More or Less

I'm back in Brookings, more or less to stay, I think.

The "I think" comes because I don't have a job and I don't have an apartment. Currently, the plan is to stay with one friend through New Years and then switch over to another friend's place. I say "currently" because my plans have changed so many times, so drastically since the end of August. I can't believe it has only been a few months. When I was packing up the last of my Aberdeen apartment yesterday morning, I looked at my mom and mentioned that so much has happened. She agreed and told me I've been keeping it together well. That's the sort of thing I need to hear right now.

Still, I'm glad to be done (more or less again) with Aberdeen. I never really wanted to go back, but I felt it was silly to turn down that job. If I'd known about half the opportunities in Brookings, I could've been persuaded to stay in a heartbeat. There's something in Brookings that Aberdeen doesn't have and I've always known that, but I could never pin point it. These last weeks, I've realized that both places are home, but I just fit in better in Brookings. I have a social life here. The artistic community, which stems from campus, is so much more encouraging. A part of me feels like I put my life on hold for the months I was in Aberdeen and that bugs the hell out of me. I'm too young to have a fog set in like that.

Regardless, I'm happy to be back, even if all my stuff is in a storage unit in Aberdeen. Even if I'm mooching off all my friends. Even if I don't have my own home here yet. The fact that so many people are willing to open theirs up to me means I am home.

"Just hurry down the chimney tonight..."

Happy holidays!!

When the biggest holiday collides with moving out of an apartment, things get a little messed up and complicated. It'll get worse when I actually start packing, but I just don't have the heart to do it until Friday. I don't know if it is Christmas, or if it is because I moved in here thinking I'd be here a lot longer... I'll miss the fam, but I got a reassuring Facebook message from a friend today, and it reinforced my decision to go back to Brookings. Merry Christmas, ya know?

My family celebrates Christmas on the Eve. I'm not sure why, but it was always nice as a kid to just open and enjoy my gifts the night before. Then we could all chill on the Christmas Day and hang out with each other. Besides, there's something magical about "knowing" Santa could be flying by the picture window as we opened our presents. I remember one Christmas Eve, Spencer and I sat in the kitchen in our old house, listening to the radio for updates on Santa's location. Mom and Dad finally managed to get us to bed because Dad swore he heard bells on the roof but Santa knew we were up, so we had to go to bed. That was enough.

Spencer and I were always spoiled when it came to Santa. Every year, Mom called 1-800-North-Pole for us and we got to talk to Mrs. Clause and Santa. I always thought it was crazy how much Santa sounded like our Uncle Kent, but you know, I never asked. ;)

When I was even younger, when Spencer was just a baby, Santa came to visit us personally. I truly don't remember this, but I guess after we opened our presents, someone knocked on the door. Mom made me run to answer it and on the other side was a kitchenette set, with bits of snow and sparkles on the top. Dad reappeared (where was he?!) and exclaimed over how he heard a "Ho Ho Ho" outside. I thought Santa's personal visit was the coolest thing. We still have that kitchenette set in the basement.

As a young adult, I'm having a difficult time with Christmas, just transitioning from kid-like fantasy to adulthood, but you could argue I'm having difficulty with that transition all together. I do know, however, that I am so excited to have kids some day, just to celebrate nights like tonight with them.

Want a Cookie?

My ma has jumped into her Christmas baking full force this weekend. We have cranberry and nut cookies, sugar cookies, sugar with frosting cookies, homemade caramel, Ritz cracker cookies and about a thousand more varieties of baked goods to go yet. Aside from helping me back and celebrating the actual holiday this week, she'll be in the kitchen baking and cooking all week. Jon said today that I'm crazy for moving, that he'd love the chance to swing by his mother's kitchen any given day for homecooked food. I have appreciated it so much these last few months, but it is time I learn to cook. With my mother, the culinary master that she is, living in the same town as me...why should I ever have to learn? Hahaha. Fine, I know I should.

Anyway, Dad and Spencer decorated these cookies tonight while we were watching "Homeward Bound: Lost in San Francisco" on the Hallmark Channel. Say it with me. Awwww.

(P.S. Spencer made the Grinch Santa. My personal favorite is the snowman. He made me giggle.)

Caring Bridge

Some old friends of mine, Harmony and Phil, found out they were pregnant sometime last spring. Macee Elizabeth was born on December 9, 2008 and her arrival has been drama-filled, to say the least. She's doing much better now, however, and for that I am very thankful. This afternoon, Harms sent me a text to check out her daughter's Caring Bridge site. Whoever came up with this concept was crazy smart -- a great way for family and friends to be updated on a sick kid's progress without harrassing and stressing the parents out, more than they already are. Great site.

And Macee? Is adorable and strong and brave. Hopefully she'll get to come back up here soon.

http://www.caringbridge.org/cb/viewHome.do

Already Gone

Earlier this fall, I totally fell head over heels in love with this song. I've been a Sugarland fan for some time, passed up the chance to see them live now twice (bugger!), and think Jennifer, the lead singer, is awesome and strong and totally a role model. So anyway, love this song. Earlier on, when it was on the radio every six minutes, it made me smile because as displeased as I was with my life at the time, I felt that if I served my time, I'd eventually be able to live up to the "already gone" part. And the lyrics about boxes and dishes and socks hit home hard, in a soft, cozy place, because I've found an ex's pair of socks and an old wifebeater in my laundry before (years ago, just for the record) and...ouch.

