You and I

You and I sit on the back porch. It is mostly silent except for the squeaking of the old, wicker rocking chairs outside. We haven't said anything in five minutes, but it doesn't really matter. I don't think either of us care. I watch a bird flutter down onto the patio. It chirps, jumps, and flies away. I chuckle. You grin. We continue to sit. I look over at you. You look back. I smile at you. You smile back. And I look away, thinking about how good I have it.
It's the simple life. You chuckle. "What?" "Nothing." I grin. Nothing of any consequence may be said within an hour of us sitting like this, yet I feel like I've had the conversation of a lifetime.
It begins raining, and as we begin to talk, we can barely hear even our own voices over the sound of the roaring of water through the gutters overhead. The smell of April fills my lungs as the rain sends up an earthy smell from the ground. A disgruntled wren flies through the air to the bushes by the picket fence. You and I talk more. And our thoughts turn to a more serious mood as the wind flies through the screen and rushes into the brick wall behind us, finding no place to go. As we talk, I learn to think like you think, because I believe it's a much more interesting state of mind. And maybe we'll go back to sitting in silence, or maybe our conversation will continue for another two hours. I never know.
It's just you and me sitting together. And that's all I really want.

You and I ride down the interstate blasting Relient K or The Avett Brothers. We sit in absolute silence all the way up. The hypnotizing lull of the tires rasping across the black asphalt put me in a quiet state of mind. You and I sit there, occasionally making a comment on something, perhaps even holding a conversation from time to time. 45 minutes of this, and all is right with the world.
We're on the way back. Another 45 minutes of this. This time it's night, and we pass through states of city lights and star lights. We laugh the whole way back. Anberlin, or perhaps Rich Mullins or Simon and Garfunkel (or if we're feeling in an epic mood, the Dark Knight Rises soundtrack) is playing in the background. We talk about life and people and everything that comes to mind until we get home.
Sometimes we might even sit up in my room until three in the morning continuing a conversation that probably no one else would understand. But that's okay. I'd listen to you talk for three hours straight. It's fun to listen to you talk. I learn so much when I listen to you, and I think you teach me more about life than most "wise" people do. I don't want to be anywhere else right now. Because,
it's just you and me talking with each other. And that's all I really want.

You and I sit up until five in the morning. We talk about the most insane things, and laugh about the stupidest things. Know what I like about you? I like the fact that you can make me laugh about stupid things. I like it when people can do that. And when I'm so mad at you that I want to scream, you just sit there and remain calm. Or laugh at me. Either one typically works, and you know when to use which one. We're best friends. You and I both have a sense of wonder about us that few people have. A sense of ridiculousness that few people have. And I like that. I like sitting out in the yard with you with no tent staring at the stars. I like watching the moon set behind the pine trees in your backyard until it has completely disappeared among the evergreens.
We may talk for hours. We may watch our favorite TV shows. We may watch a stupid movie from Disney. Whatever we do, we have fun at it. We ride in your car blasting music with the windows down in the middle of winter. We talk about the most serious of topics, and worry about things that shouldn't be worried about. But we get each other.
It's just you and me being best friends. And that's all I really want.

Summertime Goodness

 And so with the sunshine and the great bursts of leaves growing on the trees,

just as things grow in fast movies,

I had that familiar conviction that life was

beginning over again with the summer.

