Today was an odd, reflective sort of day - not quite melancholy, not quite "in a funk," just deep in thought - meditative, if one can use that word when one is dealing with month-end reporting at work and two kids with cabin-fever at home.
Anyway, as talking heads discussed the events of last night ad nauseum and friends and family shared their thanks and support of the miliary community, I found myself reflecting back a decade ago (simply typing that makes me feel old), when so much of what was on the news this morning was part of my every day life in some manner.
10 years ago this spring I was in the middle of so many changes I wasn't sure where my life would end up. I was four or five months into a new job, in a new town (living, for the first and last time of my life, 5 minutes from the beach), among a new community of mostly active duty military families, acting in a leadership role of the children's organization at church (yes - someone actually put ME semi-in-charge of small humans at the tender age of not-much-over-twenty - me! Somehow we all survived and I'm pretty sure I'm a better person for it) and writing e-mails to Himself who was cruising around the Mediterranean in an enormous ship, eating his way through Europe.
It was an era of many defining moments - not the least of which was the horrible, terrifying events that would commence that fall. The events spearheaded by the man whose name seemed to roll off someone's tongue every third word this morning.
It has been awhile since I've taken out that portion of my life and examined it much. Today, I did just that, as I reflected on what the events of last evening meant to me - and how I felt about them. I thought about "the beginning" - where I was the evening I got word of the USS Cole bombing - and how sick I felt, as I had just begun my foray into life with active duty military friends, which made the whole thing seem that much more vivid and painful. I thought about the gauzy, laid-back summer of 2001, spent learning the ropes of adulthood and responsibility and real life. I thought about the pain and confusion that commenced with the terrorist attacks on 9/11. I thought about the people I knew deployed to the heated sands of the Middle East to fight a war without geopolitical boundaries - and of the constant reminders at home that the world had changed - the loaded fighter jets, the naked horizon devoid of ships at port, the startling absence of the menfolk in the church congregation ... And I thought about the day I stood on a cold, windy pier with a restless, 5-year-old Grover, peering into the horizon for the first sight of Himself's massive ship - returning home after a 7.5-month absence and a combat engagement in the Persian Gulf. I thought of the thousands of people crowded onto a little strip of land jutting into the mouth of the James River, crying and belting out the words to the Lee Greenwood anthem that makes me cry every time I hear the starting chords.
Mostly, however, the startling, unsettling news of last night made me think of the wonderful people who became permanent parts of the fabric of my life that year, in the days before the world changed forever. The women - mostly military spouses - who taught me about strength and love and loyalty and faith. The women, hailing from far-flung places, ideologies and experiences, who taught me about true friendship, support and patriotism. Women who shared tears and laughter and road trips and stories and e-mails and testimonies of love and faith and commitment.
Strangely, I found myself today not reflecting on the terrors brought about by the man whose life ended yesterday, but the friendships that came about the year he left his indelible mark on the world - the relationships that grew, blossomed and still nourish me today - a husband, two kids, a half dozen moves, several jobs and a few gray hairs later.
I truly believe God had a hand in helping weave together an afghan of warm hearts and open arms to prepare me to face the challenges that lay far beyond my young adulthood.
It was that, I reflected on today - that blanket of warmth, love, acceptance and friendship - the good things and people that helped shaped me into who I am now, and who I hope to raise my girls to be. Sometimes, out of the ashes of something terrible, a true treasure is discovered.
Today, I thought not of innocence and life lost, but of wisdom, friendship and faith found. To those who played a role in that - you know who you are - God Bless You, every one.
Showing posts with label Friends. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Friends. Show all posts
Monday, May 02, 2011
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
Rising Out of The Dust
In the past month I have reconnected with a lot of old friends rising from the dust of former lives - from middle school/junior high, high school, college and several former employers. It's alternately terribly exciting and dreadfully awful.
Why is it that nearly TWO DECADES after I first stepped foot into middle school, whenever I talk to someone from those four (mostly horrible) years I am sucked back into feeling like the awkward, Kmart-clothed, goofy, pegged-and-acid-washed-pants persona of my early adolescence? Seriously. Does one ever just grow up and forget that they were not the lone dork on the planet at that point - that 99.9% of the population could also lay claim to that title in some shape or form?
Perhaps my anxiety-ridden descent into madness each time I hear from a friend who knew me during that time period is because I went to junior high the same number of years as elementary school (if you don't count half-day Kindergarten), giving me more than ample time to develop my special brand of obsessive dorkiness. No one should spend the same number of years trapped in early adolescence as they did having lunch recess.
Maybe it is because I still firmly believe that the shirt my mom made me wear on the first day of 6th grade was THE UGLIEST SHIRT EVER and that it did indeed scar me for life.
Maybe it is because I still remember the multiple pairs of carefully coordinated slouch socks in a dozen different colors, the LA Gear high tops (conveniently the only pair of shoes in a 50-mile radius that fit) or the fact that I tripped and fell running track in PE twice a year, without fail, four years in a row (on a cinder track - I have the scars to prove it).
Maybe it is remembering the four years of braces, the lack of a single athletic bone in my body (small town athletes = royalty) or the fact that I was one of the tallest people on the planet three of those four years (ironically, once I was okay with being tall, I quit growing - and have been the same height for roughly 16 years).
Whatever it was, I've nearly gone comatose over the last month any time I've reconnected with someone who knew me between the ages of 11 and 14. Each time, I pray I won't hear the dreaded phrase, "You haven't changed at all!"
Why is it that nearly TWO DECADES after I first stepped foot into middle school, whenever I talk to someone from those four (mostly horrible) years I am sucked back into feeling like the awkward, Kmart-clothed, goofy, pegged-and-acid-washed-pants persona of my early adolescence? Seriously. Does one ever just grow up and forget that they were not the lone dork on the planet at that point - that 99.9% of the population could also lay claim to that title in some shape or form?
(As a side note, It should be said that I pity anyone who had to spend four years in middle school/junior high. Through a quirk of re-aligning schools and new construction, there were three classes of people who had to endure four years of acne- and hormone-fueled trauma just to get on with real life. Combine it with the year we all spent in high school together and it's rather amazing we didn't end up in either one giant lovefest for all of the obsessive-compulsive, algebra-sluffing, label-obsessing time we spent together).
Perhaps my anxiety-ridden descent into madness each time I hear from a friend who knew me during that time period is because I went to junior high the same number of years as elementary school (if you don't count half-day Kindergarten), giving me more than ample time to develop my special brand of obsessive dorkiness. No one should spend the same number of years trapped in early adolescence as they did having lunch recess.
Maybe it is because I still firmly believe that the shirt my mom made me wear on the first day of 6th grade was THE UGLIEST SHIRT EVER and that it did indeed scar me for life.
Maybe it is because I still remember the multiple pairs of carefully coordinated slouch socks in a dozen different colors, the LA Gear high tops (conveniently the only pair of shoes in a 50-mile radius that fit) or the fact that I tripped and fell running track in PE twice a year, without fail, four years in a row (on a cinder track - I have the scars to prove it).
Maybe it is remembering the four years of braces, the lack of a single athletic bone in my body (small town athletes = royalty) or the fact that I was one of the tallest people on the planet three of those four years (ironically, once I was okay with being tall, I quit growing - and have been the same height for roughly 16 years).
Whatever it was, I've nearly gone comatose over the last month any time I've reconnected with someone who knew me between the ages of 11 and 14. Each time, I pray I won't hear the dreaded phrase, "You haven't changed at all!"
