Monday, August 20, 2012
Wednesday, July 25, 2012
Three years
Today, we've been married for three years.
Last weekend Harry and I went out to sushi. While we waited for our food to arrive, we started reflecting on the random memories of our wedding day. I'm sad to say a lot of it is a blur, but I do have some memory nuggets stashed in my brain. Thank goodness for the wedding pictures or I would have forgotten a few things entirely.
A few random memory nuggets:
He's been a real trouper, and there's just one more day of all of this until he can have his life back.
So tonight it's filet mignon and smashed potatoes and steamed broccoli and a strawberry-celery smoothie and a chocolate croissant for dessert. And I will swallow all my misgivings about shows having to do with extra-terrestrials and say, "Hey, I'd love it if we could watch some X-Files reruns tonight."
A little ditty, for all you lovebirds out there.
Last weekend Harry and I went out to sushi. While we waited for our food to arrive, we started reflecting on the random memories of our wedding day. I'm sad to say a lot of it is a blur, but I do have some memory nuggets stashed in my brain. Thank goodness for the wedding pictures or I would have forgotten a few things entirely.
A few random memory nuggets:
- The night before, Elizabeth gave me a lightning quick manicure and pedicure while I was still in my dress from the wedding dinner as we sat on the floor in the family room.
- I went for a 3 mile bike ride with my Dad first thing the morning of the wedding, and vaguely remember my Mom saying, "Are you sure you want to do that right now?! What if you fall and break your arm??!" Thankfully, no injuries were sustained, and I'm convinced that little bike ride gave me a shot of energy since I slept for (literally) 3 hours the night before from all the excitement.
- My Mom literally whipped up my hair-do that morning. I had an idea of what I wanted and was trying to do it on myself, but it wasn't looking so great, so she pulled up a chair and went to work on my hair and that is what came out. I don't know how she read my mind.
- Before I left the house to go to the temple with my parents, my sisters dog piled me and gave me huge hugs.
- During the wedding ceremony, I remember a few things really clearly: one was looking behind Harry and seeing family and friends beaming these enormous smiles. I kept thinking maybe they'd stop smiling so big after a minute, but they were just smiling so wide at me the whole time. Then I'd look at Harry and he just looked really happy and as cool as a cucumber.
- I remember after we took pictures on the temple grounds and said we'd meet our photographer on Balboa Island for some more pictures, we got into Harry's car, and before he started the car, we just looked at each other for a second and were like, "So, we're married now!" It was a mixture of shock and glee.
- Walking around Balboa Island with Harry taking pictures and feeling so so lucky that I married him. The weather was warm but breezy and it was nice to just hang out with him, just the two of us, since we had only seen each other once every two weeks the summer we were engaged.
- Dancing with Harry at the reception, and then cutting a rug with Becca and the rest of the cousins, and then Dan getting on the microphone and saying, "We're gonna slow it down now. This next song is for all you lovebirds out there." I wish I could remember the song that came next.
- My Dad playing the bagpipes. I'm told that after Harry and I left, he broke out his steel guitar too and he and cousin James entertained everyone with some blues songs.
- Tiffany going out to my car to get my clothes so I could change out of my wedding dress at the end of the night, and leaving a huge gift basket of food and drinks and some other goodies for us from all our friends. That basket saved my life since I didn't get a chance to eat more than a few bites that night.
He's been a real trouper, and there's just one more day of all of this until he can have his life back.
So tonight it's filet mignon and smashed potatoes and steamed broccoli and a strawberry-celery smoothie and a chocolate croissant for dessert. And I will swallow all my misgivings about shows having to do with extra-terrestrials and say, "Hey, I'd love it if we could watch some X-Files reruns tonight."
A little ditty, for all you lovebirds out there.
Thursday, July 19, 2012
Tomorrow
...is my last day of work.
I cannot count how many times I have thought about this day. I plan to celebrate with a prance around my apartment bellowing "Mama Pajama" by Paul Simon and a few hitchkicks and the best night's sleep I have had in months.