-F. Scott Fitzgerald

It's full-fledged summer. In fact, you might almost say that summer is dieing off. I rather wish it would... despite my adoration of river-swimming, sun-bathing, and iced-chai-tea-latte-drinking habits, I can't help but desire my lovely autumn days in October.
However, I have enjoyed this summer a great deal more than past summers. Things have been delightfully laid back. I have enjoyed my Starbucks ice cream, loads of books, swimming, stormy afternoons, and even my schoolwork a great deal. Things have been a lovely shade of sepia with all the heat, but it's quite lovely. I love watching God's artistry throughout the year, and summer is quite beautiful.
I suppose this summer has been more beautiful than past summers, to me, because I have actually engaged myself in doing things that seem summerish. My first act was to go swimming with a few of my buddies and jump off of what seemed like a ridiculously tall tree into a ridiculously terrifying river (of which I have footage, but alas cannot find the cord to my old camera to upload it to my computer). I have gone to the river a couple more times, and honestly I can't say many other things in life make me more happy. Going to a river to swim seems like the epitome of summer activities. Besides, I'm doing it with my favorite people, so why shouldn't I be perfectly, splendidly happy?
I have also spent a great deal of time this summer being productive. In my past summers, I've been completely lazy and spent most of my time on the computer doing unproductive things. But I decided this summer that I would be at least slightly productive some of the time. I have rediscovered my love and adoration of reading. Honestly, the past year I haven't had time or desire to read. After Winston died last summer, I had a hard time taking interest in most things for a long time. When I did, I found myself slapped in the face with the realization that I had to begin studying for APs and the SAT. Really life? But I have begun to read again, and I have decided this is an activity I'm not apt to give up again any time soon.
I've also purposed myself to begin writing a great deal. I have been journaling more than I have in over a year, and have enjoyed it a great deal. I've also begun the rumblings of a story, but we'll see if that ever finishes itself. In any case, I have enjoyed writing a great deal. (and in fact, I would have written more on this blog had my laptop not given up the ghost, causing me to rely nearly solely on an iPad, on which it is nearly impossible to type)
Most of all, I have spent a great deal of time with my family and friends, which is more important to me than anything. Along with river swimming, I've gone to a frozen yogurt place with my mom several times, gotten chai tea lattes from Starbucks nearly every Sunday (and been greeted by the same awesome guy who asks me about Algebra 2 nearly every Sunday), watched fireworks with my friends, spent entire days tramping around in the woods and creek with my boyfriend while discussing deep and intellectual topics, talking about books and fashion with my best friends, talking with my soon-to-be-off-to-college brother until three in the morning, and other such pleasantries. I dearly love doing anything with my friends. And coming to the realization that four of my favorite people are soon to be off to college is indeed a daunting idea, and one that scares me and saddens me a great deal. My brother and cousin will soon be off two hours away doing their college-y things. Thus, watching She's the Man in my cousin's back yard at midnight with just a couple of sleeping bags or cutting up politically correct fruit salad with her is not exactly a strange or rare thing.
As you can see, summer to me means relaxing. It means enjoying God's beauty that He made for His glory to the full extent. It means laughing with my friends and watching my brother's face light up in a ridiculously luminescent way when he talks about The Dark Knight Rises. It means floating in tubes down a river and jumping off fifteen foot high trees into the murky water and mud below. It means pouring over a book while sitting on my bed, listening to the rain slapping and jumping off the leaves outside my window. It means playing on a playground and getting soaked with a hose while jumping on the blazing, colorful apparatus displayed out there. It means taping mustaches to my face with one of my best friends and taking stupid pictures that make us look like female versions of Poirot. It means sitting at my best friends' house with the power out, reading one liners from books in a circle and making everyone crack up.
It means summer.
Summer perfection.

Summertime Journaling

I love writing at any time of the year. Different seasons put me in different moods to write in different styles. Summer always puts me in a laid-back kind of feel, and my journaling strongly reflects that. As I was sitting up late one night a few days ago, I wrote this:

"It's 1:17 in the morning, and life is a virtual popsicle. Except filled with the most lovely feeling the heart can't describe. I'm sitting here listening to my favorite Alison Krauss songs, and it brings me back to being a little kid. It reminds me of riding in the back of Dad's black truck down a country road, or of driving through the Smokies at dusk. It brings me back to my five year old days. It makes me feel young. And sometimes it feels good to feel like a little kid again. Being reminded of being young makes me feel trusting. It makes me feel safe. It makes me feel like that country girl whose mind didn't wander very far past the oak tree in the back yard. The feeling I get is one I can't quite capture in words found in Webster's. It's an earthy, real feeling. It's beautiful, almost mysterious, in a very simple, understandable way. It makes my heart go crazy, while making my mind so peaceful that I feel like a mist hanging over pines in the mountains. I want so badly to capture this feeling in a song, but I can't write a song. I want to write poetry, a story, something. But not all things are intended for words."

I love summer.
I love watching fireworks while listening to Anberlin.
I love reading books on a stormy afternoon.
I love swimming at the river with my friends on a Saturday.
I love eating watermelon and strawberries.
I love going to coffee shops and frozen yogurt places with my mom.
I love eating green beans picked an hour beforehand from the garden.
But mostly I just love writing about how much I love these things in my journal.
Summertime is good.