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
Happy Hangover
I am too old to be going to bed at 2 a.m., as evidenced by the fact that my brain cells feel scrambled and my eyelids hurt this morning.
Woodstock and I went to visit Oliver & Kristin to help fold paper ... I mean help unpack (I'm glad to know I'm not the only one who saves moving supplies, in dreaded anticipation of the next move).
We arrived home at the unearthly hour of 12:50 a.m., at which point I left Woodstock snoozining fitfully in the car while I lugged the trash can and recycling container to the curb.
Unfortunately, our cars took up the entire driveway, so I had to "drive" the recycling container on the grass. In an attempt to miss the sprinkler heads, I went in a wide arc through the thickest part of the grass. Hit a bump and disaster! Pieces of cardboard and recycling debris all over the lawn. It looked like a box factory had exploded. I refrained from throwing a tantrum (out loud) and kicking the recycling container as I picked it all up. I did contemplate just pulling the blanket out of the trunk, building a fort out of cardboard and camping on the lawn.
I finally arrived inside the house at around 1:15 a.m. and went to put Woodstock to bed for the second time (she had spent most of our visit sleeping in Oliver & Kristin's closet). Except - now my tired little kiddo was WIDE AWAKE. I decided I was too tired to deal with it, and snuggled with her in my bed. Or tried to. Woodstock discovered my hair and, sitting right next to me, began pulling my hair, combing her fingers through it and pulling it over my face - then giggling hysterically when my breathing made it poof up.
This was not condusive to sleeping for either party. I put my hair up in a pony tail. She then began poking at my eyes, sticking her fingers up my nose (she hasn't discovered that HER nose has holes yet - but she loves the ones in mine...) and chattering up a storm. I rolled over and put the pillow over my head (a very adult thing to do).
Eventually, I got her to bed - in her own bed - sometime after 2 a.m. Neither one of us woke up until 8 a.m. I have to leave for work at 8:30. It made for a lovely morning.
I'm already contemplating naps, and I've only been at work for 90 minutes.
It's going to be a long day.
Woodstock and I went to visit Oliver & Kristin to help fold paper ... I mean help unpack (I'm glad to know I'm not the only one who saves moving supplies, in dreaded anticipation of the next move).
We arrived home at the unearthly hour of 12:50 a.m., at which point I left Woodstock snoozining fitfully in the car while I lugged the trash can and recycling container to the curb.
Unfortunately, our cars took up the entire driveway, so I had to "drive" the recycling container on the grass. In an attempt to miss the sprinkler heads, I went in a wide arc through the thickest part of the grass. Hit a bump and disaster! Pieces of cardboard and recycling debris all over the lawn. It looked like a box factory had exploded. I refrained from throwing a tantrum (out loud) and kicking the recycling container as I picked it all up. I did contemplate just pulling the blanket out of the trunk, building a fort out of cardboard and camping on the lawn.
I finally arrived inside the house at around 1:15 a.m. and went to put Woodstock to bed for the second time (she had spent most of our visit sleeping in Oliver & Kristin's closet). Except - now my tired little kiddo was WIDE AWAKE. I decided I was too tired to deal with it, and snuggled with her in my bed. Or tried to. Woodstock discovered my hair and, sitting right next to me, began pulling my hair, combing her fingers through it and pulling it over my face - then giggling hysterically when my breathing made it poof up.
This was not condusive to sleeping for either party. I put my hair up in a pony tail. She then began poking at my eyes, sticking her fingers up my nose (she hasn't discovered that HER nose has holes yet - but she loves the ones in mine...) and chattering up a storm. I rolled over and put the pillow over my head (a very adult thing to do).
Eventually, I got her to bed - in her own bed - sometime after 2 a.m. Neither one of us woke up until 8 a.m. I have to leave for work at 8:30. It made for a lovely morning.
I'm already contemplating naps, and I've only been at work for 90 minutes.
It's going to be a long day.
Monday, August 11, 2008
Brusselian Wax: An Intro
Giving a shout-out to a new blogger, who I can guarantee will keep life interesting, because her life is truly stranger (and definitely more exciting) than fiction.
The title alone should make you at least curious enough to view it: Brusselian Wax.
Phil is the former intern of my very good friend, Jane. She has a delightful sense of humor, a wit brought on by a globe-trotting life and has excellent taste in shoes. (Ask me sometime about a fabulous pair of red heels I own, thanks to Phil's assurance that they would be "perfect.")
She is currently living in Brussels, working as a communication manager and living the exotic, fabulous life of a twentysomething.
And already she's had quite the adventure.
Note to Phil: please keep blogging - I need a humorous diversion in my daily life.
The title alone should make you at least curious enough to view it: Brusselian Wax.
Phil is the former intern of my very good friend, Jane. She has a delightful sense of humor, a wit brought on by a globe-trotting life and has excellent taste in shoes. (Ask me sometime about a fabulous pair of red heels I own, thanks to Phil's assurance that they would be "perfect.")
She is currently living in Brussels, working as a communication manager and living the exotic, fabulous life of a twentysomething.
And already she's had quite the adventure.
Note to Phil: please keep blogging - I need a humorous diversion in my daily life.
Sunday, August 10, 2008
Operation Import Virginia
Last summer, I informed Heidi with excited glee that friends of ours from Virginia were also moving to Salt Lake City. Together we chatted - wouldn't it be great if we could just import our friends from Virginia - thereby eliminating the need to go great distances to visit them?
It appears we are on to something.
A couple of months ago, I came home and told Himself, "I have something to tell you that you'll never believe in a million years."
Without missing a beat, Himself said, "Oliver and Kristin are moving to Happy Valley."
Apparently, we agreed on that news being the most surprising thing we could think of. If you know them, you probably aren't surprised at that.
Last night, I got to again welcome Oliver and Kristin from Virginia. It was surreal. It was a whirlwind of young children and old adults who had last (and first) all been together nearly six years ago. It was a quick flashback to 14 months ago when I arrived, tired, sore, swollen and vowing to never drive more than an hour or two a day. It was a sense of delight that two of my favorite people were now less than an hour's drive away. It was a sense of the void they surely left in our beloved Chantilly congregation when they departed. It was a giddy sense of "Hoorah! More Virginia friends!"
Most importantly, it was an itch to play Killer Bunnies.
Apparently the barely-discussed, but often-pondered Operation Import Virginia is off to a grand start.
It appears we are on to something.
A couple of months ago, I came home and told Himself, "I have something to tell you that you'll never believe in a million years."
Without missing a beat, Himself said, "Oliver and Kristin are moving to Happy Valley."
Apparently, we agreed on that news being the most surprising thing we could think of. If you know them, you probably aren't surprised at that.
Last night, I got to again welcome Oliver and Kristin from Virginia. It was surreal. It was a whirlwind of young children and old adults who had last (and first) all been together nearly six years ago. It was a quick flashback to 14 months ago when I arrived, tired, sore, swollen and vowing to never drive more than an hour or two a day. It was a sense of delight that two of my favorite people were now less than an hour's drive away. It was a sense of the void they surely left in our beloved Chantilly congregation when they departed. It was a giddy sense of "Hoorah! More Virginia friends!"
Most importantly, it was an itch to play Killer Bunnies.
Apparently the barely-discussed, but often-pondered Operation Import Virginia is off to a grand start.
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
The Misfits
(Those of you dying to see Baby Girl, click here for a post which required I use pictures to be able to adequately explain my venture into mobile baby territory).
