Make Someone Happy

My thoughts at two am ...

I was raised by Jeff and Marcia. For those of you who have not had the opportunity to spend more than thirty-eight seconds with my parents, I'm sorry. You have not witnessed love until you've seen these two together. You may think I'm biased or exaggerating here to make my point but I am not. I am the product of two people who are madly in love with one another. I am the product of 33 years 7 months and 6 days of marriage. And I am convinced, this evening more than ever, that the world would be a better place if every person had a Someone to love like Jeff loves Marcia and Marcia loves Jeff.

You see as a kid I knew, always, that Papa loved Mom first and the most. Yes, I knew that if I cried in the middle of the night Papa would come down stairs and sooth away the fears and tears. Yes, I knew that Mom would help with the project I waited until the very last minute to complete. Yes, I knew they both would be in the audience for performances, games, concerts, or debates. Yes, I know that today they will pick up their phones if I call in the middle of the night. Yes, I know that today they will send texts to check in on their single 31 year old daughter. Yes, I know that Papa will forever be incredibly concerned for the consequences of my political affiliations. Yes, I know that Mom will forever be my advocate with myself when I'm unsure or scrutinizing my decisions. Yes, I know that I'm a topic as they petition the heavens for things. But in every instant listed and all of the moments between, they love one another first.

Papa lives to make Mom happy. Mom lives to make Papa happy. Yes, I'm no longer the naive 17 year old convinced that marriage of my parental unit is bliss every minute of the day. My parents are not perfect. But they choose one another first, above all of the other things in this life. They choose each day to kneel in prayer together. They choose each day to laugh together. They choose each day to be annoyed at the driver in the car that cut them off together. They choose each day to watch the Hallmark film while the fire burns together. They choose one another. And because of the choices they make each day, to be not only together still after all of these years, but to be happy together ... they as individuals are happy.

There are four kids, two in-laws, and one perfect grandson that have been painted into their picture over 12273 days together. And we are cared for and loved to the moon and back but we know, without doubt, that they are one another's partners in this life. We are tasked to find our own partners. Until we do/did, we were theirs but we were secondary. I wish that there were a word that defined this secondary-but-still-feeling-top-priority-while-knowing-the-foundation-which-brought-you-into-this-world-remains-steady-and-committed-to-being-a-steady-foundation-for-you-until-you-create-your-own-foundation ... but that word doesn't exist.

I look at some of my friends, more than a few into the second decade of their marriages. And some of them didn't do as my parents did. Kids have taken priority or a career or a hobby or idleness. It makes me sad, not for those couples as they made their choices and therefore have chosen the consequences that will follow, but for those kids. Yes, kids are demanding of your time. Yes, your career needs more than 8 hours a day more often than not. Yes, fishing is easier than sorting through your spouses ridiculous emotional escapades. Yes, Netflix has every season of West Wing. Yes, kids are sometimes so much easier to love. Yes, work often provides more immediate rewards. Yes, Netflix has Blue Bloods (I know, a blatantly right winged show but I have a secret crush on Tom Selleck, that mustache does me in). But to not know that Mom and Papa love one enough to sacrifice for one another ... I can't imagine my world without that foundation.

When I took a moment to be home after the not-wedding I found a couple similar to Mom and Papa. One night I was over at their house, I gravitated to their home because of that foundation of love they had cultivated. Sitting across from them, discussing my choices and their choices and how we were where we were, Annette said to me, "Kas, we still stay up late into the night talking to one another, laughing." Now, four and a half years later, I still remember my exact thought after hearing those words, "Like Mom and Papa." She went on to tell me the conversation was rarely about the four kiddos, now a few more, for more than a bit. They still wanted to laugh and tell stories, to discuss books and scriptures, to watch movies together ... they were first and foremost a couple, then parents.

Buba is married. Remember when that happened? I wigged a little bit. My baby brother ran off and did that without me, without my stamp of approval. I was his person and he was mine and now I was not and she was and ... ect. But some months later (more than nine, although the rumors flew ... bless us judgey Mormons) they had Captain and the world was made right. I made it to hold that baby for his 1 month birthday. And while I sat there for three days loving Nephew, I saw Buba loving his wife like Papa loves my Mom. I looked down at that tiny, skinny, most perfect little one in my arms and knew that no matter what comes, he has the foundation I have ... that his Papa has. He has parents that love one another first.