I don't think that working in an office is the hardest thing a person can do. But for nine months, I have worked harder than I ever thought I could work at something. And I've felt like I'm constantly falling short. And this feeling turns into the worst self-fulfilling prophecy, and I become so filled with self-doubt that I can barely function. I've spent a lot of time on my knees in bathroom stalls asking for help.
At the same time, I have worked with wonderful people, and I have been stretched and pulled more in this job than in any other. I've gotten comfortable being uncomfortable with the amount of work on my plate.
And now that the month of March is far behind us, I think my wee heart has healed enough to tell a story that still makes me cringe, ending with a redemptive lesson of hope and the tying up of loose ends that we Americans love so much in our stories.
A few days after Harry’s birthday back in March, I got very sick. I came home Friday evening from work with a high fever and a cough that was beginning to rattle my insides. We had to cancel our trapeze adventure I had planned for his birthday, and --to add insult to serious, phlegmy injury-- without a refund, people.
I remained bed-ridden for four days. Harry made soup, bought saltines, and wrote down my symptoms and read the back of every box of cold medicine at CVS before picking the most perfect one and buying it for me (true story).
Thankfully I was able to get on some antibiotics, and by the following Wednesday I came into work, wheezing, woozy, and armed with over the counter cold medicine. I walked into the office that morning to discover that, while I was gone, an oversight had resulted in a problematic scheduling mix up. And long story short, it was my fault.
It was one of those mistakes where, when you realize what has happened, your brain gets mushy and you keep thinking that this has to be a dream, and that soon you’ll open your eyes in your dark bedroom, and see your cell phone plugged in on the nightstand and realize your snoozing husband has stolen the sheet and left you the quilt, and that it was all a dream. But it wasn’t.
The mushy brain feeling was soon replaced by an adrenaline rush of horror that remained with me for the rest of the day. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve made errors on the job before (everyone does, as I’ve been reminding myself ever since that day). This one was one of a kind. I spent the day going from person to person, apologizing, fixing, mending the error, making sure everyone knew why and how it happened and how it won’t happen again. I felt about two centimeters tall by the end of it all.
Truth be told, now that I have some perspective, the mistake wasn’t life-threatening, or job-threatening, and thankfully, all affected parties were extremely gracious about it, but the feeling of disappointment and shame in the air around me that day was so palpable, you could whittle a garden gnome out of it with a pocketknife.
5:00 pm eventually came. Miraculously, I was feeling a little better because I had survived. I actually remember thinking to myself that I’d been strong all day long, and that maybe I wouldn’t dissolve into tears when I finally got home.
I got in my car and drove out of the parking garage. As soon as I was at ground level, I hit the power button on my car stereo. I don't listen to the radio here too often. It’s usually inundated with Katy Perry. Meaning, three stations at any given time are usually playing a Katy Perry song, and that gets old really quick. I was expecting my CD player to play whatever was in there. But the radio was on.
And suddenly, Imagine Dragons was exploding out of my speakers. I did a huge double take when I saw that the indiglo screen on my dash read “105.3 FM” for radio instead of “Track 15” for CD. My brother-in-law Dan was singing “It’s Time” on one of the Bay Area’s most popular rock stations.
I began doing eight things at once. I dialed Harry on my phone, cranked up the song, started bellowing, “DAN’S ON THE RADIO! LIVE 105! TURN IT ON!”, and trying to remember to steer and observe traffic laws. Harry was like, “WHAT?!” and “ARE YOU SERIOUS?!” and “I’M TURNING IT ON NOW!”
To quote my SIL Annie, it was a very "That Thing You Do" moment. (P.S. I love Liv Tyler's outfit in this scene.)
I cannot count how many times I have thought about this day. I plan to celebrate with a prance around my apartment bellowing "Mama Pajama" by Paul Simon and a few hitchkicks and the best night's sleep I have had in months.