I met Jane when I was a senior in college. She, a year older (and, she would add "wiser," to which I will concede in areas of somehow knowing the title and author of ever book she's ever read, where to find all of the Sonics on I-95 and how to keep Boris, her now-deceased ancient heap o' metal running for years beyond his prime), was a freshman.
I was a PR major - a transfer from another college with a bad case of senioritis, fresh off my year of "living large" in the DC area and not quite willing to settle down in Happy Valley. She was a twentysomething Freshman with several years of business experience under her belt.
We both lived with relatives in The Tree Streets, a few blocks apart. We met at church, seemingly the only two people who weren't raised in Happy Valley nor were living at home. We were, for lack of better terminology, The Misfits.
We went to the 50-cent movies on Tuesday nights and watched every ridiculous teen movie made that year (It was the year that inspired the parody Not Another Teen Movie). We found every semi-decent restaurant in Happy Valley (which, at the time, was a list that had fewer options than fingers to count them on). When she moved into the Cat Lady's basement, I mourned the fate of having one's house smell like feline urine. When she went to visit her family in California, she introduced me to Trader Joe's - and all its goodness - chocolate cookies, tortellini and a sparkling fruit beverage I haven't had in nearly a decade. I dragged her home one weekend to experience the true Great Outdoors in the southern part of the state.
I graduated and fled East. She, needing a major that didn't involve calculus, chose mine. We compared notes. She came to visit my beach-side home (Beach-side as in "apartment near the beach" not "home ON the beach") and was the recipient of my infamous "DC in less than 24 hours" tour, including a wild drive-by of the White House.
Several years later, she called "Know of a place to live? I'm moving to DC." I called Himself who said, "We have a second master suite we can't afford." And we became roommates in an odd set of circumstances.
Together we've explored shared passions for road trips, free tickets to anything that might be remotely labeled "cultured", used book sales, the McLean Community Flea Market, Bilbo Baggins, breakfast at Eastern Market, Sonic Strawberry Limeades, Restaurant Week, Law & Order anything, Project Runway, and finding obscure things to do in DC - like the White House garden tour.
Jane learned that Himself and I would work for food - and we greedily ate up her offers to pay us in Chipotle, Bilbo Baggins and Thai takeout to clean her bathroom, detail her car, help her replace Boris (aforementioned heap o' metal) and more. She and Himself delighted in teasing me about things about which I had no idea (usually involving things I really did not end up wanting to know. She endeared herself to Son for life - aiding and abetting his love for all things McDonalds.
I left her double-stuffed Chocolate oreos alone (except while pregnant) and she remained apathetic about my shrimp obsession, leaving more of our individual loves for both of us.
She loves the One True Grocery at least as much as I do, and frequently now rubs it in that she lives very near it, while I live thousands of miles away.
We talked business strategy and swapped managerial horror stories (we shared not only the same degree from the same university, but a shared dabbling in real estate at one point) and collectively drove Himself up the wall. In turn, Himself loved Jane for mellowing me out, satisfying my need to feel cultured (Himself would rather stick needles in his eyes than attend a symphony) and for keeping me from whining about not having any friends (which I now do with alarming regularity).
Jane makes excellent stuffed tomatoes and salsa bread and can cook a full turkey in no time at all. She can recite (nearly from memory) anything written in The Washington Post on any given day and can navigate Georgetown with her eyes shut. "Mileage" has no meaning to her, happily driving Boris' replacement on a whim to visit Mickey Mouse, the Statue of Liberty (twice), Savannah's lush gardens and historical sites, the beaches of North Carolina and dozens of other places up and down the Eastern seaboard. If you had gas money, Jane had transportation.
Even through all of our adventures - we remained The Misfits. Passionately opinionated, ridiculously perfectionist in all things business - we were short and tall, single and married, broke and more broke, the nearly youngest of 9 and the oldest of 4, a night owl and a morning person, a devoted fan of sci-fi and a fan of biographies/nonfiction narratives. One of those friends who hold at least a few embarrassing stories as aces up her sleeve.
Today, Jane is officially OLD.
Happy Birthday! I miss you.
I met Jane when I was a senior in college. She, a year older (and, she would add "wiser," to which I will concede in areas of somehow knowing the title and author of ever book she's ever read, where to find all of the Sonics on I-95 and how to keep Boris, her now-deceased ancient heap o' metal running for years beyond his prime), was a freshman.
I was a PR major - a transfer from another college with a bad case of senioritis, fresh off my year of "living large" in the DC area and not quite willing to settle down in Happy Valley. She was a twentysomething Freshman with several years of business experience under her belt.
We both lived with relatives in The Tree Streets, a few blocks apart. We met at church, seemingly the only two people who weren't raised in Happy Valley nor were living at home. We were, for lack of better terminology, The Misfits.
We went to the 50-cent movies on Tuesday nights and watched every ridiculous teen movie made that year (It was the year that inspired the parody Not Another Teen Movie). We found every semi-decent restaurant in Happy Valley (which, at the time, was a list that had fewer options than fingers to count them on). When she moved into the Cat Lady's basement, I mourned the fate of having one's house smell like feline urine. When she went to visit her family in California, she introduced me to Trader Joe's - and all its goodness - chocolate cookies, tortellini and a sparkling fruit beverage I haven't had in nearly a decade. I dragged her home one weekend to experience the true Great Outdoors in the southern part of the state.
I graduated and fled East. She, needing a major that didn't involve calculus, chose mine. We compared notes. She came to visit my beach-side home (Beach-side as in "apartment near the beach" not "home ON the beach") and was the recipient of my infamous "DC in less than 24 hours" tour, including a wild drive-by of the White House.
Several years later, she called "Know of a place to live? I'm moving to DC." I called Himself who said, "We have a second master suite we can't afford." And we became roommates in an odd set of circumstances.
Together we've explored shared passions for road trips, free tickets to anything that might be remotely labeled "cultured", used book sales, the McLean Community Flea Market, Bilbo Baggins, breakfast at Eastern Market, Sonic Strawberry Limeades, Restaurant Week, Law & Order anything, Project Runway, and finding obscure things to do in DC - like the White House garden tour.
Jane learned that Himself and I would work for food - and we greedily ate up her offers to pay us in Chipotle, Bilbo Baggins and Thai takeout to clean her bathroom, detail her car, help her replace Boris (aforementioned heap o' metal) and more. She and Himself delighted in teasing me about things about which I had no idea (usually involving things I really did not end up wanting to know. She endeared herself to Son for life - aiding and abetting his love for all things McDonalds.
I left her double-stuffed Chocolate oreos alone (except while pregnant) and she remained apathetic about my shrimp obsession, leaving more of our individual loves for both of us.
She loves the One True Grocery at least as much as I do, and frequently now rubs it in that she lives very near it, while I live thousands of miles away.
We talked business strategy and swapped managerial horror stories (we shared not only the same degree from the same university, but a shared dabbling in real estate at one point) and collectively drove Himself up the wall. In turn, Himself loved Jane for mellowing me out, satisfying my need to feel cultured (Himself would rather stick needles in his eyes than attend a symphony) and for keeping me from whining about not having any friends (which I now do with alarming regularity).
Jane makes excellent stuffed tomatoes and salsa bread and can cook a full turkey in no time at all. She can recite (nearly from memory) anything written in The Washington Post on any given day and can navigate Georgetown with her eyes shut. "Mileage" has no meaning to her, happily driving Boris' replacement on a whim to visit Mickey Mouse, the Statue of Liberty (twice), Savannah's lush gardens and historical sites, the beaches of North Carolina and dozens of other places up and down the Eastern seaboard. If you had gas money, Jane had transportation.