Offering love where love is not due

Love.
It's a hard thing.
Obviously I'm not talking about romantic love, nor am I talking about loving friends. That isn't hard. That comes easily. But when we talk about that sort of love, we are talking about a feeling. And a feeling is not what I'm talking about.
Feelings aren't hard to express. They come naturally to us. Actions are harder, especially when they go against our feelings. If we're mad at someone, our natural reaction as humans with sinful natures is not to go up and hug them and start a lovely conversation with them. To be honest, when I'm mad at someone, the first natural reaction that comes to my mind is hitting the person right in the smacker. Though grace is working in me, the sinful nature still resides in my being, and in everyone else as well. We don't naturally offer love where it is not due. We don't naturally offer kindness to people who have hurt us. It goes against every part of our sinful nature.
However, as Christians, we are called to offer love where it seems like it is least deserved. This is a practice God has been trying to teach me. Recently, I've been reminded of things that people have done to me in the past and pain that they have caused to me. My natural reaction would be to hurt them back, but through reading the Bible, I have been reminded that that is not the way God would have me act towards these people. And although I could sit here all day and "remind" God of all the things people have done to me, and how it isn't fair, as Rich Mullins once amusingly stated, there is no point in fighting with God because He always wins.
God has called us to a higher standard than the world. We are to show love to those who have hurt us, just as Christ showed love to those who hurt Him. To me, Christ's most loving act on earth was not His healing, not His raising from the dead, not His reaching out to the poor and the forgotten, but when He was hanging on the cross, bleeding, almost dead, and He asked God to forgive those who were mocking Him and spitting on Him. That is truly a marvelous act of grace and love. Christ not only handled His death without biting back, but even asked God to show grace and forgiveness to those who had killed Him. Because Christ lived in such a way, we are called to do the same, as Peter says in 1 Peter 1:15, "But as He Who called you is holy, you also be holy in all conduct."
Why are we called to love? Because, as John states in 1 John 4:8, God is love. We cannot abide with someone Who is in and of Himself love. It's impossible. It's like trying to mix water and oil. Love and hate do not mix, and cannot mix. In fact, 1 John 4:20 puts it this bluntly, "If anyone says, 'I love God,' and hates his brother, he is a liar; for he who does not love his brother whom he has seen cannot love God whom he has not seen." That's pretty intense. John is saying that we cannot love God if we don't love the people around us. That is because love and hate, like water and oil, don't mix. We are to love those around us just as Christ first loved us.
But how are we to love? 1 John 3:18 puts it this way, "Little children, let us not love in word or talk but in deed and in truth." Hm. Now that puts an interesting spin on things. I don't know about in other parts of the country or world, but here in the South, there is plenty of honey-covered words with lots of "bless their hearts" and "oh that poor dear" and "I just love that dear old soul." And although that's all fine and good, John is telling us here that we can't just say loving things. We have to do loving acts. As I said before, although love is typically defined as a feeling, in the Bible it is described as an action. If you turn to 1 Corinthians 13, the most commonly read chapter in the Bible about love, you don't see one word about feelings. Love is an action: it is being patient, kind, humble, calm, hopeful, and enduring. If someone hurts you, you will naturally feel a certain way. The Bible doesn't say to feel a certain way. But it does say to act a certain way. Acting against our natural sinful inclinations is strange to us, and looks weird to others. But God didn't call us to be normal, He called us to be holy. Thus, we are to act in such a way as to glorify Him. Loving others glorifies Him and shows others His love. We are to love others in deed.
I think one of the most amazing ways that the Bible describes love is in 1 Corinthians 13:8, which says, "Love never ends." Love never ends. It doesn't stop. We are to love others in deed, and not only that, but we are to love each other endlessly. That is where the world typically twists the definition of love the most. Our culture tells us that love often does end. That's why divorces are so common and why people fight and end friendships so much. It's because today's mindset is that love does end. That's because they believe love is a feeling. And if that were the case, then yes, love will wane, and sometimes completely end. We won't always have feelings of love toward our friends or spouse. Hard times will come and try to shake love. Feelings won't last. But since love is an action, it can last. When feelings wane and when hard times come, feelings won't carry us through. Feelings are fragile and go back and forth. Set actions, however, are not fragile, and they don't go back and forth. So when feelings fall apart, true love will carry through. True love never ends.

As I am reminded of these aspects of love, I remember that even when I don't feel like offering love to someone, and even when it appears that they don't deserve it, we are told to love those who hurt us. We are told to love our enemies, just as Christ loved those who hated Him. Through Christ, we have the ability to do so.
"In this the love of God was made manifest among us, that God sent His only Son into the world, so that we might live through Him. In this love, not that we have loved God but that He loved us and sent His Son to be the propitiation for our sins. Beloved, if God so loved us, we also ought to love one another."
-1 John 4:9-11

City Places and High-Rise Spaces

I'll admit it wholeheartedly and without shame: I'm a city girl.

