This week in my life....

This week has been a really tough one on me, both physically and emotionally. Sometimes when I have trials I question why they happen to me, or why I seem to feel so alone when they do. Then Brother Young said something in seminary (yeah, I know, good little church girl here) that really hit me. He said that sometimes when we go through rough times we expect the Lord to show his love for us in a certain way, and then when he does help and comfort us, we don't realize it because we're expecting this totally different thing to happen. I know that I don't expect to receive a vision or anything telling me it'll be ok, but sometimes I just get it into my mind that the Lord will answer my plea in a certain way, and then I feel even worse when it doesn't happen that way. Sometimes I even feel like giving up. This week was kind of like that. My diabetes freaked out on me during school, and I felt so sad because I didn't want to have everyone freaking out over me. I don't want to be the person that everyone worries about all the time, I'm more of the person who is more likely to be concerned for others. But thinking back over that day, I realize that what happened could've happened for multiple reasons. Maybe someone else had to learn something from that experience, but more likely I needed to. I got caught up in my own little world and failed to realize how wonderful my friends really are. Each of them (you!) are like gods already, you're always there for anyone who needs help or even just a shoulder to cry on. You guys are amazing! I'm so blessed to be here and to know all of you wonderful people. I don't even know if any of you will read this, but I just want you guys to know how much I love and appreciate you all. I know that how you helped me this past week, and how you always help me when things are tough, are part of the way that God shows he cares for me. Thank you for caring for me, and I hope I can be even half as good of a friend to you as you always are to me.

Pen on paper,

The words spill out on the page,

I'm helpless-

Helpless to stop them,

They scream the truth.

Pen on paper,

My thoughts wrestling in my mind,

Each needing to be the one written down,

Although almost all would hurt me,

Or hurt someone else.

Pen on paper,

My life is written out

In three simple words,

Spoken, or unspoken,

I know they're true.

Pen on paper,

I close my fist,

Sweep the pages to the side,

I tell myself that what I've written isn't right,

Maybe it was at one time,

But not anymore.

Things have changed.

But have they really?

Pen on paper,

I must find myself again,

Cling to the thoughts,

Those thoughts which kept me going for so long,

I can't think,

I must write.

Pen on paper,

Scratching across the surface,

Messily running through the lines,

My hand flying across the page

As I write this letter,

This truth I cannot deny,

Written by

Pen on paper.

I Swear I'm Perfectly Normal...

This semester I'm taking creative writing, and right now we're in our poetry unit. This was the last poem I wrote-- Tell me what you think about it! :)

Waves envelop me

As I wade into the water.

Colors, more than one would imagine

Swirl around me as I sink slowly.

Memories flash through my mind,

My first kiss,

My last argument,

Holding my baby sister in my arms.

I feel nothing anymore,

No pain, no joy,

Only emptiness,

As slowly, my world fades to black.

The rain is falling,

Pitter, patter, on the ground.

Dark clouds loom overhead,

The sound of thunder pounds in the distance.

And where am I?

I'm not hiding from this wet monster,

Nor watching it safely from the comfort of my house,

I'm not walking down the street guarded by a black umbrella,

No, I'm outside, barefoot and free,

Twirling around, my face turned towards heaven,

The music of this storm plays on in my head,

As I direct the orchestra of clouds with my hands.

"Are you crazy?!" some might say, as they pass me on the street,

"Perhaps," is my sly reply.

As the drops of water coat my skin,

And the danger of lightning is imminent,

I ponder their words.

Were they right? I don't know,

but I don't care what they think,

They may laugh, they may scorn,

But I am strong, I can make it through,

Because....

"life isn't about waiting for the storm to pass it's about learning to dance in the rain."

Who Am I?

This past year I've had some struggles with knowing who I am.

I never thought I'd have that kind of problem, yet I did.

I tried to be who YOU wanted me to be, someone who YOU would like.

It doesn't work that way.

I lost myself this year.

I justified what I was doing because of the popularity I was gaining.

People actually noticed my existence! And not just because they needed help on homework.