Long, rambl-y story short, in the drama that has ensued, I forgot about this song. I was driving up to beat the blizzard and spend a few days with my folks when this song came on the radio somewhere around the Watertown curves. And it has been stuck in my head ever since.

I can't wait for January 1. So many hopeful, optimistic, new, shiny, over-anticipated beginnings.

Job Search Rule 101

Oh my god, ohmygod, OHMYGOD!

I'm on a massive job search right now. In fact, all my extra money, patience and time have gone into this project (or whim, if you're my dad) and I do something dumb.

I sent a cover letter in electronically that said (rather than "greetings" or "dear Mr. so-n-so") "Dear Please Whoever Will Hire Me".

Yes, I did that.

WHEN DID I BECOME SUCH A PSYCHOTIC?

I'm never going to get a job at this point.

I really don't remember sending that copy. The one I swear I sent was nice, professional and pretty as a picture. The only reason I had the other salutation at all is because it was a place holder -- I've been using a template of a cover letter since April. And yes, normally I am absolutely perfect about typos and adjusting my cover letter to the place I'm applying very, very well. But THIS?? I seriously mess with my own fate.

...and not so serious

Now that I got the serious crap out of the way, not to mention and hour and a half with my boyz from "The O.C.", I can be a little more snarky about what I'm thankful for. Because as Spencer said, as he sat on my couch last night, looking at my DVD rack, I like "the shit of pop culture". Love you too, Spencer.

• First, the Shit of Pop Culture. It isn't actually shit. Just what silly 20 year old boys think is crap. My DVD rack mostly consists of of TV on DVD: American Dreams, four seasons and the series finale of Dawson's Creek (I don't have the heart to buy the last two seasons 'cause while I love Pacey...they are reeeeally bad, 90% of the time), two seasons of Friday Night Lights (absolutely NOT SHIT and you must, MUST check them out), one season of Gossip Girl, the first two seasons of Grey's Anatomy and the first and last seasons of The O.C. I am a TV girl. And movie franchise girl. Holy "High School Musical"! Anything that shows character development over a season(s), makes my little heart happy. Not that HSM shows a lot of character development. I just like the singing and dancing.
• My framed diploma. Which is in my kitchen. Weird, but lovely.
• The fact that the 2008 election is done. If I ever hear one more word about 11, I will kill someone. Well, give me a few months of silent bliss, please. I'm not naive enough to think it won't show up on the ballot under another misconstrued torture device in the next election or five.
• Dancing in the kitchen. Or next to the closet. Wherever we find room.
• Movies (not movie franchises) that make my heart warm, especially little random delightful movies: Wonder Boys, The Kite Runner, The Last Kiss, The Man on the Moon. And any time Sweet Home Alabama is on USA.
• Zombie kitty.
• Driving down Medary because I know if I look up, the Campanile will be there.
• Writing a kick ass story. Or at least starting one.
• Reading my work out loud, even if just to myself. I love the lyrical way words can be connected together to make a point.
• My big spoon and fork Spencer gave me for a homewarming present.
• Yellow brick roads.
• Brown nailpolish.
• Princess Leia and Hermione Granger.
• The fake wine my mom still buys for me for Thanksgiving dinner.
• The spot on Main Avenue in front of Jim's Tap.
• How when I drive around Brookings, I'm starting to be able to see memories of my life there: in front of Jim's Tap, sitting on the steps of the Campanile, the alley behind Skinners, a soccer ball under some porch steps, the parking lot at the Blues. Those kind of memories don't come to me anymore in the town where I'm at right now.
• Comfortable and uncomfortable shoes. And being able to make them work for you. ;)
• Televisionwithoutpity.com - amazing site. Delightfully snarky.
• Having my own place, though for who knows how much longer.
• This is sorta silly, but planning my wedding, slowly. The fruit from Sara's wedding? Awesome. Already knowing the song I want for our first dance (oh, but who is the other half of the "our"??), my father/daughter dance, colors, time of year. Knowing I have all the time in the world to decide all this for sure, and at the end...it'll be lovely, no matter what happens.
• Bret Michaels and his gaggle of girls.
• Being able to see how ridiculous promise rings are -- more to come on this.
• All the pictures of me and my grandfather from when I was little.
• Getting to spend a lot of time with my dad these last couple months.
• Coffee. Oooo.
• Candles, purchased specifically not to burn.
• Inside jokes. Who doesn't like making others feel left out? ;)
• Driving a good metaphor into the ground.
• Being the one to keep the faith - being a faith keeper? Sounds weird, but I know that I'll never be at a loss, not entirely, even when I should be.
• Hobo Days and how happy everyone is.
• Bachelorette parties with Amy.
• Feeling first hand how words from a song lyric or poem or story can change someone's day.
• Sunshine while driving the Storybook Land Express.
• Being a natural blonde.
• And this song:

Thankful List

For anyone who knows me, it is no secret that 2008 has been a roller coaster of a year, starting on January 1. Actually, probably about December 30th, but really, what's a few days when 365 turn out to be a darn big pain in the ass. Anyway, I was driving up to my parents' house yesterday evening, following a friend up from Brookings, munching on french fries and reflecting on The Year That Was. (I know it isn't done yet, but bear with me.) This year, the last twelve months since last Thanksgiving have made me increasingly thankful for several things in my life. When you know who your friends are, that's invaluable. And I know we disappoint each other, in big ways sometimes, but I still love them and I know they love me. Even if it all culminates in big, dark arguments before bed or in tears over the phone. We're in this for the long haul. The comfort in knowing that no matter how hard it is to fall asleep...the waking up isn't as scary as it could be.

