Monday, April 28, 2014

Paris Update

"Paris is always a good idea." -- Audrey Hepburn

And I have to agree. This trip Angela and I have been planning has just been such a cool part of our lives. I'm a firm believer that people need hope to cling to or bear hug and for us, over the past year, it's been Paris.

Yes, we have jobs, we have other things going on in our lives but Paris has always been there, in the books sitting on the table or the ever-growing pile of stuff to pack, or the sparkly new tennis shoes being broken in, or the daily reminder on my iPhone.

Yesterday Ang and I spent the afternoon culling our closets and our shopping bags and figuring out exactly what we're taking to Paris clothing-wise. Here's the result:

  • Two pairs of jeans each
  • Two pairs of Nikes each (we wear the same size so score!, four different pairs to mix and match)
  • A pair of Lands End Starfish pants (think dressier yoga pants) each 
  • A pair of jean capris each
  • A pair of sandals each 
  • Seven scarves (three we bought new and then the rest we had; I'm taking one I got for a high school graduation gift and we're taking one from Grandma Cows)
  • A pair of sleep shorts and tank top each
  • Three lightweight hoodies in a sweater material
  • Four three-quarter length cardigan sweaters
  • A combination of three-quarter length boatneck tees, short sleeve tees, and sleeveless shirts that we can both wear
  • A pair of sunglasses each
  • A backpack and a purse each
  • Two new brightly colored beaded necklaces we got this weekend and a few other jewelry pieces
We have to pack everything we're taking in two rollerbags and two backpacks so we've been very selective. Luckily, Angela and I wear the same size in almost everything so all tops can be worn by both of us so we can mix and match a lot more than if we wore different sizes.

And while we were deciding what to pack, we tried on every outfit to make sure it worked and fit properly, and we took pictures so we'd remember what went with what and to make mornings easier if need be. Here's Angela's plane look:
Starfish pants, grey Nikes, red patterned tank top, white hoodie, seafoam scarf - perfect!

And here's just one of my sightseeing looks:
The scarf was a Christmas gift from one of Angela's students this year and it's so fun! And yes, we watched a YouTube video about nine times in order to learn new ways for tying scarves!


We still have a few things to do before we finally get to pack our suitcases. We're trying to decide if it's worth it to drive to San Luis, AZ to get the Global Entry passes we've already paid for but can't get in Los Angeles until later in the summer. We have to reserve our time on the London Eye and maybe the Eiffel Tower and schedule high tea in London. We have to finalize our daily plans and figure out exactly which bank cards to use and how much cash to take and where to get it. But the To Do List is diminishing. And that's so exciting. So freaking exciting.

Wednesday, April 23, 2014

Hope

These are pictures I took, of the same cross, on Maundy Thursday and then a few days later, on Easter Sunday last week at my church. To me, they represent what I hold on to most tightly every single day.

Hope.

Every day I get up hoping that the day will be good. That I will find my purpose for the day, for the hour, for the moment. That I will smile. That I will be moved to tears. That I will experience the joy that comes from knowing deep down in my bones that my Lord died but rose again.

And to me, that doesn't just mean I believe when I go to church, or during Lent or on Easter morning. To me, that means that I have hope in every part of my life, in every part of my day.

And yes, a lot of the time it's hard to hold on to that hope. Particularly when employment ends (as it did, again, for me on Sunday) or when bad things happen to people I love. When I'm unsure of which way to go next, which path to take. When I do my best to move my body and eat well and the scale doesn't move. When I get rejection after rejection.

And yet...these crosses stay with me. These images, ingrained in my head by a lifetime of faith and learning, keep me going. Keep me getting out of bed each morning, often when the sun's not yet out, strapping on the running shoes, moving out the door, then settling in at the desk. These images keep me praying and believing. They keep me writing and cooking. They keep me hopeful and optimistic and sure that in the end, all will be well.

Several weeks ago I turned a script over to someone at a production company. Since then, I've had to fret and stew and wait. My work is done for now. I have no idea if they like it, it they've even read it. And yet? I have faith, I believe, that for some reason, this is my path.