I finally felt like my opinion mattered to someone-that I mattered to someone.

And I thought you had the same feelings I did, the same beliefs on life.

Then when I found out, I acted like nothing was different-like it didn't bother me that you had changed.

I was changing too, I reasoned.

You either sink or swim in this world, sink or swim.

What I didn't know was that I was sinking.

I don't blame you for dragging me down, you didn't.

It was my pride that did it-my need for social acceptance.

You are who you are, and I know that I can't change that fact.

But then, I said something that shocked me.

Had I really changed that much, that I would agree to something like that?

Who was this person saying these words?!

Where had I gone?

For the next few weeks I hid in the dark corners of my mind.

What had I done?

The guilt was eating me.

I felt so wrong, so empty, so lost.

I don't really think that. That wasn't me.

If that wasn't me, then who am I?

It finally came to me. I am:

Marissa Farmer

Member of the

Church of Jesus

Christ of Latter-

Day Saints.

And I'm proud of it.

p.s. the title of this post makes me think of one of the greatest musicals of all time- Les Miserables, and this song. If you haven't heard the music from this musical, I strongly recommend it! It's a beautiful, powerful story.

Sometimes, when life's a little crazy, all you need is just to sit with your brother in a car at 9:30 at night, playing air guitar (and drums) to Hoobastank.

p.s. to anyone who actually READS my blog, sorry. As I said above, life's been kinda crazy for me. I'll try to make time to blog soon!

Smile...

And see what happens!

The Swings

I see her sitting there, all alone in the park.

The swing she's perched on is gently rocking back and forth. Her head hangs low, her shoulders slumped, and although her back is to me I know that she's been crying.

I know because I've been there. I was once that girl on the swing set, no one to talk to, drowning in my sorrows. I've been there before. We all have.

As I watch her I think to myself, "Does she know? Does she know how beautiful she is?" I wish I could reach out and envelop her with a hug, and tell her that eventually it will be okay.

The struggles at school.

The trouble at home.

The lack of self-worth.

The sadness.

The loneliness.

The pain.

She doesn't have to deal with this forever (no one does).

I can tell what she's thinking, the things she's contemplating that will, in her mind, make it better.

They won't.

"You're beautiful," I whisper into the wind, hoping she might hear me, "Inside and out. You don't have to do this to yourself."

I think of the Savior, and what he did for each of us, how he suffered all of our pains. No matter what we've done, he still loves us. He wants us to return to live with him someday, and to live a good life before then. He wouldn't want that girl to be swinging alone in the park, lost in her pain. He wants us all to be happy.

As these thoughts race through my mind, I hear the creak of rusty swings that have been neglected far too long. I notice that the girl is swinging higher and higher now, her head raised, pumping her legs with vigor.

Why did she suddenly seem more happy?

Then I noticed a stranger swinging in the swing next to her. His entire countenance seemed to be glowing, and from across the park where I stood, I could feel a sense of love coming from him. Impressed in my mind were the words I had read only hours before in seminary,

"In the world ye shall have tribulation: but be of good cheer; I have overcome the world." (John 16:33).

I smiled to myself; everything would be okay.

Signs, part 5 (the last one!)

Signs can tell you a lot. They can tell you what to do at an intersection, how to behave in an area frequented by animals, or cautions for your safety. Signs are seen on the front of buildings, or plastered to a billboard. They can tell you where are, or where you're going. Most importantly, signs can tell a story. These signs tell my story. Some of them are comical, some romantic, some just normal every day signs, but all of them have been a part of my life-my story.

Signs, part 4

Signs, part. 3

Signs, part 2

Signs, part 1

Now what's your story?

Gone Fishin' (to Europe)

Be back soon!

Memories

I'm lying in the middle of a field, my arms spreadeagled out around me. The warm spring sun washes over me. Clouds pass overhead but I do not notice because my eyes are closed tight. I am thinking, dreaming, being. This is where I am the happiest. No expectations, no judging eyes staring at me. Nothing but the colors swimming on the inside of my eyes. I bask in all my good memories as I hide away the bad ones for just a few hours. A birthday party. An afternoon with friends. A family reunion. These are the times that I dwell on-only the positive. Finally, even for that brief time, I feel... happy.

