Time to be Thankful

A few weeks ago I sat next to CA in a booth {yep, same side}, Coke in my hand and a water in his. He had, as he usually does, helped me to see things in a different light and gave me some things to contemplate before I ventured away from the safety of our hidden booth.  My mind continues to contemplate a few things he said, as a few of the other CAs contradicted his thoughts and I find myself a bit confused.  But one thing, the lesser of everything perhaps in that particular moment, I have decided to follow through with this week and holiday season.

As we sat down he pulled out his phone. It allows him to send me text messages and to answer when I call with a crisis or a soccer achievement.  More than that it doesn't do.

And as he held my iPhone 5 in his right hand and his Nokia 1.0 in his left (uncertain as to the specific model but it is the phone pictured above) he said, "Kas, this {lifting his right hand} just isn't necessary." I looked at him, batted my eyes {which has no effect on him at this point I'm afraid}, and attempted my rebuttal. He interrupted, "I'm just as productive and far more present." He then set both of our phones aside.  We had 'real' conversation.  

I've spent the past month clocking time on the phone ... it's ridiculous.  Mind you, there are nights I attempt to be 'present' with friends while D Rose is playing {or was playing, too soon to discuss folks} so the usage is high.  I've tried to leave the phone home while on dates, although requesting an 'out' phone call is difficult without a phone. I'm reading the Good Word in a book that can be held in my hands with pages I can turn.  But the phone is used, a lot.  And it's a distraction most of the time, an unnecessary distraction {is that redundant?}.  

As Thanksgiving comes my mind often turns to Uncle, the one that isn't able to call and check in or argue with me about my politics.  He lived on the other side of the country and our time together as I grew up was limited.  But I remember, with clarity, the night we had right before I left on mission. He took me to sushi, we sat around the round table and he played his guitar.  He didn't once answer his phone or even look at it.  He was present. And though it seemed like nothing at the time, it means everything to me now.  He saw me that night, saw my fears of leaving the 'ailing' parents and relationships that were perhaps something more than nothing.  He saw my fears of not knowing enough about what I was going to do.  He spoke of things that I needed to hear. Even now, the memory of his presence is tangible. 

The parents, in their last month of time on the other side of the world, have lived without so much that we deem necessary on this side.  They have seen a life that I have never experienced.  They have given their all to the betterment of a people.  As I've read of their experiences I've found a common thread, simplicity.  Being where they are when they are there, listening to the voice that is speaking rather than preparing for the next question.  Even more in this month, since the storm, their focus has been on the 'now' that they exist in and being grateful for it, for the air they are breathing, the water they are drinking, and the hope that energizes them for one more day.  They are present.

CA was asking the other day as my emotions got away from me, turns out I cry all of the time, about Good Man.  I attempted to change the subject to PacMan or Boss or sports {baha!} but after 13 years of me he knows how to avoid my avoidance tactics.   He sent me a wrap up of the whole situation after I had used words, he does that because I don't write things down and my memory sucks.  He used a lot of words, which is excellent, but the ones that matter now and to this subject are these, "{Good Man} heard you.  You weren't fixing a problem together. You were not avoiding a problem together. He talked to you and you talked to him. You were enjoying life together for the time that you were together. You don't do that unless you are with me." He's right.  I was there, in that, for a minute.  And that's probably why I enjoyed it so much.  It's probably why PacMan has been told to give me a minute to regroup, so that I can enjoy time with him and not be focused on 973 other things.  

So, this week and as I venture into next month with goals of understanding a few things that the CAs brought up and finishing the 'changes' that were requested by the guy that has my book in his hands, I am going to put the phone/computer/distractions away.  I'm going to focus on my family.  I'm going to focus on my friends.  I'm going to focus on the reason why my world is as great as it is.  I'm going to be present in my conversations.  I'm going to be grateful for the chance I have to put things aside and focus on the important things in my life.  It seems simple, it seems like a goal given by a frustrated teacher to 17 year olds, it seems like something that the 78 year old grandmother asks her grandchildren that are sitting in her living room but not talking to her.  But I'm not going to have her ask.  I'm not going to frustrate CA with the 'tricks and information' that the phone brings.  I'm going to be present and productive.  Grateful and gracious to those I'm with when I'm with them.  Because, as I sit here with Uncle fresh on my mind and on the brink of the parents return, all I can wish for is their undivided attention.  Because, if I'm being frank (700 words later), I miss that attention and the peace that accompanies the undivided attention of someone that cares for you. I'm grateful for CA and our time together on the same side of the booth.

Ready Ready Ready to Run

Yesterday I was in a MOOD. The usual suspects saw/heard my moody tone early on in the day and attempted to make life better.  But I had chosen to be ornery and no funny video or song on the voicemail was going to change my mind.

I got into Bleu after work, where I was far from productive, and called my Physical Therapist (PT).

"Hey, Kas. Are you calling to reschedule on me for tomorrow?"
"No! I need to talk to you."
"Well, its a good thing you called and I answered then."  He normally would have gotten a laugh out of me for that but I was on a mission and could not be thrown with his charm today.  His charm gets me to do all sorts of things I would normally refuse, like go up and down one step for 12 minutes to show him I can keep my shoulders back and not add pressure to my lower back because I'm lifting my legs properly.
"I need you to tell me I can run."
"No, I'm sorry.  You can't run. Also, you hate running."
"I've got to move and today I need to run, please."
"No, I'm sorry.  You can't run Kasi. You have a fractured L2. No batting of the eyes or well timed gaze is going to get you running. I like men."
"Okay, let's say that you said I could run.  What would my parameters be?"
"I didn't say you could run."
"Let's say you did.  I need to run or punch someone and as the latter is not quite my style, let's have me run."
"I'd rather have you punch someone."
"Let's say you'd rather have me run."
"Okay, if you were to go running without my approval I would tell you to stay away from the downhill and wear your brace.  I'd also tell you to stop running every two minutes and walk three so that you could see if you've ruined all of the work we've done."
"Okay, that's all I needed."
"Kasi, are you going running?"
"Yes."
Heavy sighs and then a wish for me not to completely kill myself.

I got home, made a bit of a mess of my space simply because creating chaos when you feel a bit chaotic is logical to me.  Then I tied my shoes and hit the pavement.

Folks!! I ran and I ran and I ran!! I have never been a runner, I'd do 2-a-days at Bikram to avoid running even a quarter of a mile.  But there was something therapeutic about the rhythm of my shoes hitting the pavement. I turned on Murdoch (who still gets a child named for him) and ran.  I did stop once or twice to be sure I hadn't killed myself or done something that PT wouldn't be able to fix.  But I was just fine.  My body knew it needed to get out. So Murdoch and I made our way through the fall trees, watched a beautiful sunset, smelling fall, and made it to institute (church mid-week class ~ it's a new thing I'm trying).  I was feeling excellent.  I had let go of the MOOD somewhere between mile 4 and 5 I think. Mile six had me beat but it felt so great to be in charge of my body, not letting it determine my sobriety or activity.

Also, God is funny. It was announced that class was on COMMUNICATION in relationships. Of course it was. I looked towards the heavens, laughed, and sent Boy a text indicating just how hilarious life can be. I was thrown a bit of a break when the teacher discussed the 96-97 Bulls vs. Jazz championship, won by the Bulls.