Even through all of our adventures - we remained The Misfits. Passionately opinionated, ridiculously perfectionist in all things business - we were short and tall, single and married, broke and more broke, the nearly youngest of 9 and the oldest of 4, a night owl and a morning person, a devoted fan of sci-fi and a fan of biographies/nonfiction narratives. One of those friends who hold at least a few embarrassing stories as aces up her sleeve.
Today, Jane is officially OLD.
Happy Birthday! I miss you.
Thursday, February 21, 2008
Old Friends & Introductions, Part II
...Continued from here.
* The Brown Brigade - If I could be like anyone when I grow up, it would be to have the literary genius, the talent with words and the delightfully brilliant son of Julie. One of my best nights this month involved nibbling on Chinese food, catching up and just plain enjoying Bruce & Julie (and Colter's!) company. Our lives are certainly more dull without them as neighbors, now that we've moved to The Frontier.
* The Nordstrom Family - Megan is someone else I've known since junior high, and our worlds keep colliding here and there. We had the briefest of chances almost 18 months to catch up while she was in Maryland visiting family. Neither of us had been able to make our class reunion, so we indulged ourselves in a little catching up of our own - swapping stories about friends and classmates and laughing about wonderful memories of days gone by.
* The Rollins Rundown - More friends from Virginia, who are now living their lives in the wonders of South America. If it weren't for Fiona's delightful posts about cockroaches (delightful in her ability to make something grossly disturbing be actually funny), I might be envious. As it is, I don't do cockroaches. A definite "must read" if you have any interest in children, odd facts, history, culture and great ways to kill cockroaches.
* The Welcome Matt - Matt and I shared our senior year at the school down the road together. We were members of what I am convinced was the MOST functional senior practicum/thesis team in history. No drama, no whining, everyone shared equal loads - probably because I was the only female on the team. We worked ourselves nearly to death, but pulled out an A - and our project still lives on in legend as it is used as an example of what should be done. Matt now lives in Virginia, practices law in DC, is a Harvard law alum and a dad to two little girls. I read his blog more as an education than anything, as he's one of the most intelligent people I know. I also borrow liberally from his suggested reading list to supplement my own literary habits.
* Twinkies - More Virginia friends, who have a houseful of girls. How they manage three under three, I'm not entirely sure. Somehow though, there is always a great deal of fun and laughter that goes on.
* What A Wonderful World - Heidi has the most enviable collection of shoes on the planet. Many Sundays came and went where I found myself silently coveting her shoes from across the room. I don't doubt that even though she's now the mother of twin toddler boys that her shoe collection is still to be envied.
* The Brown Brigade - If I could be like anyone when I grow up, it would be to have the literary genius, the talent with words and the delightfully brilliant son of Julie. One of my best nights this month involved nibbling on Chinese food, catching up and just plain enjoying Bruce & Julie (and Colter's!) company. Our lives are certainly more dull without them as neighbors, now that we've moved to The Frontier.
* The Nordstrom Family - Megan is someone else I've known since junior high, and our worlds keep colliding here and there. We had the briefest of chances almost 18 months to catch up while she was in Maryland visiting family. Neither of us had been able to make our class reunion, so we indulged ourselves in a little catching up of our own - swapping stories about friends and classmates and laughing about wonderful memories of days gone by.
* The Rollins Rundown - More friends from Virginia, who are now living their lives in the wonders of South America. If it weren't for Fiona's delightful posts about cockroaches (delightful in her ability to make something grossly disturbing be actually funny), I might be envious. As it is, I don't do cockroaches. A definite "must read" if you have any interest in children, odd facts, history, culture and great ways to kill cockroaches.
* The Welcome Matt - Matt and I shared our senior year at the school down the road together. We were members of what I am convinced was the MOST functional senior practicum/thesis team in history. No drama, no whining, everyone shared equal loads - probably because I was the only female on the team. We worked ourselves nearly to death, but pulled out an A - and our project still lives on in legend as it is used as an example of what should be done. Matt now lives in Virginia, practices law in DC, is a Harvard law alum and a dad to two little girls. I read his blog more as an education than anything, as he's one of the most intelligent people I know. I also borrow liberally from his suggested reading list to supplement my own literary habits.
* Twinkies - More Virginia friends, who have a houseful of girls. How they manage three under three, I'm not entirely sure. Somehow though, there is always a great deal of fun and laughter that goes on.
* What A Wonderful World - Heidi has the most enviable collection of shoes on the planet. Many Sundays came and went where I found myself silently coveting her shoes from across the room. I don't doubt that even though she's now the mother of twin toddler boys that her shoe collection is still to be envied.
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
Old Friends & Introductions
I love the Internet and its ability to connect (and keep connected) people, regardless of geographic distance. I especially love it since I am terrible at keeping in touch with people, although they are continually in my thoughts.
Today was a day for reconnecting with old friends - a Facebook invite from someone I went to high school with, a note from an old friend in Virginia, whom I know longer remember how we met, and, best of all, an e-mail from a woman I have known for 7 years, since first moving to Virginia Beach. She and another group of women posted to a site for Himself's ship, eons ago when he was in the Navy. Slowly, we all began to meet. We bonded together as the ship and its sailors (and our husbands, boyfriends and fiances) departed and returned in a seemingly endless cycle of work-ups and deployments. I was young, in a new city, knowing no one. They were older, wise and full of life.
Time went on, and I lost contact. Until today. I received a wonderful e-mail from one of the women, who filled me in on the lives of the rest of the group and the happy and sad events of the past few years. It reminded me how much these women had become family for that year, how much "family" has been constructed of assorted friends of all ages, backgrounds and beliefs over the past decade.
It made me think about the people whose blogs I read here - the online community that allows me to associate, to connect, to revel in good friends. It's high time, I thought, that I should make introductions.
* 5 under 7 - Beth has THE cutest kids on the planet (and as a mother of a cute kid, I should know). Her little girl, Lauren, was in our nursery class in Virginia. She was independent, charming and smart - and a true girl with every fiber of her being. The entire family sat every Sunday on the front row - something I cannot fathom surviving, even with only one little girl of my own.
* Abby's Road Trip - Abby is a member of another site I belong to, and began chronicling her cross-country motorcycle trip last summer. Her blog fills my fascination with all things road trip, as well as reminding me of the wonderful times I spent in the motorcycle industry several years ago.
* Angela & Steve - Angela and I met at Heidi's wedding reception 5+ years ago, and became friends when Heidi moved away and we moved to Northern VA to take her place. We are about as sporadically likely to keep in touch as we were to see each other, but her sense of humor and her passion for life are intoxicating.
* Chronicles of the Flood - For those of you who haven't heard the story we love to tell for the shock value of it, Himself and Heidi dated once upon a time. To explain beyond that how she and I met would take a novel of epic proportion. Suffice it to say, she has remained one of my closest friends over the six years we've known each other, culminating in Heidi being my labor coach. If we had Godmothers (or Fairy Godmothers), Heidi would be Baby Girl's.
* Large Plates - Oliver & Kristen met Himself way back when as well (back when he and Heidi were dating). Fast forward a few years, and I meet them at Heidi's wedding. Fast forward a few more years, and we end up living in the same neighborhood, attending the same church, and collecting their friends. I held baby Clara when she was just hours old (See "A Very Important Event") and was amazed to see her two weeks ago looking oh-so-grown up. Oliver and Kristen together create the most perfect assembly of conversational geniuses I've ever known.