I don't think that working in an office is the hardest thing a person can do. But for nine months, I have worked harder than I ever thought I could work at something. And I've felt like I'm constantly falling short. And this feeling turns into the worst self-fulfilling prophecy, and I become so filled with self-doubt that I can barely function. I've spent a lot of time on my knees in bathroom stalls asking for help.
At the same time, I have worked with wonderful people, and I have been stretched and pulled more in this job than in any other. I've gotten comfortable being uncomfortable with the amount of work on my plate.
And now that the month of March is far behind us, I think my wee heart has healed enough to tell a story that still makes me cringe, ending with a redemptive lesson of hope and the tying up of loose ends that we Americans love so much in our stories.
A few days after Harry’s birthday back in March, I got very sick. I came home Friday evening from work with a high fever and a cough that was beginning to rattle my insides. We had to cancel our trapeze adventure I had planned for his birthday, and --to add insult to serious, phlegmy injury-- without a refund, people.
I remained bed-ridden for four days. Harry made soup, bought saltines, and wrote down my symptoms and read the back of every box of cold medicine at CVS before picking the most perfect one and buying it for me (true story).
Thankfully I was able to get on some antibiotics, and by the following Wednesday I came into work, wheezing, woozy, and armed with over the counter cold medicine. I walked into the office that morning to discover that, while I was gone, an oversight had resulted in a problematic scheduling mix up. And long story short, it was my fault.
It was one of those mistakes where, when you realize what has happened, your brain gets mushy and you keep thinking that this has to be a dream, and that soon you’ll open your eyes in your dark bedroom, and see your cell phone plugged in on the nightstand and realize your snoozing husband has stolen the sheet and left you the quilt, and that it was all a dream. But it wasn’t.
The mushy brain feeling was soon replaced by an adrenaline rush of horror that remained with me for the rest of the day. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve made errors on the job before (everyone does, as I’ve been reminding myself ever since that day). This one was one of a kind. I spent the day going from person to person, apologizing, fixing, mending the error, making sure everyone knew why and how it happened and how it won’t happen again. I felt about two centimeters tall by the end of it all.
Truth be told, now that I have some perspective, the mistake wasn’t life-threatening, or job-threatening, and thankfully, all affected parties were extremely gracious about it, but the feeling of disappointment and shame in the air around me that day was so palpable, you could whittle a garden gnome out of it with a pocketknife.
5:00 pm eventually came. Miraculously, I was feeling a little better because I had survived. I actually remember thinking to myself that I’d been strong all day long, and that maybe I wouldn’t dissolve into tears when I finally got home.
I got in my car and drove out of the parking garage. As soon as I was at ground level, I hit the power button on my car stereo. I don't listen to the radio here too often. It’s usually inundated with Katy Perry. Meaning, three stations at any given time are usually playing a Katy Perry song, and that gets old really quick. I was expecting my CD player to play whatever was in there. But the radio was on.
And suddenly, Imagine Dragons was exploding out of my speakers. I did a huge double take when I saw that the indiglo screen on my dash read “105.3 FM” for radio instead of “Track 15” for CD. My brother-in-law Dan was singing “It’s Time” on one of the Bay Area’s most popular rock stations.
I began doing eight things at once. I dialed Harry on my phone, cranked up the song, started bellowing, “DAN’S ON THE RADIO! LIVE 105! TURN IT ON!”, and trying to remember to steer and observe traffic laws. Harry was like, “WHAT?!” and “ARE YOU SERIOUS?!” and “I’M TURNING IT ON NOW!”
To quote my SIL Annie, it was a very "That Thing You Do" moment. (P.S. I love Liv Tyler's outfit in this scene.)
I tried to cover my face so the other drivers wouldn’t wonder who the crazy girl was who was sobbing, coughing, fiddling with her phone, and steering at the same time. But there was only so much I could do.
That moment, it was like the heavens opened and a giant clap of thunder erupted, and a FedEx shot down from above into my lap that said, “You’re going to be okay. Your life is bigger than this job. And it will get better.”
