Memoirs of a would-be-Parisian, vol. 1

Yes, Michaelangelo, that is the Mona Lisa.

I was in Paris for the second time in early May. After surviving the annual conference I coordinate, I headed to the City of Lights for four days of additional conference planning with our French office. The following post (and don’t forget to check back tomorrow for part deux) is my memoir of that whirlwind of a trip…


Bonjour et greetings from La France.

Je suis tres fatigue and my French sucks. I think I just said I’m very tired. Who knows! They speak so fast it’s ridiculous and I am an idiot with my meager attempts to assimilate to the language.

The biggest museum in the freaking world.

Anyway…went to the Louvre yesterday and boy oh boy is that museum huge. I hated it. It took me almost 2 hours just to find the Mona Lisa and then I found myself just trying to get back to the main entrance area and somehow ended up in the furthest part away from it that I could be. I had to go out, and literally like ½ mile to get back in through the pyramid. It was freaking ridiculous. It was a maze. Not AMAZING…a MAZE. ARGH! After my 6 mile walk at the Louvre I went to the Champs Elysees. Why? Don’t know because it’s like 2 miles long. Where I came out in Metro was not exactly “Champs Elysees.” It was at Charles de Gaulle Etoile, I think—which has to be the furthest point from wherever I wanted to be on the CE. So I walked up one side (2 miles, I’m sure) went to Arc de Triumphe, and walked back (another 2 miles). It was cool to go there—because I’m sure if you’ve watched CNN as much as I have in the last 24 hours you are aware that yesterday was the 60th anniversary of VE Day in Europe. CNN is really exciting when you’ve watched it, almost continuously for as long as I have. I’ve seen every story about 19 times. Funny thing is I haven’t really been in my room a lot, from my various 15 mile walks.

A few other points of interest: 1) Room is no bigger than my closet. And while that is a good size, it makes for an interesting living space. 2) You can see the top of the Eiffel Tower from my room which is cool. 3) Dining alone in Paris is not as glamorous as it should be. It really should be something more spectacular than it is. I went to a café last night and it was uneventful. I sat, by myself, and stared at this family eating dinner. Luckily, I did not order raw meat this time. It was actually cooked and quite good. (On my first trip to Paris I ordered something that sounded familiar, big mistake...it was raw) 4) I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again because I’m in France and by golly, I can. I love this country because French fries come with everything.

Au revoir et a bientot,
N

Twenty-one years...Strong

Twenty-one years ago today, she was born. It was a day very much like today, dreary and cold. It was a day you wouldn't ordinarily remember...But that day...that day was a day I would remember forever.

I can still hear my mom saying "Tom, my water just broke." And my grandma picking me up for school. I can remember when the office assistant came to my third grade class as we lined up for recess and told me my mom had given birth to a girl. A sister. I had waited eight years for a sister. I announced to the class "I have a new baby girl sister." I have never forgotten that moment.

Twenty-one years ago.

I loved her immediately. When she was very young I would dress her up like a Barbie and do her hair and make-up. When she was older I was mean to her. When she was a teenager I tried to mother her. When she became an adult I called her friend.

Although you can't mistake us for being sisters, this sister of mine is everything I am not. She speaks her mind where I would avoid. She is faithful where I doubt. She believes where I question. She is sick where I am healthy. She is stronger than I have ever been. Born with a laundry list of congenital heart defects, she survived more by the age of five than most will sustain in a lifetime. She continues to survive. She continues to live joyfully, faithfully, and gracefully.

Each year that has passed we have rejoiced for our miracle girl. Our daughter, our sister, our wife, our friend. Each year we say a prayer - a prayer of thanks, a prayer of hope, a prayer for another miracle, a prayer for all that will be. Each year we thank God for giving her to us.

Twenty-one years.

I have a baby girl sister. She's all grown up. She is amazing and wonderful and everything I hope to one day be. She is a devoted Christian whose faith flows like a river. I can't imagine what the last twenty-one years would have been like without her.

She fills my heart with life, laughter and love...

Love above all.

What is "enough?"

I remember a line from the movie "The Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood" where Sandra Bullock's character asks her father, played by James Garner, "Daddy, did you get loved enough?" And to that he replies, "What's enough?"