This is Sort of a Sad Tale (a.k.a. I have no life on Friday nights...)

This is the rough draft to a story I've been working on. Let me know what you think! (And any advice you'd have for me would be welcome too) :) Enjoy:

"I just got off the phone with the doctor. Your father, he's...gone."

Those words sounded like a broken record in my mind for the next month as funeral arrangements were made, the will was read and followed, and all the stuff in his apartment was boxed up. In fact, that is exactly what I was doing when my mother first suggested a trip to the doctor.

"Honey," she explained, "You haven't eaten a solid meal in weeks! You shut yourself in here all day, and you only leave if it's absolutely necessary. I really think we should go see someone."

"You mean, like a shrink?" I asked quietly as I slid the packaging tape across the opening of the cardboard container holding the last of my dad's vast book collection.

"A grief counselor. Many people go to one when they lose someone close to them. It's totally normal!"

As always, my mother sounded like a peppy high school cheerleader. Had I been a stranger meeting her for the first time, I never would have believed that her ex-husband had died three weeks prior, let alone that she had once had a husband. Her bleached-blonde hair and salon tanned skin would be right at home with the popular girls at my high school. It had been 17 years since she had graduated from the same school, yet I could tell she would give her $40 fluorescent fake nails and all of the Botox injections she had ever received to be back walking the halls of Steelecreek High.

At 35, my mother was about as mature as Katy Perry, and probably a little more naive than Miley Cyrus. I suppose that was partially due to the fact that she hadn't had much time to learn about the real world after leaving the public school system. She had married her high school sweetheart (and the captain of the football team), Jordan McDaniels, about four months after graduation. Nine months later, they got me; and two years after that, my mother filed for divorce.

Whenever I asked her why she had ended her relationship with my father, she always told me it was because her expectations of marriage had been too high, and she found that she preferred the single life. Mom went on a lot of dates throughout my childhood and teenage years, and she always left me with my dad, who lived in the exact apartment where I had resided for my first two years of existence. Even though I resented my mother for ditching me to go out with her boyfriends, these times spent with my dad became times to look forward to. We played endless rounds of games like 'Sorry!' and 'UNO', went out for ice cream at the local Dairy Queen, tossed a football around at a nearby park, and watched practically any (and every) type of movie. These little 'dates' with my dad were the most special because I got to learn a lot about who Jordan McDaniels really was.

I learned that he loved to cook, and that he had always dreamed of going to culinary school and becoming a chef. He hadn't, however, because my grandparents didn't believe that cooking food was a respectable profession. Instead, he was stuck working at an insurance company and trying all his new food creations out on me. I also learned that he had loved my mother since they had started high school, and that even though she despised him and wanted absolutely nothing to do with him, he still loved and cared for her.

And when I was twelve, I learned that my dad had cancer.

"Well, what do you think, kiddo? I think that talking to someone like this will help you move on a lot easier."

My mother's words brought me back to reality, "I'm fine," I mumbled, frustrated at her persistence.

"No, sweetie, you are not," she whispered, reaching out to move a stray curl from where it had fallen over my eyes. I turned my head, willing her to get the message that I didn't need anything from her, and that I definitely didn't want anything. Her gaze was now pleading as she looked at me, "I made us an appointment with Dr. Baker tomorrow at three. I would really like you to come with me."

"Whatever," I replied, ending the conversation.

She turned and started to leave the room, "Okay Alex," she sighed, looking, for a moment, as if she were ten years older, "Call me when you're done here and I'll come pick you up."

Without waiting for a response from me, she swept from the room. I let out my breath that I had been subconsciously holding for who knows how long. I ran my hands through my dark brown locks as the first sob caught in my throat. Soon the tears came pouring down my cheeks, as they had on so many other afternoons such as this. I had given up trying to hold them back long ago, and now let them freely come. That is, until I spotted a tiny box in the corner of an otherwise empty shelf that I must have overlooked before.