On literally the worst day of my professional life, I knew that someone was aware of me.
It could sound dumb to think that hearing a song on the radio translates to “God knows I had a rough day and this is His way of giving me a reminder that He gets me,” but it did, and for me, it still does.
In the days since, things have slowly ("slowly" being the operative word) gotten better. But they have gotten better, and I've gotten better at this job. Hopefully one day I'll look back on this and chuckle and wave my hand and say, "Ah, that one time!" and then sip some lemonade and rock in my rocking chair on my veranda as the sun sets. And then I'll take my dentures out and go to bed.
Tomorrow, it ends. And "Mama Pajama" will never have sounded so good.
Sunday, May 20, 2012
We're not dead.
Things have been crazy busy. I'm having a hard time believing that it's already the end of May, that graduation is around the corner, and that it's been two months since I last sent a shout out into the world of blogger.
And so, now, as Donny Osmond sang, "Let's get down to business to defeat the Huns."
Here’s a list of things we have done lately:
Things I am currently into:
We also had the distinct pleasure and honor of getting a long visit from Merzy, Jeff, and Jude this past weekend! I took some PTO from work (which was heavenly, and resulted in almost 100 unread emails that I get to catch up on tomorrow!) and had myself a wonderful time. We ate at Pluto's, watched a movie on the projector, ate Sprinkles cupcakes until we were blue in the face, and of course ooohed and ahhhed at all of Jude's tricks.
And so, now, as Donny Osmond sang, "Let's get down to business to defeat the Huns."
Here’s a list of things we have done lately:
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SF Giants games
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Cooking class date nights at Sur La Table with Harry- “Barcelona Nights.”
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Imagine Dragons concert. They sold out the Independent in San Francisco, which is no easy feat. We met up with Dan, Aja, et al in the city and found a BBQ place that made us want to cry, it was so good. Then we sat back and enjoyed the best live music ever written.
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| Nike running chip |
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Straws, which I steal shamelessly from In ‘N Out and the dining pavilion in the GSB at Stanford.
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| Wheat bread, which I make in 3 loaf batches now that I have 3 loaf pans (thank you Bed Bath and Beyond for timing your HUGE sale perfectly with my baking desires). |
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Diet Vernor’s Ginger Ale + Lime juice
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Dark Guittard chocolate chips- eaten straight out of the bag. These never seem to make it into cookies.
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| Mint nail polish |
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Watermelon-- I ate a 15 pounder almost completely by myself
over the course of this week and I am dying for more!
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Working on this chevron quilt from old college t-shirts
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Such a good book.
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Stuff Harry is into:
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| He even got me hooked. |
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| Open Mic Night |
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| The Law School Musical |
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Started writing code- and is now doubting his love for Law classes
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| Upside down push ups |
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| Here There and Everywhere |
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| These bad boys. |
We also had the distinct pleasure and honor of getting a long visit from Merzy, Jeff, and Jude this past weekend! I took some PTO from work (which was heavenly, and resulted in almost 100 unread emails that I get to catch up on tomorrow!) and had myself a wonderful time. We ate at Pluto's, watched a movie on the projector, ate Sprinkles cupcakes until we were blue in the face, and of course ooohed and ahhhed at all of Jude's tricks.
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| Sorry Jeff and Merz, I know you were here too but it's undocumented seeing as Juju stole the show with his adorable toddler ways. |
That basically brings us up to date. I'm tired now, so [insert snappy closing line here].
Sunday, March 25, 2012
Birthday Remix and Other Scattered Recountings
Harry's birthday recap: I took him to Flea Street Cafe in Menlo Park where we had a delicious dinner. It's the most unassuming restaurant from the outside, but man! My second course had locally grown golden and dark red beets sliced paper thin with layers of goat cheese in between them in four little towers. It was better than any dessert I've ever had. I was-- (speechless).