PT texted late last night.
"you dead?"
"Alive and well."
"you on meds?"
"No."
"are you sure you are not on meds?"
"Yes."
"did you run?"
"Yes! And I liked it."
"you are on drugs. i'll check in tomorrow."

But remember how I loved running yesterday? I just may do it again today.  I'm not in a mood.  But guys, I loved it.

Also, to add to that 'runners high' (which I thought was fake until yesterday), my D Rose is playing like a champ!! Diet (I love that all of you just pronounced his name wrong), Boy's boy,  and Good Man have indicated preseason is worth nothing but they are wrong.  Preseason is our vocal warm-up, it's our stretching ... it's vital.  It makes us happy. Tuesday night's regular season opener in Miami will increase my low blood pressure (thank you Gramps for that, its better than the lack of butt that comes from you as well) to be sure but cause my heart to soar with excitement as the two finest players in the league go head-to-head.

Also, I ran into Susan the other day at City Creek.  I'm certain it is because I haven't seen her since before Sherrie passed but there was a wave of relief that hit me as we spoke.  She reminded me of home.  She reminded me that the missionaries I love are out there, in third world countries, eating goat legs like its normal and more than happy with their Calling at current time.  It reminded me that people are kind and good, instinctively. It reminded me that people care for people, no matter how stubborn a person can be.  It reminded me that sometimes leaving work at 230 to meander City Creek is exactly what should be done.

Also, my parents come home in 54 sleeps.  Sister Bells will be home in 7 sleeps.  I'll be in CA in 8 sleeps, not running but rather facing life. Life is good, I'm a runner now.

Spitting and Sharing

Cowboy, Girlfriend, and I had a routine while we were together in that perfect land of Southern California. After a long school day, preschool can be rough!, we would hop into the truck, singing our made-up songs about our silly family, and end up at Laguna Beach.  I loved our habit for multiple reasons, not the least of which was the fact that it wore all of us out and made bedtime a bit easier.  We would play in the sand, roll up our pants and get chased by waves, throw the football around, and makeup stories about the passersby. Oftentimes I would let CA know that his job was the worst and invite him to join us, he usually did.  

One particular afternoon I was discussing the diggers we had seen earlier in the day with Cowboy while CA and Girlfriend were off discovering something.  Girlfriend had a bit of a crush on CA, as it was only natural for a 5 year old to think that the salt-and-peppery 28 year old was the cat's pajamas and he adored her so I let them have their moments as often as possible {positive male attention at a young age}.  I was discussing the color yellow or the hook on the digger when I looked up to see a look on CA's face that I didn't recognize, something had happened.  I looked to Girlfriend but she was walking away from both CA and I with an attitude in her strut.  CA made his way to me, his face unchanged.  He took a minute to distract Cowboy with something and then replayed what had happened.

He had brought a treat and given it to the kiddos.  He then asked Girlfriend for a bite.  She said no.  He asked again nicely and she once again refused.  He let it sit for a moment and then asked for a third time.  She then spit on him.  Yes, spit on him. She was five at the time, almost 12 year old Girlfriend is mortified every time this story comes up because she still has a bit of a crush on 'hot' CA, but she knew better than to spit on someone.  I was shocked.  I laughed a little bit but only because I had no idea how to appropriately respond.  I looked off to be sure the waves hadn't taken away Girlfriend, her tiny frame was standing with feet in the ocean, her itty-bitty body looked like it could have just been swallowed up the massive body of water she was wading in.  CA and I chatted for a moment about what to do, this is the phase of my life when I was learning that adults don't have all of the answers simply because they were the adults.  

I got up, leaving the guys to chat about diggers.  As I approached Girlfriend I saw her eyes, she was crying. She already knew she had done something she shouldn't have done.  With a quick look up to the heavens to Uncle for some help with his dramatic daughter, as disciplining this little one was my least favorite thing to do, I sat down a few feet away.  She took a minute to join me but once she sat down she cuddled in, we fit together pretty well.  The sun was going down on the other side of the water. I asked a few questions and ultimately the truth came out, she just didn't want to share with CA.  It didn't matter that he had shared with her.  It didn't matter that he had come to play with her at the beach.  It didn't matter that she saw him all of the time.  It didn't matter that he was cute.  It didn't matter that he was kind.  She just didn't want to share. And since she didn't have the words at 5 to convey that and why that was, she spit.

I get that.  Sharing is hard.  Sharing something that you have with someone is hard.  It's yours.  You are in charge of it.  You have control over it. Giving it to someone else leaves your hands empty.  

Over the years Girlfriend and I have had countless chats, normally its as we get ready for bed or she watches me curl my hair.  She shares more if we're not sitting at ice cream or talking on the phone, all eyes or ears on her. She shares feelings only if I ask the right questions and no one else is around. She'll give one word answers if she can.  If I make a face at those short responses she adds a smirky-smile or tries to distract me with a strand of hair that I missed. She'll talk about horses until she's blue in the face and she can tell me how Oliva, her BFF, feels about things.  But getting Girlfriend to talk about the 'good stuff' takes effort, patience, and the perfect situation.  

I get that.  Sometimes its just easier to spit in someone's face.  

But sharing is necessary and good.  Sharing your snacks with CA makes him smile.  Sharing your words with your favorite cousin makes her smile.  Sharing your life with someone who is trying to get to know you is, rumor has it, a great thing.  Girlfriend and I are learning. 

My People

First of all may I say ‘Welcome’ to the new readers of this blog.  I average somewhere between 130-145 in readership within 24 hours of posting, climbing to 210 before the post falls off of my radar.  This last post got 254 readers the first day with an additional 100 or so in the following three days.  Whoever you are, welcome to my thoughts.  And a notice: You’ll rarely see actual names or read incredible details of a particular situation.  CA refers to four different people.  Boy is actually a girl. Original Pete no longer exists as such as he grew up but there are several replacement Petes.  I once referred to one friend as Sir but he vetoed that, and as he is a longstanding friend who has seen me through thick and thin I allowed said veto, and so he became Doc.  But then Doc 2 came into my life and it was more fitting so Original Doc was retired and Doc 2, henceforth known as merely Doc, exists now.  Nicknames are mine to give at any given moment and mine to change on a whim.  Papa is my Dad. He’s the #1 reader of this blog but I doubt if even he can match all nicknames to actual humans or distinguish which CA is being discussed on any given day.  This blog is, selfishly, my place in the universe where I discuss what I want to.  So, come and go as you please but understand that I do not write to be controversial nor to be known. Kismet of me is a journal of sorts, a place where I can put down my thoughts and sort through my feelings. 

Second of all, I am protective and possessive.  I received a text Saturday last at an hour that was acceptable.  CA had just poured his heart out and was rejected.  I wanted to hop on a plane in that instant, back pain be darned, fix him breakfast and then go punch Rejecter in the face or key Rejecter’s car or somehow inflict on Rejecter the pain that CA was feeling in that moment multiplied by 100.  I have my people.  The number of people included in this group is not ridiculous.  It is maintainable.  I invest myself in these people, their hopes and prayers intertwine with my own.  I mourn their misfortunes with them.  And although I do not feel as some of them would like me to or fully comprehend the depth of befuddlement they find themselves in,  I believe merging that gap of emotion and understanding with appropriate Hallmarks, chocolates, movies, beer bread, or even bottles of wine.

