my first love

I always pause when asked the seemingly very simple question: where are you from? Born in Texas, raised in Rock Springs, Wyoming, Houstonian for nearly a decade, now an Islander. We moved a bit with my dad's oilfield job when I was younger, but ended up in Wyoming by the time I was nine. I went to school with the same people from grade school up to my first year of college. I made best friends, learned to drive there and subsequently wrecked my first car there. Drank my first beer there. (This is sounding like a country song). But seriously.

I feel lucky to be shaped by so many places, and blessed to be able to question where I am from.

I drive like a Houstonian (a little crazy), and can confidently navigate big cities. I expect 24 hour stores should I need an emergency Dr. Pepper in the middle of the night. I have a strong affinity for Houston baseball and basketball, and will cheer my heart out (a skill I learned in Wyoming). Clutch City forever.

I enjoy living at a slow pace and staring at the waves like an Islander. I love opening the windows and getting that salty air in my lungs.

But there's nothing like the oxygen deprived, clean air in the blue skies of high desert Wyoming. There is no feeling on earth like looking up into the blackest sky you've ever seen lit by more stars than you can even imagine. I still love the sound of a train horn because it reminds me of home. I miss the sound of snow crunching under my boots (but not scraping it off of my car). The watercolor sunsets in the west washing over evening sky, the moving sand dunes in the north, the freezing waters of the Gorge to the south. I miss how beautiful and green everything seems to turn overnight after a good summer rain (and then how it almost immediately turns brown again). I enjoy a good northerly wind because I know how to fix my hair to accommodate it (I still haven't mastered working with humidity and my hair). Hell, Butch Cassidy got his nickname, "Butch", when he was a butcher in Rock Springs. I mean, it doesn't get cooler than that, right?

I will be the first to admit, I didn't appreciate what I had when I had it. Sounds like a lot of people, right? I hated being in a small town, despised the wind, wanted the opportunities of the big city, felt like I'd overstayed my time there. Maybe that was true. A wise friend once reminded me that there is a reason and a season for everything. I remember the season of Wyoming fondly.

The song, "Thank God for Hometowns" by Carrie Underwood sums it up: "Thank God for hometowns, and all the love that makes 'em go 'round. Thank God for the county lines that welcome you back in, when you were dyin' to get out."

I thank God everyday that I was raised in such a great place. The older I get, I realize, Wyoming is, and will always be, my first love. I just didn't know it at the time. Wyomingite for life.

scrunchie blankets and "don't sit on me" furniture

It's been so long since I have seen them, that it is hard to pinpoint the exact moment in time, yet the most random things consistently remind me how much a part of each other's lives we were for so long. A red wagon. The word scrunchie. Any song by a boy band and/or Nelly. Even now, though we do not keep in touch as well as we should, the random text, Facebook post, Christmas card, or phone call connects us to the past and it's as though no time has passed.

We had the kind of friendship every little girl should have, and it sustained us throughout high school, and even though it is distant now, it is not lost. We spent endless hours decorating my parent's front sidewalk with a wide array of chide walk salk "drawings". Although in reality, we really just wrote our names over, and over, and over again. We rode our bicycles through the hills of the desert all summer long, and tried not to sled off of cliffs in the winter. In between a good old fashioned game of Roads (our own creation), we chased each other with earth worms, and battled it out in Night Games until our parents hollered for us to come inside. We spent our senior prom together in a very unfortunate "limousine," and took our first out-of-town sans parents road trips together to Cheyenne and Salt Lake.

Gradually, as people do, we drifted apart - figuratively and geographically. Even now, as the three of us are scattered across three states, two time zones, and a million lifetimes, I hope you both know how much you have meant, and continue to mean to me.

Emerald St/Carlyle Ct reunion soon?

XO,
E

Conscious Coupling

Today, we celebrate our fourth anniversary as a happily married couple. You read that correctly. Happily. Married.