Then we came home and Harry opened gifts. One of these gifts was a flier I created and emailed him, letting him know that we are going to take a flying trapeze class. Yes, this is real. Video footage of his reaction is below (please disregard the messy desk in the background-- it was finals week, and not a good week for "clean up your stuff on the desk!" demands):
The sad part is that, because I've been saddled with a fever and cough to rival that of most chain smokers, we'll have to reschedule the Trapeze lesson. #epicbirthdayfail. Good thing I married a good sport.
On an unrelated note, I've gotten into a funny habit lately. I've actually been thinking about what life will be like when we no longer live in this apartment. Will we have a bathroom counter? A toilet with a tank? A dishwasher? A washer and drier? Enough counter space to accommodate a microwave (so that it doesn't have to sit on our dinner table)? Air conditioning? A (brace yourself) sofa that is three cushions long instead of two?
I think these things, and then my knee jerk reaction is: "Psh, no." I have this strange sense of acceptance. Acceptance of the fact that I just know that I will always live in 500 square feet, in this building, on the seventh floor, devoid of most modern day appliances. And, as Celine Dion warbled in the late 90's, "that's the way it is." Just like how Christian Bale will always be a Newsie to me, no matter how many Batman movies he makes. To this day, I look at him, and all I see is:
In other news, my cousin Becca and her main loving man Art have really done it. They have moved to Spain for the next year (ish) so Art can attend graduate school. This will make video chatting considerably more difficult since she is now perpetually eight hours ahead of me. The laws of Cousin-dom demand that I will probably have to go visit her at some point while they live there. And the laws of Cousin-dom are unflinchingly rigid.
What's funny about this is that Becca has lived in Spain before. In college, I went to London one winter, and the next winter, she went to Spain. And while she was in Spain, I went on my very first dates with Harry (about six months before we ever became an item). I emailed her about these dates with creepy and obsessive levels of detail. In fact, here is a choice tidbit. Written by me, to Becca, on February 20th, 2007 (necessary context: Harry had taken me to a little concert put on by some friends, and then we watched a movie back at his apartment with a few roommates. I also hadn't eaten dinner. Because I wasn't sure if we were going to be eating dinner together.):
around 11 pm i started feeling hungry, and when i feel hungry my stomach is amazingly noisy and there's nothing i can do to stop it. so i prayed hard- we're talking feverish continuous prayers- that it would either be quiet or i'd find a way to eat something so that it would stay quiet. thank goodness his cousin joe offered me a reese's peanut butter cup and i ate it and seriously becca, the rest of the time i felt like my stomach was about to start growling but it NEVER DID!! i was so suprised and so so so grateful. the Church is true.
And while I'm making nonsensical segues, look at what is next on my list of things to sew!
All you need are two yards of knit fabric and some elastic thread (unless you own a serger, in which case, forget the elastic thread, and in which case, that is awesome). I plan to make one in every color and wear nothing else this summer.
And with that, I leave you. If you were sitting here next to me, you'd hear my rumbling and hacking cough and see my vacant, glazed eyes and say what my sister E said to me last night when I saw her via FaceTime: "Sarah, you look soooo sick." It's so true, I couldn't even summon the emotional energy to be miffed.
Off to slide some more Tylenol down the old gullet,
S.A.R.
Then we came home and Harry opened gifts. One of these gifts was a flier I created and emailed him, letting him know that we are going to take a flying trapeze class. Yes, this is real. Video footage of his reaction is below (please disregard the messy desk in the background-- it was finals week, and not a good week for "clean up your stuff on the desk!" demands):
The sad part is that, because I've been saddled with a fever and cough to rival that of most chain smokers, we'll have to reschedule the Trapeze lesson. #epicbirthdayfail. Good thing I married a good sport.
On an unrelated note, I've gotten into a funny habit lately. I've actually been thinking about what life will be like when we no longer live in this apartment. Will we have a bathroom counter? A toilet with a tank? A dishwasher? A washer and drier? Enough counter space to accommodate a microwave (so that it doesn't have to sit on our dinner table)? Air conditioning? A (brace yourself) sofa that is three cushions long instead of two?
