded, because surely they didn't expand themselves! You are right, brilliant reader, they didn't. The easiest {and hardest!} thing was to pretend Samara and I were joined at the hip sometimes, which forced me to enter into conversations with people she was friends with. This is where my preconceived ideas about people I'd previously known in name only were completely thrown out. I could list several people about whom I had made personal judgments and therefore shut out of my friend circles, but after actually talking to them learned that they are awesome and sweet and wonderful and kick-ass and lovely. And then once I made friends with one person, I could join myself to their hips {this metaphor is getting awkward} and meet their friends.
Really, for a practical explanation, it meant that I went up and talked to people. I found more confidence if I was with an already-established friend, but I feel more confidence with a friend when I'm cooking, too, and that doesn't always work out. What I'm saying is, I'm definitely an extrovert and being alone when I'm trying to not be alone just made things worse {in my own head}. So having Samara or someone else with me made me more willing to talk to people I wouldn't have normally.
But Bek, what about those friends from before? Well, dear reader, I'm glad you asked. Some of those friendships have shifted to a slightly-more-distance acquaintance, which could be sad in the moment, but who knows what will happen in the future? For example, my friend Jessie and I are no longer in the same state or stage of life, but golly do I enjoy her company and miss her laugh! Because of time zones and new babies {due any day!!!}, it's not always practical to talk on the phone with Jessie every week or even every month, but we catch up when we can, and I try and send her birthday cards and fun little notes every once in a while. We may not be as amazingly close as we were a few years ago, but that's okay.
Jessie's friendship may be an example of both letting go of and maintaining a friendship, because while she is no longer my go-to "adventure buddy," she is still a dear friend whom I value and appreciate and hope that someday may be close to again {both geographically and adventure-wise}. I have other friends with whom I am close in spirit but not in distance, and for this reason I am a huge fan of technology. No, nothing replaces physical presence {hence my surprise trip to see AJ}, but personal messages and shared links on Facebook, text messages, phone dates, and even snail mail all help make the distance feel smaller.
For my friends who live close, the above tactics work, but then of course hanging out is also an option. I try and get together with people one-on-one regularly, because for me that's when the most connection happens. I also enjoy bringing together my circles, because we all could use help in the Meeting New Friends department. For example, last Christmas, Samara and I hosted a book exchange with some friends from school, church, Notions, and some people we wanted to get to know. It was really fun, and I think everyone enjoyed talking with new acquaintances. {Plus, I made sangria for that party, which we all know is the best thing ever!}
I guess what I'm trying to say is that it's hard to make new friends, but it's worth it. It's hard to keep old friends, but it's worth it. It's hard to be a good friend, but it's worth it. Seriously.
And just for one last laugh, this is what I found while searching Pinterest researching friendship quotes...
Warning: This post might offend you. There are some words you may find distasteful, plenty of ideas with which you may disagree, and some things, that if you read, may lead your opinions to shift a bit. Choose your next step wisely. Recently, I've noticed an odd occurrence in my Facebook news feed and elsewhere on the internet. It seems to me that I've been seeing a lot more of the word "modesty" lately. Now, although I don't have a problem with "modesty" in and of itself, I have some issues with why we encourage modesty and some serious issues with our discouragement of other people's expressions of modesty. To be frank (as in "Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn," not as in "Frank Sinatra), I find it incredible that many of the people I see suddenly becoming a voice for modesty are also people who have field days talking about how terrible hijabs and burqas are. Understand, please, that the people I associate with - as with many people, I believe - are very much like myself. We're somewhere in the lower middle class, white, Protestant, and have some seriously strong links to the American Midwest. And the funny thing is that I don't think that's a bad thing, necessarily. Although I have pretty open views on most things, I understand how socializing goes and recognize that I'm really not particularly good at diversifying my friend group.