This morning, for some reason I have to give this pause...I have called this to memory and now I have to let it sink in, because it is something that must be acknowledged while in the here and now, in this place that I am in. I must decide for myself what exactly is enough means to me.

I remember what it was like to be in love for the first time. That wonderfully magical summer and subsequent senior year in high school. That year of eternal bliss that I have spent the last 13 years trying to replicate. Trying and tried to replicate. I still look back and I think, that when I was 17, I knew what "enough" felt like. Perhaps it was the glow of youth and because the years had not yet tarnished me or made me synical. Perhaps it was him.

Nonetheless, it was enough. My first love filled me to the brim.

Somewhere along the way, somehow in my journey towards womanhood I lost touch with that. I found glimpses back in people like Buhl and then in the-husband-formerly-known-as-mine. In hindsight, they were never enough because they never really gave their wholeselves to me. They each gave me a part but nothing like that long ago, faded memory of how I once was satisfied and content. In turn, I compromised for a life less than what I truly wanted or even deserved. Somewhere along the way I let familiarity and the desire to not be alone guide me down a long and lonely road of being with someone who was a good person, but who brought out the worst in me.

Somewhere along the way I forgot who I was. I forgot how to live, how to laugh, and how to love.

When you realize you are dying as a person you have very important choices to make. My choice was to say goodbye to that life. I began a new one when I admitted to myself, to my ex-husband, to my friends, to my family that I was moving on. And for the first time in seven years I breathed. For the first time in seven years, I knew I could move forward, I knew I was alive. And it was enough.


I realized a couple months ago that because of those years and the moving forward after, I had completely closed myself off to the ability and possibility to love. I forgot what it felt like to feel anything. For someone who wears their heart on their sleeve, that's a sad realization. It's like realizing you are an emotional void and that all you have been doing is self-destructing. Self-destructing because what else is there to do when you don't feel anything and don't really care. One night while watching "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind" the dam broke and I cried for the first time in as long as I could remember. It was then, after all that time that I knew I had the ability to once again feel...something.

Step forward.

In my quest to move forward in my new life I haven't spent alot of time figuring out what it is I want or ahem, require of the next Mr. Nat-X. I haven't decided what will be enough for me. I've been out with a lot of men who remind me of what I don't want, but very few who actually remind me of what I do. I haven't figured out what that magic line between settling and fulfilled is. I'm not sure I know. Perhaps it's time for me to figure it out.

I just want someone to love me for me. I don't want anyone to complete me, I just want someone who compliments who I am as a person. I want someone to laugh with, someone who isn't willing to give up, someone who is not content with just the same old same old, and someone who is kind. I want someone who isn't afraid to show me how he loves me. I want flowers for no reason, kisses in inappropriate settings, and friendship above all. I want someone who will be a great father and who will take an active role in his children's lives. I want someone who slows me down or speeds me up depending on the situation. I want a man who isn't afraid to move forward and who is willing to grow. Someone who has his own interests but includes me in them as well. A man who it hurts to be without and who yearns for me the same. I want to be with a man who takes responsibility for himself and for his family, who invests in his spirituality, and who leads by example. I want a man who isn't afraid to be a man.

More than anything, I want to never settle for anything less, ever again.

And yet I am scared that even still, even if all of the above is found...that my unquenchable desire for something more will still never quite be...

enough...

A Million Reasons Why...

I'm sick of hearing about Oprah and James Frey. This book and its validity have consumed too much of my time.

I had never heard of Frey's "A Million Little Pieces" until Thanksgiving when my aunts were watching the TiVo'd episode of his appearance on Oprah. They were gushing about how this was a "life moment" type of book and it was just so amazing. They hushed all who entered the room or tried to speak as if this man was the be all and end all of humanity. I listened to some of it and I admit, I was intrigued and thought that I should definitely pick this book up after I finished another two books I had recently bought but not yet read.