I think these things, and then my knee jerk reaction is: "Psh, no." I have this strange sense of acceptance. Acceptance of the fact that I just know that I will always live in 500 square feet, in this building, on the seventh floor, devoid of most modern day appliances. And, as Celine Dion warbled in the late 90's, "that's the way it is." Just like how Christian Bale will always be a Newsie to me, no matter how many Batman movies he makes. To this day, I look at him, and all I see is:
In other news, my cousin Becca and her main loving man Art have really done it. They have moved to Spain for the next year (ish) so Art can attend graduate school. This will make video chatting considerably more difficult since she is now perpetually eight hours ahead of me. The laws of Cousin-dom demand that I will probably have to go visit her at some point while they live there. And the laws of Cousin-dom are unflinchingly rigid.
What's funny about this is that Becca has lived in Spain before. In college, I went to London one winter, and the next winter, she went to Spain. And while she was in Spain, I went on my very first dates with Harry (about six months before we ever became an item). I emailed her about these dates with creepy and obsessive levels of detail. In fact, here is a choice tidbit. Written by me, to Becca, on February 20th, 2007 (necessary context: Harry had taken me to a little concert put on by some friends, and then we watched a movie back at his apartment with a few roommates. I also hadn't eaten dinner. Because I wasn't sure if we were going to be eating dinner together.):
around 11 pm i started feeling hungry, and when i feel hungry my stomach is amazingly noisy and there's nothing i can do to stop it. so i prayed hard- we're talking feverish continuous prayers- that it would either be quiet or i'd find a way to eat something so that it would stay quiet. thank goodness his cousin joe offered me a reese's peanut butter cup and i ate it and seriously becca, the rest of the time i felt like my stomach was about to start growling but it NEVER DID!! i was so suprised and so so so grateful. the Church is true.
And while I'm making nonsensical segues, look at what is next on my list of things to sew!
And with that, I leave you. If you were sitting here next to me, you'd hear my rumbling and hacking cough and see my vacant, glazed eyes and say what my sister E said to me last night when I saw her via FaceTime: "Sarah, you look soooo sick." It's so true, I couldn't even summon the emotional energy to be miffed.
Off to slide some more Tylenol down the old gullet,
S.A.R.
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
Twenty Seven
Today will consist of early morning fresh donuts, a shnazzy birthday dinner at [restaurant name will be hidden to preserve the suspense of any birthday boys who I'm married to who may be reading this before 6:45 pm tonight], and a few gifts, but it doesn't begin to show the love I have for him.
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| He humored me by smiling for the camera even though he was in the middle of a good book. |
Happy birthday to the best thing that ever happened to me.
Wednesday, February 29, 2012
That's sew hot right now.
I saw this on Pinterest a while back and thought I'd be adventurous.
So I went to the nearby (scary) Ross and found an XL men's sweatshirt for $4.99 and bought it.
I used a favorite fleece jacket as a guide and trimmed down the arms.
Then, I psyched myself out and got very very afraid that I wasn't going to do this very well at all and I put everything in a bag and put that bag in my closet.
Then, my sainted mother came to town, and helped me finish this baby in a few hours.
Then I saw another thing on Pinterest-- heart shaped elbow patches.
We each hand-stitched one on. While "Downton" played. That detail was very important. Overall, this was the best $6 investment of all time.
So I went to the nearby (scary) Ross and found an XL men's sweatshirt for $4.99 and bought it.
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| Before |
Then, I psyched myself out and got very very afraid that I wasn't going to do this very well at all and I put everything in a bag and put that bag in my closet.
Then, my sainted mother came to town, and helped me finish this baby in a few hours.
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| After |
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| After the After |
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(Here I am with a little Tae Bo action for all you Billy Blanks enthusiasts out there)
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