I also recently came across a new Facebook friend and real-life acquaintance's status update bemoaning the lack of respect for people who are and who appear to be young. And she's totally correct. Although I don't often get second-guessed by strangers and I'm starting to look my age for the first time in about ten years, I feel really strange sometimes because of the way my own family members react to some things I say or do. When I was twelve and reading Gone with the Wind, the only copy the Kingman Library had was the large print edition, so I was toting around the first volume of two 8"x12"x4" copies for a while. When I got to the middle of that volume - which is a difficult task, by the way, because when you're not used to it and don't need it, large print is far more of a hindrance than a help! On our next trip to the mall, I went to the bookstore and asked if they had any copies of Gone with the Wind. "You mean, like a children's copy?" Yes, because Gone with the Wind, the tawdry Civil War novel has a children's edition, nitwit! But I digress. The point is that we, probably as a global society, look down on those who are younger than we are and are expected to look up to those who are older than we are. How arbitrary is that? Think about it for a second. On the surface, yes, we all have that engraved on our psyches, but I want you to seriously think about that. And when you do, remember that some of our assumptions with that respect are that we must bite our tongues when we encounter something we understand better than our elders, that we must smile - or at least nod - while he or she talks about how much better things were when "I was your age," that we must ignore significant historical data that we may know concerning their topic, that we much turn our back on what we think - all because someone is older than we. Does that make a lick of sense to you? I find myself squelching my thoughts from time to time, averting my eyes, and clenching my teeth to avoid controversy. It happens far too often. I have this incredible anxiety not so much about offending others or even disrespecting them, but about how their offense will negatively impact our relationship. I'm a stubborn person when I want something badly or believe in something enough, but I'm able to listen to people and have the uncanny blessing (curse) of severe empathy. If everyone had this ability, the world, I assure you, would be a much more heart-wrenching place. I'm constantly conflicted and constantly on guard. It's really hard for me to listen to person after person complain about the health care act without acknowledging the problems from every angle. I sharply inhale when I hear people say that healthcare is not a right, it's a privilege, and it's not for everyone. I feel a tingle up my back when people bash beliefs other than their own. And I want to scream at the people who make snide comments about my trip to Turkey, the people I met there, and who think they are being clever when they talk about hijab (head scarves) in a derisive tone. "Did you have to wear that everywhere?" That's how it starts. "No, just in mosques, mostly." I try to leave out that in Konya, I felt remarkably more comfortable with my head covered at all times. "Why would you go into a mosque? I don't know why you'd ever want to go to a place like that. I wouldn't."
That's usually when I want to call them a pea-brained American stereotype. And that's also when I usually assess why it is that I spend time with them in the first place. Most people with whom I share my photos are beloved family or friends, so I brush it off and I'm pretty honest with them. Some are kids who've just overheard their family's close-minded remarks and don't know any better. Actually, most people just don't know any better. And that, in my opinion, is utmost unacceptability. There is no excuse for this ignorance, this hatred, this fear of what we history majors call "the other." Let me say that again: there is no excuse. There might have been at one time, I'll concede that. There was a time when we were closed off from the world and really had few ways of accessing it. Today, however, if you're reading this, if you're scrolling through your Facebook news feed, if you're watching YouTube videos to kill the time, and find yourself - as I often do - needing a way to occupy your mind with something other than the here and now, you can be exploring. We often talk about travel and how wonderful it is. Although what education-minded people would call experiential learning is priceless and incredible, there are other types of learning. You could check out a book on Turkey and learn more than the history I picked up on my study tour, but you'll not know what it's like to feel more comfortable in that head scarf than without. But there are books about that. There are blogs about that. Heck, there are vlogs that address that and other cultural perceptions. There are people on the street who are years younger than me who know a hell of a lot more about wearing hijab than I ever will. It seems to me that modesty and age go hand in hand with one another. We seem to want to tell our children adolescent girls that they need to wear shirts up to their collarbones, loose skirts to their knees, and moreover, act modest. We warn girls to not lead boys on. We teach girls our children that women are to blame for the failings of men. I have witnessed an incredible pooling of joy for the video above this paragraph, a song entitled "Virtue Makes You Beautiful." I wanted to like it - I did. I went into it thinking, "Well, if we're talking 'virtue,' that's exciting," and when the music started playing, my boy band loving self (no, I'm not really a One Direction fan, but I'd be lying if I didn't mention that they have some catchy tracks and I know the one this song rips off) was thrilled to hear the opening riff. But then the lyrics started. And, for Pete's sake, the chorus of this song is:
"If only you saw what I can see,
you'd understand why I need your modesty.