* My Friend Andy - This blog is written by a woman I've only "known" virtually, who belongs to the same site that Abby and I do. She has amazing writing talent and a soul that truly knows the pure meaning of friendship.
* Stef's Stuff - While I've known Stefanie since junior high, my greatest memories of her come from our freshman year of college when she continually wowed my roommate and I with her creative ways to stay in touch - a letter mailed in a Last Will & Testament envelope, one mailed on calculator tape inside a paper towel tube, etc. Not to be outdone, we composed a letter using an entire roll of toilet paper. A few years later, she left me a key to her house and notes with before photos to tour her remodeled home while she was out of town and I was passing through. Effectively, I've seen her house in the last decade, but not her. Stef was also my very first friend with e-mail. Nearly 12 years and seven kids later (six hers, one mine), we still manage to collide once in awhile.
**TO BE CONTINUED**
Today was a day for reconnecting with old friends - a Facebook invite from someone I went to high school with, a note from an old friend in Virginia, whom I know longer remember how we met, and, best of all, an e-mail from a woman I have known for 7 years, since first moving to Virginia Beach. She and another group of women posted to a site for Himself's ship, eons ago when he was in the Navy. Slowly, we all began to meet. We bonded together as the ship and its sailors (and our husbands, boyfriends and fiances) departed and returned in a seemingly endless cycle of work-ups and deployments. I was young, in a new city, knowing no one. They were older, wise and full of life.
Time went on, and I lost contact. Until today. I received a wonderful e-mail from one of the women, who filled me in on the lives of the rest of the group and the happy and sad events of the past few years. It reminded me how much these women had become family for that year, how much "family" has been constructed of assorted friends of all ages, backgrounds and beliefs over the past decade.
It made me think about the people whose blogs I read here - the online community that allows me to associate, to connect, to revel in good friends. It's high time, I thought, that I should make introductions.
* 5 under 7 - Beth has THE cutest kids on the planet (and as a mother of a cute kid, I should know). Her little girl, Lauren, was in our nursery class in Virginia. She was independent, charming and smart - and a true girl with every fiber of her being. The entire family sat every Sunday on the front row - something I cannot fathom surviving, even with only one little girl of my own.
* Abby's Road Trip - Abby is a member of another site I belong to, and began chronicling her cross-country motorcycle trip last summer. Her blog fills my fascination with all things road trip, as well as reminding me of the wonderful times I spent in the motorcycle industry several years ago.
* Angela & Steve - Angela and I met at Heidi's wedding reception 5+ years ago, and became friends when Heidi moved away and we moved to Northern VA to take her place. We are about as sporadically likely to keep in touch as we were to see each other, but her sense of humor and her passion for life are intoxicating.
* Chronicles of the Flood - For those of you who haven't heard the story we love to tell for the shock value of it, Himself and Heidi dated once upon a time. To explain beyond that how she and I met would take a novel of epic proportion. Suffice it to say, she has remained one of my closest friends over the six years we've known each other, culminating in Heidi being my labor coach. If we had Godmothers (or Fairy Godmothers), Heidi would be Baby Girl's.
* Large Plates - Oliver & Kristen met Himself way back when as well (back when he and Heidi were dating). Fast forward a few years, and I meet them at Heidi's wedding. Fast forward a few more years, and we end up living in the same neighborhood, attending the same church, and collecting their friends. I held baby Clara when she was just hours old (See "A Very Important Event") and was amazed to see her two weeks ago looking oh-so-grown up. Oliver and Kristen together create the most perfect assembly of conversational geniuses I've ever known.
* My Friend Andy - This blog is written by a woman I've only "known" virtually, who belongs to the same site that Abby and I do. She has amazing writing talent and a soul that truly knows the pure meaning of friendship.
* Stef's Stuff - While I've known Stefanie since junior high, my greatest memories of her come from our freshman year of college when she continually wowed my roommate and I with her creative ways to stay in touch - a letter mailed in a Last Will & Testament envelope, one mailed on calculator tape inside a paper towel tube, etc. Not to be outdone, we composed a letter using an entire roll of toilet paper. A few years later, she left me a key to her house and notes with before photos to tour her remodeled home while she was out of town and I was passing through. Effectively, I've seen her house in the last decade, but not her. Stef was also my very first friend with e-mail. Nearly 12 years and seven kids later (six hers, one mine), we still manage to collide once in awhile.
**TO BE CONTINUED**
Thursday, January 10, 2008
Mind Reader
Today was horrible beyond description, but two good things happened:
* I made EXCELLENT fajitas with all the trimmings (in between rescuing Himself from work, picking up the car at the mechanic's, tending to Baby Girl's fever from her shots and getting her to bed) - refried beans, homemade guac, sour cream, cheese and beef/chicken/shrimp fajita filling with red and green peppers and onions.
* I got a package in the mail.
A wonderfully sophisticated woman, whom I secretly envy, from a site I post on, sent me a beautiful sushi set, a sushi cookbook (one that I don't already own) a gift for Baby Girl, a beautiful tray and an ornament - she was my replacement secret santa from the Christmas exchange we did on the site.
It could not have been a more perfect gift (after Baby Girl's weight check on Monday, I have plans to do part of my next week's grocery shopping at the Asian market to put the eel in my freezer to good use) or come at a more perfect time.
Baby Girl and I sat on the floor and tore into the box. Okay, she watched and laughed when I crinkled up the paper. I tore into the box like a little kid on Christmas morning.
At that moment, I had something beautiful and wonderful and exciting - just for me.
* I made EXCELLENT fajitas with all the trimmings (in between rescuing Himself from work, picking up the car at the mechanic's, tending to Baby Girl's fever from her shots and getting her to bed) - refried beans, homemade guac, sour cream, cheese and beef/chicken/shrimp fajita filling with red and green peppers and onions.
* I got a package in the mail.
A wonderfully sophisticated woman, whom I secretly envy, from a site I post on, sent me a beautiful sushi set, a sushi cookbook (one that I don't already own) a gift for Baby Girl, a beautiful tray and an ornament - she was my replacement secret santa from the Christmas exchange we did on the site.
It could not have been a more perfect gift (after Baby Girl's weight check on Monday, I have plans to do part of my next week's grocery shopping at the Asian market to put the eel in my freezer to good use) or come at a more perfect time.
Baby Girl and I sat on the floor and tore into the box. Okay, she watched and laughed when I crinkled up the paper. I tore into the box like a little kid on Christmas morning.
At that moment, I had something beautiful and wonderful and exciting - just for me.
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
A Very Important Event
One year ago today, for the very first time, my biological clock let out a shrill screech. I sat in the hospital with little Clara cradled in my arms and wished for a baby of my own.
For most of my nearly 30 years I had assumed I would have children - though my biological clock apparently didn't have battery back-up and my maternal instincts never really manifested themselves. Yes, I dressed my teddy bear in clothes - but it was teddy, not a doll. Yes, I played house, but my sister was always "the mom." I was always the aunt or some other cool person who went off to work. Yes, I played Barbies, but my Barbies always changed outfits 76 times a day and never had a Ken doll or kids (the Ken doll was my sister's). Clearly, I was not cut from the "mothering" cloth. I was much more interested in designing roadways and buildings for my brother's matchbox cars, or cooking in the fabulous play kitchen I had, than I was in tending to a wailing baby doll.