Despite my country girl tendencies to want to constantly have dirt under my finger nails from gardening, enjoying growing my own food, loving walking through fields and forests, loving hiking through miles of mountains, and wanting to live in a cottage in the middle of a pine forest, I have far more city tendencies than country tendencies.

I live in a lovely city, however it isn't the kind of city that I so much prefer. I love big cities. Flashing lights and skyscrapers, eclectic people groups and styles, museums and history on every corner; indeed, cities are my favorite and always will be.

I don't get to go to real big cities very often; perhaps two to four times a year. But I will spring at any chance I can possibly get to see the city skyline of some lovely place like Chicago. In April, I got the chance to go to a big city. The big city of the South: Atlanta. I go to Atlanta relatively frequently, but its almost never just to hang out and have fun. However, this time it was. My cousin, Macy, is a senior in high school this year and she wanted to have a senior trip. The destination: Atlanta.

Macy discovered a month or so ago that The Fox Theatre would soon be presenting Les Miserables, so she bought tickets for four, and we planned a trip up to Atlanta.

We arrived in Atlanta late in the afternoon on a day in late April, and went up to our hotel, which was right across the street from the Fox. Macy and I, admittedly, are not exactly used to acting upscale, high class, and rich. Trying to pull it off when walking in and seeing this was difficult:

As neat as I suppose it would be to be truly swanky, I don't think it would be nearly as much fun. When you're rich and often exposed to fancy architecture and cool big city adventures, I suppose things like this wouldn't take your breath away as much. You wouldn't take as much pleasure in it. So although I may want to act swanky, I don't think I ever would want to be that way.

We walked into the hotel, dressed up for our night at the Fox. I always greatly appreciate going into places like this, because I get to see those truly big city people. Somehow I think I've always had a fantasy about being the wife of a big-business, big-city guy and being that woman who walks around in her business skirt and black pumps in fancy hotels. And in this kind of hotel, you see those kinds of women. I've always loved how neat and professional they look, and imagined that I myself might be that schnazzy one day.

These nice, lovely men carried our bags upstairs for us (so nice to not have to drag my hundred pound bag stuffed with half of my belongings up 14 floors), and we got to look around our hotel room a bit before heading out to dinner.

{this was just the living room. we also had a kitchen, bathroom, and two bedrooms!}

After examining our room, we went downstairs to go find a restaurant. Once outside, we walked in a big circle only to come back around to the front of our hotel, when we saw an Italian restaurant diagonally across from our hotel, and decided to head in there since we had almost no time to eat before the show. Once we got in, we had to wait for a while, but once we got our seat, everything was super quick. Our waiter was a nice young man who was very professional and quick to make sure we got our meal and got out the door before the show started. I ordered the best salad I've ever had in my life. Most restaurants? Hello cheap iceberg salad. This restaurant? I got the fanciest salad made entirely of arugula with this awesome lemon dressing on top with cheese and some other fancy toppings. It was delish, and I have to admit, I felt pretty schmancy eating an arugula salad. 

After we finished eating, we walked up half a block at the most to the Fox theatre, and sat down probably 20 seconds after the show had started - we barely made it in time. It was absolutely excellent! Despite the fact that we were sitting in nearly the back of the theatre, it was a wonderful show. The singers were incredibly talented and the props and movement were wonderful. Eponine was definitely my favorite, tho  Jean Valjean can hardly be ignored. Everyone was absolutely wonderful!

However, after a three hour long show, I was quite ready to be headed back to the hotel, which thankfully was right across the street. We headed upstairs and Macy and I got some pictures outside on our three inch wide balcony that we could barely fit on.

The next morning Macy and I had planned on going up to the roof top pool and swimming for a while, but we had gotten to bed so late after the show we just slept late. After we got up we headed downstairs to a restaurant they have in the hotel, whose fruit, I might add, was delicious but ridiculously overpriced. Despite their overpriced fruit, everything was amazing; I had the most delicious french toast I've ever had in my life, and I even tried a raspberry for the first time. (and yes, I hated it. seriously, who eats those things?)