Things I'm thankful for this year.

• My family. Because we can make each other laugh over how bad our Christmas letter to family and friends will be this year. Truly heinous.
• Old friends. Even though the two of them are in Brookings and I'm not, I know I can reach out and get them, any time I need them, no questions asked. And when we argue, over big, life changing decisions that effect us all, or over tiny details, like how to tuck sheets under a mattress (for not really being friends with each other, their Nazi-like attention to bed making would make you think they're almost meant for each other), we always make up. Just in different ways. Because, like, ew. ;)
• New friends. I met a best friend of mine about two years ago now, over my stolen pencil in a Linguistics class. Pseudo dirty conversation occured: "Give me my pencil back!" "Can I borrow this?" "No! Give it to me!" "Sorry" Wink, wink. "I'm engaged." (Obviously, I'm not the one who was about to getting married.) This friend of mine and I wound up working elbow to elbow for several months at our old jobs and he turned into a valuable person in my life, for his sense of humor mostly. And one more friend: I met this one in high school but a friend we share got married this summer and we instandly bonded over the absurdity of it. It is always comforting when you're not the only one at the wedding who thinks 23 is way too young.
• My freedom to come and go. I've been racking up some serious driving time the last month or so, going between both towns. As bizarre as my situation is right now, I haven't been happier in months. The only way I figure, is that in the whole scheme of things...it can't get any worse. Right? Right??

A little tradition

Takes me back to my freshman year of high school. And for all the naysayers...eh. I'll always love me some Hanson.


Merry Christmas, Baby - Saturday Night Live in 1997 or 1998, when Helen Hunt hosted.



And yeah, they grew up. "Go", from Hanson's current album, released last year. "The Walk". The one singing here is Zac, the little drummer boy from the first video.

Damn that mother Chucker!

My new Pacey.

My Yellow Brick Road

I must confess, this autumn has brought me very little. I am home, and am not happy. I have an apartment here. As mildly comfortable as it is, it is just in the wrong town. Friends "at home" are not happy. One is frustrated with the remainder of his academic career, one is falling a part at the seams, one lost her husband and one...well, nothing's changed for him, and that's the very problem to begin with. I'm not arrogant enough to believe that my friends can't go on without me there, but I am truthful enough to say that all of us were happier a mere six months ago.

I often think about my last two weeks there. How I spent it learning to play frisbee golf, nearly throwing out my shoulder in the process. I spent my days at my old job, trying not to tear up every time I realized I did something for the last time. How can someone get sentimental over stapling 20 PowerPoint presentations together? I did. I gave and received close to a hundred hugs. Each one was tighter as it got closer to my two weeks being up. I camped at my two best friends' houses, recording how her hair reflects in the late summer sunlight or how when he smiles, it peaks a little higher on his right side of his face. I wrote a few letters, to the people that meant the most to me there. And I tried my best to let them go, truly believing that I had to, if I wanted to achieve anything here. That if I said goodbye, I could turn a chapter in my life and start over, again.

I was wrong. A few weeks ago, I learned that the only people I can depend on, through thick and thin, are my family and a handful of people I left at home. They're the ones who comforted me when I was at my worst, they were the ones who sent cards, funny text messages, emails containing smiley faces. And now, they're the ones telling me it is ok if I come home. That now I really do have the chance to do anything I want.

The day I left, my brother rode up with me. The whole drive, he sat beside me, jabbering mindlessly, doing his best to keep me distracted that with every song on the radio that ended, I was farther from where I belonged. I knew it, he knew it. I think we all knew it. I ate dinners with my family, spent evenings reading, trying to write. Trying, being the operative word. I imagined I was Dorothy, trusting that a mythical yellow brick road had brought me here for a reason. All along, I knew that yellow brick road of mine was going in the wrong direction. Because I missed home.

It hurts my mom and dad when I call the other place home. It confuses people who know I grew up here when I call the other place home. It makes me smile when I drive into the other places' city limits though, a fog lifts, and I know I'm home there. My heart, almost all the people I love unconditionally are there. And now, I think it is only a matter of time until I am, as well.

You Know You Love Me

I love whenever takes a break from posting, they apologize for neglecting their blog. I don’t apologize for neglecting whatever short story I’m working on. I don’t apologize for forgetting about my cherished blue notebooks for over a year or for waiting until the last possible second to write a paper. (Well, when I had papers to write.) I don’t really apologize for much of anything, to be honest. I’m still trying to figure out if that’s a good thing or not.