We had been trying for a baby for awhile, but even then my biological clock hadn't even so much as ticked. Deep down, I wondered why I'd never felt that pit-of-your-stomach primordial longing for a baby.
It happened that night in the dim hospital room of a suburban Virginia hospital, holding the much-longed for baby of dear friends. I later remarked to Himself that indeed I had a biological clock and it was going off non-stop.
Five days later, we learned of Baby Girl's pending arrival.
It couldn't have happened in a more perfect way than to have the sweet confirmation of my pending motherhood manifested only days after I realized that I indeed had that deep, longing yearning for a child of my own.
Happy Birthday Clara. You will always hold a special place in my heart.
For most of my nearly 30 years I had assumed I would have children - though my biological clock apparently didn't have battery back-up and my maternal instincts never really manifested themselves. Yes, I dressed my teddy bear in clothes - but it was teddy, not a doll. Yes, I played house, but my sister was always "the mom." I was always the aunt or some other cool person who went off to work. Yes, I played Barbies, but my Barbies always changed outfits 76 times a day and never had a Ken doll or kids (the Ken doll was my sister's). Clearly, I was not cut from the "mothering" cloth. I was much more interested in designing roadways and buildings for my brother's matchbox cars, or cooking in the fabulous play kitchen I had, than I was in tending to a wailing baby doll.
We had been trying for a baby for awhile, but even then my biological clock hadn't even so much as ticked. Deep down, I wondered why I'd never felt that pit-of-your-stomach primordial longing for a baby.
It happened that night in the dim hospital room of a suburban Virginia hospital, holding the much-longed for baby of dear friends. I later remarked to Himself that indeed I had a biological clock and it was going off non-stop.
Five days later, we learned of Baby Girl's pending arrival.
It couldn't have happened in a more perfect way than to have the sweet confirmation of my pending motherhood manifested only days after I realized that I indeed had that deep, longing yearning for a child of my own.
Happy Birthday Clara. You will always hold a special place in my heart.
Friday, November 02, 2007
Homesick
Can one be homesick for a place in which one has no family, no juvenile roots, no actual claim to roots at all, in fact?
If so, I am homesick.
It is ironic, really, that this week I have had an especially strong pining for all things (okay, most things - I certainly don't miss the traffic) DC. At this moment most of my immediate family are on their way to visit for the weekend. Tomorrow at this time, some of Himself's family will arrive. It is my first time as an adult hosting any sort of family function (try not to burst out laughing picturing a family reunion at the Hobbit Hole a la Bilbo Baggin's birthday party).
And yet ... I am homesick for my other home. While Utah might be my childhood and collegiate home, the Frontier itself is not either of those. Nor is it my home of adulthood. I have even fewer roots in The Frontier than I do in DC. Himself and I met when we were both living in the DC metro area. Most of our mutual friends are there. Most of our married life thus far was spent there. Our second family is there - a comical group of friends cobbled together by our mostly mutual expatriate status.
We will celebrate the birth of Baby Girl at her blessing in church this Sunday. We formally name her and bless her and celebrate the miracle of her life. I am beyond happy to be able to share the experience with our families (and a few friends who have also migrated to The Frontier). However, I have found myself longing this week for the family of sorts we left behind in Virginia. I feel as sad celebrating Baby Girl without them as I would without my immediate family.
I miss the variegated friendships, the deep relationships that formed in absence of any local family members. I miss my feeling of confidence and independence and passion about the area in which we lived. I miss the second mothers, best friends, close colleagues, food buddies and mentors I left behind.
The rising emotional significance of this weekend - the first meeting of my family and Himself's family, the celebration of Baby Girl, my first family hosting responsibilities - has paved the way for strong feelings of longing for my two worlds to collide - the world of my carefree, confident young adulthood and the world of my childhood, which is now the backdrop for my child's childhood.
I do not question the move. Clearly, we have been blessed beyond comprehension. I am continually reminded of all of the magnificent things that have happened since our arrival in The Frontier. Yet it does nothing to diminish the yearning I have for the relationships and memories I left behind five months ago. I wonder if the pioneers - the first permanent settlers in The Frontier - felt something akin to what is going through my heart and soul this week. A profound gratitude for their arrival in The Frontier and everything it meant, mixed with a nostalgia for what they had left behind.
I am homesick.
If so, I am homesick.
It is ironic, really, that this week I have had an especially strong pining for all things (okay, most things - I certainly don't miss the traffic) DC. At this moment most of my immediate family are on their way to visit for the weekend. Tomorrow at this time, some of Himself's family will arrive. It is my first time as an adult hosting any sort of family function (try not to burst out laughing picturing a family reunion at the Hobbit Hole a la Bilbo Baggin's birthday party).
And yet ... I am homesick for my other home. While Utah might be my childhood and collegiate home, the Frontier itself is not either of those. Nor is it my home of adulthood. I have even fewer roots in The Frontier than I do in DC. Himself and I met when we were both living in the DC metro area. Most of our mutual friends are there. Most of our married life thus far was spent there. Our second family is there - a comical group of friends cobbled together by our mostly mutual expatriate status.
We will celebrate the birth of Baby Girl at her blessing in church this Sunday. We formally name her and bless her and celebrate the miracle of her life. I am beyond happy to be able to share the experience with our families (and a few friends who have also migrated to The Frontier). However, I have found myself longing this week for the family of sorts we left behind in Virginia. I feel as sad celebrating Baby Girl without them as I would without my immediate family.
I miss the variegated friendships, the deep relationships that formed in absence of any local family members. I miss my feeling of confidence and independence and passion about the area in which we lived. I miss the second mothers, best friends, close colleagues, food buddies and mentors I left behind.
The rising emotional significance of this weekend - the first meeting of my family and Himself's family, the celebration of Baby Girl, my first family hosting responsibilities - has paved the way for strong feelings of longing for my two worlds to collide - the world of my carefree, confident young adulthood and the world of my childhood, which is now the backdrop for my child's childhood.
I do not question the move. Clearly, we have been blessed beyond comprehension. I am continually reminded of all of the magnificent things that have happened since our arrival in The Frontier. Yet it does nothing to diminish the yearning I have for the relationships and memories I left behind five months ago. I wonder if the pioneers - the first permanent settlers in The Frontier - felt something akin to what is going through my heart and soul this week. A profound gratitude for their arrival in The Frontier and everything it meant, mixed with a nostalgia for what they had left behind.
I am homesick.
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
One October Sunday
Nine years ago this week, I met someone who radically altered the course of my life.
I was living in the Washington, DC, area and nearing the end of what was supposed to be a short-term internship. I met Shaliece on a Sunday. The Friday before, I had been offered a promotion and an extension - as the Resident Advisor and Lead Intern Coordinator. I loved DC, but wasn't sure I wanted to venture that far out of my comfort zone - staying for a year.
Shaliece and I attended the same church congregation for young adults. We met at an after-church potluck social that had some ridiculously comedic name. It was her first Sunday. I knew very few people, as I primarily let my Pilot-personality roommate (see here for more about the Pilot/Wingman personality theory) do the socializing for me. It so happened we were the only two people who didn't know anyone else (my roommate, for some reason, wasn't there), so we naturally gravitated to one another.
I went home that night and realized that I really wanted to stay, because I now had a friend that hadn't come courtesy of my roommate. That, combined with my lifelong fascination with all things DC, resulted in me accpeting the position and staying.
Every single thing that has happened in my life since the fall of 1998 resulted from that decision, made primarily because I found a friend in Shaliece and somehow knew the two of us would become inseparable.