I stood and wiped my eyes, now red and puffy from crying, on my shirtsleeve. Making my way through the stacks of boxes and other paraphernalia, I moved almost as if I was in a trance towards the bookshelf. I looked down at the small box and saw that my name was on it, written in my dad's messy scrawl. I had no clue how I could have possibly overlooked it before, but all that was forgotten as I lifted the lid. Inside the container was a chain holding on it a small key and a tag stating that the key belonged to a bank located just a few short blocks away. I put the key in my jacket pocket and quickly walked out of the apartment.

*****

The bank employee led me to a room filled with safety deposit boxes of all different sizes. He took the key from me and opened a medium-sized box, removing the contents. He handed to me two leather bound journals and a slip of paper which read:

These are for you should you want them.

I love you so much Alex!

Love,

Dad

Thanking the employee, I quickly exited the bank and made my way to a nearby deserted park, with its plastic playground faded and run-down. I sat down at the bottom of the large yellow twisty slide and opened the journal marked with a number one in black ink. The first page read:

July 12, 1992

Dear Alex,

I witnessed a miracle today. That miracle was you. I never thought I could love someone so much, yet when I first saw your beautiful face looking up at me I knew I was hooked. Your tiny fingers squeezed my pinky so tightly as I held you in my arms. You are already so strong, Alex! Soon I realized that I couldn't afford to forget this day-or any moment of your life. I walked down to the hospital gift shop and bought this journal in which I am now writing. Not only am I writing this for my own sake, but for you also, so that one day, somewhere down the road, you will read this and smile, knowing that I-your father-love you more than I have ever loved anyone. Never, ever forget that.

Love,

Dad

I shut the book and leaned back against the cool slide, closing my eyes. For the first time since my mom had shared with me the painful news of my father's death from cancer, I felt as if I could breathe again. A weight had been lifted from off my chest that I didn't even realize had been there. Even though it still hurt, and even though there was now a hole in my heart that I knew could never be filled again, I could sense that things would get better. My dad was not completely gone from me-I still had his memories.

I slid my cell phone from the front pocket of my whitewashed jeans, and pressed number three on speed dial. I could tell she had been waiting for my call because she picked up after only the first ring:

"Hello?"

"Hey, Mom, I'm ready now. Do you think you could come pick me up?"

Things wouldn't be perfect between us, not by a long shot. I realized then, though, that you never truly know what you've lost until it's gone, and that you should fix any mistakes you've made, and let those you care about know how you feel, because you never know how long you have left.

"Oh, and Mom? I love you."

It's Almost Time....

The sights...

The smells...

The sounds...

My dream for so long is soon to be realized.

Soon, this photograph of the Eiffel Tower will not just be a picture off the internet,

But a real image ingrained in my memory.

I love to travel.

Saint Louis

New York City

Florida

Anywhere. Anywhere... Different.

One of the biggest things I will make sure of when I get married is that my husband likes to travel.

At the very least he better be OK with being dragged around to various places around the world.

Because we WILL be traveling.

And finally, in almost no time at all,

my dreams will begin to come

True.

The Festival of Colors

Sorry the picture is sideways. And errr... slightly creepy. But that's me! All covered in a TON of cornstarchy colory stuff. Personally, I think I look AWESOME. haha. but that's just me.

For those of you readers who are unrelated to me and do not know, this is my brother. Tadd. He's a history teacher and I think this picture depicts how wise he is. Can't you just see the years of knowledge pouring out from his soul through his eyes?? Random, I know, but I love this picture :) And I love you Tadd!

we were COVERED in colors! I have found colors everywhere, from my ears to underneath my toenails, from my nose to my back...from my... yeah, well, you get the picture. It was EVERYWHERE.

I don't know exactly why I love this picture, but I do. There was SO much junk all over the ground, I feel so bad for those people who had to clean up the place after everyone left...