We sat outside for a bit and then we went up to the rooftop pool. It was quite lovely: there was a pool in the lower part, and then you could walk up a few stairs for a spectacular view of midtown Atlanta. We were quite close to the tallest building in Atlanta which excited me profusely. I do love skyscrapers quite a lot. Macy and I proceeded to take several pictures up there as well:

After our adventures up on the rooftop (and as Macy and I will both attest, there were indeed some adventures ;), we went back down to our room to pack up and head out. I must say I'll miss that hotel more than almost any hotel I've had the pleasure of staying in. Especially considering the fact that one of my favorite authors, F. Scott Fitzgerald, had stayed in it once. I do love old, swanky hotels.

After heading out of the hotel, we proceeded over to The World of Coke, where we tried a ridiculous amount of flavors of Coke products from around the world, most of which, I must add, were absolutely repulsive. I think I'll stick with my every day bottle of Coke.

We grabbed lunch (and got to watch a bunch of people learning how to ride a segway.... and as Macy so astutely put it, they looked like rolly pollies) and then went to Dillards to shop a bit. I found a really cute dress in the junior's dress department which I got for eighteen bucks. My thrifty mother has taught me well. I know a deal when I see one, and getting a dance dress for eighteen bucks is most *definitely* a deal.

After our outing at Dillards, we decided it was about time to head back. But before we did, we stopped at a Midtown Starbucks (um. can we say dream work place?) to grab a snack and some coffee. I got my usual iced chai tea latte, and my mom and I split our usual old fashioned doughnut. We sat outside and snagged a few more pictures before heading out:

 {I think at this point I was catching on to the whole swanky thing.

Don't you think?

really?

No?

okay...}

After our adventure to Starbucks and getting wind blown into our face, coffee, and food, we headed back out. We had had a lovely time, and I'm not sorry to admit that I pined away for at least fifteen minutes about wanting to live in a high rise apartment.

In fact, I determined after leaving that once I finish college, I'm going to live in a high rise apartment in Atlanta, get a cat and name it Cashmere, work in a Starbucks, and go to art museums all the time. Good? Good.

As strange as I might sound when I refer to Atlanta and any big city, it really can be explained. I lived the majority of my life in two ugly little towns. However, when I was seven or eight, a love for big cities and travel entered my brain, and ever since it has grown. Going to Chicago when I was eight didn't help anything. I remember that vacation as the best one I ever had. From a young age my love for travel has grown, and my love for travel includes big cities. 

Big cities have some kind of a hold on me. Like I said previously, although I do have some country girl tendencies, the big city has some sort of grasp on me. I can't explain what it is exactly. I've always loved different cultures, ideas, and fashion, so I know that that is part of it. But there seems some kind of mystery of a big city: how everything and everyone fits together in some ridiculous yet artful conglomeration. How history, art, culture, ideas, businesses, celebrities, average Joes, music, and life somehow mix into this great place where skyscrapers abound and there is never a moment when there isn't some movement of life. 

I suppose that is part of why I love a big city so much. Everything and everyone is always on the move. It's in a constant state of change. And although I don't like some change, I do love other kinds. The kinds you see in cities. New ideas, new faces, new opportunities springing up on every corner of the sidewalk. Inspiration galore. It's a lovely place for an aspiring writer, photographer, and art historian to be. 

A big city, to me, is a piece of art in and of itself. Art tends to revolve around a story, history, an idea, a person. A big city revolves around all of those things and then some. It's abounding with all of them, and coming up with new ones every day.

Big cities are lovely places. They will always have a hold on me. They will always catch my eye. They will always make me want to hold on to them a little bit longer, explore them a little bit more, and watch the movement pass by. Those movements pass every moment and if you don't catch them at that exact second, they'll be gone forever. Oh the moments of a big city: they're entrancing and beautiful. Elegant and mysterious. And if no one else misses them, I will. I'll wish I had seen them before they passed. I'll wish I had been there before they were gone. But I'll imagine them. Wish for them. And perhaps one day, I'll create some of those little moments that make up a big city. 