I believe in my people.  I believe they can conquer their demons, take on the world, and speak to the hearts of those important to them.  They are the best of all of the humans I have ever known.  They deserve to be loved by the best of the other humans, none of those D-bags or emotionless girls {ha!}.  They deserve to be told often and in sincere tones that they are kind and generous, needed and valuable, stunning and sexy.  When they are not treated properly, the properly that I desire for them, I get frustrated. When they make a decision to alter their life for change sake rather than for good, I get frustrated.  When they do harm to themselves, physically or emotionally, I get frustrated.  And my patience is thin.  So there are times when, within this group of people I have deemed as my own, I will be at odds with someone.  I want them to see things as I see them, change their course to the course I see best and most appropriate.  But my words are often jumbled or unclear, my direction often off the mark somehow.

Stick with me. I sat Wednesday last in an Institute class, a spiritual seminary of sorts.  The teacher was the son of a man whom I admire and miss spending Wednesday mornings with in that House on the Hill in Logan, Vaughn J. Featherstone.  He, the son, is very much his father, so much to wisdom to share and never enough time to do it in.  This particular class was discussing intimacy in relationships.  At one point he asked of people’s versions of romance, quickly the class turned to a spotlight on couples who have made it through time together.  With a back aching and my anxieties flowing willy-nilly at this point I was tempted to get up and take an Anxious Annie moment outside, ucky-love stuff and I handling life on my terms. Instead I sat and listened, spelling First Love’s name in sign behind my back while taking deep breaths.  Soon the anxiety subsided and I could appreciate the conversation and thoughts of others.  He then discussed how valuable it is to share your thoughts and emotions, citing his own relationship with his sweet wife.  The subsided anxiety heightened once again.  Several comments were made about how you will feel directed when the time is right to do that.  My hand popped up. “I disagree, I’m always going to have to take a step in the dark when divulging bits of myself and becoming vulnerable in a relationship.” President Featherstone took a moment to process what I had said and then replied in a tone of sincere love, “I don’t think it’s always going to be so frightening.” His wife, who was standing near, met my eyes and shook her head.  Boy, sitting beside me, agreed with me in my circumstance. I was at a bit of a loss.

After class Sister Featherstone came and sat with a small group of us.  It was a sort of lab post the lecture.  She shared with us her love and kindness.  She looked in each of our eyes and told us that we were fantastic and worthwhile individuals.  She brought of my statement of fear and indicated that a step into the darkness with a knowledge of His love is sometimes necessary but that quickly, after that step is taken, light will come. This was my second occasion spending time with this woman, the first was in the House on the Hill in the city.  On both occasions she shared an acceptance and kindness that I can only compare to Sherrie or Papa.  She spoke simple words, without lots of adjectives or superfluous flattery.  She reminded us, four not quite young single gals, that we were on a path the He is happy with.  I was, because of her kindness and lack of judgment, willing to speak more about my fears.  She heard me.  I felt as if, with these short two encounters, I had become one of her people, cared for and loved.  And although I’m certain that she can be feisty and fierce when the situation calls for it, her love seems to be a calming and reassuring influence.  A love to buoy up those that she brings into her group of people.  One that I hope to one day master and give to my people.

As I work to that end I ask for a favor, patience with me.  I love my people, far from perfectly, but I do love them.  

And Then I Yelled, Actually Yelled

Yesterday as I was sitting in the passenger seat with Work-Church-Friend (WCF henceforth) driving home from my favorite house in all of Utah, as it is occupied with my namesake, I found myself yelling, “{Good Man} and I are still friends!” at the top of my lungs.  He laughed, hard.  And I sat there, more than a little bit astonished at the decibel and tone of my own voice.  It was a bit of an out-of-body experience.  I watched an irrational girl let loose on the innocent WCF. And then I spent three minutes attempting to rationalize the completely irrational behavior. 

Jump back three years.  I had just returned from a hide-away period of life in Indiana.  Ace and I were roommates.  And as he was gone most nights entertaining people as the Man in Chair, Pete {the original} was around to cook dinner or be that guy that was around but didn’t force me to face the entirety of life with words, quite yet.  I had been asked out by a guy in the ward, a cute guy.  I was happy about it.  But then things got fuzzy.  Pete heard the details, as much as a man wants to hear the details, and didn’t say much.  Until it became clear that I was stressed out by cute guy in the ward and his ridiculous behavior.  {Without using too many words, he was simply indecisive and this girl was confused by his indecision, not that I was anywhere near decided but I couldn’t even venture toward a decision without knowing I was on solid ground and wanted by Cute Guy}. We were at the House on the Corner, without owner, one night in the middle of all of this.  And I was using my words.  And Pete was listening.  “Pete, I just don’t think that there are any good guys left out there without some sort of serious issue.” He was standing at the sink, back to me as those words flew out of my mouth.  He turned around, slowly, and took a step (he’s a tall fella and only need one) towards to counter that separated us.  Hands were then firmly planted on the counter and he met my eyes, “Kas, there are still good guys out there.” He pointed out that he, only six months younger than I, was still single and without any of the issues I had listed.  And he was not the anomaly, he was certain.  I was not but his conviction was enough for me to hold on to for a bit.

Jump back to yesterday, Carmen {the car} and WCF.  There was no justifying the yelling that had occurred.  But then WCF said something, “Are you may be upset because he is a good guy?” He had a smirk on his face as the entire story was not before him, just the pieces he had placed together. I put my head to my knees, avoiding eye contact as I tried to process the yelling that had occurred and his last question. I processed in Carmen, as well as to CA later yesterday afternoon, and then as I sat in silence on first date with Glasses. {‘Why silence on a first date, Kas?’ you may be asking. Fair.  Well, he greeted me with a hug, told me I looked cute and then, before we had even gotten to the car, indicated that he was in UT looking for a wife.  Which, is a fine reason to be in UT I suppose, but LIE to me after knowing me for only a minute and a half in J’s kitchen the night before! LIE to me! As I’m the girl that hears that and then all of the serious conversation – there was not one moment of light hearted conversation as much as I attempted for it - that follows it and FREAKS OUT inside and doesn’t care how charming you are or how dedicated you may be … I just detach and focus on earlier conversations from the day that I hadn’t quite finished processing}.  And after all of the processing here’s the answer to the questions that WCF posed, “Yep.”

Because as sure as Pete was when he told me that ‘good guys’ still exist, I am certain of their how rare they are.  There are good guys that love God but don’t necessarily love to work.  There are good guys out there that are passionate about something but dip a bit in the naked women viewing.  There are good guys out there that think my inability to discuss feelings is cute but they have tempers.  There are good guys out there that find my family charming but tithing a burden.  And then there is the other side of the coin, the good guys that are thinking I’m a good girl but that loves John Krasinski films, no matter the rating.  They see the good girl but don’t like the fact that I’m good at my job and I love it.  They see the good girl but hate that one time I was in a ‘dark and twisty’ place.  So there are two sides to this coin, two versions of the story.  And so, in the two weeks {yep, I’m dramatic} that Good Man was in the picture I was hopeful that Pete’s statement was right and, in complete cryptic disclosure, he was.  ‘It’ just wasn’t there.  And that is frustrating, so frustrating that I scream at WCF en route home from Baby Kace’s house.  Sorry about it.