When Tadd and I were driving down there we both saw this and immediately knew that our day would not be fulfilled if I did not get a picture of it. We then spent the next 15 minutes turning around and going back in order for me to get this shot. I'm not really sure why I find it so hilarious (perhaps because my NAME is Marissa), yet I do. You don't think it's funny? Well, that's just too bad. That's why this is my blog :)

Friendship is the cooperative and supportive relationship between two or more people. In this sense, the term connotes a relationship which involves mutual knowledge, esteem, affection, and respect along with a degree of rendering service to friends in times of need or crisis.

Got friends?

Sometimes all you need is to change into some sweats, curl up in a blanket, turn some music on, and read a good book. Sometimes that makes all the difference in the world :)

Do you ever have one of those days??

Do you ever have one of those days (or weeks) where you go about your day putting on a happy face for everyone, when inside you're screaming? When it seems like you're trapped in a sound proof box, where no matter how hard you pound on the walls or how loud you scream, no one notices you're hurting? Those times when you feel so empty that you search through all your old notes and ticket stubs and fill yourself up with the memories? When every time you see your old friends walking down the halls at school, you wonder what you could've done wrong to end your friendship? Or watching those who are your friends now, and wondering how long it'll take for them to forget about you? Those days when you don't want to reply with the traditional "I'm fine" when someone asks how you're doing, yet you still do? Do you ever have one of those days? I do.

Meg

It was the summer of 1982 when everything changed. I remember sitting out on my granddaddy’s porch in my favorite tank top and cut-offs, sipping lemonade and watching the sun set over the distant horizon. My granddaddy would sit next to me in his wicker rocking chair, not talking much, just gazing into collage of colors in the sky. This is how every evening went, sitting on his white wrap-around porch which was faded from too many years of neglect. Momma said that when Gramma was still alive the porch always had a fresh coat of paint, just like the rest of the house. Now it was only a glimpse of how beautiful the house had been. The green shutters that outlined the big, clear glass windows were starting to fall off their hinges and the paint was rusting. The porch steps were completely destroyed so that you had to leap all the way up to the porch from 2 feet down. The inside of his house wasn’t much better.

The only things on Granddaddy’s property that didn’t show signs of their age were the sweet birch trees that grew all over the property. Granddad would always make sure they were watered and cared for properly, and sometimes he’d let me help him. I always wondered why he’d take so much care of the trees and not his house, but I had only asked him about it once. When I asked him, Granddaddy just looked over at me with his wise blue eyes and said, “Now Meg, these trees are part of the living folk, like you or me. We’re just helping them stay that way.”

It was that year when Granddaddy got diagnosed with lung cancer. He didn’t like going to the hospital much so they didn’t find it until he collapsed in the kitchen when he and Aunt Bee were having a talk one afternoon. Aunt Bee called 911 and they rushed him to the hospital where they discovered that he had a brain tumor. They immediately started treatment though the doctor told my momma there wasn’t much hope of his living, seeing as the treatment was so rigorous and he was so old. The doctor also said that if Granddaddy came home after his first round of treatments, he’d need somebody there to look after him. Momma and I talked about it a lot and decided that we’d move into his house from our own beat up apartment building. We were the only ones who could, after all. Uncle Carl was in law school up north, and Aunt Bee had 6 children to look after, whereas all Momma had was me. It wasn’t too different to actually live in Granddad’s house. After all, we spent most of our time there already.

The only strange thing was Granddad. A lot of the time he wasn’t at home and when he was there, all he did was sit in his bed watching the brand new TV my Momma bought him and sleeping. It scared me how different he seemed. His face looked older, more vacant, and he was a lot quieter. We never sat out on the porch and watched the sunset anymore. He would just sleep. Sometimes I’d sit outside his bedroom door and watch him, how much more frail he looked. And thin, he was way too thin. And when he would get sick and hurt a lot I would be hurting with him. I would never cry though. I needed to be strong for Momma since this was her weakest time.