Every city is a living body.
{st. augustine} 

Coffee Shops & Plaid Shirts - BEDA #11

a short story


I have a deep love for coffee shops. Especially local ones that hold truly the most intriguing people in the world. Local coffee shops have so much character. Mine is a lovely place with a deep soul and sense of classic. There is a lot of messy modern art, and the colors are a nice shade of hipster mixed with 70s. They play Jack Johnson and John Mayer. Occasionally a man with a banjo will come and play in a corner. I remember it was the first place I ever really encountered hipsters. I didn't even know what they were called, I just loved their type. They intrigued me. I loved watching them, and still enjoy watching them. Indeed, my coffee shop is just my favorite place in the world.
I went there with my cousin recently. She and I enjoy hanging out together at chill places like that and having ridiculous conversations that no one else would understand, they're so sprinkled with inside jokes. We went in, and as I walked in, I saw him. The second I saw him, I started imagining stories about him. I do that with interesting people. On occasion, and it isn't very common, I will see a person and immediately start coming up with stories about them in my head, because they seem like such interesting characters - different from most people you see in the world. Intriguing. Fascinating. Different. And suddenly my mind is captured. He was one of those humans.
My cousin and I went up to the front to order our drink and dessert, and then crawled off to the comfy chairs in the shop. We sat down and began noshing on our food, when I suddenly realized I was facing the young man who I had noticed when I walked in.
There was something different about him. He was sitting at a table with his Mac open, occasionally chuckling to himself. This immediately hinted to me how down to earth he was. You see almost no one at a coffee shop with their laptops open laughing to themselves. It reminded me of myself, and that, of course, intrigues me. He wore a blue and white plaid shirt, complete with khakis and boat shoes. He would run his hands through his hair, chuckle, rub his eyes, and go merrily about whatever was so apparently interesting to him. It was nearly a pattern. Hair, chuckle, eyes, laptop.
He got up and walked up to the front to order more coffee. That is the sign of a true coffee drinker: getting two large coffees in one sitting. As he was standing in the front, I was laughing at something my cousin said as I usually do, and I happened to look up at him. As I laughed casually at whatever she had said, he caught my eye, and he smiled at me.
Now I wouldn't call myself ugly or unattractive, but it's not very common such a down to earth, hipster guy will look at me with that deepness of smile. It was that smile that only guys can smile: the smile of intrigue and honesty that they only smile at girls. That smile alone is the best compliment a girl can ever receive. I chuckled and whispered to my cousin as he walked out of view for a moment what he had done. I was flattered that the deep eyes had just smiled at mine.
He came back and sat down, continuing his pattern of rubbing his hands through his hair and chuckling. I watched him occasionally just to see what he was doing. He interested me. There was something so alive about him that made me want to strike up a conversation with him. So few humans nowadays seem alive. They appear dead inside. They don't smile. They don't talk. They don't do anything. He had a sense of carelessness and yet soul in him that I rarely see, but love it when I do. Which is just why he struck me as a character to write about when I saw him.
Sometimes when I happened to glance at him, he would glance at me.
Then we'd both glance away.
Then he would chuckle at his Mac and I would chuckle with my cousin.
And we'd go on about whatever we were doing.
Repeat.
I continued watching the man in the plaid shirt. And I kept wondering what he was like. Who his friends were. What he was laughing at. He just continued to sit there.
Run hands through hair.
Chuckle.
Rub eyes.
Repeat.
I continued talking with my cousin about life - college work, annotated bibliographies, prom, turning school work in late, YouTube. Until finally it was late and we had school work to do, both of us, and we gathered all of our things together to leave. I looked at the man in the plaid shirt. The 20-something plaid-clad young man didn't look up at me. I didn't care. Much. Tho I wanted one last look at his eyes - his sincere, careless, honest, down to earth eyes. His eyes alone would give me a story to write about.
I walked out the door, and I wondered - would the seemingly shy yet sanguine eyes look up when he thought I wasn't looking back?
I looked back.
And sure enough, I was right. His deep eyes looked up at me, and in him I saw that deepness of soul again. Rarely do I see those kinds of eyes. Rarely will I see them again. A lop-sided grin crossed his face.
Those eyes are inspiring of a story.
I think I'll be going back to that coffee shop soon.
Mostly to get coffee.
But maybe the deep soul filled eyes will be there again.
And the story can continue.

Father of the Bride & Leaving - BEDA #6

This movie has been one of my favorites for years. And over the years it has been one of my favorites for different reasons. When I was younger, I loved this movie so much because it made me laugh incessantly and was so true to life. It was a sweet story and the acting was good. I really liked it for those reasons.
But now it's for an entirely different reason. It's because I actually am starting to understand the feelings that are shown in the movie. I understand the pain of the prospect of leaving, but the excitement of a new life.

My favorite movie is Father of the Bride.




I watched this movie just last night. But this time with new eyes. Of course I've recently begun to relate to it more and more as I've gotten older, but last night, as I watched it by myself without the company of others and without feeling weird to reacting to it naturally, I suddenly found myself wanting to cry in so many parts. I realized that I understood how Annie feels as she describes to George that she does want to marry Brian, but she doesn't want to leave home. How she is trying to wrap her mind around the fact that she's leaving.