My most favorite film is Burt and Verona trying to find a place to create that foundation. They know that the new role of parent they are about to take on is a huge thing. They want to do it right. In the 98 minutes you watch them though you see that they are choosing to make one another happy. He yells because she wants him to (I promise, it makes sense). She smiles because he's goofy. They are doing the groundwork. Verona had exactly what I have. She wants to give that to her child. And Burt, because he's chosen Verona and loves her as only he can, is supporting each Away (they) Go adventure. They don't care what everyone around them is saying or directing them to do. He wants her to be happy. She wants him to be happy. Everyone else is white noise to them. I love every minute of it.

Why am I saying this? Yes, I know so many without a Jeff and Marcia foundation. Yes, I know so many that have become amazingly remarkable humans, changing the world and blazing trails of greatness without parents that picked each other first. So, perhaps disregard all of my words. But me, Kate (did you know I referred to myself as Kate? I do ... me and Gams are the only humans who understand that someone with the real name Kathryn should actually be called Kate but I've digressed), I think you need Someone. One Someone. And you need to make that one Someone happy.

Coke told me that today when I went to the store ... it was right there staring me in the face. (Coke knows what I need) If you spend your life making Someone happy and they spend their life making you happy ... and you stay up late into the night laughing ... and you wake up early to kiss their face off ... and you call them in the middle of the day to whine about your coworker ... and you hold their hand as you drive to get that $4 breakfast burrito that is going to make you happy for a moment but not so happy in a few hours ... and you ponder your crazy kids together ... and you support one another in hopes and dreams and aspirations ... and if you have real talk together about how sometimes choosing one another is not your favorite thing but you get to the next day and it gets better ... and your Someone is your Someone ... well, it just makes the world seem a bit less scary, right?

Tall One said to me a bit ago as I sat perched on his chair, anxious about it all, "It's my job now to make her happy. I took the leap, I'm trying." He said some days he fails but he tries again. And he's happy doing that. The rest of the pieces that make his life seem to be in a better place because that is his number one priority. Tall One, the one that for years I was certain wouldn't ever get past a plate of busy and being sure the 19 humans he took on his plate as his responsibility were cared for ... he is happy making her happy. One person making one Someone happy.

I'm not saying that we should silo our service to one human. I'm not saying offspring shouldn't be cherished and adored. I'm not saying ...

I'm saying you get to choose to make one person happy. If you are making her happy, if she is making you happy everything else, eventually, falls into its place ... at least according to my model. So make one human, not 4 or 9 or 17, your person. And make that one Someone happy. I'm pretty sure it will make your Monday better, your week better, your holiday better ... it will make life better. And if everyone had one Someone to make happy and that Someone was simultaneously working to make their happiness maker happy ... well, it would be a whole world of happy.

See, I just fixed the world. You're welcome.

Friday's French Facts

Fact 1 - If you* had asked me ten years ago my plan, I would have simply said, "I'm leaving on my mission in 10 days!" with delight. If you had asked me my plan five years ago, I would have simply said, "Moving back to California here shortly probably," with a bit of hesitation and a prayer you wouldn't ask anything more. If you had asked me one year ago my plan, I would have said, "It's an adventure, I'm sorting through." If you ask me my plan right this moment, I would look at you with tired eyes and cry, "I have absolutely no idea." And that's okay, it's honest. Give me my 17 and I'll have an answer sans tears.

Fact 2 - I'm not a sleeper at current time. I wish I was. I get into bed. I try for night time sleeping. I try for day time sleeping. I try sleep helpers. I try window open sleeping (I am Jeff's daughter). I try the sound maker Grandfather sent me while I was Sister French. I try no noise at all. But most of the time, I Netflix (is that a verb yet?) Josh or Jim. I will usually fall asleep for a bit, I know the story lines and find comfort in knowing it won't change if I don't pay attention for a minute ... and sometimes I sleep as much as an hour ... but more than that isn't my reality right now. It makes me the perfect person for holding the babies in the middle of the night or doing the 5am drives to the airport (as I did this morning, picture below ... thank you red light glow for saving me from having to filter the heck out of it). 