Shaliece and I have gone through a lot together. Looking for, finding and losing love, divorce, betrayal, heartache, dark lonely days and days filled with sunshine and laughter. Wild adventures and middle-of-the-night talks. Job issues, moves, boyfriends, fiances, husbands, children. We adventured all over DC, went on road trips and became the laughing stock of the church volleyball team because we cared more about talking than playing. It seemed everything could be endured if the two of us tackled it together. Nothing seemed too outlandish. One particularly memorable trip found us in rurual western Virginia staying in the dorm room of two girls we'd never met. A trip to NYC landed us in a hotel I refused to describe to my parents until years later. She convinced me to buy a real wedding dress, dragging me to bridal stores galore while I was on a business trip to Maryland. She took our engagement photos. I flew to South Carolina for her baby shower - representing all the out-of-town friends who weren't able to make it. We window-shopped for antiques in Savannah, celebrated my birthday in Baltimore with s'mores and a sleepover the weekend before 9/11 and played an elaborate game of pretend in Manhattan. I have boxes of photos of one of our adventures or another.
She is one of the reasons Himself and I ended up together - and was half of the couple with whom we double dated the first six weeks Himself and I started hanging out. We never lived in the same place again after I left to return to school the following summer, but we continued to be close friends - stopping in whenever one of us would be in close proximity to the other.
We both know some of each other's darkest secrets - things not revealed to almost anyone else. We both knew each other at the most difficult points of our lives - and somehow managed to escape them to celebrate the happiest days of our lives that were waiting around the next bend.
Today I drove up the canyon to one of the ski resorts to visit Shaliece. She has been in town visiting relatives, and it presented the perfect opportunity for Baby G and I to adventure up to visit them. She oohed and awed over Baby G, while I marveled at her 6-month-old little boy and commented on how much her almost-3-year-old has grown up since I saw her last summer.
The hours slipped by until it was time for me to head for home. We talked children and life and pondered on how astounding it was that we'd known each other for nine years. I thought about it a lot on the drive home. I thought about how much our lives have changed from that weekend nine years ago when we met. Neither of us, at that point, could have possibily predicted where we would end up nearly a decade later - she the wife of a Naval officer and mother of two in the Pacific Northwest, me married to Himself and the new mother of an infant living in The Frontier.
It was a beautiful afternoon to spend with an old friend - very much like the crisp fall afternoon on which we met, neither of us knowing how completely our life course was about to be altered.
It was a happy moment to introduce Baby G to one of my dearest friends. I hope one day she is just as lucky.
I was living in the Washington, DC, area and nearing the end of what was supposed to be a short-term internship. I met Shaliece on a Sunday. The Friday before, I had been offered a promotion and an extension - as the Resident Advisor and Lead Intern Coordinator. I loved DC, but wasn't sure I wanted to venture that far out of my comfort zone - staying for a year.
Shaliece and I attended the same church congregation for young adults. We met at an after-church potluck social that had some ridiculously comedic name. It was her first Sunday. I knew very few people, as I primarily let my Pilot-personality roommate (see here for more about the Pilot/Wingman personality theory) do the socializing for me. It so happened we were the only two people who didn't know anyone else (my roommate, for some reason, wasn't there), so we naturally gravitated to one another.
I went home that night and realized that I really wanted to stay, because I now had a friend that hadn't come courtesy of my roommate. That, combined with my lifelong fascination with all things DC, resulted in me accpeting the position and staying.
Every single thing that has happened in my life since the fall of 1998 resulted from that decision, made primarily because I found a friend in Shaliece and somehow knew the two of us would become inseparable.
Shaliece and I have gone through a lot together. Looking for, finding and losing love, divorce, betrayal, heartache, dark lonely days and days filled with sunshine and laughter. Wild adventures and middle-of-the-night talks. Job issues, moves, boyfriends, fiances, husbands, children. We adventured all over DC, went on road trips and became the laughing stock of the church volleyball team because we cared more about talking than playing. It seemed everything could be endured if the two of us tackled it together. Nothing seemed too outlandish. One particularly memorable trip found us in rurual western Virginia staying in the dorm room of two girls we'd never met. A trip to NYC landed us in a hotel I refused to describe to my parents until years later. She convinced me to buy a real wedding dress, dragging me to bridal stores galore while I was on a business trip to Maryland. She took our engagement photos. I flew to South Carolina for her baby shower - representing all the out-of-town friends who weren't able to make it. We window-shopped for antiques in Savannah, celebrated my birthday in Baltimore with s'mores and a sleepover the weekend before 9/11 and played an elaborate game of pretend in Manhattan. I have boxes of photos of one of our adventures or another.
She is one of the reasons Himself and I ended up together - and was half of the couple with whom we double dated the first six weeks Himself and I started hanging out. We never lived in the same place again after I left to return to school the following summer, but we continued to be close friends - stopping in whenever one of us would be in close proximity to the other.
We both know some of each other's darkest secrets - things not revealed to almost anyone else. We both knew each other at the most difficult points of our lives - and somehow managed to escape them to celebrate the happiest days of our lives that were waiting around the next bend.
Today I drove up the canyon to one of the ski resorts to visit Shaliece. She has been in town visiting relatives, and it presented the perfect opportunity for Baby G and I to adventure up to visit them. She oohed and awed over Baby G, while I marveled at her 6-month-old little boy and commented on how much her almost-3-year-old has grown up since I saw her last summer.
The hours slipped by until it was time for me to head for home. We talked children and life and pondered on how astounding it was that we'd known each other for nine years. I thought about it a lot on the drive home. I thought about how much our lives have changed from that weekend nine years ago when we met. Neither of us, at that point, could have possibily predicted where we would end up nearly a decade later - she the wife of a Naval officer and mother of two in the Pacific Northwest, me married to Himself and the new mother of an infant living in The Frontier.
It was a beautiful afternoon to spend with an old friend - very much like the crisp fall afternoon on which we met, neither of us knowing how completely our life course was about to be altered.
It was a happy moment to introduce Baby G to one of my dearest friends. I hope one day she is just as lucky.
Sunday, August 26, 2007
I would just like to say ...
...Himself and I learned how to play killer bunnies last night.
Oliver is right - it is a wonderful game.
Oliver is right - it is a wonderful game.
Monday, August 06, 2007
Friendly Frontier
Oliver beat me to the punch in his post on Friends.
Himself was dragging Son back to the East Coast, so I again played single pregnant woman. I spent the weekend with Heidi and Family, who fed me good food, didn't laugh too hard when I slept through an entire movie (except the gunshot part) and introduced me to the family cabin.
It's great to have a friend in valley. Except, well, I met Heidi when I lived in Virginia. Even though she's lived in The Frontier for a few years, I still met her in Virginia, thereby classifying her as an "East Coast" friend.
Last night, I went and had dinner at the home of some friends who lived across the street from us in Virginia and recently relocated to The Frontier as well (is this becoming a trend?! Maybe all my Virginia friends will move here!). We dined on mushroom risoto and comiserated about the lack of (as Oliver calls it) "The One True Grocery Store." We also mourned the loss of our beloved church congregation in Virginia, noting that if we had moved into congregations like that one, our social calendars would already be full of something.
And ... The Hobbit Hole's first true visitor was Julie - yet another friend from Virginia (who, unfortunately, is not moving here). Clearly, there is some sort of pattern.
Not that I really have the energy or drive to even be friendly at the moment. I keep forgetting I'm 9 months pregnant and relatively antisocial by nature (the two together are a rather deadly combination).