My social life is just so exciting that it took me a good two months (that was a joke) to get to "A Million Little Pieces." I was excited to read it. I was ready to finally understand what all the to do was about. On my New Years trip to Gulfport, a Stewardess even mistook my previous book's teal cover and commented how she "couldn't wait to read it." It seemed everyone was talking about it. Surely this was going to be on my new top ten list of best books of all times. So upon my departure from Gulfport I picked it up in the airport bookstore. I had some time to kill so I went to the bar, had a bloody Mary and a smoke, and dove right into this book about substance abuse and recovery. HA! I read and read and absorbed the first 50 pages without much thought. I thought it was kind of gross and I was ready to move on to different subject matter than Frey's vommitting, novacaine-free root canals, and anger management problems.

I'm a fast reader. I can get through just about any book I begin in a very short time. But this one, I just didn't care to finish. In fact, I just finished it this past week. It sat around after I got home. I would pick it up each night and read a few more pages, slowly. It got so I went almost a week without picking it up at all. I just didn't care about it. Don't get me wrong, it was a good book. I'm glad the dude faced his inner demons and has successfully been sober for many years. I can partially relate to the subject matter because of my binge drinking (first step is to admit you have a problem)...but I still didn't "get it." Oprah and the aunts raved about this book. They couldn't put it down. I felt like all it did was go on and on and on. I had seen Oprah, he was still here so I knew he must have decided to walk away from the booze, crack, and whores.

I finished it and then all this "A Million Little Lies" comes out on the Smoking Gun and Larry King and finally the circle is complete and Frey is back on Oprah. Last night, I watched, again. And I couldn't help but think to myself, "who cares!" It's a BOOK. It may have been touted as a memoir, but it's still a BOOK. The stuff they are talking about him fabricating is just not that big of a deal to me. It just wasn't the inherent meaning of the book to me. This dude SURVIVED. He conquered his additctions and he wrote a book that recounts his experience as he remembers it. I'm sure its embellished, stretched, edited--after all, it is a book and its sold in order to make money. However, if people were that inspired to kick their vice a month ago because of it, surely they will still do it inspite of some embellishments.

James Frey is still sober. Isn't that really what should prove worthy?

I don't know, but is all of this really that big of a deal? Is Oprah really that influential on the American public that people care if she was embarassed and disappointed? Perhaps she should focus on Frey's success as an addict who is not dead but living and who (up until her last interview) has been successful in his recovery.

When did we stop celebrating human achievement and start celebrating defeat?

I just don't get it.

Sweaty people unite!

NB-C has gotten me to go back the gym.

I told her I wouldn't go to WW with her because I had too many vices at the present to really concentrate on one. Plus, how fat can I get when I open the refridgerator and watch the tumbleweeds roll through and the crickets chirp. I am one who loathes excercise. I was a fat kid (with horribly large hair) whose meager attempt at physical activity was in the 7th grade on the JV Volleyball team. I rarely played. I did ride a bike, oh! and I swam in the summer. Besides that, nothing. Excercise was and still is a foreign concept to me. When I was 16 I got really skinny. It was strange because one day my metabolisim decided to show up. When I say "I got skinny," I don't just mean skinny, because in hindsight I pretty much looked emaciated. God those were good times. During the emaciated years I decided I'd get in shape and accomplish the one thing I was never able to do in middle school. I would run a mile without stopping. So, I did it.

Check.

And then I don't think I excercised for like 10 years.

Now, I'm 29 and can only look back on the Emaciation of Natty years with tears and fondness. Freshman 15, bah! More like Freshman 500. Not to mention the post college years when suddenly the short walks around campus were no longer there to keep it off, followed by the married years to the man who had to eat biscuits with every meal. The twenties have not been kind. Don't get me wrong, I'm still hot like wasabi and 99% of the time darn happy to look in the mirror at the face and bod that God gave me. But it sure would be nice to be svelt again.

I should clarify, I do enjoy being outside. I like climbing mountains, swimming, walking Abby in Chevy Chase, and um...well ya, that's pretty much it. Last time I looked the White Mountains (no not mine, the one's in New Hampshire) weren't exactly in my backyard. The company softball team I signed up for this year...um, ya. That's just funny. It's always a bit like pulling teeth to get my arse to the gym. I just don't get how people love to excercise. Maybe people love excercise as much as I love Wendy's french fries or Stouffer's Mac & Cheese. Hmm....