Also, Buba got married last night.  Yep, that’s a fact.  Which is likely why I’m writing about feelings for a boy that no longer exists in that facet of life and not the life event that I wasn’t included in or consulted about or made aware of until after the fact {Queen of the Land of Passive Aggressiva, thank you McDreamy – and recognizing the problem is the first step to fixing the problem}.  

What I Know

Midst a moment I was having this evening I had a thought, "Tell Me what you do know." I was sitting in the House on the Hill {not the actual one, this one is in the middle of the city but for those of you that frequent the blog you will know where I am indicating without me actually saying it}. The thought could have come from a plethora of people that I am confident are a bit closer while in that House, those I miss and ache for especially in that place.  Or it could have been my own thought, asking for a self-analysis, as the daughter of a therapist this would not be an odd thought. Or it could have come from my Partner, the Man whose name I have taken upon me.  Regardless of the source, I responded.

* I know that the leaves are changing and that Sunday drives are mandatory
* I know that hearing a Christmas song will put me in an excellent mood, immediately
* I know that sometimes I do shed tears
* I know that I am heard
* I know that happiness is a choice ... a choice to be made by me ... a choice, not a consequence of circumstance
* I know that I will fight fiercely for my people, even with them if the situation calls for it
* I know that desiring something good and right can stretch my soul
* I know that WH and I can overcome a mishap at the mailbox but only after a slight outburst and a peacekeeping Coke is offered
* I know that spending time in the Good Word will help me shape my day productively
* I know that happiness is a choice ... a choice to be made by me ... a choice, not a consequence of circumstance
* I know that hearing 'Kas' from a voice that I trust will calm my anxiety
* I know that being caught singing at the top of my lungs with my windows down makes me laugh
* I know that I believe in reading to a child before bed, from a book that can be held in my hands
* I know that I will often speak to myself aloud, calling myself "Kate", deal with it
* I know that happiness is a choice ... a choice to be made by me ... a choice, not a consequence of circumstance
* I know that Uncle will call at least once a month and talk to me like an adult but allow me a moment to be a child in need of reassurance
* I know that listening to my Apostle Crush as I get ready in the morning keeps me from losing myself in outfit choices and curling irons
* I know that getting an email from oldest-baby-cousin about her first week at BYUI makes me feel old but also proud
* I know that having a message left from the parents is sometimes all I need as I'm told I'm loved, prayed for, and excelling in their eyes ... I keep those
* I know that happiness is a choice ... a choice to be made by me ... a choice, not a consequence of circumstance
* I know that Grandma Monica will be as up-to-date on Shondaland as I am
* I know that sitting quietly on Sunday as I worship in song before the sacrament is served will always cause me to think of President Ludlow's words before I left Spokane
* I know that other's choices can cause hurt in the lives of those I love and my own
* I know that my choices can hurt those whom I love
* I know that thinking before I speak is wise
* I know that happiness is a choice ... a choice to be made by me ... a choice, not a consequence of circumstance
* I know that when emotions, feelings, and gooey stuff is being discussed I can respond without insult
* I know that sides don't always need to be taken
* I know that life is precious
* I know that a man that has the ability to drive a manual car is a MAN
* I know that happiness is a choice ... a choice to be made by me ... a choice, not a consequence of circumstance
* I know that aching for something not quite here is allowed
* I know that counting down to the end of something brings it faster
* I know that good food with a good friend is often all that is necessary
* I know that speaking to Gramps each week will reassure me that a part of him is in me, giving me the gumption to go conquer the beasts of my world
* I know that happiness is a choice ... a choice to be made by me ... a choice, not a consequence of circumstance
* I know that I cannot do two things at once
* I know that rereading thoughts from past studies can teach me
* I know that people can be forgiving
* I know that sitting in the House on the Corner after a surprise end is allowed but no longer necessary
* I know that happiness is a choice ... a choice to be made by me ... a choice, not a consequence of circumstance
* I know that laughing at the State Fair can be a much needed distraction
* I know that speaking Spanish for work tomorrow is terrifying
* I know that being looked to as someone with something to offer is exhilarating
* I know that Dinner in a Pumpkin is something I am good at
* I know that happiness is a choice ... a choice to be made by me ... a choice, not a consequence of circumstance
* I know that my memory is far from perfect
* I know that being called a Guy's Girl today at work will keep me happy for quite sometime
* I know that Papa will not force me to talk about things but speak in even tones until I am willing and ready to bring things up on my own
* I know that my dog is far from me
* I know that a well-timed kiss on the forehead will melt me
* I know that happiness is a choice ... a choice to be made by me ... a choice, not a consequence of circumstance
* I know that I will hurt deeply when trust is broken
* I know that a quiet drive with a stop to look at the stars, on my own, is just fine
* I know that the House on the Lake is no longer mine
* I know that sometimes a call to CA is more of a cop-out than courageous
* I know that happiness is a choice ... a choice to be made by me ... a choice, not a consequence of circumstance
* I know that trying is often all that is asked
* I know that excuses are easily made but not easily justified
* I know that being still is key to remembrance
* I know that Mom understands through the sobs she hears on the other end of the line
* I know that happiness is a choice ... a choice to be made by me ... a choice, not a consequence of circumstance
* I know that being honest with oneself is one of the greatest gifts to be offered
* I know that dancing it out is a quick fix to all problems
* I know that He laughs with me and at me
* I know that my work in the hands of an editor is so much of what I've wanted for so long yet the most unsettling place to be
* I know that happiness is a choice ... a choice to be made by me ... a choice, not a consequence of circumstance
* I know that trust can be rebuilt
* I know that smiling from across the hall can be a tender mercy
* I know that death is inevitable
* I know that getting things ready for the House on the Hill while listening to 'The Bulldog' will more often than not be the perfect prelude to the lesson learned within the House
* I know that happiness is a choice ... a choice to be made by me ... a choice, not a consequence of circumstance
* I know that getting lost in a football game is a happy place for me
* I know that being ready for the next thing means to hope for it
* I know that the unexpected is often the most necessary while the most unnecessary is usually sought after
* I know that showing up counts for a lot
* I know that happiness is a choice ... a choice to be made by me ... a choice, not a consequence of circumstance
* I know that John Krasinski still wins
* I know that progress has been made
* I know what is my truth
* I know what I am certain of
* I know that happiness is a choice ... a choice to be made by me ... a choice, not a consequence of circumstance
* I know that I can stand on my own two feet
* I know that I will always spell my first love's name in sign language before I speak harsh words, my version of counting to ten
* I know that baking a secret Robin recipe takes me 'home'
* I know offering a sincere 'thank you' with a wink will get you another 'helping'
* I know that happiness is a choice ... a choice to be made by me ... a choice, not a consequence of circumstance
* I know that I interrupt people
* I know that a hand in the small of my back as I leave a room will get me to follow you anywhere
* I know that time on the parents bed with Harli in her chair and a ridiculous Hallmark movie on the television will cure all
* I know that the benefit of the doubt should be offered
* I know that happiness is a choice ... a choice to be made by me ... a choice, not a consequence of circumstance
* I know that kindness is the best choice

I know that all that I know, as little as it may be, is enough for tonight. {the repeats were purposeful}

A PSA on PMA for You

After lying in bed wide awake last night for over an hour or so I called CA, he is willing to stay on the phone, hum a tune or mumble some story (usually completely fabricated as well as inaudible), until I fall asleep. He stays on the phone through the night and my subconscious or perhaps my very aware conscious knows that there is a male at hand and I can sleep soundly.  Last night however I was wide awake and found him the same.  So we digested life and basically solved the world's problems.  Ready for the solution? PMA.