Right now I'm talking to you and you must believe
You gotta know-oh-oh -
Virtue is so beautiful!"
Let's just take a moment to examine this in the order it's thrown out to us before the beats of the song allow for it to be. "If only you saw what I can see," means that these shirt and tie clad teenage boys want this girl to see herself as they do. Okay, cool. This is stolen directly from the original hit pop song. "You'd understand why I need your modesty." Stomach flop. Feel that puke rush up your esophagus. Yes, what that catchy hit tune just got you nodding along to was that women need to be emblems of modesty. What's more, this is not for themselves, but for the "I" of this song: the men boys male gender. "Right now I'm talking to you and you must believe," means that this isn't a choice, but a command. Look! "Must believe." "You gotta know-oh-oh - virtue is so beautiful!" Not you. Not how you carry your virtue. Not what makes a woman "virtuous," but "virtue" itself. The implications of this are truly disgusting and it bothers me to no end that people I've always respected have liked and shared this in what as become such a public forum as Facebook. This is a big deal, folks. This song is boys and men telling girls and women that their modesty is necessary to our way of life and they have no choice but to hold the same views as the menfolk or else the men may well not be able to keep it in their pants. Moreover, they're saying that clothes make the woman and that they have the right to judge our value based on the clothes we wear
Have you ever watched Frasier? It's one of my all-time favorite sitcoms and I've recently gotten Tom pretty into it, too. Our post-X-Files world is a bit of a minefield, but we're coping. The most fascinating character, in my opinion is Roz Doyle. Now, if you don't know anything about the show I suppose Roz's stereotype would be "the slutty one." There are plenty of cracks about Roz Doyle's sex life, desperate grabs for good dates, and dissatisfaction. But they gave her so much more than that. Roz is a professional woman in a competitive market and works her way around a man's world with more savvy prowess than any of her male counterparts. She's smart, witty, and always has a killer comeback. You get the feeling she can throw a punch, but can cry on her friend's shoulder. Roz Doyle is a fantastic woman who is in control of her life, who deals with curves life throws her way, who rises above, and who can schmooze and influence anyone.
Is she "virtuous" in the sense that those men are talking about? Hell no and damned proud of it! Would she be caught dead in a burqa? Probably not, but I'd be willing to bet that entering a mosque, she'd slip on a head scarf without a thought and wouldn't judge women who choose to wear them.
I ask you: what is virtue?
Is it an ethereal thing? Is it attainable? Is it scary? What is virtue? I've copied and pasted Mirriam-Webster's online definition of virtue on the page of lined notebook paper to the left. I can go with definition 1, actually. "1a: conformity of a standard of right: morality, b: a particular moral excellence." That leaves open the definition of morality. And I think that our popular definition of morality is lacking. It should be more proactive and less limiting.
I have a theory that limiting ourselves - in any way - is to our own detriment.
I'd consider myself a fairly modest dresser, but I'd also consider myself fairly liberal with my definition of "modest." I also consider myself fairly virtuous, but my "virtue" is different from that the boys in the video sing about.
What of it?
It's bizarre to me that people I know find head scarves and burqas offensive and oppressive, but don't see the hypocrisy of endorsing these offensive and oppressive social regimes within their own circles. But I know what causes this, and it's even more bizarre to my way of thinking. We we are so lacking in understanding that we ignore what the women in the head scarves and burqas tell us about them. Yes. We are so afraid that we don't take the time to look at these garments - or, if you want to get closer to home: imagine the Baptist girls I shared that locker room with - as they are meant to be seen. What's more is that we enforce our perceptions of them onto the wearer:
"Her family must make her wear that."