I am beyond blessed not by the things I have or the life I live but because I have faith. I have hope. To me, there is nothing more important. It is what got me through two weeks of nursing duty, knowing Angela would heal after her fall. It is what got me through the great sadness of losing so many family members in the past years. It is what gets me through every day here in Los Angeles, knowing, trusting, believing, that I am exactly where I am supposed to be.

Many Christians say Christmas is their favorite holiday and I am usually right there with them. But this month, this season, I can't help but think that Lent, and particularly Holy Week, might ultimately win out. About how two such stark and opposing images of such a powerful symbol can bring about immense emotion.

For me, it's all about the hope.

Tuesday, April 15, 2014

Grandma Cows

Yesterday Angela and I were talking to my parents about what color they're going to paint their house this summer. My mom wants us to look at some color samples online and help her narrow them down. Angela pipes up and says, you know who would've been great at this? Grandma Cows.

And it's true, she would have been. She knew something about interior decorating and design that always was just right for the situation at hand. She helped my mom pick out wallpaper, make wall hangings, move furniture. Heck, she had enough practice in her own living room. We rarely went to Grandma and Grandpa's house when the furniture was in the same spot twice. And we'd stop by daily. Daily.

She'd get up every night almost, move things around, rearrange till it felt just right. She had superhuman strength. Grandpa was never involved in this, in fact, he was lucky if he knew where to sit the next morning.

Grandma Cows would have been 90 today. Ninety years old. I have a hard time reconciling that with the woman who just last summer was eating cookies, drinking been and fighting with the cable company so she'd get her Internet working. She had to keep up with Facebook and email you see. She almost never posted on Facebook but she saw everything. And I loved waking up in the morning to find an email she'd sent the night before when she couldn't sleep. More often than not I'd call her instead of reply. She loved to talk on the phone yet almost never called. She didn't want to bother me. So instead, I called often. Especially when I was driving. I'd pass the time telling her what was going on, what I was cooking that day or where I was going. What I was writing. What I was watching on TV. She loved to talk.

Several Christmases ago when we first got a Wii, she came right over the day after Christmas and bowled with us. And regaled us with tales of all her strikes when she'd played on a league years earlier. To me, Grandma was ageless, she was just grandma. Always the same. Always making potato salad and baking rolls and smashing the strawberries for shortcake.
She wore the same housecoats or shorts, would walk outside in her socks and never once tried a shirt or a dress or a pair of pants on in a store though she shopped all the time. If it didn't fit, take it back. Or hang it in the closet, it might fit later.

I'm not sure I'll ever forget my last week with grandma, my last day. It had been a long summer, grandpa had been sick for a few years but the end really took it's toll on her. She was a trooper though, making it through the funeral on her own two feet. We spent a lot of time with her that week after the funeral, just sitting, talking, sharing stories. She told us the same stories we'd heard hundreds of times and new ones, sprinkled with a good dose of fantasy we guessed. Grandma was the ultimate fisherman even though it was grandpa who went out on the boat every summer: her tales grew and grew as the days went on. 

That last day we spent with her was perfect in that it wasn't. It was a normal day, like so many we'd had with grandma over my lifetime. It was five days after grandpa's funeral and my mom, dad, Angela and I arrived in two separate cars at her apartment at 8am. We stopped on the way and got donuts from Quality Dairy. There's something grandma loved most in all the world and that was a donut. She had the coffee brewing and we settled in to hear a few more stories.
Soon Sue arrived and Mom and her got to work on the thank you notes we were there to write. But grandma didn't get busy right away. She had to deal with some neighbors. See wherever grandma lived, and during my lifetime she lived in at least seven different places, she made friends. Fast friends, good friends. And her last apartment was no different. People stopped by, to check on her, to say hello, to offer a hug and a coffee cake. She was happy in that apartment, so happy.