I realized today, if I keep up the way I've been going, my only friends will be those friends who live(d) in Virginia, and I really will become a hermit. I'm running the risk of letting my entire existence be overcome by East Coast friends because it is easy - my congregation at church is on the smallish side - and everyone seems to busy with extended family and hoardes of kids to be interested friends (at least yet). I work for a company with three full-time employees, significantly limiting the number of people with whom I come in contact daily.
Clearly, I need to get out more.
Himself was dragging Son back to the East Coast, so I again played single pregnant woman. I spent the weekend with Heidi and Family, who fed me good food, didn't laugh too hard when I slept through an entire movie (except the gunshot part) and introduced me to the family cabin.
It's great to have a friend in valley. Except, well, I met Heidi when I lived in Virginia. Even though she's lived in The Frontier for a few years, I still met her in Virginia, thereby classifying her as an "East Coast" friend.
Last night, I went and had dinner at the home of some friends who lived across the street from us in Virginia and recently relocated to The Frontier as well (is this becoming a trend?! Maybe all my Virginia friends will move here!). We dined on mushroom risoto and comiserated about the lack of (as Oliver calls it) "The One True Grocery Store." We also mourned the loss of our beloved church congregation in Virginia, noting that if we had moved into congregations like that one, our social calendars would already be full of something.
And ... The Hobbit Hole's first true visitor was Julie - yet another friend from Virginia (who, unfortunately, is not moving here). Clearly, there is some sort of pattern.
Not that I really have the energy or drive to even be friendly at the moment. I keep forgetting I'm 9 months pregnant and relatively antisocial by nature (the two together are a rather deadly combination).
I realized today, if I keep up the way I've been going, my only friends will be those friends who live(d) in Virginia, and I really will become a hermit. I'm running the risk of letting my entire existence be overcome by East Coast friends because it is easy - my congregation at church is on the smallish side - and everyone seems to busy with extended family and hoardes of kids to be interested friends (at least yet). I work for a company with three full-time employees, significantly limiting the number of people with whom I come in contact daily.
Clearly, I need to get out more.
Friday, July 27, 2007
The Hobbit Hole Has Visitors
Excluding the variety of strangers (and some really good friends and really insane family members) who helped us move in and a few assorted relatives, last night we had our first real visitors to the Hobbit Hole.
First, Himself's childhood friend came to have dinner with us and spend the night. He's living temporarily in another state, commuting to The Frontier every day, while waiting for his house to close. I personally think the man is nuts - that's 100 miles of driving each way! To save his sanity and ensure he got some additional sleep, he stayed with us last night. Himself insisted I make Balti Chicken and Vegetables with Basmati Rice. Not usually something you serve to guests about which you know nothing of their food preferences. Astonishingly, Himself's friend liked the food (or was really good at faking a love of a food that was medium-spicy, has 30 ingredients and originated on a different continent).
Second, Julie of The Brown Brigade fame came to see us. She is in the area for a reunion and e-mailed me to see if she could come tour the Hobbit Hole. I was so excited, I immediately called Himself. "Two friends in one night!" I exclaimed. "I feel like I actually have friends." Granted, neither of them live in the area (Himself's friend is moving to the next county south of us, but it might as well be another country for as often as we'll see them), but for a brief moment, I felt like I actually knew people in The Frontier.
It was a lovely evening. Julie and Himself's friend both got tours of the Hobbit Hole. Himself's friend even christened the bulkhead near the entrance to the kitchen when he forgot to duck (ironically, Himself hasn't hit his head once - yet - and he's taller). Fortunately, the visitors of the 8-legged-variety stayed blessedly out of sight. (side note: the exterminator came yesterday as well - it was a very good day indeed!)
I had the most wonderful evening, just sitting and talking - catching up, reminiscing and enjoying ourselves (I even learned that Julie wasn't kididng when she cursed Hasbro - there is no way I could have figured out Coulter's transformer if my life depended on it). I don't think I had fully realized that my deep longing for VA is not just for the familiarity, but for the friends that we left behind. I began to realize that many of our East Coast friends, like ourselves, were expatriates, themselves on a journey of independence and self-discovery, and that, together in various groups, we had cobbled together a sort of surrogate family. There were military friends, work friends, church friends, neighborhood friends, social friends - each providing a sense of stability and belonging, a network of roots that mutually fed us as we forged our way through life, often without relatives of the traditional variety nearby.
I wonder what our friendships will be like here. In The Frontier, we are much closer to family - though our immediate families are still several hours' drive away. Still, the compelling need for a complete network of surrogate family members will be lessened, though I hope and pray that we are still able to forge some of the strong, beautiful friendships we did in the East. My life is forever richer because of those associations and deep friendships. I cannot imagine continuing life without them.
Night fell on the Hobbit Hole last night, highlighting the warm glow of lamplight, laughter and pleasant conversation brought by good friends. And we rejoiced.
First, Himself's childhood friend came to have dinner with us and spend the night. He's living temporarily in another state, commuting to The Frontier every day, while waiting for his house to close. I personally think the man is nuts - that's 100 miles of driving each way! To save his sanity and ensure he got some additional sleep, he stayed with us last night. Himself insisted I make Balti Chicken and Vegetables with Basmati Rice. Not usually something you serve to guests about which you know nothing of their food preferences. Astonishingly, Himself's friend liked the food (or was really good at faking a love of a food that was medium-spicy, has 30 ingredients and originated on a different continent).
Second, Julie of The Brown Brigade fame came to see us. She is in the area for a reunion and e-mailed me to see if she could come tour the Hobbit Hole. I was so excited, I immediately called Himself. "Two friends in one night!" I exclaimed. "I feel like I actually have friends." Granted, neither of them live in the area (Himself's friend is moving to the next county south of us, but it might as well be another country for as often as we'll see them), but for a brief moment, I felt like I actually knew people in The Frontier.
It was a lovely evening. Julie and Himself's friend both got tours of the Hobbit Hole. Himself's friend even christened the bulkhead near the entrance to the kitchen when he forgot to duck (ironically, Himself hasn't hit his head once - yet - and he's taller). Fortunately, the visitors of the 8-legged-variety stayed blessedly out of sight. (side note: the exterminator came yesterday as well - it was a very good day indeed!)
I had the most wonderful evening, just sitting and talking - catching up, reminiscing and enjoying ourselves (I even learned that Julie wasn't kididng when she cursed Hasbro - there is no way I could have figured out Coulter's transformer if my life depended on it). I don't think I had fully realized that my deep longing for VA is not just for the familiarity, but for the friends that we left behind. I began to realize that many of our East Coast friends, like ourselves, were expatriates, themselves on a journey of independence and self-discovery, and that, together in various groups, we had cobbled together a sort of surrogate family. There were military friends, work friends, church friends, neighborhood friends, social friends - each providing a sense of stability and belonging, a network of roots that mutually fed us as we forged our way through life, often without relatives of the traditional variety nearby.
I wonder what our friendships will be like here. In The Frontier, we are much closer to family - though our immediate families are still several hours' drive away. Still, the compelling need for a complete network of surrogate family members will be lessened, though I hope and pray that we are still able to forge some of the strong, beautiful friendships we did in the East. My life is forever richer because of those associations and deep friendships. I cannot imagine continuing life without them.
Night fell on the Hobbit Hole last night, highlighting the warm glow of lamplight, laughter and pleasant conversation brought by good friends. And we rejoiced.
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