"Why would you wear that?"
"That looks so stupid."
"Check for bombs in there. Terrorist."
It's sickening to me. Yes, there are girls and women who are oppressed. There are also boys and men who are oppressed. Regardless of what is worn, oppression is bad. Oppression has nothing to do with what you wear. When it comes to clothing, it has everything to do with who is making the decision to wear it. I would consider it oppressive if Tom demanded I wear my wedding ring and admonished me when I didn't. Plenty of women choose to wear their wedding rings and we don't think that's bad, but the minute it's a decision not of your own volition is when, in my opinion, this becomes an oppression-related issue.
I'm not denying that there are women in the world who dress a certain way - in burqa, let's say - at the behest of their families or because they must because of the controlling power, but there is a lot more to it than that. Not every woman in a head scarf is oppressed. In the same way that we regard covering our American breasts and private parts, those women are saving things for the eyes of their husbands and loved ones who would love them regardless of the oiliness of their hair or the acne on their neck. I could go on and on here - objectification leads to oppression, so that supermodel with the unrealistic airbrushed body is leading to my oppression, et cetera, but I have something else I want to get to.
"Modesty" and "virtue" are not words that should be solely regarded for the females of our species. Women and girls are taught these things throughout the world. In my giant history capstone paper during my final semester at Berea College, I wrote:
Consider our nation’s
standards of beauty and morality as laid out in our own cultural standards of
dress and behavior. If a woman was
waiting on a corner while wearing jeans and a coat at noon, no one would notice
or care. However, if she was waiting on
that same corner wearing a revealing dress and sky-high heels at midnight,
someone might report her for prostitution.
The motives in the two situations could well be the same, but the
cultural perception calls for a moral judgment.
Similarly, certain segments of Turkish society have become so rooted in
Islamic conservatism that women who do not wear higab are considered to be more
promiscuous than women who do. This also
plays into women’s fashion, as well – wearing higab can be very fashionable in
modern Turkish society and may merely be an accessory for some. Thus, higab helps to inform a deeper
understanding of the complexity of secularism which has become so entwined with
Turkish identity. Clearly, higab has a
large impact on women’s roles in society, but there are larger issues within
the context of Turkish modernity...
There exist pockets in the world where women's roles are different from our own. That terrifies us, but we're also terrified of the "other" who have similar views to the ones we're familiar with.
"You mean we have something in common with the 'other?'" (Yeah, go figure, right?! I mean, someone we see as so different could be us.)
Boys and men should also be brought up in such a way that disrespect and self-control are discouraged. They should not be taught "boys will be boys" and "she was asking for it." They should be taught that kindness and understanding are key principles. We should foster love and hope. We cannot allow our boys to grow up to be men who need our collective modesty. We should all have enough self-control to keep it in our pants or skirts or kilts... or whatever bottoms we choose to wear! No one sex is to blame for the inequalities in our world, but it's not a far stretch to acknowledge that we are bombarded with images of strong men and weak women and are influenced by that from a very young age. We have so much left to do for our children, our future children, and their children's children's children. I'm not not naive enough to believe that I can solve this thing and I'm still cynical enough to believe that we'll need to always keep the conversation going, but we owe it to humanity to get ourselves straightened out. (Check this out to learn more about people who are actively working on this problem.)
Religious people of the world: We need to unite to get things straightened out. We need to be open to explaining and listening. We need to really look at what our teachings say. We need to prioritize. I love 1 Timothy 4:12: "... set an example... in speech, in conduct, in love, and in purity." Show others how to act with what you say, how you act, with open love, and - lastly - with "purity." We make such a mountain out of a mole hill sometimes, don't we, though? Going on and on about "purity," "modesty," "virtue," and the like?
Forget (think of Cee-Lo Green's famous radio edit) all of that!
My personal favorite of this picture emphasizes Jesus's frustration with our refusal to take his new commandment to heart with a variation of the word Cee-Lo and I have bleeped out.