A few months after the treatment begin Momma brought Granddaddy home as usual, but something was different. They were standing up a little taller and my momma’s face shone as she grinned and said, “Hey baby, guess what? Granddaddy’s in remission.”

That night we had a celebration. Remission meant that Granddaddy had won his battle with cancer, at least for now. We dressed up in our best things and went out and bought a pint of ice cream to share. We turned on the radio and danced around in our living singing at the top of our lungs until we collapsed in a heap on the floor because we were so tired. When the sun set all three of us went out to watch it. And in my 9 year old mind this was the most beautiful sunset I had ever seen. Even now I can picture it as it was on that on that evening. We sat side by side on the porch swing, my head in Momma’s lap and my hand clasped in Granddaddy’s. I never wanted this night to end; I wanted it to go on forever.

For the next 2 months everything seemed brighter and more upbeat. Momma and I cleaned Granddaddy’s house and even put a fresh coat of paint on the outside. All three of us would go to the park at least once a week and I would play on the playground while they would watch me. They’d clap when I did a particularly hard trick, hold me up when I couldn’t reach the monkey bars all the way, and comfort me when I fell down. We'd go everywhere and see everything around during the daytime, but we always made it back to watch sunset on the porch. Oftentimes I would fall asleep with my head in Momma's lap. Those days were the epitome of my life, nothing could be better.

It was one of those days when everything was chaos. Granddad, Momma, and I had gone to the park in the morning, then run to the grocers, and then back home to work around the yard for a while. Momma tried to make Granddad lay down inside while we puttered around the yard, but he wouldn't have it. He told us that if we were going to make him sit down and watch us work on his own yard, he might as well be dead already. So Momma gave in and let him work with us, though she wouldn't let him do anything she deemed 'too strenuous'.

We worked all afternoon and then went inside for some sandwiches. Granddaddy said he was just going to take a quick nap before supper because he was a little tired. We didn't think twice about it and kept on fixing our sandwiches. When we were done with the dinner preparations we checked on Granddad and saw that he was still sleeping, so instead of waking him up, we went ahead and ate our sandwiches.

Momma and I found quiet things to occupy us as the sun grew lower and lower in the horizon, but as the evening wore on and Granddaddy still didn't wake, we began to worry a little. As the sunset began to fade without us there to share it, Momma decided to wake Granddaddy up herself. She went into his room and gently shook him, but he didn't wake. She tried a little harder, but to no avail. Then she prodded and poked him until my arms hurt just thinking about it. As she was doing this her voice called out to me, calm, but forced like a kid being forced to come back down after jumping real high on a trampoline. "Hand me the phone baby girl," she said slowly.

Now when Momma gets that tone with me, I've learned to do whatever she asks as quickly and as quietly as possible. I grabbed the phone from the kitchen counter and handed it to her. She dialed a three digit number and quickly placed the phone by her ear. I stopped listening as soon as Momma started talking. Her voice had lost its calm tone and took on a more frantic, more weak one. That scared me just as much as her first tone. I didn't know what was happening to Granddad, or why he wouldn't wake up, but I knew it wasn't good.

Soon the sound of sirens filled the neighborhood as an ambulance pulled into our driveway. Some official looking men came into our house with a stretcher and took Granddaddy away. They asked Momma if she wanted to come with them but she said no, she would be along later with me. Then Momma started packing Granddaddy's stuff together and piling a lot of it in the car. We both got in and drove off into the night, following the distant sounds of the ambulance. Momma's hands were tense on the steering wheel, which meant she was concentrating real hard on her driving, so I didn't bother her with the thousands of questions I was dying to ask.

We rushed into the Wakefield Medical Center and straight up to the reception desk. The lady there directed us to the curtained space where Granddaddy was being held in the emergency room. He had doctors and other medical staff swarmed around him, poking needles into him and doing all sorts of scary stuff which brought me to tears. My Granddaddy looked so helpless lying there. We sat down by the curtain, out of the way so they wouldn't have to trip over us to help Granddad, but close enough so we could hear what they said. After what felt like hours one of the doctors came to us and told my momma that Granddaddy's cancer had come back and had spread all over his body. They were going in for emergency surgery, but they needed her consent first. Momma readily gave it, but not before she asked what the chance of recovery for this kind of procedure was.