I digress.

But we've gone! Twice! And it hasn't been bad. I forgot that I actually like the feeling I have when its over. You know that floating on air because the treadmill has finally stopped but you are kind of still moving feeling. I do feel like I've accomplished something, even if it's as miniscule as getting off my couch-loving ass for an hour to do something to better myself. OH! And the best part of the new gym experience is that I can get on the treadmill and watch the Food Network. What better incentive can a fat girl have then to compromise by watching that quirky Rachael Ray while conquering the treadmill? My, my, my, it's like my own little piece of heaven after all.

Garcon! I'll have another fruity drink...

Last night I took my weekly trip to the tropics. Yes, that's right, once a week I find myself basking in the warm glow of sunlight with the smell of coconut and suntan lotion in the air. I lay back and feel the rays of the sun touching my body and listen to the waves crash onto the shore. I listen to the steel drum band play a beat that leaves all my cares behind. I am warm and I am relaxed and I am happy to have left the the world I just arrived from. This time I take home a souvenier that will remind me of my trip...a sunburn on my chest and nose. I am satisfied. Just enough to be content, just enough sun to get my fill.

Times up.

Back to reality.

The sun fades away, the music is still, the only scent left in the air is a mixture of salt and something vaguely familiar...something that smells more like burnt toast than coconuts. Time to pile on the layers of clothing and face the cold air. I think to myself how I wish I had a little more time to spend there. Sad to say goodbye, knowing I can't stay. I begin my departure and glance in the mirror. I can still see the freckles on my nose...Yes, another pina colada would be great right now...

You'll know where to find me.

Since we're here, you probably should know...

I've had a lot of experience lately having to endlessly recount who I am to people who may only be in my life a short time. That is a hard question. I prefer to go with Whitman's self analogy "I am large, I contain multitudes." But, most people I meet don't really get that so you have to give them something a bit more tangible. So I started thinking about that a little more and decided that I should create a self-assessing inventory. Here it is. Yes, that's right, in front of you are the nuts and bolts of who I am, the "must read for what you need to know about Natalie" guide for 2006," the good, the bad, the ugly.

• I am a Yankee in a Southern town (born in Nashville, partially rasied in Louisville, grew up in Columbus, migrated to LexVegas in the early 90's) they still don't look to kindly on me in these parts.
• I love my job.
• I am exceptionally clumsy and am prone to bad luck when it comes to love, being arrested or injured.
• No, that is not a zit on my nose. It's a scar. I was a victim of gang warfare and it's gonna be there forever and it drives me insane. See above.
• I love my eyes. I'm content with my eyes. I know how to use them to my advantage.
• I am a girlie girl. I love makeup, hair products, and pretty clothes.
• I love shoes, even when they hurt, I adore them.
• I have spent way too much money on credit cards and am kind of freaking out.
• I love Nordstrom's, the Gap, Pottery Barn and Crate & Barrel. Again, see above.
• I would like nothing more than to own a specialty foods store someday where I can also make my favorite things (espeically soup) and serve it to the elite ladys who lunch.
• I wish I hadn't been afraid to move to Washington DC after college.
• I am most content in New England. I always feel as if it is nourishment to my soul.
• If I could do one thing it would be travel around to fabulous places and critique a resort or other fine accomodations in which I was staying. Oh, don't forget I'll be dining in the finest restaurants as well.
• I feel that there are very few people who understand inherently who I am and who get me.
• I have made a lot of mistakes.
• My favorite color is midnight blue.
• I love reading a good book or poetry.
• I listen to words for their meaning instead of accepting them at face value. I listen for words as they relate to my own life in books, poetry, movies, or songs. I listen for what they could mean and fantasize that I am in their favor.
• My favorite movies of all time are: 1) Forrest Gump 2) The Godfather 3) The Breakfast Club 4) Shakespeare in Love
• I have a smart mouth and sometimes a quick temper.
• I still love New Kids on the Block.
• I am a Sagittarius through and through and am oddly drawn to the letal combination of Pisces men. I am always trying to find my Gemini.
• I have to touch and smell everything.
• I don't care, I know it pisses you off and everyone hates it, oh and not to mention bad for me, but I still love a good smoke.
• I adore men. I adore everything about a man. The way they smell (um..Jean-Paul Gautier, yes please!), the way their butt looks in a great pair of jeans, their hands, the way they look at you, the way they touch you, hold you, kiss you. I love men.
• I dwell over the past and am most often paralized by the fear of moving forward.
• I love the way you feel when you have had just enough wine to make you tipsy.
• I hate crowds, crowded places or the feeling of being trapped. Anywhere or by anyone.
• I can walk away from people who have done me wrong or hurt me one too many times and not feel remorse.
• I am in constant struggle with my relationship with God and am keenely aware that there is an evil force ever present in my life.
• I make bad decisions but I am good at accepting the consequences.
• I don't regret being married or getting divorced.
• I am really good at giving advice and horrible at following it.
• I've been all over the United States, and to Paris and London.
• I am scared of ghosts because of growing up in a haunted house.
• I realize that my parents did the best they could raising me and that they loved me and (I think) did a great job.
• I laugh at everything.
• I am thankful for what I have and sometimes what I don't have.
• I am blessed to have a family where I am loved.
• Sometimes I think I have a sixth sense.
• I have amazing friends.
• I am in love with the idea of being in one of those MFEO romances.
• I am still learning and that is ok.
• I cross the line when I shouldn't.
• I am a damn good cook, party giver, and center of attention.
• I love children, dogs and bald men.