My move home has been rocky. I find myself in my old town, more weekends than not. But I always have an excuse. A friend’s husband passed away! Homecoming was always on the agenda for months! A friend needed a weekend to forget how he couldn’t pheasant hunt opening weekend! Halloween, also always on the agenda! Another friend will be in a play on campus in a month! Then December graduation! Then New Years! Then…something else will come up!

I’m optimistic it will get better after my friends start graduating and moving on with their lives. Until then, I think I’m just doomed to feel like a fish out of water. It is hard to adopt a new life when everyone I love is still living the life I loved, so much for so long. Jealousy is definitely a factor here, which is interesting because they’re all jealous of me, being gone. Grass is always greener.

So what has made my transition into adulthood a little easier? A few things.

I’m getting the chance to read books I never read while I was in school, since they weren’t on a syllabus somewhere. I’ve noticed several of the books on my reading list have movies based on them: “The Devil Wears Prada”, “P.S. I Love You” (which…ew, not a great book – feels like something I wrote in junior high), “Stardust”, “The Secret Life of Bees”, it goes on and on.

SNL. The presidential election. They sort of go hand in hand. On a day when I’m still torn on who I’m going to vote for president (I’ve got roughly an hour and ten minutes to decide or else leave that question blank), Tina Fey makes a girl giggle. Sarah Palin, not so much. Then again, Tina Fey has always made a girl giggle, especially on her old Weekend Updates with Jimmy Fallon. I miss me some Jimmy.

Halloween was peaceful, even though I spent it downtown, dressed up like Daisy Duke, which you think would inspire anything but peacefulness. Let’s just say that if Halloween goes well, the rest of the winter will. We’ll count that as a sign. (Don’t ask.)

Last but not least, “Gossip Girl”. It is this delightfully insane show on the CW from the folks who created “The O.C.” and my complete love of Seth Cohen (even in season 2) has never been a secret. GG takes place in NYC, with the bitchiest little girls you can imagine, but I love it. I can’t stop watching. Josh Schwartz may be one of my favorite TV people of all time. And coming up against Peter Berg, (FNL – Clear eyes, full hearts, can’t lose!) that’s saying something. Blair and Chuck rock my world.

Also, almost every time I talk to a friend, he always asks me what Gossip Girl had to say today. You know you love me, XOXO. Hahaha.

Our new fake president

See more Paris Hilton videos at Funny or Die

We're in the biggest depression since "The Notebook", bitches.

FNL Love!

Please excuse my giddy giggles. I CAN. NOT. WAIT!!! This show seriously makes me heart lighter, makes laughes come easier, tears fall more freely. I LOVE FRIDAY NIGHT LIGHTS.

And if you watch it...you will too. (Clear eyes, full hearts...can't lose.)

Text Message Saver

I am a Text Message Saver.

I get a funny text from someone, Spencer (my little brother) sends a dumb picture text, my dad sends a text saying that he’s looking forward to dinner and by the way, he loves me. I save them.

An ex-boyfriend, at the beginning of our relationship, once texted me “Whaddup Buttercup?” I saved that one until that phone broke to pieces, mostly because it was so out of character. Rather than calling when my best friend’s mother got into a car accident, she texted me the news. My dad’s very first text message: “Hello. I hope you had a good day. My first text message. You’re old man.” He’s very particular about capitalization and punctuation in his texts.

One day at my old job, I was having a devil of a time getting through the afternoon – I was just very sleepy. A friend who I’d eaten leftovers with over lunch and watched “Transformers” with sent me this message: “We can call it Sam’s happy time or special alone time. It’s just been a weird night and I have had a little too much to drink.” My favorite quote from that movie…or maybe any movie. Tipsy moms crack me up.

I kept my phone in my lap at my college graduation. At the end of the ceremony, when the president was congratulating us and people started to applaud us, my phone buzzed. A friend, watching the ceremony on local television at home texted: “Quick, throw your hat!!”

Another ex-boyfriend told me for the first time that he loved me via text message. I still have that one.

Since I moved home, I’ve received and saved several text messages. My old boss or supervisor or whatever (neither title never really fit her right) texted me to tell me she was looking forward to seeing me the weekend I had to go home for a friend’s husband’s funeral. That was unexpected and warmed my cold, black little heart.

I have had many arguments via text message. Arguments about whether or not to go downtown, arguments over where to eat or meet, arguments that are much more serious and heartbreaking. We’ve had the general discussions that could be solved or answered much more efficiently if only we’d call each other instead. The “when are you coming home…midnight, what?! – pick up some milk, will ya…2% or 1%...ooo, can we get chocolate?? – can you PLEASE come home and unlock the door so I can go to bed?...i’d prefer not to climb through the window again…midnight, what?! – yes, I’m leaving now, just got in the car…chill out, I’m leaving…I’m almost THERE!” discussions.

I realized all this when I woke up this morning for the millionth consecutive morning with my cell phone lodged in my hand or stuffed under my hot pink pillowcase. Since I moved, it has been worse. I keep my phone at my side at all times because it is my only physical connection to everyone I love, here or there. When I was in my college town this weekend, I actually let go of the cell phone for awhile, left it on a friend’s kitchen table, or in my car overnight. I was home and with almost anyone I could need.