I delight in marriage. I really, really do. I get to spend nearly every day with my best friend. What does that look like? Does it look like a perfect family photo? Is it our annual Christmas card? Does it look like loved ones gathered for Easter dinner? Sure. Sometimes. More realistically, it looks like two people hanging out in pajamas all day on a Sunday watching a marathon of Entourage, or a couple in the aisles of Home Depot debating about which grout matches the new tile best. He gets frustrated when I'm bossy. I get upset when he drinks the last Dr. Pepper. But every single day, I'm grateful to wake up next to him. It's a beautiful, messy, wonderfully insane life.

Love starts in the subconscious and morphs into the conscious. I make a conscious decision everyday to partner with the love of my life. We make our decisions together, from what to have for dinner to major life choices. We have fun together. We share our joys, our sorrows, our accomplishments, and our setbacks. People say that relationships take work. I beg to differ. It's not work when it's something you love. I love being married and I love my husband. Happy anniversary. Here's to many more to come!

Author's note: I purposely titled this piece "Conscious Coupling" as a response to a certain actress's recent post entitled "Conscious Uncoupling." I feel that so many people focus on the breakdown of a marriage rather than the success of one. If we consciously choose to keep things together, imagine how much more productive we could be, than if we spend so much of our time taking things apart.

The Return of Saturn

Of late, it seems like I am constantly hearing my friends say things like, "this year was so hard," or, "I just don't know what direction my life is heading into," or, "I don't understand why this is happening," and sadly, "I'm just not happy anymore." Should she continue her education? Is she dating the right person? Does she live in the right place? Will her family be healthy? Happy?

It's mentioned frequently in art, music in particular. Gwen Stefani talked about it years ago, and Katy Perry talked about it most recently on her new album. The Return of Saturn. 

After doing a little research on the internet, it seems that in our late 20s, Saturn returns to the point in the sky where it was at our birth. According to astrology, this causes a bit of an upheaval in our personal lives. If you don't believe in astrology, think of it this way: moving from one's 20s to one's 30s usually involves a lot of milestones that can be stressful and make one question everything. Careers, marriage, babies, the health of aging parents, etc. can all come into play at this point.

In my investigation, I discovered a wonderful little blog with a "Survival Guide" to your Return of Saturn. Check it out here: How to Survive Your Saturn Return. She has some pretty great advice for dealing with this major checkpoint of life, and life in general. I'm sure everyone has heard at least some of these tips before, but seeing it from another perspective is always useful. 

Borrowing a little phrase: Read, ponder, and pray. These three simple steps can bring you into a greater understanding of your world.

Sources: 

How to Survive Your Saturn Return

Saturn Return

The Veil

They say kids say the darnedest things. They really do. Random, darned things.

On Saturday, after his and Erianna's soccer game, I was hanging out in the bleachers with Eli while he ate his snack. Out of nowhere he said, very matter-of-factly, "Auntie, you're my mommy's sister."

"Yes, that's right," I replied.

"And my grandpa is your daddy and mommy's daddy."

"Yep, Grandpa is our dad."

"And my old grandma was your mommy."

"Right."

Wow, random soccer-field talk. Especially for a 5-year-old child who never met my mom. I guess Eli's just trying to put 2 and 2 together and understand our family web. I remember being a little kid and trying to figure out my family - which even as uncomplicated as it really was - was confusing enough for a kid brain, and they were all alive and kicking at the time.

___________

During our Sunday sermon this past weekend, our pastor was talking about how to pray and just be in the moment or in a place to experience God. We read the passage of the New Testament where Jesus goes on top of the mountain to pray about what he must do at the cross. In that passage, Moses and Elijah appear to Jesus. Oh yes, and they just happen to be dead at the time.

Our pastor talked about how very paper thin the veil between this world and the next is, and in his own words, how, if He really wanted to, God could just let our dearly departed "pop back in on us." The pastor spoke of how the church was full, and not only with the congregation, but with those who have come and gone before us.

___________

Then suddenly, Eli's comment wasn't so random anymore. Shortly after my mom died - I can't remember if it was the summer she passed away, or if it was later that holiday season - I'm pretty sure she was around quite a bit. Depending on the time of year it was, Erianna was either not quite a year, or just over that mark - she was still bald, which I guess covered her life until about the age of 2, though. She was in that phase where she was working on standing and walking, but would frequently hold onto things while standing.