I want to go back to college

So every year at this time I have little choice but to reflect on how old I have gotten. I keep trying to fight it, but time and the ever growing presence of celulite on my thighs constantly remind me that I am no longer a spring chicken.

I spent the weekend at my alma mater, the small & quaint, conservative & sheltered, wonderful in so many other ways, Georgetown College. I went back, as I do each January, to find out what my Phi Mu sisters were doing to recruit us a fresh batch of members. I got sucked in volunteering after college and became their recruitment advisor. About 3 years ago I got even further sucked into the post-college-still-giving-back-because-I'm-a-big-sucker-for-my-sorority as a national oficer. I still have the strongest tie to my good old Delta Eta. At least I can use the "I'm an officer and they're one of my chapters" excuse. But, truth be told, I like going back each year. Truth is, I like catching an ever so slight glimpse of what being there feels like.

So I go. I drive the 30-minute one way trip to Georgetown and I offend half the chapter by making them wear lipstick or tell them to break the rules. They love me and they hate me. And I am ok with that. This year they rocked the house. They were fantastic and they blew me away. Me, a seasoned Phi Mu officer who has seen it all. Me, an eleven year Phi Mu veteran who has seen that chapter on its ups and downs. They blew me away. They were amazing. They deserve it.


So it was there that I was once again reminded of how much I miss college. How much I miss that college. My mom used to tease me about it being the "country club." I would always dispute that charge. But it is and it was. It was the greatest place in the world and for a very short time we had it all.

How I long for the days of having to walk to the room next door to find someone to go to lunch or dinner with. How I long for the days of recounting the past nights events with my friends and laughing while we filled in all of the missing details. Somewhere in a faint and distant memory are the warm spring days spent outside drinking contraband beer with my friends and the Phi Taus, showing up for class only to be told to go home, or the long good byes the end of each spring semester brought. How I miss getting so jacked up from the gallons of Mountain Dew or the horrible food we endured for four years. How I miss the days of showering with my shoes on and having a closet that stretched from one hall to another.

Mostly I look back and I miss the KA's freshman year, Flowers Hall, Farm Parties, Cardome, Beer in Backpacks (Natty Lite, of course), My Love for the T-shirt Guy, the Duck Pond, Jeremy Buhl, East Campus apartment living with Julia, Being Vee's Roommate, Snow Days, Chapel Day, Going to Richmond, Dixie Tavern & Amarillo by Morning, The Ruckers, SEDW's Mustang, Julia's Probe, Henry Hyundai, Vee's Altima and NB-C's Egg. I look back and wonder how we made it home from Panama City after being left by she who must not be named. I think about how great it was to get to know an entire campus and friends who years later you have something in common with, even if its just the shared experience of being there. I think about Alby and his satin shirt, 3.7 seconds, Nema flying over the wall, Toby the Dog, The Kimono & the drive to Wests, "Dude, can you hook me up," The Waterfall, Meeting SEDW, Julia, Vee & NB-C for the first time and eventually Saying Goodbye.