As I write this, my phone is in my lap. And believe it or not, I totally just got a text message.

On the other end

Thursday evening, as I was speeding (literally speeding – 90 MPH) through a neighboring county, I had a dear friend on the phone to keep me awake.

I asked him if he had his heart set on sleeping in our little college town Sunday night. Before I tell you what he said, a bit of background is required. Like me, my friend is no longer a student at the college and he finds himself spending much time going between our college town, where he still resides full-time and the town he grew up in, where his parents still live – this town also happens to be roughly 45 miles from my hometown. We grew up next door to each other and didn’t even know it. Anyway, he’s between jobs right now (the new one doesn’t start until next Monday) and since he’s a bit older than the traditional student, he’s finding himself very frustrated with his place in life at the moment. On top of his own frustrations, several friends have left our little college town and moved onto arguably bigger and better things. And while we’re making a valiant effort at seeing each other regularly (actually, we’re pretty kick ass at it), our friendship is certainly being stretched past barriers neither of us thought possible or even worth it last January.

Anyway, it is Thursday evening and he’s on the other end of my cell phone and I’m wondering if he’d rather just come visit me than me stick around our little college town for an extra twelve hours past my original plans. (Driving at 5 a.m. two Mondays in a row, while worth it, is definitely wearing on my sleeping habits.)

He did want to stay in our little college town and he was awfully passionate about it. In the interest in keeping the location of this blog a little bit of a mystery, even though my full name is on here if you look hard enough, I’m changing town names to completely random names. This is (more or less) what he said. “Yes, I want to stay in Bainbridge Sunday night. Wakefield isn’t my home. I mean, I grew up there, but Bainbridge is home now. I live there. I live there. I only grew up in Wakefield. It doesn’t even feel like home.”

My friend doesn’t know it, but as I was speeding through the dark, I teared up. You ever have that moment when you connect with one person on that one subject close to your heart so completely, so fully, that you wonder how in the world you aren’t just looking through a mirror at yourself? The tears only came because he was so right and to hear him saying it…well, it was a little bit of perfection in one of the most uncomfortable and trying situations I’ve ever been in my life.

I find myself annoyed

I went back to my college town this weekend for a very specific and awesome reason: homecoming! It will most likely be elaborated on (you know, the concept of homecoming to a place that isn't my home, but is totally my home as I swear to God I know more people here than I do in the town I actually grew up in, but that's neither here no there in this post).

What is here and there? My camera! While it isn't actually in pieces, it might as well be.

My friend Amanda and I were waiting on a corner for the Drunk Bus yesterday evening, intending to go downtown and have a drink or two with the rest of the 21-30 year olds in the whole county. Manda and I stood on the necessary corner in the late evening, groups of kids running around us, all on their way to a party or downtown or to their general debaucherous plans of the night.

I saw a guy coming towards us, using a curtain rod as a walking stick, which yes is unusual, but not so unusual for homecoming. The dumb come out and stay out for 48 hours straight for homecoming. I should know.

Anyway, the dumbass kept walking and when he got close enough to us, Amanda said something, so I turned around to answer her. In the split second that took, this dumbass wound up with his curtain rod and smacked me clean across the ass. And then he kept going! He didn't even break stride! WHAT?! I was in shock or else I would've gone running after him and beat him with his own curtain rod, but in the second it happened, the second it took me to process the absurdity of it, he was gone into the night and I was left yelling after him.

It wasn't until later, when I realized my camera, which was in my back left pocket with me cell phone, had a big crack across the LCD screen.

I find myself annoyed. Better yet, I find myself very angry. The only thing I find comfort in is that since my camera took the brunt of the hit, my cell phone made it through. ARGGHH!

That's How You Know

The first movie my mother ever took me to was "The Little Mermaid". It was Super Bowl Sunday, I was three years old and don't remember any of it. Mom says I sat on the edge of my seat, had no interest in the popcorn and only backed up when Ursula was being all scary. I loved Arial. She was my favorite.

So when Disney released "Enchanted" last year, I was, well, enchanted by the preview. I remember slapping Amanda's arm in some movie theater, insisting we had to go. We did, we loved it and now whenever I need a little pick-me-up, I look this video up, even though I've long since purchased the DVD. My new favorite part? When Prince Edward hears Giselle's voice, goes "Giselle!" and bites his hand in excitement. Or when Giselle's running acrosss the grass ala Julie Andrews. OR when the older gentlement start dancing -- they were chimeny sweepers in Mary Poppins. Fine, I love the whole damn thing. Makes me laugh.

Black Tennis Shoes

At the very beginning of my last spring semester, my writing teacher sat all of us in class in circle and one at a time, asked us to pick a memory. It didn’t have to be a memory we clearly remembered, in fact, she asked that we try and chose one from farther pack in our childhoods that we maybe haven’t reworked a thousand times at family reunions or telling new friends in the dorms. The catch in the exercise was that we had to close our eyes, tell the class the memory and only talk in current tense, like the memory was happening for the first time ever right now.