98% of all females of my generation (a stat I just made up as I typed this) will say that they are more male than female.  Phrases you are likely to hear, "I just get along better with the guys," or "I'm just not dramatic like a girl is," and my favorite, "I just don't, like, relate to girls like I do with the guys." It's all the same sentiment and its all a bit of a sham.  The truth of the matter, we are girls and we relate just fine with our own sex but admitting that takes a humility that few of us have. We understand what the girl is feeling when she breaks down in the middle of an episode of Greys.  We get the irrational outburst in the middle of Target when the stretchy blue jeans with cute white stars aren't to be found in our size.  We all genuinely smile when we see the mom in the park with her two year old on the swing.  And our hearts burst a little bit when we introduce one female friend to another and they actually like one another. If all females, myself numbered among that mass, would simply state the truth of the matter, "I like the attention I get from men more than the attention I get from women," we'd all be standing on a bit more of an honest ground.

And from this honest ground I offer the solution's to the world's problems.  I speak as a heterosexual female, the solutions to the world's problems may need to be altered a bit for others. Women are inherently kind and good.  We often lose that due to being screwed over (sorry Grams, I couldn't think of the appropriate colloquial for 'screwed over' that you would approve of and other's would understand).  But it's within us to be sweet and kind, to be generous and sincere more than it is to be brassy and crass (sass is different, that's the salty to the caramel that makes us so fantastic!).  But this behavior needs to be encouraged. PMA, Positive Male Attention, is the key.  As girls and women receive PMA we feel secure in our shoes and will go and conquer the demons of the world.

I am a perfect example of PMA throughout life.  I grew up in a home with Papa who sincerely told me he loved me each night.  Each evening as I read during 'quiet time' he would say "Sunshine, you are just so smart! You've read so quickly," or "Your brain is so happy you are making it smart by reading those words." I had brother's that learned from their Papa and treated their sister's with equal admiration and praise, "Kas, you sang so well today in rehearsal," or (my favorite perhaps of all times, thank you Buba) "My sister's aren't so pretty before getting ready but once they make that effort ... WATCH OUT!"  Brother's friends were generous in their compliments and their flirtations. Gramps convinced me I could conquer corporate America one day at a time and his confidence in me has yet to waiver. Uncles are quick to commend my choices, even when they may have been what they would have chosen.  I was never told I could not, the world was mine for the taking.  But they all have also been so quick to encourage the softer side of me.  "Kas, you were so good to sit with Aunt Betty today.  You both looked so happy," or "I'm proud of you for not railing on your cousin after she made that comment, you and I both know it was ridiculous but she didn't need to be told that in front of everyone."  They cultivated all parts of me by giving me that Positive Male Attention.

The Churchy side of me will now take a moment.  My relationship with Deity is real, tangible.  Last summer I had a blip on the life radar when I wasn't quite on solid ground. I talked with several people, one of whom has never worshiped as I have but he is one who I trust more than most.  In one of our conversations when I was far from any path at all he said, "Kas, go talk to your God.  Be honest with Him.  You may not find that 3 hours of Church is necessary but I know you.  You are dark and twisty because you and your God aren't in a good place."  He was spot on.  I know when I kneel at my beside or speak aloud in the car to the Heavens that my Father in Heaven is hearing my words.  I speak to Him candidly.  And I am certain that He not only hears the words I speak but He hears what I am trying to say between all of those words.  He trusts me, I feel that deep within my heart.  He laughs when I make ridiculous accusations towards Him and is patient as I figure this life out.  But He is there, constant.  Of this I am certain.  And this is the perfect form of PMA. 

And I'm me.  Take me or leave me, I've got the confidence to overcome the latter because I know I'm a little bit fantastic, due to PMA.  I've often been asked where I gain my confidence and the answer is PMA.  And I seek after it in my life.  I gravitate to men who will praise my strengths and constructively help me with my weaknesses.  Some may say this is a HORRIBLE way to live, depending on men for my self esteem.  I could not disagree more.  I stand on my own two feet, making my own choices, and confident in my decisions.  I do not allow negative male attention in my life, I will not be walked on nor will I watch those I love be walked on.  I stand up for myself. I am a strong woman and I am changing the world. 

I believe that PFA (Positive Female Attention) is equally as necessary for men.  The bottom line isn't hard to discover, Positive Attention is key to a better world.  Sincere praise and kindness to those that we face each day will change the world.  When I am confident in myself, I am willing to see the greatness in others because I do not question that their greatness will minimize my own.  We can all be great, productive, and happy at the same time.  Seeing this greatness within yourself is the first step.  And often, people see themselves better in a mirror, when others around them are showing them by their words who they see.  Am I making any sense?  I am.

I should probably put my thoughts together with fewer words and send them to Kid President so he can tell the world what I've discovered, they'll listen to him.  

Voices

My family loves to sing.  Some of those numbered among us are excellent and are allowed to qualify themselves as a 'singer', others sound good in a group (which is excellent because as we gather around Grams' piano it is usually in large numbers), while others can't carry a tune in a 10 gallon bucket.  But we sing.  We sing in the shower.  We sing while getting ready, which is grand when the four girls at the mirror decide on the same song but a bit difficult when James Taylor is being sung in one corner of the house and Taylor Swift in the other as our voices are loud!  We sing in the car with our windows down, we like fresh air and providing entertainment to the passersby.  We sing when we hear a good tune in the mall or if a melody randomly pops into our heads as we walk down the beach.  We sing in the kitchen as we cook. We sing to the little ones as they rub their eyes and cling to their favorite blanket.  We then gather around the piano or hand the guitar to the most capable and sing through the night.  Its who we are and I love it.

One of my favorite moments of the week is the first hour of worship on Sunday, especially when I'm with my family.  As the single, and favorite, granddaughter/daughter/niece/sister/cousin I get to sit next to whomever I choose.  My choice is never difficult.  I sit on the open side of Gramps or Papa, Uncle or cousin, brother (it is a rare Sabbath when there is more than one of them as choice but on such an occasion I usually choose the eldest of them all).  As that first song's introduction is played they each pull out that green hymnal and hold it for me to see, no need to share the weight.  Then it begins, they sing in full voice their praises to the heavens.  My heart is happy.  I tend to get lost in the strength and testimony buoying up each note they release and miss a verse or two with my own voice.  Its peaceful and splendid.