Fact 3 - I'm an anxious person. I hate that this word is so common ... schizophrenia, another thing people can have, is not used to describe our day to day. You don't hear someone saying, "I was just a bit schizophrenic about my morning routine." But people use the word anxious all of the time about things, "I was anxious about losing that game," or "I'm anxious to have you come see the new house!" And that use is not wrong. But as someone that has an anxiety ... I hate it's common use in our vernacular, it makes me anxious, my kind of anxious. Because you see, my kind of anxious is debilitating. It's not simply an unexpected rush of adrenaline or sweet butterflies. It's an increased heart rate, to the point where I feel like it's going to beat right out of my body. It's difficulty breathing, not simply a count to 17 and all will be fine but a I'm-losing-all-ability-to-move-because-there-is-no-oxygen-getting-into-my-blood-stream-in-order-to-move-anything and then the uncontrollable shaking begins. It's ringing in my ears. It's dizziness that makes me want to, and on occasion actually, vomit. It's the most uncomfortable feeling I've ever felt and I've had 6 kidney stones, one failed kidney (twice), migraines, a broken back, and a broken middle toe (that last one was just for good measure, I was 11 and don't remember it hurting very much but I was a bit of a hypochondriac at that point in my life). I don't love large groups of humans that I don't know. I don't love large groups of humans I do know without a plan. I don't love public speaking. I don't love talking, verbally, about things that I'm uncertain about, my uncertainty or the party I'm speaking with's uncertainty. I don't love passive aggressive behavior. I don't love hospitals. I don't love days 23-28 after someone I love has died. I have medication that I can take and I do when it is necessary. However, at 31, I've also found that not putting myself in situations is the much easier (for all involved) and much more logical. Some of you* don't understand this ... I don't understand you in totality either, and that's okay. But it's a real thing, a difficult thing. Yes, I'm Marcia's daughter ... we look almost identical and have mirroring mannerisms and only Papa can tell the difference over the phone ... but I did not inherit her love and comfort in all situations, teaching a hundred people how to manage in a crisis is her idea of a fun Saturday afternoon and makes me want to hide in the closet. I'm complicated and on occasion ridiculous. But I am trying to not inconvenience you*. I am trying not to cause a scene. I am trying very hard not to be the person you don't understand. Yes, there are humans (I can count them on two hands, if I'm including family members) that work to calm the anxiety, that see it before I feel it and know the tricks to Kasi. I'll ask them what they are and share with the world ... but for them, as I see it, it's instinctual. They know me that well, they are my people.

Fact 4 - I know that I am an excellent person to have in your corner. I believe in you* and in your dreams. I fight for you with you if necessary. I think about you and pray for you, not a blanket blessing list of humans but I've got the time (I'm not a sleeper, remember?) and so Father gets an ear full about you. If I'm in Hallmark, I likely find a card that fits you. I push you. I appreciate you. I love your kids. I take a pill and come to the hospital. I find time to be there when the guy is a punk, the girl is heartless, or the kids are running you into the ground. And I know that this is great, it's the best thing I am right now. 

Fact 5 - I know that although Fact 4 is lovely ... it's not what I would like to be best at. I would like to be best at being 1 human's person. WHAT?!?!!?!? You (general population, not my nicknamed humans) are thinking that I have my 'people' not simply a 'person'. And that is the current fact. But here's the new bottom line ... My 'people' are my favorite and it's caused some issues ('some' being a very under-exaggeration) as I've tried to have a 'person'. You* are likely reading this and can site a time you saw me ruin something because of you* without even realizing it. And I'm not loving that. Because sometimes life happens, and the duration of 17 of a rant/cry/mope/scream that is necessary is necessary to live with someone, someone that is just mine in that moment. Please understand, you*/my people are there and I know it, I love it. But sometimes, when it feels like it's Kasi vs. the entire world, I'd like to have one 'person' feel responsible for me, to be in my corner ... with no other obligations above me. Writing that seems selfish? No, no. 

These are just the facts.

*you being my nicknamed humans

My People

Lots of things happen in life. Cars break down or keep running. Shows get cancelled or renewed. Songs get discovered or forgotten. Laundry gets put away or piled neatly on the bed. Cancer gets beaten or maybe it doesn't. People stay or people go. Words get said or they don't. And it all just keeps going.

I was sitting on K's bed as the night turned to morning, using words I didn't realize I had. I said something and caught myself off guard as K and A just looked at me, smiling. I did not return their smiles but rather had a moment of frustration. They kept smiling. My frustration at myself grew and their smiles stayed the same, "Welcome to the party, we've known for a very long time!" one said as I sat perched on my knees ... both of their faces were full of ... well, it seemed to be relief, as if this secret they'd kept from me was finally out in the open and they didn't have to lie to me any longer. Mercy, I laughed so hard.