Example: I picked something silly because I thought the exercise was rather ridiculous at the time. I talked about the time my grandmother mistook a potato sack for Spencer when we were both really young. And then she chased me around the house with a hair brush because my long hair was always so snarly. “I walk into the kitchen and I see Grandma talking to a bag of potatoes my dad just left by the sink from Grandpa’s garden. Grandma is sort of yelling at the potato sack, telling it to move, little boy, go find your sister.” She didn’t have her glasses on and Spencer was rather short and tubby in his early years, but still, you see what I mean? Current tense.

Classmates had emotional reactions to some of their memories, but I didn’t. Still I kept the experience in the back of my head, knowing if I ever really needed it, at least the possibility of breaking through to something was there.

Yesterday was Tuesday of homecoming week down at school. I’ll be home for the parade, football game and general debauchery on Friday, but homecoming week has always been my favorite time of year at school. There’s always a certain feeling of unity on campus that week, when most of the time, we’re all just rushing from one place to the next and trying to live to graduation or at least the next day. Tuesday of homecoming has always held a particularly special place in my heart. I met one of my best friends on a homecoming Tuesday. Well, I met him before that, but timing just kind of crashed into a screeching halt on that special Tuesday in a life changing way and no matter what’s going on, even though neither of us are in school right now, we always make sure to celebrate homecoming Tuesday. When he called last night, one of the first things he did was wish me a happy Tuesday evening. “It has been two years. Can you believe it?”

“Feels like a lot longer,” I replied, laughing. “But we made it through.”

“Ah yes,” he said. “We did.”

After an hour or so we hung up and I dug my trusty laptop out from behind a couple of boxes in my living room, plugged it in and sat in front of a white screen for a little while. I remembered my writing class exercise, settled into my pillows with the laptop propped up on my knees and spoke/typed my way through a memory.

We were dancing in a bar downtown on a Tuesday night. And it is amazing how the memory exercise really does bring back details you thought were long gone. Because I have an obsession with shoes and really believe the pair I wear on any given day will change how the day (and my life) goes, I was always sad I couldn’t remember which shoes I wore out that night, two years ago. They were my black tennis shoes with white stripes on the side. My dad always teases that they look like wrestling shoes, but I wore them that night because we were supposed to have a relaxing night at someone’s house and not end up downtown. I picked those because they’re more sleek than my running shoes. And I had a black hoodie on I never wear anymore. The floor was sticky and before we got there, Amy and I huddled in the back seat, clutching hands, praying to our school’s mascot that we’d be good kids because we had class in the morning we had to go to. Here’s something funny: my class? It was Ethics. I forgot that.

Anyway, it was a great writing exercise and not only did it bring back tidbits that I thought were long gone, it made me fall asleep, feeling a little closer to a guy I care about so much that there are no words for it. Plus, it made me write last night. For that, I am grateful.

Writing...or lack thereof

When I was visiting home (backwards way of putting that) this weekend, my friend Billy asked me what I’ve been doing with all my free time as of late. I flippantly replied that I watch HBO, catch up on “Gossip Girl” reruns. Sometimes I make muffins. He cocked his eyebrow a little bit, in that way that totally infuriates me ‘cause I know he’s right before he even opened his mouth and said “Why don’t you write?”

Why doesn’t Stephanie write?

I meant to all summer. I know my writing teacher from last year would probably throw a (small) fit if she found out, which she just may now. Regardless, I meant to write all summer. Meaning to doesn’t equal actually sitting down and making myself write, no matter how silly or mundane the product may be. I can think of two instances this summer in which I wrote. No, three.

1.) I followed my writing teacher’s advice and sat down every night for about a week and just wrote straight for twenty minutes. I was homeless at the time (my lease was up on my apartment, but I didn’t want to leave my job, plus I hadn’t been hired on at my current job yet so I was staying in a friend’s apartment while he was gone for the summer) and I think I was motivated by the fact that I had nothing else to do. My writing entries mostly consisted of my boy troubles, as I’m so often teased about. Those boys are a couple of fickle mistresses, if you will. But they certainly provide material. Besides, it was summertime… I equate boy writing with beach books.

2.) After a friend got married at the end of June, I started a story about her wedding. I think I listened to “I’m Not the Bride” by Trick Pony about 100 too many times this summer because that story quickly took on an anti-marriage tone awful quickly. I would like to finish it, however. I think it is interesting how half my writing takes on the men in my life and how they drive me nuts (fine, it is singular: how he drives me nuts) but how ridiculous it is that so many people I know are getting married at 19-23 years of age. For reals? With one couple as an exception…you don’t even know who you are yet. Anyway, before I piss glowing brides off, I am moving on.

3.) I wrote four letters before I moved out of my college town. Three went to friends, one went to a mentor of mine in town. I had two weeks warning that I was leaving and though I wrote and rewrote all four letters in my head several times over that two weeks, they all got actually written in the scramble between packing and trying to suck as much time as I could from everyone that last week. Regardless, I spent a lot of time, energy and heart on those letters. I wanted to make sure everyone knew how much they meant to me. That was a priority for me before I left.