Growing up Papa worked for Uncle Tom.  Uncle Tom is a burly man with a heart of gold.  Uncle Tom's smile warms a room and his laugh is infectious.  Uncle Tom loves to open up that green hymnal and sing but the notes he finds are rarely written on the page, in fact I'm not certain they could be written.  He is not a musical genius creating a harmony for the heavens to pause and listen to.  Rather, he is so far from the melody and a sweet harmony that some may be offended.  Not me.  I grew with him sitting a row behind us each Sunday.  And his voice, to me, is just as sweet as those men in my family as it is full of life, joy, and hope. Hearing "I Know that My Reedemer Lives" as Uncle Tom sings it with such passion and conviction in said truth is something that, even thinking of it now, makes my heart happy.  I miss him sitting behind me on Sundays.

When I'm away from family I attempt to find someone with a suit coat on primarily as I'm a frozen girl always but especially in places of worship where the air conditioner is turned on 365 days a year at full blast.  But then, just below that on my list of hopes, is someone that sings with the joy of Uncle Tom.  Ace was my companion for a bit as we shared a home.  And that nine o'clock meeting that forced me to be awake by seven thirty was my favorite the minute that low note was hit half way through the first verse.  I would stop singing and he would smirk, knowing I was happy with the sound.  When he left it was rough finding a replacement but Binx or Doc would bring the same happiness.  Binx delicately hitting the harmony and Doc maybe finding two right notes in a five verse hymn ... they just love singing and it makes this heart happy.

Apart from Sunday I seek company that isn't afraid to belt out a tune.  Anytime I'm with that friend that is that friend I call when the world falls apart I will look up to him, bat my eyes a bit, hook my arm in his and ask for a bit of "Magic", something from Guys and Dolls, or a bit of Billy Joel.  Walking down the street of Salt Lake or driving with the top down and California sun on my face is better with his voice in my ear.  Its an immediate feeling of security.  Its an immediate reminder of when life was a bit simpler.  Its an immediate smile on face and wave of happiness in my heart.

Late Saturday nights are pretty close to perfect when a guitar is in hand and an unabashed voice graces the air.

When I'm alone in the car or attempting to bring order to a month's worth of clean laundry strewn on my bedroom floor my music of choice is the 'Testosterone Tunes' ... not a Rocky medley but rather a compilation of songs sung in a beautiful male voice.  I go from Mikey and Straight No Chaser to Uncle Mike's music.  Bui-Doi to Lilly's Eyes to Forever in Blue Jeans.  I'm just more incline to not begrudge the laundry pile or yell at the car that cut me off if a male voice is ringing in my ear.

I don't think I'm alone in my love the male voice.  Last night we listened to the Mormon Tabernacle Choir and Nathan Pacheco.  The choir was spotless, as usual.  Nathan took my breath away, over and over again. I was at the edge of my 15th row on the balcony seat, awaiting each note.  The entire audience of thousands matched my enthusiasm and eagerness for the next word, stanza, and song.  Why Mac didn't allow him a final portion of "Come Thou Fount" is the first thing I will address with Mac, if I ever meet him.  Nathan's voice reaches the hidden pockets of your heart.  It causes eruptions of feelings that you were certain no longer existed, or at the very least were packed tightly away in a dark corner, as it transcends any inability to 'use words'. It makes me happy.

Singing voices, whether pitchy, far from the melody or any fathomable harmony, or spot on make me happy. Please sing today!    

I'm Good

Okay ... okay.  I'll update you.

I quit my job.  Yes, that job that I loved with my whole heart that was so flexible and so kind and my family of sorts, I quit.  It wasn't exactly planned but it most certainly was the correct decision for me.  The days leading up to my final day held all of the drama that the previous six years did not but I felt such overwhelming support that I did not flinch when I gave my notice and left that 'home'.  So, don't fret over me, I'm good.

Yes, there are the occasional Sunday evenings where I hear someone begin to whine about work the next day and the Anxious Annie comes out ... shouldn't I be whining?  Shouldn't I be leaving at a decent hour to sleep (ha, that's never been a decision I've made, even with seven o'clock calls on Monday)?  Shouldn't I be dressed in more than jeans and my white T or leggings on a Thursday afternoon?  The answer to all of these questions at current time is a fervent NO.  I'm good.

The summer sans work has been delightful.  A friend of mine, moments after the drama came to a halt with my exit, called and said, "Let's hop in the Prius and go to California."  So I did that.  There is something about sitting underneath a lemon tree with the men of my life that settles the soul.  There is something about sitting up with Robs until 4 am that reminds me that no matter the circumstance there is a home for me in that room that once was Uncle's office.  There is something about the hustle and bustle of a morning with Girlfriend and Cowboy that puts everything into perspective, a hopeful and hilarious perspective.  There is something about throwing a football in the sand after being swept up in waves for a half an hour that makes my heart so happy.  There is something about laying by the pool with Aunt Charma, discussing the growth of the cousins that I remember as babies, that reminds me that life is moving on with or without me.  And there is something about being 187 miles from my bed and having a bit of a break down and having a driver with a calm and steady voice reminding me that life is going on with me. I'm good.

I returned to only hop into Joe with favorites and head to Jackson Hole.  Excuse me world, did you know that Jackson Hole is one of the most beautiful places to exist?  It is.  We spent Sunday at the foot of the Lake, discussing all things of importance.  We solved the world's problems and figured out why people aren't married (to be clear, none of the company is in a serious relationship).  We climbed up the mountain and my mind got lost in the sound of the rushing water.  It was breath taking, every view from every climb.  I may or may not be contemplating buying a lot of green and khaki colored clothing and moving there for the remainder of my days.  I haven't yet.  I'm good.

Tomorrow I'm leaving for a north trip, Logan/Bear Lake/Idaho.  I am certain it will be just as delightful as my previous excursions.  I'm good.

On an entirely separate note but a soapbox I would like to stand on for a moment ... Dating resumes.  Evening last I was sitting around the fire (I'll be generous and call it such) with a new group of fellas, a good group of good looking guys.  We discussed sports for a long time and I held my own.  We discussed politics for a minute and I held my own.  Then we discussed dating and the fact that resumes would be quite beneficial, I may have gotten quiet and found no solid ground for this topic.  I spent the majority of last night thinking what my resume would look like, the references I could offer, and what might be said by said references.  HA!  I'd have to coach them through those conversations.

Potential Man: So does Kasi speak openly about things?
Reference: HA! Have you ...
Me (whisper): SHHH!! Say, "Kasi speaks openly about things, yes." I do, I speak openly about sports!
Potential Man: Okay, does she push a relationship too quickly?
Reference: HA! Have you met ...
Me (loud whisper):  SHHHH!! Say, "Don't use the word relationship with her and she'll be okay with you pushing it when the time is right."
Reference (to me): Have you met you?!?
Potential Man: Does Kasi have issues with commitment?
Reference: HA! Have you met her?!
Me (kicking him): SHHH!!! Say, "Kasi is a loyal person."