Never will I forget the experiences and people that made me grow, up and over the person I was before I came there. I loved college. My college. Our college.

My NFL (New Friend Lane) after spending a 24-hour period making fun of my annoyingly-fun-yet-somewhat-sad past time of being a professional sorority girl, decided I should form a new sorority. He says I should call it Mu Alpha Sigma or in plain terms, Middle Age Sorority. After much consideration, I don't think it's such a bad idea.

Who's with me?

My cup runeth over...

Well, I got a lot of grief over that last blog. Sheesh. When you are the eternal optimist people really freak when you get sad. Man! Sometimes you've just got to get it off your chest. What a better way than in a public forum for all the world (well, not really, cause there's just a few people reading) to see.

SO, I've thought alot about it and I've decided to just be Nat for awhile. Time to just lay back and enjoy the ride instead of trying to dictate where the ride takes me. Time to get back in control and figure out what it is that the noise is trying to tell me. I'm lucky. I have great friends who care about me and want me to be happy. They smack me around and smack me out of it when I lose the grip on control and optimism.

There are a lot of things to be happy about. Here's what makes me happy (in no particular order):

• 62 degree days in January
• The Hobbit House (but not the neighbors)
• Red wine
• NB-C, Vee, SEDW & Julia (and Merriwether)
• Macaroni & Cheese
• My little buddy Sean C.
• Soft lips
• Shopping and spending money that I will have to one day pay back
• Haribo gummi bears - especially the green ones
• My girl Abby
• The Garden State Soundtrack
• Rebekah
• Irish Nachos at Shamrocks
• Knowing that there are people who love me and care about me and just "get me."

NB-C, Me, Julia & Vee

SEDW and Merriwether!

Too much noise

I am stuck inside my own head again and there is too much noise. There is just this noise that doesn't stop. Inside my head there is too much going on. Constant sound.

Echos :: I've Been Here Before, Haven't I? Must Have Done Something Wrong. Must Have Crossed the Line. It Wasn't Me. Wasn't Expecting You. Just Enough Damage.
Conversations :: New. Fade into Old. Just Words. Too Many Games. Next.
Words :: #2. Cannonball. Bryan Ferry. Clem & Joel. Viola & Will. Sad. Starcrossed.
Love :: Don't Want To. Can't Wait.
Sadness :: Stop.
Freedom !! My Own Space. Ex-husband. No Children (tick tock). Wonder Dog.
Hope :: Alone. OK. Content?

Move Forward. Move Backward.

Dwell on the Past. Dwell on the Present. Dwell on the Future.

In my head it goes onandonandonandon.

The sound drowns out logic. Throws away conventional wisdom. Defies my instinct. It makes me weak. It makes me doubt. It breaks me down.

This infurates me. I don't do "sad." I'm not weak. I had it all figured out two months ago. Two months ago I was in control.

Now there is just noise.

I've got some ocean front property...

I'll never forget my first visit to Gulfport, MS. I drove down in May of 2004 with my best friend, Vee, who was engaged to her now husband, Todd. We went down over Memorial Day weekend so that I could see this place that she would soon be calling home. We spent the weekend touring the area and seeing all the towns along the Gulf Coast. We went from Pascagoula to New Orleans, from the mega-casinos (or casina's as they are called in MS) of Biloxi to the charming towns of Long Beach, Pass Christian, and Bay St. Louis. My eight hour tour gave me a good understanding of what the area looked like. A bit of the culture. And a glimpse of the people.

My second trip was in July of that year. I braved the sweltering heat and larger than life mosquitos and sent my best friend off to live in a new world. To be a part of a new group of people who knew me as nothing more than "her friend from Kentucky." I met more people. I had a sense of knowing my way around, just a little bit more than before. I knew the landmarks. I knew how to say "Pass Christian." I liked the people I met. I loved the houses even more.