Clothes mean nothing. Action means everything. Stop bossing people around because you believe yourself superior because of your age, race, religion, fashion sense, or anything else. It's giving me a headache and making me lose my breakfast.
Last week, a former professor and (I like to think) friend of mine shared a video of 500+ Kentucky high school choir kids making the United States's national anthem ring through the open space of a hotel lobby and shared that choir and journalism were what kept him interested in high school. And so I got to thinking. Similar things kept me interested in high school. Similar things keep me going now. And, as that professor/friend of mine so wisely noted, that rendition of our national anthem is "a testament to the power of the arts."
There are some things you should know about me in my high school years. Things about me that I didn't want.
I didn't want to move to Illinois in 7th grade. After two years in school in Crete, I didn't want to go to the high school I graduated from. I didn't want to be there. I didn't want to try anymore. I didn't like myself. I didn't know what was coming.
* * *
You see, most of us - and most kids we know - go through what are commonly called "awkward years." I had an awkward decade. No, seriously. I went from ages eleven to twenty-two without looking back from the awkward. It started with looking terrible in polo shirts as school uniforms, which was exacerbated by the terrible hair cut I was forced to get because my pre-pubescent oiliness manifested in both zits and - BONUS - oily hair. This morphed further upon our move, when I discovered that my fashion sense was even worse without the shield of a uniform shirt for school. Maybe this wouldn't have been so bad, but my schoolmates all had parents with a closer investment in their fashion - and more money to spend on it. When we moved to Crete, I didn't have a pair of shoes that fit properly; I'd been wearing sandals the latter half of the summer. We bought a pair and I learned that here in the Midwest, I needed a special pair to wear in the gym. These same shoes were not to be worn outside. At all. I looked ridiculous. And though I knew it, there was little I could do about it. For a long while, I was a fashion victim. I also had little in common with my peers, being a public school kid who'd never memorized portions of Luther's Catechism, having divorced parents, and having been exposed to other points of view.
Basically my life, but I didn't cry in front of people then. Suffering in silence is unbearable. Find someone you trust. Talk to your kids without judgment. Be the change. It all sounds cheesey, but you need to do it. Please!
Then, at some point, we got a bit more on our feet, but I had no clue how to dress myself. I became accustomed to finding quirky pieces to deflect from how I looked overall. I had friends who attempted to help me match, but I said I liked dressing the way I did. That wasn't true at all, but I felt as though I had no way of looking good. And now you're thinking to yourself, "Looks aren't everything." No, you're right, they're not. But in high school, they are something, especially if you have some major confidence issues and are the heaviest girl in the class to compound the problem.
Freshman year was pure torture. The summer before, I developed a fledgling eating disorder, which I stifled with - what else? - more food and packed on the unhealthily lost weight. Within a few weeks of the start of classes, I heard there was a spot open for my school's show choir. This, you need to understand, was the only thing I thought I might enjoy about high school. I tried out. I didn't make it. I'm fairly sure I skipped more school that year than I did throughout the rest of my education through high school and both colleges. I didn't do anything. I just didn't want to be there. My writing did well, but I didn't find any joy in my studies, which was strange. My grades suffered. I fell asleep in religion class. I disappointed a friend with my depression. People reached out, but I didn't want to be gotten. I yelled at some senior girls from my basketball team in the locker room because they were being unfair and I was frustrated, though I knew they were trying to help me. Things were not good. The bright spot? I ran the fastest mile I have in all my life - 7 minutes, something. The looks on my teacher's face and those of my classmates was beyond satisfying.