So why am I not writing now? I’m not even reading. I wonder if it is because I am a non-fiction writer by nature. Writing, right now, will take on everything I just left when really, I want more than anything to just be happy and settle here. I could write about here, but I haven’t really been here long enough to reflect on what’s happened so far. That, and none of it is that interesting. Writing fiction and poetry has never appealed to me so much. I can just take a break, can’t I? My last two semesters of school drained all my creative energies – you should see those portfolios I produced though.

I guess you could chalk it all up to that fact that I’m still settling in here, in my new life. I’m still unpacking odds and ends, still arranging furniture to my liking. I don’t even have a kitchen table or a desk yet. Everything’s still in transition, like it has been for over two months now. Maybe when I feel like I have a home again, that’s all mine, then I’ll start writing. Again.

Campanile Sighting!

After five weeks in a town with its own yellow brick road, I got to go home to my little college town.

While it was a week earlier than anticipated and partly for reasons that were not enjoyable (a friend’s husband passed away), it was crazy lovely to see that town again.

There’s a landmark on campus you can see from anywhere in town and within a decent amount of distance from the city. For five years, when I saw our campanile, I always knew I got to where I was going, if you catch my drift. Slang terms for the tower run rampant through dorm hallways, but I’ve never paid much attention to those things. After five weeks, I saw the campanile, standing out against a back drop of a pale blue sky and I laughed aloud, zooming down the interstate.

I saw everyone I’ve missed so much. My first stop in town was a dear friend’s house before he left for a weekend in the cities with his older brother. Then I ran out to my old job, where I talked to almost all my old coworkers. I forgot until halfway out there that I don’t have a key anymore, so I drove around until I found a group of manufacturing employees sitting in the sunshine outside a door and sweet talked them into letting me in the building. I love how trusting/ambivalent everyone is about those locked doors. :)

Later on, I went to the wake, had dinner with my best friend and her boyfriend and watched the presidential debate with my favorite married couple. Amanda (the best friend) and I later went to the late show of “My Best Friend’s Girl” which was good, except I had a difficult time staying awake. Actually, I totally sacked out for about five minutes, but we were in the back row and Amanda nudged me awake.

The next morning, Amanda showed me our school’s new wellness center, which I’m totally jealous about, and we went to the bookstore because she found a stash of alumni merchandise I’m going to raid next weekend. Who doesn’t need a mouse pad with a big, blue jackrabbit on it?

Next was the funeral, which was difficult, but not nearly as difficult as it was/will be for the family he left behind. After the funeral, I went back to Amanda’s, ate like half the cookie pile she’d baked while I was at the funeral and then we seriously sat around all weekend. On Sunday evening a big storm rolled through, and I used that as an excuse to stay until early Monday morning. I rolled out of bed, stole the most comfortable blue hoodie I’ve ever encountered in my life and drove home. I’ve officially been awake now for five hours, but I’ll make it.

Next weekend should be more fun, in the traditional sense of “fun”. Homecoming! Woohoo!

Michael Phelps and Grey's in one magical moment

Because on days like today, it truly is about the small things.

Chicken Fried

This song, by the Zac Brown Band, I hated HATED when I first moved back to town. Can't put a price tag on peace of mind? I still beg to differ. But I heard this song on the radio a couple weeks later when I was driving somewhere and I think it just hit the right place at the right time, so I definitely have a different opinion about it now. Enjoy!

Yankee Stadium

Speaking of finding my way home…

Last night, my little brother, Spencer and our father, bid farwell to a home they never saw in person. Sounds kind of crazy, doesn’t it? Saying goodbye to a place they’ve never stepped foot in.

My dad and Spencer are also kind of crazy in the sense that people like them…they’re rather rare in this part of the country: they are Yankee fans. In South Dakota. Don’t get me wrong; there is definitely a small but very known group of Yankee fans in the midst of the Midwest, but when it comes down to it, when Dad and Spencer go see the Yankees play the Twins, they’re definitely in the minority.

Regardless, they both watched Yankee Stadium host its last game last night via ESPN. Dad sat in the recliner he’s been watching Yankee games from for my entire lifetime, often sitting up unexpectedly when Jeter came to bat or when Andy Petite threw the last first pitch. It was as if sitting up, being a little closer to the television could take him into that atmosphere, like he could be a part of the last night in Yankee Stadium.

I say it’s the home Dad and Spencer never stepped foot in because they never did. The hours logged watching games, World Series be won (and lost) on television, talking about the players, explaining the more technical stuff to me… My dad, especially, has spent his whole life experiencing the ups and downs of every Yankee team since at least the early 1960’s. Spencer is just now starting to see the Yankees circle into a downward spiral; he and I came of age during that fantastic run when the Yanks won what…four World Series in five years? I know enough baseball to get me through a game and can recognize several of the more well known players, Yankee or not, but Spencer… I’m pretty sure part of the reason he went into Broadcast Journalism is because of all the time he has spent watching sports broadcasting as a child.

The thing with Yankee Stadium is that it connected generations. Last night, during a ceremony to welcome old Yankees back to the stadium one last time, I watched players (or their children) trot out to their old positions. Babe Ruth’s daughter threw out the last pitch. And it was lovely, but none of the emotion of the evening got to me until after the game, when the camera man found a little boy, probably about seven years old, wearing a pinstripe jersey and a Yankee hat way too big for his little head. One tear ran down that kid’s cheek. And that’s when I got it, the generation thing.