Perhaps references won't be necessary?!?!  I could simply offer the things I'm good at, the things all of my married males friends list every time the "Kasi, why aren't you married?" conversation occurs (these are my married friends that I didn't date).  And, here's the kicker, I think moving forward in dating I will be certain to be the gal that could have the guy offer a reference, without coaxing, to the next guy.  That's an excellent goal ... something that may be difficult as I've got some dating/car buying habits that run deep ("My experience finding a new car ~ I think I love it but then I sit in it for the second or third time and wonder if I really do love it or if there is a better choice just down the road at the other dealership. So I go to the other dealership and find a car that I love. I decide on that one but then get it in again and wonder if I loved the other one at the other dealership more or perhaps if there is one on another lot somewhere that will fit better ... I am annoyed with my own behavior {and should likely apologize to every guy I've ever dated for my decision pattern}."). But I'm making this a public conversation, so I'm accountable to the 67 of you that frequent this place.  I can change, heck, I LEFT MY JOB!! I can be an adult in a relationship!! So, there is that. I'm good.

Precious P

Yesterday I was up at Chicago's house.  I go there often to enjoy the hustle and bustle of a home full of kids and to answer to the name Marsha.  It makes my heart happy to be in that home.

I remember holding P shortly after his birth, his skinny little body managing to hold up this head that was in the ninety-fifth percentile for heads (I'm under-exaggerating I'm fairly certain).  He was so curious, looking every which way, taking in the world.  There is a picture of me and P at this point in his life (I attempted to find it but my 'things' are spread from garages in Farmington to California to Indianapolis with a few boxes up at the Lake, soon to be moved) and I love it so because it captures each of us in that moment of time, a brand new P to this exciting world and me about to embark on a mission with eyes naive to all it would be. 

He's the oldest brother of three younger siblings now.  They each look to him for friendship and assurance when something unknown is coming, like an afternoon at Marsha's house in Salt Lake.  P will lead the way with confidence and turn around to be sure they are following.  He's a boy, so there is teasing to be sure but I've not witnessed anything to get up in arms over.  He reads like it's going out of style and can converse with an adult (namely me as I'm among his favorites) without hesitation.  He's a champ and if I can convince him to fall more toward the middle rather than to the far right like his Pops and other family members I may run him for office with Cowboy, they would be QUITE the pair on Pennsylvania Ave.

Back to evening last.  P had come home from school with a plan, respectable for a nine year old.  He had discussed with his friends a play date for that evening as soccer practice would occupy the following night and a few other conflicts crowded the calendar for the remainder of the week.  He came in and presented this plan to Mama K.  There was a conflict on the family calendar however, it was Family Night at Gma's to help with the outside chores as Gma is not quite as nimble as she once was. P reacted quickly with outrage as he had a plan.  This moment went by quickly, his raw emotions taking over and a bit of a fit being thrown. Immediately Mama K asked him to go to his room and off he went, heavy steps up the stairs with words flowing down at how he didn't even help last time at Gma's because he was too little, so why did he have to go now. She offered the consequence to his choice of a fit, time away from friends further into the week, as he continued his rant.

As he was upstairs Mama K and I discussed parenting and how sometimes it is not always the most glamorous of jobs.  She told me how much she liked this group of friends that P wanted to play with and I mentioned that he had planned his own play date.  Before this conversation ended, or even came to a pinnacle point, a sniffle interrupted us.

P had come back down stairs.  He walked directly over to Mama K and gave her a hug. "Mom, I deserve my consequence.  I made a bad choice.  I know you are just trying to teach me a good lesson and that going to help Gma is a good thing." It was at this moment this gal's heart melted.  "I'm sorry Mom." I'm not certain if the sniffles were mine or P's at this moment.  Mama K gave him a tight squeeze and shared with him her love.

I do not share this story to embarrass P.  I share this story because sometimes I get anxious to bring children into this world full of unfounded ridicule and unabashed hatred. I get anxious to hold a little one in my arms and Lion King them (yes, you know what I'm speaking of) to a world that will judge them every second of each day for what they wear or what newest contraption they are using to entertain themselves.  I get anxious to send them to a home for a play date that I have not spent at least 100 hours in myself and had Uncle run a background check on the parents to be sure nothing sketchy has occurred within those walls, by said parents. I get anxious to have them watch the 6 o'clock news with me as I believe in being honest with them about the world they live in but how do you explain when a mother takes the life of her little boys or when bombs go off at the end of a race? I get anxious about it all.

But P is being raised in this same crazy world and look at him.  Look at his siblings.  They live in a happy house with loving parents and are not only fed and making it to school but thriving.  It's not impossible and I've got so many examples of happy homes to look towards, not the least of which being my own parents.  The world can be a scary place but good things are happening all around and good people, young and old, exist on every corner and between.

Happy and hopeful.

Happy

It's 1230 on Wednesday meeting.  My alarm is set for five hours and thirteen minutes from this exact moment.  I'm not tired, although I should be.  I'm happy.

I don't have millions of dollars in the bank. I don't have all of the answers {contrary to what I may tell you}.  Mercy, I can't complete a Rubik Cube on my own {yet}.  But what I do have I am grateful for and I realize, as I sit here in this exact moment, that is more than enough to bring great happiness.

My people are about the world doing good things.  Sometimes I ache for them to not be so vital to others and grand causes, I'd rather have them in my sight, in my kitchen, lounging on my couch, or driving around in Bleu with me. Then the girl who has plans and tasks of her own to change the world realizes they are exactly where they need to be.  And this is not the world of twenty years ago or ten years ago.  The parentals, halfway across the world, are leaving voicemails with a 'call back when you can' message with an understanding that I will call back without worrying about international calling charges or even time difference (the benefit of a Papa/Daughter Duo with odd sleeping habits).  I remember when 9-11 happened. As a freshman at USU, away from everyone I knew but Steve/Dave/Brit, I wanted to be sure all of my people of the time were okay.  So many busy signals.  I didn't have a cell phone so the land line, shared with five other roommates on that horrific day, was all we had.  Adam was in Ecuador.  I think it took him a day a half to get back to my email to tell me he was just fine down there.  Now, something happens, middle of the night or mid day, I send that text or make that call and within seconds or minutes safety is confirmed, likely due to the fact that my 'go to' humans know that I'm a bit of an Anxious Annie and if it takes any longer I'll start calling the cops.  I hear from my people, that is happy.

The last little while has found me in Vegas, Cancun, Chicago, and shortly in St. George and CA. It has been perfect.  Life is happy when you hear SpaceJam being played from across the lacrosse field in Vegas and the guys are killing the other team.  Life is happy hearing Uncle pray. Life is happy when sister brings BIL home for the very first time. Life is happy when your view is sand and a never ending ocean or snow and a never ending Lake.  Life is happy walking into 'my' theater and having it smell the exact same as it did the first time I walked in twenty years ago and having Richard look the exact same.  Life is happy when you make your third trip to the Taco place in 24 hours.  Life is happy when all that is on your todo list is sing with your Grams around the piano or talk to Gramps about Masonry or his childhood.  Life is happy when the countdown texts come through. Life is happy when you crawl beneath the covers with voices you've known for an eternity speaking softly above you. Life is happy curling up with my dog on the carpet in Grams' newly painted family room as Buba speaks math to himself. Life is happy hearing Gramps pray. Life is happy laying out on the roof or on the hammock or at the pool or at the beach.  Life is happy being 4x layered to only have a fire going and two blankets over you as you ask Grams to make her potato salad.  Life is happy listening to Buba and Grams discuss the world and its problems and solve them all.  Life is happy reading with Girlfriend and Cowboy as we crowd into one bed for the night {in spite of their kicking habits} because we don't want to leave one another.  Life is happy.