Sophomore year wasn't looking much better. I had tried out for show choir at the end of freshman year and had failed again. My locker between two guys who always took gym and refused to wash their gym uniforms, so my stuff reeked. Within those first few weeks, I noticed the yearbook sign up sheet and that a new teacher was taking the post. Because I enjoyed writing and photography, I decided to give it a shot. Having somewhere to go during the last period of the day, a place that wasn't a study hall full of students who didn't want to be there, was wonderful. I found a niche. I was good at writing and editing others' work. I could design unique pages and quickly caught on to the design software and the style we were striving for! I copied inspirational designs with ease, learned to manipulate images a bit to do what I needed to with them, and felt satisfied with something on a regular basis. I started to make more friends and to get closer to my classmates - it only took three and a half years (sarcasm intended)! Still, I observed more than I experienced. I was in the regular high school choir that year, so I got to sing and I even got to sing different parts, switching from second soprano to first alto midway through the year. My little cousin was born on my sixteenth birthday. Nana was diagnosed with cancer again and it became apparent we'd be moving back into my great aunts' house.
"Third time's the charm," she said quietly as I rushed to get my books together at my stinky locker. I was also scarfing down my breakfast because, as ever, I was late.
Cav Singers at Choral Fest 2005
I'm on the far left. Barney Stinson's Cheerleader Effect is
in full swing here. I didn't normally blend so well!
I made it into show choir for my junior year, and if you got in once, I knew you was fairly guaranteed to be in my senior year, too! After a really good summer that included an escape from my everyday by going to Yellowstone, hanging out with and getting a lot closer to a family that took me into their hearts, and moving back in with my great aunts', I settled into junior year, a bit more the "me" you know today, but still lacking anything resembling unshakable confidence. Cavalier Singers added to the insanity of what was known as the hardest year at my high school. Almost as soon as it began, we'd picked a song to perform for the WELS National Choral Fest - 500+ kids, by the way - to be at Martin Luther College in New Ulm, Minnesota. This performance, mind you, was for our bodies as well as our voices. A dance number.
And my friend Carly partnered me up with this guy whose voice had sent chills through my spine from the first day we warmed up as a group.
Cue the extra awkward. I couldn't talk to this guy, let alone look at him straight on. But I was crushing on him so hard it was unbearable not to communicate at all with him. Thankfully for me, the world of social media - then, in the form of MySpace - was upon us. We MySpace messaged quite often. I think it started off teasing each other about our horrible dancing "abilities" and determining whether or not we had morning practice the next day. I can't remember. I suppose it doesn't matter. But we learned this dance to "Puttin' on the Ritz" and got to the point of being able to do it - both shaking with nerves - and not tripping one another or hitting each other with our PVC canes. I was the last person on the bus home from Choral Fest - have I mentioned my perpetual lateness? When I got on, the only seat left was next to him. I felt the thrill I always felt when I knew we'd be near each other - a mixture of paralyzing fear and extraordinary excitement - and marched myself down the aisle and sat without a word. The nine hour journey home was an odd one, but for the first time, we talked. In the form of remarks about other passengers' shortcomings, idiocies, and how much they bothered us, but it counts! We cast sidelong glances and I ended up flirting with someone from the other choir on the bus. I tried to get him to help with my physics homework, but he refused, playing dumb, though he was in honors physics. He sang Irish drinking songs to me softly.
On the way to Prom 2006
I'm the one awkwardly reaching across in the back.
I can't tell you why, though I remember
thinking it made sense at the time.
Things seemed to be going well until the middle of December, when he asked out one of my closest friends and the guy I'd been flirting with also admitted to being interested in another girl. Around the same time, Nana's health took a sharp turn for the worse. My insomnia became more intense and more logical. My studies suffered a bit. I didn't feel like I had the energy to do it all. But I still MySpaced with the guy from time to time, avoiding my heartbreak. I wore blue patent heels on game days. I wrote nice things on yearbook pages, wrote papers about how I couldn't concentrate, and put a pixel of ever color swatch available for our school's first full-color yearbook on its opening page. My Dad moved across the country to live with us and to help out. Things were more insane than ever. And April 2006 was the hardest month of my life. When Nana passed away, I felt many of the things I expect people experiencing their first loss experience, but I didn't want to talk about it any more than I wanted to have it happen. Prom was the first weekend of May and I went with a bunch of friends in a limo and with a classmate "as friends." In that limo was the boy whose voice gave me chills. He - and a number of my closest friends - graduated later that month.