"15% chance of making a full recovery, seeing as the cancer has spread, and looking at his age," the doctor said matter-of-factly, "We'll see you in a few hours and give you an update on how it's going."

The night following was the longest night of my life. Scenes of it flashed in and out like dreams. I remember us crying and hugging each other, scared for each other, and scared for Granddaddy. Then things kind of went to black until the doctor came out and told Momma that they had lost Granddaddy half way through the surgery, and even though they had tried for an hour to revive him, he was really gone. Momma bent over she was sobbing so hard, and then gripped me in a hug so tight I feared she would never let go. In my 9 year old mind I couldn't possibly fathom what death meant, because all the people I had ever lost before were gone before I could remember much about them. I believed that Granddaddy would reappear the next day, right as rain, and ready to go care for his trees, and watch the sunset with me. But Granddaddy didn't appear. Not the next day or the next.

The funeral was on Saturday. I put on my new little black dress and followed Momma to the church, where I had one last look at Granddaddy lying so still in his coffin, and it hit me then and there that I would never see his smiling face again. I broke down into tears and couldn't move from that spot until the pallbearers came to take him away. Momma escorted me to a nearby chair where I sat crying while the funeral was going on outside. She sat with me the whole time, helping me through my break down, as I had helped her through hers a few days before.

That night, and for many nights to come, as the sun went down, I wasn't out there to watch it. The trees in the yard stood forlorn and forgotten. The house went back to its previous state of disrepair, though not because of Momma. She went to work at two jobs, one at a gas station, the other and a grocery store. I, on the other hand, couldn't bear to do much aside from getting up in the morning, anything else seemed like I was betraying Granddaddy by doing it without him. I couldn't even move the TV remote from his bedside table because I was afraid that by moving it, I would lose the memory of seeing Granddaddy pick it up, and flip through the channels on a day when he was too tired or too sick to do much else. I didn't want to lose him, or lose my memory of him. I felt that by doing things he would've done without him, I would forget the memories we'd had together, doing those things.

I had gotten so out of schedule that I didn't even remember my own birthday until we got a letter in the mail announcing that school was going to start again in two weeks. My birthday was always on the day we received that letter, and Momma always told me that they used my birthday to remind them to send out the notice. I didn't think I could go back to school again and face all my friends, knowing that my life had completely changed since I saw them last. I tried not to dwell on the memories of Granddaddy walking me to school or hobbling along the street after me with my forgotten lunch box. School would never be the same.

Since it was my birthday, Momma came home from work that day with a small cake that said, 'Happy birthday Meg' on it along with 10 little candles. It was late in the evening as Momma blindfolded me and led me out on the porch as the crickets serenaded us with their song. She took the blindfold off my eyes only for me to behold the most beautiful sunset that I had ever seen. My eyes filled with tears as I thought of all the times Granddaddy and I had spent out here together.

"I can just see Granddaddy up in heaven, painting this sunset in the sky just for your birthday, baby girl. He was always the happiest out here with you," Momma said as she smiled down upon me. I realized right then that Granddaddy was still watching the sunset with me, except now he was up in heaven, where there was no pain and no sickness. And as far as forgetting him, watching the sun go down and the stars fill the night sky would rather be a reminder of all the memories we'd had together.

p.s. Happy Valentine's Day Grandpa! I miss you and love you and hope you're having a great time up in heaven :)

Europe and Commercialized Holidays

Weeeeeeellll folks it's that time of year again! Time to turn your piggy banks over and shake every last coin from them. For those of you who live under rocks, it's Valentine's Day, one of the fastest growing commercialized holidays out there (I can see the owners of Hallmark sitting in a dark office room greedily counting their money right about now). No more is this holiday about spending time with your loved ones, it's about how extravagant of a gift you can get your sweetheart, a competition between you and your friends about how many Valentine's you received. But I'm not complaining, because who doesn't want a good excuse to eat chocolate right?