I was talking (but really he was listening to me be complete mess) to CA a few Sundays ago.  I didn't have to use a lot of words as over the years he's come to know what is behind each heavy sigh or sniffle. He knew a distraction would be best so a ridiculous and likely 98% false story was told.  As his audience listened and her eyes stopped watering he wrapped up the antics. And then, as only he could, he said, "Well dagnabit (not actually 'dagnabit' but tender eyes may be reading) Kasi Jean, at least the rumors can be put to rest that you can't love." I laughed so hard.

I was lying on A's bed being ridiculous.  "At least you cry pretty." I laughed so hard.

Bintz and Doc sat with me that hour, flanking my sides. I wanted to be anywhere but where I was but there I was. Doc distracted me with comments on Paul vs Saul. Bintz sided with me as every move was made. At one point she said something about a clean shaven face. I laughed so hard.

I called Buba as I sat in my car, trying to sort through it all.  I let it all out, all of it. He gets to know everything. And then when I was done, he swore for me.  I laughed so hard.

Boy and I talk about homemade mayonnaise. We did Whole30, we can basically do anything. No laughing folks, I'm serious (I say with a Coke in my hand ;) ).

And then reality hits. I take a minute and go stand outside, the Lake in my line of sight. Deep breaths, count to 17. I mentally make a list of the Hallmarks that should probably be written to every friend that's been where I am that I've rolled my eyes at and said without empathy, "Mercy, get over it. Adventure is right around the corner but you've got to get there!" Juanito Bandito's guns go off, rapping happens behind the curtain and little kiddos laughter makes it better. And before the night ends in my hands is a shirt and a card, I laughed so hard!

My people really are my favorite.

 

A Paper Moon and a Slight Whistle

Tonight I felt like Mom at 30.  It's rare that this happens as I do not have a husband, four children, a home, a trampoline (the key, clearly!), two cars, several church callings, and dreams of being a therapist.  As I drove home the radio played Nat King Cole's Paper Moon, thank you NPR for your nightly classics. And although this particular song was not on the soundtrack to Sleepless in Seattle it sounded very much like all of those songs and I was suddenly thrown back to our trip to Vegas, when I was 10 and Mom was 31 (my age in roughly 35 sleeps). Margie, Caroline, Amy, Bri, and I somehow fooled the boys into seeing the film, poor guys (11, 8, and 6 years old) were bored stiff but their time was bought with popcorn and Milk Duds. The estrogen charged population (Caroline and I were 10, Bri and Amy were 8 but we were just as hooked on the timeless love story as our moms) walked out of the theater went straight to the store, whichever store sold cassette tapes at the time, and bought the soundtrack to Sleepless in Seattle.  We listened to it all the way back to Chicago, it's amazing my brothers didn't come at us with knives (wait ... ).  Love was tangible at that point in my life.  Papa loved Mom and I could see that, I was part of that.  Annie was not crazy but had fallen in love with Sam via three minute radio spot and in the end would be the new mom to Jonah, Nat would sing about it as would Celine and Harry.  Love is what happened between Uncle and his wife, Gramps and Grams, my parents, and Tom and Meg on the big screen.  And one day it would happen to me. That song, Paper Moon, threw me back into that place of hope.

It was in this 'throw back' haze that I was reminded of the Lunar Eclipse that was occurring.  For an instant I was a bit heart broken that I had broken things off with humans as of late and was one guy short of a couple to experience this not-quite-once-in-a-lifetime-but-rare-enough-to-make-a-moment-out-of-it moment with. Not having a 'him' after this long with a 'him' is hard and not to fall back into that on a night when there was a 'moment' to be had was not easy ... But I rallied quickly as the earth was rotating and my window for sky-nerding-out (the only acceptable kind in my mind) was closing.  I texted A, still awake upstairs, and we met at the door.  We walked outside to see nothing but a regular moon and decided that the city lights were going to cause a problem.  So we hopped in Bleu and drove up the canyon. It was incredible.  I love the simple complexities of the sky, the grandness of it while being such a small little something on this planet.  I love looking up and seeing beyond the trees, mountains, and haze ... to a sky that is endless and beyond my own lifetime.  I've got a brother that is a genius about all of the things in the Heavens and I appreciate that. But, to be completely frank, I love just looking up and seeing the Man on the Moon in red and the stars, maybe some are planets, in all of their glory.  They are near enough to be bright in my life and far enough to provide wonder and complete amazement.  It was worth the drive in the middle of the night to feel that awe and inspiration.