The third trip was in February of 2005. Our threesome completing best friend, NB-C, and I went for a long weekend of fun. We were there, together. NB-C had not been to Gulfport so she got the tour. It seemed like second nature to me by that trip. I knew the landmarks. Knew the familiar places. We took her to Annie's in Bay St. Louis. The bar/restaurant that we had gone to each trip before. The place that I loved. We spent hours at the Grand Casino in Biloxi. We had lunch at the Napoleon House in New Orleans. We drank, laughed, ate, made friends and won $20 effortlessly. We met more people. We were invited into their homes. We were welcomed. And I began to see the spirit of the Gulf Coast emerge.

On August 27, I got a call from Vee while I was driving down Chinoe Road with NB-C. We were in the car and Vee was talking about this hurricane that seemed to be headed their way. I laughed. Last I had heard it was just a tropical storm. Surely everything would be fine. And over the next two days I came to learn what scared me the most. It wasn't going to be fine. In fact, it was going to be worse than I could ever imagine. Todd was gone and Vee was boarding up the house deciding whether or not to stay. Glued to CNN, I was on the phone with her when I heard them say "175 mile-an-hour winds."

Get out. Time to get out.

Todd calls and says the same.

Get out. Time to get out.

That day will be etched in my memory forever. I was making homeade spaghetti sauce that day. It was rainy. That day as I watched the impending doom. Talked to Vee who was scared and who was evacuating to Jackson. Fox News. CNN. Anything. Tell me more. Hear it in her voice. She's scared. I'm scared. All those people that I had come to know. All those places I had seen and been to. Todd & Vee's house. Would they have a house. Everything was like I was right there. CNN. Fox News. Anything. Tell me more.

...that place so unfamiliar just a year and a half before...

We know what happened on August 29, 2005. She destroyed, everything. She took away the homes of the people I had met. She took away the places I had been. She came with swift fury.

I watched the news, religously. I didn't like being away from the radio, Internet or TV. I felt completely helpless. I feel like I rode out a storm hundreds of miles away with nothing but a telephone and my best friend at the end of the line. Helpless to do anything but relay information.

I saw the video footage Todd took just days after the storm. Watched that a couple weeks later while Vee was here and the news was still talking about the flooding in New Orleans. This was different than New Orleans. I knew that. But I didn't really know.

I went back for the fourth time over New Years. What better of a place to say good ridance to a crappy year than in the place that knew the true meaning of that. I got off the plane and smelled the familiar air and knew that when I opened my eyes there would be no words to describe this place I had come to know. It was just gone. Gone.

Biloxi.
Gulfport.
Destroyed.
Long Beach.
Pass Christian.
Waveland.
Bay St. Louis.
Gone.
Overwhelming.

The loss and the suffering is more than you can imagine. It is nothing, nothing, like what you see on television. People lost everything. It fills you with sadness.

And yet, what remains is that same familiar spirit I had begun to notice in my prior trips. We will survive. We will remain steadfast. We will not surrender. Every conversation I overheard, from each person affected in a different way, you could hear the same in their voice. United. Strong. We will survive. We will remain steadfast. We will not surrender.

And I understood. All the doubt I had in the prior months of why you would stay in a place like that was gone. I understood. I understood. I understood.

There are times in your life where you may feel defeated in every way. In every sense of feeling or being defeated. But the human spirit is strong and it is resiliant. It is kind. It is full of hope...and love. The human spirit can and will endure. The human spirit is present all around, and you can feel it. It's contagious. It whispers...

Stay.

TGIF

Well, another week down. Another week closer to turning 30. Funny how the holidays seem long ago and far away already.

My question is, how many meetings can one person sit through and actually accomplish anything else? There is nothing like realizing that I am, actually, going to have to work. Again. Unless I am mistaken, I don't think they count blogging as part of my quarterly bonus. Long gone are the 7 hour internet days, the 36 hour work week...the countless hours of MSNBC and eBay. It's been fun. How I will miss you. Here to stay are the long days that begin in dreary January and constantly remind you of the grey cubicle walls and their fondness for holding you in. Here to stay are the Outlook invitations for yet another "important" conference call that simply requires your attendance. Here to stay are the long days and nights, the countless hours of over achieving and thankless review. Here to stay is the knowledge that the next paid holiday is Memorial Day.