Oh, unrequited love, you cruel mistress!
Senior year rolled around and at that point, it was apparent that all that mattered to me was, indeed, yearbook and Cavalier Singers. I did my best in basketball, as always, but my complete lack of traditional athletic ability once again surged to the forefront as I was the only senior on the team not made captain, though we had three - the two other seniors and a junior. That stung. That year, really, was probably the smoothest year. Though many friends were away at school, I had some solid ones nearby and made some new ones. By this time, my formerly fellow Cav Singer and I had progressed to AOL Instant Messaging - we in the know called it "AIM" - and emailing. I graduated, wrote some beautiful things about my time there on some key yearbook pages, and was glad to be done.
A picture from around the time
I was accepted to Berea
Then on to college and more of the same, but with less care. I didn't care so much what people thought of me. I was fine with being who or whatever they perceived me to be - for better or for worse. This let me not try. Fantastic, right? A bit freeing, maybe, but I was still holding myself back. By the time I got to Berea, however, I'd spent a bit of time learning how to make myself look good. How to dress, how to do my makeup nicely, how to smile at the right time. And around that same time, someone noticed.
* * *
So, as usual after reading one of my ranty posts, I bet you're wondering why that all matters so much to me. Why do three years of yearbook and two years of show choir hold such a place in my heart?
Let's start with what came first.
Yearbook served as an outlet for the creativity I - still - so easily forget I possess when I fail to use it. I found a way to write about people other than myself. I learned to constructively criticize my colleagues' writing. I worked to create pages and designs that I could see in my head. I made the computer my friend for more than just messing around online and playing with words. I grew up a lot in that room. When I write today, I can't help but think of my time in that Spanish classroom, struggling to make something that made me proud and feeling like I fit in.
Show choir has been a major force in my life, as well, though it may be more accurate to name "music" as that force. All my life, I've loved church for the music. I've listened to whatever's on the radio. If I like an artist, I listen to every song on their album and have to listen to each and every word. This is a bit maddening for people I'm with, as I cannot be disturbed while the artist is imparting his or her or their wisdom. But moreover, show choir made me feel like a part of a larger whole - whether the Lutheran high school choir kids throughout the school, the nation, the region or all singers everywhere. I feel a kinship with song.
There are things I fear I'll never be able to do with total confidence, but I've come a long way. For example, although I have a job writing now, I fear looking like an idiot in my polo shirt and often feel like I don't know how to dress myself. I become self-conscious of the way I look, stumble over my words, and sometimes forget what I'm doing. I have daily struggles, but I also have daily wins and a kitten who gets excited by water and human food. And Kitten Chow. And his humans returning home.
And do you know what?
Every day, I get to feel those chills go through my spine when I hear that boy from Cav Singers sing and hum. That boy helped me through the roughest times in my life so far. He told me that my beliefs are what matter to my life. He taught me that I am worth something. He treated me well. He became my best friend through years of typing back and forth. We worked hard on talking to each other. We're honest. We're nearly inseparable. I suppose I should call that boy a man now. We're married, after all!
I started out quite awkward around this one. Thankfully, that's faded now. =)
Marriage Day. The only awkwardness
came from some of the hilarious poses.
And all from a bit of show choir, a heckuva crush, a lot of hours in front of a computer screen, a lot of unforeseen undercurrents, and whole lot of love.
Side note: Happy Valentine's Day to all of you out there! Whether you're celebrating with someone you love romantically, your family, a dear friend, or alone, please be sure to eat enough (the amount differs for each of us) chocolate, sip a little wine (if your old enough and take a sip now and again), and remember the meaning of love, the unforeseen goings on in your life, and pray for a more loving tomorrow for us all. There are a lot of things that get lost in the shuffle of life and too often we forget our hopes, dreams, and earnest prayers for peace, enduring love, and a bright tomorrow. Let's not allow that to happen!
Tom tucked me in before work this morning, so I woke up instead to my little Valentine! Happy Valentine's Day from Fox the Cat!
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