My parents seek adventure in their own way, rarely was it grand or costly.   But we'd hop in the car in the middle of the night to surprise Uncle in Indiana or pack up Christmas Eve to surprise Grams at the house on the Lake, only after taking care to leave a note for Santa as Buba was CERTAIN the Big Guy would not find us at Grams with such late notice.  I remember (and with this memory that is a FEAT!) several occasions where we would be 'going swimming' only to find our bags packed for a weekend away.  There were many a Saturdays that started with chores but ended on roller-coasters at Great America.  And I will never forget that sunrise with Papa, not on the calendar but forever in my mind as my favorite morning of all time.

Papa drove a little green Geo, two doors.  It smelled of tools and pastries, that may sound odd to some of you but if I close my eyes tight enough I can smell it still.  Before the days of booster seats and laws forbidding children to sit in the front seat before 110 lbs (I have no idea what the actual law is but every time I'm in California Cowboy reminds me he is big enough or at the very least his mom has ignored the law enough that I won't be the first adult to risk his life in the front seat) I sat in the front with Papa in that little car.  The Church building was 37 minutes away, I know this because leaving for 9am church was never an easy task for Mom when Papa was called to worship with the Navy men at a different building and frequently the screams from the top of the stairs was simply, "We have 37 min to get to church!" and we'd make it in time for opening prayer.  I've digressed.  The building was 37 minutes away and we would often go to watch the young men play basketball.  I don't know if that's still something that we would do but Papa would make that drive, sometimes to ref the game and sometimes just to give the ref a hard time (the only 'bad' story we ever have to tell about Papa but I'll get to that another time).  But I remember Saturday mornings, either driving to the ball game or going to pick up donuts or picking up donuts on the way to the ballgame, Papa would have WGN radio on.  Sometimes we heard 'The Rest of the Story" with Paul Harvey and sometimes it was the Cubs game.  I couldn't tell you more than that regarding what was said by those radio personalities.

But I can tell you the sound of that radio tuned in to the AM frequency.  There was always a slight whistle behind the voices, always male voices.  And behind that whistle it sounded as if there was an empty arena where the voices would bounce off of every corner before it reached that green Geo we were driving in.  It wasn't an annoyance, it was something of substance.  It was something steady.  And so no matter where we were driving to it was of no importance ... because that car ride, sitting shot-gun with Papa, that was the steady part of it all.  He would chime in with his own wisdom often but I can't tell you what gem he offered. I can tell you that smell is still inside of me and my heart slows to a steady beat when I tune into an AM frequency now.

What I'm getting at ... My life is not that of my parents 20 years ago.  But because of the life they gave me, full of frugal adventure and AM radio stations, I love my life.  I have my moments, we all do, but the Lunar Eclipse from the canyon with the water rushing and the wind blowing completes my Monday.  And NPR or ESPN 700 can bring my blood pressure back down to a scary-low-level (thanks for that Gramps! that and the lack of a bum!) after I get word of an injustice done in the world.  It's Nat's voice ringing in my ear that makes me smile.  It's that slight whistle behind the sound of those deep bass voices that reminds me that this is my story but filled with the nuances of Jeff and Marcia, Bill and Phyllis, Max and Charma, Bill and Monica, Matt and Laurel, Mike and Robin ect.

So as I sit here at 240 in the morning, with Paper Moon playing, I smile.  Because life is good.  It's winks, whistles, and Paper Moon good.

Get that Girl a Coke

I sat across from CA at a Mexican place that, after I thought about it on my drive home, I've been to before. We were enjoying our water (it was not a Coke establishment and he realized after we had chosen this destination that he should probably have told me but he didn't and that's fine), chips and salsa (it was almost as good as Cucos), discussing life.  We're both excellent at life, truly.  We're not so excellent at communicating about it but we have managed for 7 years and still like each other well enough to keep communicating about it. At one point in our conversation, as I was thoroughly enjoying my soup, I eluded to a conversation we've had at least twice a year for the last five, "Being with someone is a choice." This time he did not nod his head in agreement and move us to the next topic.  This time he took an opposing view. "Really, is it a choice? I mean, you can just marry anyone and be okay? We're dealt cards ..." (He didn't say dealt cards but he said something like it and so there you have it ... he's not all circumstances and such though, this is the same CA who also says, at least yearly and more specifically over the very same salsa this day, how amazed he is when two people like each other enough to love each other enough to CHOOSE each other for the rest of time ... He has it figured out about as well as I do).  I ached a little bit for a Coke in that moment of confusion as I reached for my water.