Angela and I were watching the grandneighbors that afternoon back in Howell (grandma's apartment was in Lansing) and then we were going on to a Tigers game that night. We had to leave the gathering early. I remember grandma insisting that she walk us all the way to the door. And she did, outside, even though her legs were swollen and she was tired. She walked us outside and gave me a hug and said she'd see me soon. She knew I was going back to California in a day or two and we both ended up in tears. But happy tears. Oh so happy tears. We'd spent the week together. We'd spent a lifetime together. A few miles didn't matter. Nothing did really. Over my life there'd been disagreements and knock down drag out fights and it didn't matter. In that family, you were always family. We spent one Christmas disowned by grandma. No Christmas. Presents delivered by a quiet grandpa. And still, we went back, eventually.
That day, as I walked to my car, wiping the tears, I had no idea it'd be the last time I saw her. Not a clue. As my mom liked to say, Bette had been dying since the day she met her (over 40 years earlier). She had made it through heart attacks and strokes and cancer and so much else. Nothing could keep her down. We were sure she'd outlive us all. And yet, she didn't. One week to the day that we buried grandpa she had a massive heart attack.

I didn't see her while she was in the hospital. I had many conversations with my dad about whether or not I should fly back to see his mother, his mother who spent too many days at the end in bed. She hated being in bed. She'd much rather spend her time at the computer playing solitaire, reading a book a day (she's the one who helped instill in me a love of reading - she gave me my first Danielle Steel book in 8th grade, Palamino, and it changed my life), baking a cake every morning or checking out the neighbors from her front window seat.
And so I didn't go see her in bed. I couldn't do it. It was hard enough seeing grandpa in the hospital and I only did that once. I wanted to remember her as she had been - walking if not running through life.

The relationship I had with my grandmother is unlike any other I've ever had. She's the person I would call on the phone after school and tell about my day back when phones had cords and you had to memorize a person's number. She's the person who had me stay at the farm for weekends on end, reading and baking and just being, each summer. She's the person who loved driving and would pretend we were in the Batmobile whenever we were going down M-59. She loved to yell that we were throwing out nails to stop the bad guys. She's the person who made everyone in my family read the novel I wrote. She the person who bragged on me and supported me and was sure that someday, every one of my dreams would come true.

She's also the person who hurt me more than anyone in my life had hurt me before. She was volatile and mean and spiteful. And yet? I loved her so much. So very much. Because she was real. She was funny and smart and strong and mine. Oh so mine.

Grandma, I hope today you and Pat and Grandpa are having the biggest party up in heaven. I hope you run into Grandma and Grandpa Knapp and remind Grandma that you were married to Bill first. I hope that you run into Grandma MacDonald and play a little croquet and have a good fight about the rules, just for old time's sake. I hope you get a donut and a beer and a long chat with good friends. And most of all, I hope you know how much I love you and miss you. Every. Single. Day.



Wednesday, April 02, 2014

Travel Update


Whenever I take a peek at my countdown app I am shocked. It seems like just yesterday it was 85 days. And now? Sixty eight days. Just over two months! Until Angela and I go to Paris! I seriously can't believe it!

We're still doing preparations every week. Mostly gathering supplies, shopping, talking ideas. Over spring break we'll spend some time solidifying our daily itinerary and making sure we know just what will happen over there. We've made almost all of our reservations and I'm feeling like we're really getting ready!

We've gotten most of our toiletries around, it's weird - most of the traveling I've done in the past six years has been to Michigan. And all I take there is a few things. But to Europe? We have to take everything! We've done some road tests - I discovered a mini contact solution bottle lasts me just about two weeks. A three-ounce bottle of shampoo does not. (Yes, I did the studies!) We've found inexpensive adapters, we've gathered some new storage bags (giant ziplocks for shoes, packing squares for undies and socks, 99-cent pill boxes for small jewelery).

So we're getting there. We've found Amazon Prime to be our friend. We've decided to stick with brightly colored Nikes in four hues that fit us both and a pair of sandals each. We've tried different hiking socks to figure out which are best. All that's left? Find the perfect jeans/pants. No sweat...

I can't wait. I keep thinking about the pictures I'll take, the journaling I'll do, but most of all -- what I'll see. These places I've imagined and dreamed about almost my whole life. I just can't wait.

Paris. Sixty-eight days. AHHH!