Although I'm not engaged nor am I even with a year or two of getting married, I somehow comprehended a little bit how she is supposed to feel. I felt a nervousness and excitement in the pit of my stomach and tears started welling up in my eyes as the scene changed to the wedding scene above. I have realized recently that I am getting older. I will be a senior this fall. I'll be in college next year. I expect to finish college early and I hope and pray I get married soon after. And thinking about all of these adventures I'm about to embark on suddenly sets me on edge. It makes me so excited and yet so nervous.

I love my family and I love my home. But I know soon it will be time for me to go to college. To get married. To form my own family. And when I consider these prospects, I start freaking out. At the age of eight, I obviously considered these ideas: oh yeah, I'll go to college one day. Oh yeah, I'll get married one day. Oh yeah, I'll have kids one day. But suddenly, eight years later, I realize these things aren't just fairy tales that live off in the distant land called the future. Suddenly I realize these things are reality. They're coming soon. I hope to be done with college and married within the next five or six years. Five years ago, I was nearly twelve. And twelve seems but just a couple of seconds ago. Which means in just a couple of seconds I'll be out on my own. And that scares me a little.

However, as much as I say I'm scared, I can't forget that feeling of excitement I get in my soul whenever I think about these things. They're scary, sure, but they're exciting as well. They're new promises. They're a new life. Soon I'll be out in the real world. I'll have to deal with the things that my parents have taken care of without me noticing for the past 16 years of my life. Life will be... well... life. But it will be different.

Obviously, I've considered college and marriage. But when I actually think about them, in a realistic sense, like "This is actually going to happen to me," that's when I really start getting excited and nervous. Like I said, at the age of eight, these things were in far of lands. They seemed like they would never reach me. And I was content playing video games and Legos with my brother, writing in my journal about the great injustices that came along with being eight and the huge crushes I had on guys, reading Anne of Green Gables and wishing I was her, scrapbooking and rubber stamping and doing anything and everything my mom did because she automatically made it cool, daydreaming about these things in the back of my mind, never really considering their reality in life. But now I see that they are real. And they really will happen to me. They're not just going to happen to my friends and acquaintances. They're going to happen to me. They'll really happen. And they're not just in movies that I've always loved so much. Like Father of the Bride.

And I guess that is what brings me back to why I love Father of the Bride so much. It is so true to life. Okay, so maybe the superfluous buns and jail part is a little over the top, but in general. -wink- But it really captures the feelings that we as humans have in these huge life experiences. It doesn't over-dramatize the feelings and experiences. It offers true to life stuff. The good and bad. The stress. But the eventual happiness. And I like that. I like that it gives off such an honest feel.
Leaving is part of life.
Leaving is painful.
But leaving also offers good things in exchange.
And despite the nervousness the idea of all of these things bring to me,
it brings me excitement for the promise of good things too.
And I like that.

Thank You Notes - BEDA #4

Today I shall be jumping into an idea that I've seen before on blogs and YouTube. It's an amusing way to be ironic, sarcastic, and sardonic in a delightfully witty way. Of course I will be none of those since I'm not witty. However, I do feel like writing thank you notes to some things, so here we go.
And we shall just jump right in:


Dear zits,
Thank you for not appearing on my face at any of my dances in the past, and I'll go ahead and thank you ahead of time for not appearing on my face at my junior prom. Because you won't, right?


Dear mosquitoes,
Thank you for giving me the delight of smashing your guts on my arm. Any success of me destroying your clan brings me great pleasure.


Dear Hunger Games,
Thank you for drawing me in to your mesmerizing story and then leaving me depressed for the next week.


Dear Anne Frank,
Thank you for easily being the most obnoxious, bratty, and inspiring teenager to ever have lived.


Dear Nicholas Sparks,
Thank you for writing such touching stories. Now stop killing people off. I'm starting to get a little creeped out.


Dear Chicago,
Thank you for being the most beautiful city on the face of the earth. And thank you in advance for sending me a plane ticket to get up there so I can start working at the Chicago Museum of Art.


Dear clock in car,
Thank you for always being at least five minutes fast so I feel less late when I get to an event because I can simply say, "Oh, well that clock is five minutes fast."


Dear slouchy beanies,
Thank you for making me look more hipster than I actually am.