Yankee Stadium hosted all the great (and seriously depressing) events that bought my dad and my brother together, when they admittedly have little else in common. And though I love baseball, the sound of bats cracking, announcers freaking out (“…going, going…GONE!), the familiar sights of Yankee Stadium are not mine to claim. They belong to the real fans, the people that call that place home even when they’ve never actually been there.

Dad was part of the last night in Yankee Stadium. Derek Jeter, from the pitcher’s mound after the game, only enhanced a gut feeling I’ve had my whole life but never thought to put into words. "Although things are going to change next year and we're going to move across the street, there are a few things with the New York Yankees never change,” Jeter said. “That's pride, tradition, and most of all, we have the greatest fans in the world. We're relying on you to take the memories from this stadium and add them to the new memories we make at the new Yankee Stadium and continue to pass them on from generation to generation. We just want to take this moment to salute you, the greatest fans in the world."

Whispered Sessions

This weekend will be my fourth weekend back in town.

Aside from the fact that my parents are my main partners in crime anymore (the” baddest” thing Pops and I have talked about is stealing political signs from people’s front yards or perhaps shooting the neighbors’ dogs with BB guns – they never, ever turn off the barking!), this town is totally what it used to be in high school. Except, now we have a Starbucks. I know, right? Exciting!

Fine, not really.

Point is, it took me a good long while to settle into a pattern in my old town, find friends I felt comfortable with. And I know just about everyone in this town, but I still spend a lot of time alone. I think I’m just going to have to bite the bullet and head out to the bowling alley on Thursday nights where a bunch of old friends congregate for bowling league. Or there is always the local coffee shop on Main street, just two blocks from my office. When I passed by last week, I noticed all the writing club kids still meet there, which made me smile. Back when I was a writing club kid and wore the necessary black clothes and wrote sad, sad crappy poetry (at least mine was crap), I was so scared of the coffee house writing club kids. It was probably just because I wasn’t comfortable in my writing ability, which after a class or two in college, I became mighty comfortable with quickly…even though the ability to write without any passive sentences still eludes me.

I lived in my old town for three years before I met the crowd of people I miss so much now. Don’t get me wrong, I had best friends: Sara and Amanda and I was completely happy with them and my heart pangs a little when I think about their lives going on without me. When I started at my college job as a marketing student, I suddenly had a whole group of strangers that hardly stayed strangers for more than a few days.

I was thinking about all of them as I was driving down Sixth Avenue on my way to work the other morning. I climbed out of my shell because of those people. Talk of a coworker’s bachelorette party is my first memory at that job. Jessica’s bachelorette party, which started so much in my life (you have no idea), is what I mark as the turning point in my life. Amy, a dear friend now, a stranger then, had started in my group the same time I did. When Jessica invited us to go to her bachelorette party, I remember looking across the cube to Amy for any cues on what to do. Do we go…if we go, it has to be a we sort of thing because we are the new kids…but partying with people we work with?...do people really do that?

Turns out they do. After a few whispered sessions of “do we/don’t we” behind paper thin cubicle walls, Amy and I decided to meet at her place and then we’d venture out together. Brave whatever that night brought us together. Amy was my first friend that had nothing to do with my hometown. She was my first friend I made on my very own. For that alone, I will always remember and miss her.

Somewhere Over the Rainbow

I’m not gonna lie – I haven’t seen “The Wizard of Oz” in its entirety since I was but a wee little girl, except for random clips I catch on TNT over holiday weekends or the time I YouTubed the clip where you can supposedly see a man hanging from the rafters of the studio where they shot the movie at.

Still, Dorothy and Toto hold a special place in my heart, because I grew up right next door – my hometown has its very own Land of Oz, complete with the tornado house landing on the Wicked Witch of the East. Every June, during Oz Fest, we even host a Toto look alike contest. Little girls wander down the yellow brick road in sparkly ruby red slippers. And I never had to wonder if there was any other place but home, because this always was my home.
And then it wasn’t. A couple years into college, in a town only two hours (but lacking any yellow brick roads) away, I fell in love. I fell in love with a college campus, the sound of cicadas in the trees – something we don’t have a mere two hours north. I fell in love with my friends, with dancing with no inhibitions in a bar, in my own bedroom, in an elementary school playground beside the monkey bars. I fell in love with academia, learned to appreciate not only word flow, but word interpretation. And yes, I fell in love with a boy there. I’m sure you’ll hear more about him as time goes by. Long story short, that little college town, no different to outsiders than my hometown, became my new home, in the way that home means something. It was cozy and safe.

Then I graduated and went and got myself a job. Not just any job, oh no. I got a job in my town with its yellow brick roads, with its Toto look alike contests, with cracks in the sidewalk I’d long since memorized. And this new job of mine? I represent that very place with the yellow brick roads, the little girls in their sparkly ruby red slippers. Three years ago, it was my dream job. It still is, no worries. But I’m not the same girl. That’s what this blog is about, I think. Seeing if that girl still exists, somewhere in me. See if Dorothy was right along. Seeing if there really is no place like home.