I feel like I had to add something in there about Valentine's Day to give me a better excuse to blog. If you would like, feel free to erase the first paragraph out of your memories. On to the most exciting part of my post this fine, fine day... I'm going to Europe! For real this time! I have my passport application sent in and everything. We're going (probably) the last week in April, and I'm so excited! It's going to be me, my parents, my brother Tadd, and my brother Brad and his wife Alyson (again, probably). We'll be traveling to some of the places I've always wanted to go to, Paris, the Loire Valley, and London! I'm so excited! Just typing this paragraph is making me hyperventilate. It's literally a dream come true!

Well, I just wanted to share with you all that news. I hope you've had a great day! And a Happy Valentine's Day to you all!

p.s. Do you think Mrs. Shinn would give me extra credit for seeing a play in the Globe Theater? Hmmm.

Do You Ever Feel Like....

Something's missing?? As if you go about your life in the same routine, doing the same things day in and day out, with little change. Sure, you ate Frosted Flakes for breakfast today instead of Cocoa Puffs, but other than that it's all the same old-same old. And every time you try to break out of your routine and do something different-be someone different-you are held back by the sameness of your life. Sometimes don't you just want to throw back your head and yell into that blue abyss we call the sky, and tell the clouds that just once could they let it snow in the middle of July? To have your teachers decide to go outside and play kickball instead of making you take that excruciatingly long test. Where's the spontaneity in life? The little things that catch you off-guard and make you smile. The song that comes on your Ipod that fits your mood like a glove, or getting ten out of ten on a skills test you thought you'd fail in gym class. This mindless routine is not good enough for me, I need more from life! That's why no matter how many times this routine and complete sameness holds me back, I'm going to dare to be different and perhaps slip a little Tabasco sauce in my Kool-Aid.

Change

Change,

The cry of a newborn,

The first snowflake on your nose in December,

Listening to a different radio station.

Change,

Leading your team to victory for the first time,

Forgiving someone you hate,

Tasting something new.

Change,

Making the Youth Council in your town,

Watching a horror movie instead of a chic flick,

Playing the piano in seminary.

Change,

Finally getting those braces off,

Getting a bonus at work,

Winning the Geography Bee.

Change,

Watching your youngest go off to college,

Your father losing his job,

Your first day at a new school.

Change,

Learning you were never good enough,

Going through a divorce,

Being diagnosed with a disease.

Change,

Growing apart from your friends,

Having your favorite show cancelled,

Not achieving your dreams.

Change,

Moving to a new state,

Failing a class,

The death of your companion in life.

Change,

Can be good or bad,

Big or little,

Surprising or planned.

Change is.... inevitable

New Years Resolutions

Yes folks! It's that time again... a time for change! For promising yourself that you will make changes for the better in your life! It's time to make your New Years resolutions! Well, most of you will have already made your goals and may be working on them as I slouch in the old folding chair in front of my computer writing this post. Some of you may be thinking that perhaps you should have made some goals for the new year, but instead you're sitting on your lazy bums watching TV all day. And still others have already given up on your resolutions for this year and are concentrating on keeping the rest of your life together. Because honestly, how many of us really have time to focus on goals? What am I doing this year, you ask? I am working on goals in four categories- intellectual, social, physical, and spiritual. My goals are such that I can accomplish most of them WHILE sitting on my lazy bum watching TV. Lucky me. I dearly hope that I can kept my resolutions this year (hey I've lasted almost a week!), but who knows what delicious cake donuts will be tempting me that I simply can't refuse?! I mean, a girl can only resist so much in life! Studies show that about 92% of Americans don't keep their resolutions, and about 45% give up before the end of January! But don't loose any sleep at night over this, you could still be in the 8% who actually accomplish their goals. And I commend you for that! Bravo! You should give yourself a huge pat on the back for that one! But as for the rest of us? Our lives go on the same as before without hardly a second thought... at least until next New Years.