Dear hot air balloons,
Thank you for existing. You make my life ten times more happy because of your existence.


And those are all my thank you letters for today. Perhaps I'll do more this month if my creativity level snaps at some point.

Where You Went - BEDA #2

a short story


   Nearly the moment after I met Bonnie I knew we would be good friends. Her brown curls and deep set, blue eyes assured me of our friendship, and when she warmly took my hand for the first time, I knew that she could be trusted. I loved Bonnie very much. We grew to be such good friends, and her sentimental soul was always there to listen to whatever hurt I might be going through, and to laugh about whatever crazy thing we might come up with doing. Bonnie seemed such a sweet girl when I knew her. She promised me and so many other people to always be there for us. To always love. To always care.
   I looked up to Bonnie more than almost anyone else, and desired her affection and friendship more than nearly anyone else's. She was sweet and perfect. No one had her caring soul and affectionate nature, and no one would listen so well and be so kind and caring. I considered her to be one of my best friends. I trusted her. In fact, I loved her friendship so much, I was jealous for it. If I thought any other girl was better friends with her, I immediately turned on them and couldn't stand the sight of them.
   I have never really pinned down what it was about Bonnie that made me adore her so much. Perhaps it was just the fact that she was one of the only people in the world who sincerely seemed to care about me. Maybe it was because she was so perfect, and having one of those perfect, blond-headed girls as such a good friend made me want to keep her for forever. Or perhaps it was the fact that so many people desired her friendship, but I was one of the few girls to whom she gave it. Or maybe it was the fact that she needed me. Bonnie, despite her over-arching nature of caring about others was an incredibly insecure person, and I felt like perhaps I provided her with a security she didn't have. It's possible that it was another reason entirely that I loved her so much, but either way, she had my friendship, and I didn't want to let go of it.
   Bonnie and I did so much together, and had a grand time doing whatever we felt like. Her perfection made me feel more perfect myself. She was always so encouraging and complimentary of everything I ever did. She complimented my looks, my clothes, my so-called talents, nearly everything. She was so kind and made me feel like perhaps I was better at certain things than I actually was. We became tight, and would share deep secrets with each other that we were too afraid to tell to others. She confided in me about things of the most secretive nature. I was excited that she would trust me with so much.
   But then it happened. Bonnie went away from my life. Slowly, transparently, in an almost unnoticeable fashion, and yet quickly, harshly, without warning or apology. It felt like a ghost had quietly crept into my room and cursed me. She left my life. Bonnie, that dear girl who I trusted so much, who I loved so faithfully, who I nearly idolized. She left me. And why? What did I ever do to hurt her? What did I ever do to make myself unworthy of her friendship? I remember the day that Bonnie really left my life. It was the day she lied to me. We had grown apart, but my love and adoration for her had not left me. I still loved her and wanted to be close friends with her. But she did something to hurt me and others close to me. And then she told me a lie. It was the day she told me how she considered me one of her closest friends. It was the day that she told me she wanted to become better friends with me. I held on to the small hope left in my heart that maybe she did want to be friends with me. Maybe things could be like they had been. Maybe things would be better.
   She lied that day. Every time I saw her afterward, she treated me with the same friendly indifference she did nearly everyone else. It was then I saw her true colors. Bonnie was a hurtful, rude, and arrogant person. The worst part is she was too naive to perceive it. She didn't know and still doesn't that she is rude to nearly everyone, because she is not self-conscious enough to know it. If she did know how rude and hurtful she was, her soul would be crushed. And yet she goes on living the same way, smiling at people and complimenting them, but never treating them with any loyalty. Bonnie has her favorites and always will. She will act like she loves and adores them, and then in her flighty way go off and hurt them. Just as she did me.
   I don't know where she went the day she lied to me. I honestly believe she didn't even intend to lie to me. But she hurt me, nonetheless. Like a ghost, she flew out of my life, leaving an indelible mark on it: distrust. Wherever she went, she took more of my trust of people with her. I see Bonnie often. I see her smile and laugh with others as she did with me once. And every now and then, Bonnie will look at me and smile that same warm smile she used to every time I saw her. Bonnie will compliment me sometimes. Bonnie will tell me she thinks I'm clever and talented sometimes. Bonnie will tell me I'm pretty sometimes. But no matter what Bonnie says, she can't return the trust I had for her. She never could be able to return the trust I once had, even if she tried. Once my trust is taken, it can't be returned. It won't be returned. Where did you go Bonnie? And where did you take my trust?