A few days before another CA made a surprise visit to worship ... not a surprise that he was at worship but that he was there at that particular moment half-way through the second hour (I'm sorry, I know you are likely confused and will likely continue to be a bit lost but when I'm telling my nieces about life all of this will be enough to jog my memory and not enough that they won't have to ask me for details ... that's how I roll here folks).  I was happy to see him, truly.  But I had already decided that I wasn't going to be there for the third hour and so I made quick conversation with him.  He made a face, it's something we both do.  Then, somehow in less than the 29 seconds that I sat there with him before leaving, he brought up jobs and hating them and dream lives and a euphoric way of life and as I sat there I ached for a Coke a little bit because as it would turn out, I may not be built for that kind of euphoric life he is convinced is out there somewhere.

That same evening I was talking to Mom, and with everything on her plate right now, the woman decided it was time to tell me to 'stop sabotaging yourself' ... I hung up and called Buba (not because she was completely off base or out of line but simply because I was going to ignore her motherly/therapist words for a bit longer).  He didn't answer right away, so I made a few rescue (read avoidance) phone calls, and then Buba called back with the wife, who I now actually love a lot. I didn't end up hiring a hit man to take out Mom (parents are kind of important and, as it would turn out, I'd like both of mine to be around for a good long while still, please and thank you) as Buba talked me down from there with talk about the baby (it's public knowledge now, I think ... they are having a baby in August, piles of books already purchased for that little one). I had three Cokes that night though and still count two living parents.

Thursday, my third of four 4am mornings last week, I was in an accident before even making it to the MacArthur exit.  I'm fine. But I was not thrilled with the beginning of my day.  Then work blew up in several different time zones and made for some hectic hours.  Then CA met me at the park for an hour.  Initially when the plan was presented I thought it was brilliant ~ the weather was grand, the phone would be turned off, kids would be laughing on the swings ... but I was in a mood and he was in a mood, using his words to articulate his feelings, and really ...  all I wanted was a Coke and Ryan, the physical therapist back here in Salt Lake, to make me not hate the fact I was in a ridiculous, text induced (not me, my phone was sitting on the seat next to me being used as the device to play Murdoch as I tried to keep calm in traffic), car accident on the 405 ten hours earlier.  But we were in the sun ... the sun was good and the ducks that were being fed by the cute little humans were straight out of Hans' story it seemed. A Coke would have made it better though.

That evening was excellent! (I'm not all 'boo and hiss' today) And as I sat out on the patio of Connie and Ted's, I had a Coke (several) and enjoyed my company.

When news comes to me, the news that I can't quite wrap my head or heart around, I like to disappear to process.  So yesterday I went to Logan. I love that place.  I didn't need a Coke all the day long, nope.  There was a reality left back in Salt Lake and I lived soberly for the entire day. Logan is magical that way.  (Please understand, my 'family' there would have supported me getting a drink, they would have joined me in it ... but I was wrapped up in the littles playing basketball, the toe-head needing her hair redone, the pretty dresses and lace, the favorite conversation, and the mustaches ... I didn't think outside of that moment I was in as I lived it ... but now that I do, a Coke may have been good for me and Baby Kace as he woke from his nap, bring that blood sugar right up!!!)

I made it back to reality and before the 3rd hour of worship was halfway over, I ached for a Coke.  It came, Good Man is called such for a few reasons but after his pop-in with a cold 1 liter of the Real Thing (see what I did there?) no further explanation will ever be necessary. And then, in a perfect moment when stars and planets aligned, Good Man pointed out a funny commercial that was on as my Bulls lost their lead to the Heat (well, they had lost it by a lot at this point and that wasn't the perfect part of this story unless you are Boy or Carter or anyone loving Eric, D Wade, or that evil Lebron).  I took a drink as the commercial played.  Funny old ladies, sure.  But then, oh but then folks ... John's voice came on to preach esurance after the funny ladies. I had my Coke in hand and Krasinski's voice in my ears.  This happy moment brought to you in part by Good Man, in part by the good people at ABC who believe in advertising, in part by esurance, in part by John Pemberton, in part by the famous half of #krasinskiandkas, and I firmly believe in part by an Aunt on the other side who loved a classy man's soothing voice and her Coke as much as I do (thanks Aunt Em).  It was a necessary moment.