In the front living room at my parent's house sat my mom's chair. Before she died, she would sit in it after work; reading a book, talking on the phone, or rocking Erianna. I remember one afternoon, we were all at my dad's house. Since Erianna was in the early stages of being mobile, she was still a bit difficult to keep up with. I found her in the front room, holding onto my mom's chair, looking right at the empty seat, her whole face lit up. She was giggling and "talking" to no one. Or to someone.

I don't always feel my mom around like I used to, but I know she's still here. It was evident when Erianna was "talking" to her seven years ago. It's evident when Eli casually mentions her.

It's always hard to lose someone you love, but as we were reminded of so sweetly this weekend, those that love us never truly leave us. The veil is paper thin, after all.

Abby.

I have a really great, long-time friend (not old friend, because we aren't old), who has been going through some rough times lately. She recently wrote a blog about 5 little words spoken to her by her dad. It's part of your journey, he told her when she spoke of her anger, sadness, and frustration. She said it was like 5 nails in a coffin.

Abby, my friend, don't think of these words, events, and frustrations as nails in your coffin. Yes, they are part of your journey, but more than anything, they are 5 strings that have been cut, snapped, and let loose, freeing you for that journey. You're now off where you were always headed, taking a turn down a road you never saw, but that was part of the plan, even if it wasn't your plan.

I've struggled with what to say to you, other than I'm here for you, which hopefully you already knew. We all get handed the short end of the stick at some point in life, but there's no point in comparing experiences because nobody gets the same stick. Even with some of the things I have dealt with in life, I firmly believe there is a reason why each and every thing happens. You can't always see it in the moment. You can't always see it ten years down the line, but it's there. Looking back on this years from now, you will probably remember life before the accident and after. There will be a huge differentiation; it will be like a mark on your very soul. It's going to change you, for the better. How do I know this? Mostly because you're a badass. You're caring, contemplative, thoughtful. You will take in each and every fractured fragment of this experience and carry it with you for the rest of your life. You are not the kind of person who will become bitter. You'll have hard days where you'll cry and wonder why, what if, and what could have been. We all do. But then you'll realize how amazing everything turned out anyway, and be glad that you were lead down this rocky, bumpy, pot-hole filled road. Life is never going to turn out the way we plan it. That's what makes things interesting. It's not always sunshine and laughter, but sometimes we have to weather the storm to really appreciate the beautiful days.

I love you.

Little Boxes

We moved a number of times growing up, and going along with my parents to look at new houses was always the most exciting part for me. Inevitably, we'd end up driving through one of those track-home neighborhoods where every other house looks the same.

"Little boxes made of ticky tacky and they all look just the same," my dad would sing in a high-pitched, almost staccato voice. He refused to live in one of those little boxes that was just like everyone else's. He sang it every time we looked at houses. He sang it when Harry and I were house hunting. He sang it most recently when I went with him to look for his new house a few months ago.

It wasn't until I started watching the TV show, Weeds, a few years ago that I realized that Little Boxes was a real song that my dad didn't make up.

It's funny how crazy I thought he was singing that song all those years ago, but at the same time thinking he was genius for coming up with it. I guess there's a part of us all that believes our parents are masterful beings, while still figuring they might be a little off their rockers.

The other day I told my dad about my belief that he created Little Boxes. He, of course, thought it was hilarious, but also had a look on his face of pride. Perhaps it was pride that his brand of crazy rubbed off on me.

He, in turn, told me that my sister confessed to him that she started yelling threats at her kids reminiscent of him and my mom. "I don't care who started it! I'm gonna finish it!" she apparently told them, along with my dad's favorite quote, "If you don't have time to do it right, how will you ever have time to do it over?" He liked that one so much, he had it framed and hung on his office wall.

It's a pretty common thing for people to say they don't want to turn into their parents. Even if mine might be or have been a little nutty, I smile when I start to do something like they did, or mutter one of their little sayings.

I, too, sing Little Boxes when I drive through one of those look-alike neighborhoods. I guess I'm working on turning into my dad. My parents aren't perfect human beings, but they are pretty awesome people. I'm cool with being a little box. After all, we are Smiths and we all look just the same.