Goodbyes

I do believe Blogger hates me. It ate my last blog post and hasn't given it up yet, so I think it's gone for good. And I don't have the energy to post all those pictures again. Suffice it to say that life has been good and we are eating lots of chocolate chips and watching lots of Friday Night Lights and Downton Abbey, and enjoying the springtime weather (except for the allergies that unceasingly plague Harry's nasal passages).

Speaking of goodbyes, which we weren't, let it be known that I can't stand them.

Another school year is ending for our family ward here in Stanford/Palo Alto/Menlo Park, and it's all shades of depressing.

I was visit taught for the very last time today by these two fantastic ladies.



We all moved into this ward at the same time two years ago. We're all the same age and all graduated from BYU, but never knew each other while we were there. And they have been my visiting teachers since we moved into this ward. They've brought me cookies and always made me feel so loved and made it clear they were looking out for me. They helped us move, mourned with me while I looked for work, prayed for me when I kept getting sick over and over again. And in the next 2-3 weeks, we're all moving away. While Harry and I will be back for one more school year after this summer ends, these two will be on to bigger and better things, like the Bar exam, doctoral degrees, and this elusive "setting up roots in a permanent place" thing that people do when they aren't students anymore.

This is happening all over our ward right now. Women I have become good friends with and have looked up to over the last two years are kissing student housing goodbye and moving with their adorable families to other parts of the country, into actual homes (with actual dishwashers, laundry machines, driveways, garages, and multiple bedrooms). And while I'm so happy that everyone has a bright and cheery future, it's completely crumbling my heart into tiny grainy pieces.

And I'm really bad at saying goodbye to people in these situations. I can't stand it. It's probably not a good quality but it's easier for me to just let all this moving away happen without any big hurrahs. But let it be known that I will continue to blog stalk all my wonderful women and watch their kids get even more adorable and plentiful, and I'll be even more thrilled I got to spend a chunk of my life in their company.

If there's a Menlo Park Ward Alumni Association in Heaven, I hope there's a big party planned for when we're all there someday. I will bring chocolate chip cookies or a bundt cake or lemon bars.

A world without the right Mary Poppins

Once when I was a little kid, I was watching "Mary Poppins." I don't quite know how this thought arose, but I started thinking to myself, "What if Julie Andrews' parents never met? What if they never had her? Then Mary Poppins would have been played by someone else! And if no one had ever heard of Julie Andrews because she didn't exist, Mary Poppins never would have been a good movie! And no one would know it was because the movie was made without her!" And I began a mini panic attack, trying to imagine how we could all get along in a world where Julie Andrews did not play Mary Poppins.

I remembered this little episode last night when I was hopped up on Nyquil and Vitamin C-Monster Odwalla juice (yet another cold has struck me down! That's what I get for galavanting around SLC with my cousins/brother all hours of the night and day this past weekend...), talking to Harry about how if we hadn't met/run into each other in the library/dated, that we could have wound up with other people! And that is such a crazy thought to me. I cited the experience above re: Julie Andrews, saying "Harry, the thought that we might not be together is just as horrifying as the thought that Julie Andrews may never have played Mary Poppins! It's just so wrong!"

And then I paused and realized, "Yeah, this is one of those weird thoughts that I should just blog about."

And, there you have it.

Back to reality.

Summer is over.

We're back in our student housing apartment. I'd forgotten about the smell-- something between a dorm and a hotel room. It smells like cascades of tenants and chemical cleaning supplies. Even so, it feels really nice to be back in our little corner of Palo Alto.

In the last 36 hours we have driven 661 miles. In our separate cars. It's one thing to drive that much when I'm in the same car as Harry. We can talk a blue streak together. But when it's just me and the book tape, it gets lonely after a little while. Good thing "Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell" is the longest audio book EVER. I have 3 discs to go on this book-- I've been chipping away at for months. Will I ever get sick of hearing Simon Prebble's voice read about 19th century magic? No.

It's also a good thing that we used walkie talkies the entire drive. I felt like a kid from "The Sandlot" during that part when they try to get the baseball signed by Babe Ruthe back from the enormous dog in the yard next door by building a ramp and robotic car and lowering it over the fence. "Initiate retrieval suction!"

Our Las Vegas summer left nothing to be desired. I spent ample time with both families and read 5 books in my off time. I attended amazing concerts and movies and went swimming and ate snow cones and dippin dots. I hung out with my nieces and nephews. I played basketball and yoga ball. I visited with old friends and their offspring. It filled my proverbial life sponge with water of contentment and giggles. I'll admit, yesterday morning when we headed out, I became more than a little teary eyed. I really love my family-- both the one I grew up with and the one I married into.

That said I'm really happy to be back. We've got a good thing going here.

Now we're sitting on our couch (well, loveseat) watching KCRW reruns and cooking frozen pizza. I way like my life.

Happy one.

A year ago today, we sealed the deal.