Because reality came back and hit me in the chest a bit later. And I'm handling it.  In spite of me saying so many time, 'It's a choice to be happy. It's a choice to be in love. It's a choice to happily work,' ... it's a choice but sometimes it's circumstance that puts us in a place where the choice is a bit harder to make or perhaps even not possible for 17 seconds or so (CA may be right in this moment but I'm not convinced I'll be saying that come dawn and a cold Coke).  So when the phone rang and Papa spoke about Fringe and House (who says he's lost memory?!? That man can tell me at any hour of the day the exact ending, middle, and beginning of any book he's ever read and any show he's ever watched! I should probably be his doctor as I'm pretty sure he's as healthy as a horse) I was fine for a minute.  But then, as single Utahians do, Potter went into a "what would you tell me as a dating coach" thing. And so that happened in the reverse and ... well, reality and such. Boy didn't make out quite as bad as I did I feel like.  But then the goodness of Dads was discussed and the necessity of if all and vulnerability was echoing in my ears and I had listened to this eternal perspective in 3rd hour and shed some tears because my eyes are attempting to acknowledge the emotions I attempt not to and so in the midst of being told how to be a better girl to date and family talk and temple talk and everything ... well, I wished I hadn't downed that Coke as quickly as I had this afternoon.

I'm Kasi/Kate/Magnum/Marsha/French/Kathryn J/Sunshine ... and I believe that the simple things (read a cold Coke) can make the world (read my life) a better place (read take the edge off a not so easy time to choose to be happy). Tomorrow is Monday. It's going to be 59 degrees and clear skies in Salt Lake.  That's not a bad way to start the week! I'll add a Coke to the day and it will all be just PEACHY!!

Feeling Lucky ... or Blessed ... or Seeing Clearly for a Minute

Just over five hours into a new day and I am wide awake still, fantastic. {if read without sarcasm, please reread with such an attitude as it was written with such}

Now please dispense of said attitude and remember I'm not up early this morning but rather up late through the night, so have patience with the random and jumbled thoughts please.

There was a thick fog here last night. It wasn't a majestic fog that sits over a pond in the morning before the sun can burn through or even the type of fog that sits on my Lake late in the evening, almost as if to keep the memories of the day locked right there for just a moment longer.   It was the type of fog that makes you pull your car to the side of the road and wonder if you are going to be able to make it home safely.  So I sat there, at the top of the mountain {kinda}, for a moment.

It had been a while since I'd stopped. Life gets busy, plans get made and the calendar is booked up a month in advance.  The TODO lists that give me such great satisfaction become the driving force of my days. Somehow the people that mean so much to me get pushed off for weeks, even a month, at a time because there just doesn't seem to be time to squeeze in a hello.  I'm not sure when life became so busy or started moving so dang quickly. But when I stopped last night up on that mountain my mind began to do the whole unwinding thing.

At first it was the TODO list for tomorrow {or today} that won ~ the fresh office supplies that my team and I will use for the first time as we create our OCD world in the conference room in just a few hours, the laundry that could be done before I get back on a plane Saturday morning, the thank you cards that need to be written, the location of the birthday dinner.  Then it was a review of the day ~ the PPI and welcome from Cache, the awkward while funny wink over lunch, East Coast learning about the restructure with WCF on the line, the frustration at the office supply store, the discussion of slavery over dinner, the use of the word invincible, and the fresh forced moment with Potter.

It was then the phone rang, CA.  There was a part of me that didn't want to answer it, I had stopped and wanted to exist in my own little place for a minute longer, to let my mind wander for a bit and see where it would go.  I answered in spite of that part of me and was glad to hear his voice.  What I didn't realize is that this stopped moment had caused me to get emotional, contrary to what I may say sometimes or what I may show often I am a personal with feelings, I feel.  So as I replied to his "How are you?" my voice broke, we were both surprised, perhaps me even more than CA ... I said I feel, not that I understand all of the feelings or why they exist.  The questions came fast as he tried to figure out why I was crying.  Because I was so caught off guard by myself I became defensive.  Luckily for me, he's used to my ridiculous walls and automatic behavior.  More questions came and within three minutes I knew why the tears existed. And it's nothing to go into now.