Here's to having a job and being employed...and to being thankful that I am. Happy hour, here I come!

Rebekah

My heart.
My soul.
My friend.

Unwavering
Undaunted
Unchanged

My heart.
My soul.
My friend.

Beautiful
Faithful
Hopeful

My heart.
My soul.
My friend.

Strong
Strong
Strong

My sister.

Slave to Love...

"I was the more deceived.

Yes, you were decieved. For I never loved you till now.

Now?

I love you...beyond poetry.

Oh, my love
You ran from me before.

You were not dead before. When I
thought you dead, I did not care about
all the plays that will never come,
only that I would never see your face.
I saw our end, and it will come.

...Oh, I am fortunes fool.

Look where the dream
has brought us.

It was we ourselves did that. And for
my life to come I would not have it
otherwise.

You will never age for me, nor fade, nor die.

Nor you for me.

Good bye, my love, a thousand times
good bye."

(From Shakespeare in Love)

Crossing the Line

Sometimes I feel like I live in this constant struggle of what it means to "cross the line." That imaginary place that everyone seems to know. If you cross the line, do you risk losing everything? Do you risk exposing your feelings for the chance that someone will feel the same back (about love, your work, anything)? Do you sit back and decide against a leap of faith to adhere to a more practical and passive approach - guarded and afraid to cross that line? Or do you cross it and gracefully accept whatever the outcome - whatever the consequence. (The consequences are the here and now as well as what is yet to be in the future).

Where is the balance?

Who I am as a person says "always cross the line." Cross it with abandon! Cross it because you should not wait! Cross it because if you lose it, it was never really yours to begin with. Recent experience says, perhaps you should wait and let someone else cross it first. Be practical. Be cautious. My own history tells me that the times I was most afraid to cross the line are those that I should have not waited, not dwelled but should have held faith in my hand and made the leap across. My history is what makes me look back now and know how different things would be, had I not been too afraid to cross that damn line.

I am wondering if this is perhaps one of the lessons we must all learn. Crossing the line is so hard because it forces us to accept the consequences of our actions. It makes us ultimately responsible for the decisions we make. It eliminates the ability for us to blame anyone but ourselves.

I am constantly reminded that I always have a choice, a path, or a clearing. What I choose to do with it is always up to me...What I have learned is that sometimes the decisions we are most afraid to make are probably the ones most in need of making.

My Girl Abby

My Muse. This is my girl, Abby. She is the most wonderful creature in the world. Abby is everything that is good and right. She's soft and cuddly, loyal and loving, happy and energetic. She is in her element when being outside on a walk or chasing squirrels. She always lets you know what she needs and doesn't make you guess if she is happy or sad. All she asks for is her cheesy treat in the morning. She knows when she's done wrong. She is a telemarketer by day (earning income for her poor, Pottery Barn loving mother) and professional napper by night. In her spare time she likes to visit her grandparents in Columbus. She is the worlds greatest co-pilot, snuggle buddy, companion and best friend.

Love!

The brightest spot in 2005 was the birth of Merriwether. Merriwether is the son of one of my best friends, SEDW, and her husband. He had a bit of a rough start at this world but recently the doctor has given him a clean bill of health. He is the first child to be born to any of my best friends...and the best way I can describe it is just knowing that he is love. He is past, present, future. I can't wait to meet him, know him...and love him.

Let's give a toast...

It's already January 3rd and I have had enough time to sit around and wonder why I am filled with so much hope at the begining of each new year.

I like to think of it as a fresh start...a new beginning lined with possiblities. Each year I think that perhaps this is my year to get motivated. To be that thin person that is hiding in this body. Moreover, I think this year I'll work harder and stick to the momentum that comes out so strong in January. This year I am resolved to not make resolutions. But, I will try harder. I will keep trying to be a better person than I was yesterday. I will try to challenge myself in new ways. I will remind myself that each day is a new day. I will keep hoping. I will do a better job at work. I will do more to contribute my part. I will surround myself with good people. Friends who enrich me. Family that sustains me.

I will keep living. I will keep loving. I will laugh.

Yes, I certainly will laugh.

Here's to a New Year...Cheers!