The past year has brought a whole hodge podge of memorable experiences, and the one thing it definitely has NOT been is boring. The more time I spend with my Harry, the more I realize I married the most creative, interesting, caring, genuine man who inhabits the earth. I love that I'm often pleasantly surprised by his goodness. And by his quirkiness. And by his pure uninhibited BOY-ness. And though we've only been doing this whole married thing for one year, I'm definitely more tickled pink than ever that our wagons are hitched together for ∞.

(wince)

So, there's a pot luck dinner tonight on our floor. All around the apartments are bustling with culinary activity, no doubt pots boiling, frying pans sizzling, hand mixers whipping, etc. Not ten minutes ago, our nicer than nice neighbor came over to ask, "Hey, can we borrow some vanilla extract?"

"Sure!" I say. "Come on in!"

I invite him into our lacking-in-spaciousness entryway and swoop around the counter to grab the imitation version of the stuff he wanted and hand it to him, giving him some disclaimer that it's "not the real thing, but works okay." He thanks me and promises to bring it right back, and makes a swift exit.

It wasn't until the door closed behind him that I realized what I had left on the counter, front and center in his field of vision from the moment he set foot into our humble abode.

(awkward silence)

I'm not a proponent of karma.

But I'm pretty sure that this is some cosmic form of payback for NOT sending this book back to my GENEROUS gal pal who loaned it to me last year, and for naively claiming for the last 8 months that "if I keep it by the entryway, I'll remember to ship it back on my way to work."

I grabbed the book and hid it underneath a sofa cushion.

When that vanilla extract gets dropped off, hopefully our neighbor will think he just imagined that book-- that retina-burning awkwardness-inducing book that those Reynoldsies next door like to keep in their entryway.

Can you smell it?

Love is in the air.

Two days ago my sister and her main squeeze tied the proverbial knot. Want to see how glorious it was? If you don’t, now is your last chance to look away. But you wouldn’t look away because if you did I’d have to say, hey, you have a beef with happiness? Then go read another blog, yo.

It had been raining all kinds of canines and felines for days on end, but Saturday dawned without a descending droplet to be found.

Perks to being a bridesmaid: Maximum merrymaking, minimum responsibility.

This is the first wedding I’ve attended since my wedding day. And while that day is still the reigning best day of my life, this day was a touch more relaxing. Harry and I were amazed at how nice it was to eat food and occasionally sit down and be available to run errands and wrap caramels in black and white paper. We got to eat fish tacos and drink unlimited Fanta at Rubio’s and we swung by Rite Aid for some Chocolate Malted Krunch. It was, in a word, groovy.

That said, the best part of the day was seeing my sister as happy as I’ve ever seen her. And she’s already a rather plucky and giggly pixie doodle. Were it possible, I would have Elvis Costello’s “She” playing in the background while you peruse the pictures above to capture how fabulously glam and genuinely stunning the bride really was/is.

Another best part: getting to party and cut a rug with these babes.

And these babes.

(and other babes that aren't yet pictured-- I can only steal pictures from so many other people at a time!)

I am so grateful for my delicious family. We’re all hardwired to adore/admire/get a big kick out of each other without having to do much else than be within earshot of one another, which I think is a good thing to be hardwired to do.

And now. On a slightly more narcissistic note (well, this blog is 50% about ME, isn’t it?):

Six months ago today I got married to

and ever since I can’t help but feel like I got the better end of the deal.

I was already pretty pleased with life before I hitched my wagon to his. I'm still pleased, with a heaping helping of thrilled mixed in.

I’m not someone who adjusts very quickly to small life changes, let alone gargantuan ones. I battled with nostalgia for weeks when “The Wonder Years” ended. I cried for days in 4^th grade when my parents decided to get wood floors and adios the carpet. And I had a nuclear meltdown at age 6 when my parents had the tree in our front yard removed because the roots were destroying the pavement (“Mom! That tree was my LIFE!”).

Thus, it’s more than extremely fortunate for me that the man I spend all my free time with is someone I’ve felt completely at home with since we started this whole shenanigan in September 2007.

I love my Harry. And I think we’re in for more rip roaring good time for the next ∞.

One of those memories you forgot you remembered.

I am officially in training for the Salt Lake City Half Marathon, coming to a Salt Lake near you in April 2010. Yes, I'm starting now. Yes, I really have that long of a long way to go.

This morning on my usual route, for some reason I couldn't shake the memory of my Northwood High Cross Country days. A combination of awkward teenage years, hot and dusty trails, and a healthy fear of the rage of the all powerful Coach.

And I couldn't stop picturing Coach Rossi/Ohrn/Gates yelling all those Cross Countryish things from the sidelines.

"Ten quick steps!"

"Dynamite! THINK DYNAMITE!"

"Let your legs go! JUST LET THEM GO!"

"You can catch her, Sarah, I saw her! She's DYING up there! GO GET HER!"
"Keep your eyes up and REEL HER IN!"

"BANG THE DRUM! BANG THE DRUM!"

I even recall one of Brie Gassin's coaches saying (direct quote): "Run like the track is giving birth to you." Wow.

Maybe it's the fact that it's fall now, and the Cross Country season is raging. As are the motivational yelling phrases, I'm sure, on that little track field at Northwood High. And the weird thing is, I kind of miss it.