"French, what was it that your Uncle said to you?"

I have a few uncles and they direct a lot of words at me but I knew exactly what he was talking about.  It was that first and final letter from Uncle Mike. "You've been running around the country for the last three months for work and for family. Tonight was bound to happen." He didn't say anything for a bit as I shed some tears of exhaustion, grateful for the release and his understanding. "Lucky for you, you'll be here in the sunshine this weekend. Don't bring the fog though." He laughed at his own joke as I internalized his words, as a female does, with more weight and implication than he intended.  He stayed on the line, although we both knew I was done talking for the night.

I allowed my mind to finish wondering, sitting up on the side of some road off of Wasatch, phone connected to silence and 55 degrees.

Thursday last I was sitting next to and across from CA, two together and with me we made three.  It was a night, yep.  CA to my left, always the one asking questions, attempting to avoid an odd moment, posed this question, "When was the last time you really felt lucky? Like really really lucky?" {asked honestly, not a la Dirty Harry} CA across from me immediately sited a winning night of Black Jack, naturally.  I had no answer.  The conversation moved on quickly without a response from CA to my left and myself, that particular grouping of humans doesn't do comfortable silence.

Is lucky and blessed the same thing?  I don't know.  But maybe it's just a matter of semantics.

I sent out three group texts about different things from Park City this weekend and only one of my humans, of 16, replied to all. My people are smart!
My straightener, a $173 investment made by me while Girlfriend and Cowboy were my main concern, fell to the hard hotel bathroom floor while I was in Phoenix but that little red light turned on and the magic wand heated up to 400 degrees to manage my hair.
While in CA I was able to see all of my CAs within a 48 hour period.
Even with a new position at work the month of May is still dedicated to a land far far away.
The man that will have his name on that second page, the one on the left, of my book has more patience with me and my thoughts than I thought possible in a professional setting.
My peanut butter jar seems to be created by the same people that created Mary Poppins carpet bag.
Friday night I was surrounded by some of the most kind and genuine people, not of my particular faith and in fact with logical reason they had every right to not be such, but rather they reminded me of just how innately good the human race can be.
Kevin Bacon returned in The Following this week.
My studies of baseball have led me to believe I saved the easiest sport to understand for last.
Boy did it too so the judgement wasn't as harsh as it could have been.
With three weeks of laundry laying in my hamper, on my floor, and in my yet unpacked suitcase, I still can steer clear of the washer as I'm heading back to warmth and therefore am in a separate summer wardrobe.
Papa's Friday texts are coming from mainland America.
The accountant man next to me on my flight to Santa Anna last week smelled like every guy I kissed my sophomore year of college, thank you Aqua Di Gio, and was calm in the face of a 50 minute flight next to an anxious flyer.
CA is able to reference words of Uncle.
Those leaving my office are still sincerely smiling.
Falling asleep to episodes of Sam/Josh/Toby often lend to dreams on that side of the country, in that wing of the House, with those three.
I can usually get that knuckle at the base of my thumb to crack.
Cowboy's birthday just happens to be the day before work needs me in the neighboring zip code.
Pete and Wendy are 'on' for the next two weeks at the House on the Hill before a rotation is put into place that I'll have to figure out.
Doc was willing to give me that information.
My Spanish is good enough for the people I'm talking to.
Ernie Halter now exists in my life.
Krasinski's voice comes on to provide esurance to the football watching population.

CA spoke up after some minutes and offered solutions to problems, as he does. And then I put Bleu into drive and came back down the mountain, very slowly.

I'm lucky.  Or blessed.  I have emotions and confusions just like every human on the planet.  And just like so many in that same group, I forget to recognize the great joy it is to be me.  Yep, moments in the fog happen. Sometimes, like last night though, the literal fog comes to force a realization.  Its not anything new or profound, nothing brilliant that should be quoted at the bottom of every email you send from your inbox. Rather it is the realization that helps me see through the fog, the realization that my life is mine to live. It is full of daily choices and checklists, created by me.  But I've only the chance to joyfully live this moment, this early morning moment, once. Uncle was right. CA posed a good question.  Bing sang truth written by Mr. Berlin.  It's my choice.

"We cannot recycle or save the time allotted to us each day. 

With time, we have only one opportunity for choice, and then it is gone forever.” 

Apostle Crush