I live in a new ward.  I'm meeting some new people.  I certainly contemplated putting Kate on my GET TO KNOW YOU sheet rather than "Kasi, pronounced KayCee/KC/Kacey/Kasey" as I normally do.  Knowing that my parents would likely be meeting humans from this ward as they return in December and my relocation no longer seems to be happening I stuck with the standard. But to be clear, Kate makes much more sense and is much easier to pronounce than Kasi.  I've digressed, to be sure. A mingle post the block of meetings on Sunday led to a conversation, the kind I love {where two people discuss, give and take, learn ... not simply parallel talk}, with gorgeous eyes. It was simple and happy. Evening last I ventured to the Jazz game with four girls who I didn't know from Eve prior to getting out of my car for FHE.  I took lots of deep breaths and dove in head first.  I attempted the Papa/Sherrie method of simple kindness.  As it would turn out that leads to a simple evening of laughter and new friends, a simple happy. 

This morning the inbox was full and the phone began to ring before seven.  This is my job.  I contemplated getting ready and going into the office, to the corner with the window as I would need to relocate for the day.  But after the second call, ending at 704, I decided to stay in my pajamas and work from home.  I laughed with my guy in Ohio about the voices he was hearing in the background, not ESPN like last week but rather the political analyst out in DC.  My Grand Rapids friend attempted to keep me on the phone long enough to get my Chicago lisp to come out of me.  And I managed to close business, build a marketing plan, and quiet the frustrated partner in my day.  I smiled throughout it all and in the simplest of ways was happy, in my yoga pants.

Tonight I went to go see a slew of my dear friends in Chitty Chitty Bang Bang.  It was a fluff show, no deep question lingering on your mind as you drive home.  It was darling.  And watching my friends perform was delightful.  They were happy, even sick and tired, they were enjoying themselves.  They were playing parts but I fell in love with each of them as my people a little bit more. It took me back to the days of 16 performances of Drowsy {I don't think I'm exaggerating that number but if I am its only by a few}.  Life was complicated at that time, I didn't know my up from my down and the comfort of familiar and loving faces in roles that didn't make you think brought my feet back to the ground somehow, if only for two hours.  It was simple, it was happy.

As I pulled up my street this evening, ignoring the clock and the almost-thirty-year-old-voice in my head telling me to rush inside and hop in bed, I looked up.  There are stars out there, so many beautiful stars.  I got out of Bleu and stood there, looking up.  My mind raced back to those nights in Chelan, driving up the canyon to the creepy house {seriously, someone was killed there ... or I just bought into that story} that somehow they had sister missionaries living in.  No matter the hour we drove up that windy road we slowed down, often stopping, to just look up and see the endless sky. It was simple and quiet, it was happy.

What I'm trying to say is I have a good life.  I'm grateful for the lessons I've learned in recent months as, without doubt, they have led me to remember just how good things are. The sun rises over the mountains are a different kind of beautiful than the sun rising over the ocean in Cancun.  The sun rising over the ocean in Cancun is a different kind of beautiful than the sun rising over Lake Michigan as I sit on my rock at Gramps' place.  But beautiful and breathtaking they each are.  My life may not look exactly like yours but each has happiness, not merely to be found but to be lived and relished.

And so now, as it approaches 200 this star filled night ... maybe one of my people called ... I say goodnight.  With a smile on my face as I am happy.  I hope you are happy too my friend.

****Yes ~ this is a sappy post but its where I am.  The next will likely be about Prop 8 or some other huge controversy so I thought I'd butter ya'll up****

A Life of Love

January in Utah was cold and smoggy ... and my attitude mirrored it.  Between the kidney situation, the anti-climatic-non-move-to-Vegas-but-rather-to-sister's house-to-Janny's house-to-Bunker's house-to-hospital (repeat several times), and the loss of a dear friend I felt just as cold and lost in a smog on the inside as I did on the outside.  And it wasn't just 'my life' that seemed to be cold and smoggy (I wasn't 'dark and twisty' folks, for those that actually understand my writing 100%, merely cold and smoggy), so many of my people were having a difficult time as well.  Vegas was mocking my decision with its 70 degrees and blue clear skies (not to mention the home cooked meals and adult supervision).  All I wanted to do was curl up with a good book and read, luckily that is what the doctor ordered.

As news came of Sherrie's passing (remember her?) my heart ached. My mind raced back to every chocolate-chip pancake and the conversations that were had over them.  We would sing at the top of our lungs in the Suburban, with Zachy and Sherrie taking the lead vocals, to every Spice Girls song on that CD. There were the moments each Wednesday night when she patiently, and with a heart full of love, listened as we fumbled through the awkward teenage years.  We laughed at ridiculous hours of the night as we played even more ridiculous games, we were never too silly for her. And then the moments of my 'adulthood' time with her, the unwavering faith in my decisions when I struggled to hold tight to them and the unconditional love that was felt so acutely.

You see world, everyone she met felt like this.  Although I know that I am loved by this sweet woman, confident in my status as the favorite melo-dramatic-teenageer who flitted in and out of that house on Canterbury ... we all are confident in that position, her favorite. Her love knows no bounds.  It knows patience for the stubborn and flighty, endurance for the wanderers, tenderness for the sensitive, stern for the smarty-pants, and hopeful for all.  Reading the words of hundreds, speaking with handfuls, and thinking back on all of the moments with her simply prove that she loves us all, with all of herself.  And as much as I adore being the 'favorite' in comparison to others (ie. favorite Granddaughter, favorite niece, favorite friend), I find greater solace in knowing that so many are her favorite.  She, quite literally, touches the lives of thousands of people for the better because of this gift to love, so sincerely, each individual.  I never feel like one of the 'young women' she had all of those years ago or one of her kid's friends. No, her love is tailored to each person, in that specific moment that she is with you.

She exemplifies Jesus Christ, for His love is perfectly unique for His siblings, like no other daughter of God to walk the earth that I have ever met. Her knowledge of Him and His Plan is unwavering, as no life could be lived so well without Him as a constant companion.  Clearly Sherrie is a favorite instrument of His as she lives so in tune and performs just as He would have her.

I think of Elder Oaks' words regarding conference talks, they are not meant to entertain but to reproach if necessary and inspire change for the better. All of this reflection on Sherrie's life can not merely be to sooth the aching heart but to inspire us to be as she is, lovingly and anxiously engaged in His Good cause. No unkind words spoken, no judgements handed out, a simple yet magnificent life of service and love lived. I do not doubt that she is whispering words of love to her children at this time, easing her husband's hurt heart ... allowing the world to grieve at this loss but hoping we all live a bit better tomorrow, loving and helping others along their way as we take this journey Home, and smiling as we do it.
  
As these thoughts fill my mind I see the sun of the first few days of February my heart finds peace.  Peace I pray that her blessed children can feel as life returns to a routine without her physical presence. Peace I plead that her husband can feel as he continues on in this journey without her wink from across the room.  Sherrie Lynn Adams Labrum will forever be in my heart, helping me to find the joy and love with every ounce of who I am.