Be Still My Heart

We had just finished our weekly Magelbey's breakfast and I was sitting in the passenger seat as he drove me home.  Sometimes I'm Katy Perry but, this time I was Celine Dion and I was giving the performance of a lifetime.  With the seatbelt still around my waist, I somehow managed to kneel atop the seat as we drove along University Avenue. The window was down and I belted the words to the song I Drove All Night.  His laughter encouraged my performance and as I hit the final note, we were pulling into my driveway.

I love those moments with him-- almost as much as I love our conversations about God or our families.  The thing is, it does't matter.  It doesn't matter if I am lip-syncing "Feel Like Making Love" by Bad Company or discussing the power of culture.  He laughs and he listens.  To say that he is perfect for me is an understatement.  

Three months ago I cried to my cousin as I felt the frustrations and pressures of dating.  I was hurt and I was terrified.  Up until that point, the only love I had dabbled with was unrequited.  Flash forward three months and I've realized something: it was all worth it! Every painful and pathetic dating experience has prepared me for today and ultimately they have prepared me for Colby.  The guy who quotes movies with me and takes me to the temple every week.  The man who opens doors for me and who bought me tickets to see Les Miserables.  He makes me cry from laughing so hard and he encourages me to become a better person. He is strong and determined, faithful, patient and kind.  

When I was younger, I dreamt of becoming famous and performing in front of thousands.  I would write lyrics and plays and dance around to the soundtrack of Wicked in my room.  This dream never came true but another one has. 

I'm no Idina Menzel or Celine Dion but, Colby is my biggest fan and "baby, when I think about you, I think about loooooooove".

More Water

I adore the way the cotton-candy sky reflects on the surface as the inconsistent sets push me to and fro. 

The sun's last rays drip over the tops of the palm trees as the wind plasters my wet hair to my cheeks.

The grey clouds rolling in whisper promises of more moisture that will fall during the night.  

More moisture, more water.

More water.

memories

thoughts on barefeet

I remember learning how to tie my shoe laces.  Looping the two bunny-years through a hole and tying a double knot.  I showed my classmates, my grandparents and my older brother.  They were proud but my feet felt claustrophobic.  As a child, I hated shoes.  I loved feeling the hot cement burn the soles of my feet and feeling the wet grass squeak between the cracks of my toes.  I would delicately step across the gravel which led to our pasture-- the little pebbles creating indents on my dirty little feet.  There was a stream that ran in front of my house.  My feet splashed in the cold water and slipped along the mossy rocks.  My feet helped me climb trees or win a game of tag.  They would curl around the pedals of my bike and propel me forward on my scooter. 

My grandma would tell that if I didn’t wear shoes I would catch a cold and my father would tell me to stay off the carpet.  My mother would make me rinse my feet off every night before I could get into bed.  In the bathroom, I would wrap my toes around the gold handles of the drawers to help hoist myself onto the counter.  I would grab a wash cloth and the bar of soap and start scrubbing off the grey grime.  It was as if my feet were crying black tears as the memories of the day were washed down the drain.  There went the puddle jumping, the games of football with my brothers, or chlorine from a day at the pool.  

My feet carried my body, my feet carried my memories.

After the tears had been shed, I would dry the remains and hop down from the counter and feel the smooth linoleum beneath my pink feet.  I would then run across the hall, the carpet comforting my soles after their loss.  I’d clamber up onto my bed and reach my toes to the coolest part of my sheets. I’d wiggle them around and then close my eyes.

My feet have brought me up mountains and have splattered around in the Italian Riviera.  Sometimes they are covered in mud and when the music starts, they move me across the dance floor. I love when the waves of the ocean embrace my skin or when the sand clings to my toes long after I have left the beach.  I love feeling the grass prickle the bottom of my thick soles and the heat from the dark pavement seep through my calloused heals.

My feet carry my body, my feet carry my memories.

As I have reached adulthood, I rarely hear my grandmother caution me against illness and since I don't live at home, I am never told to keep my feet off of the carpet.  But, most nights, I still find myself with a washcloth and soap in hand.  And my feet still cry as the bubbles and warm water carry the moments of the day away from my soles.  

I dry the tears and run across the unswept linoleum of my apartment and crawl into bed, reaching my bare-feet to the coolest part of my sheets.  I wiggle my toes around a bit, then close my eyes.

My feet will carry my body, my feet will carry my memories.

Forget not that the earth delights to feel your bare feet and the winds long to play with your hair.

Khalil Gibran

Still In Love With You

I don't get phased by stardom very easily-- I mean, I did (at one time) date Donny Osmond's son.  So, you could say that I assimilated myself to the celebrity life style.  Nice cars, fine meals, and well-to-do relationships defined my freshman year of high-school...NOT.  The only truth in the prior statement is the part about having a relationship with Donald Osmond's son. However, those days are far behind me.

To be honest, the majority of our courtship/friendship was spent trying to convince Chris to have his dad introduce my friends and I to the Jonas Brothers.  (My Motto: Use and Abuse.)  To my dismay, it never happened.  But, that didn't stop me from dreaming. Ladies and gentlemen, I was obsessed and I was convinced that someday, somehow, I would marry Nick Jonas.  I thought about it constantly and had it all planned out.  The first concert of theirs that I attended had me in tears and at the second concert I tried to sneak into the backstage VIP room with my best friend Shelbey.  Again to my dismay, our plans were thwarted.

I was there for the premier of every music video, Camp Rock and their show JONAS, I can still quote lines from their guest appearance on Hannah Montana and I was there September 26th, 2013 for their first concert in Hawaii.

Although my obsession with Nick, Joe, and Kevin has diminished, their music still makes me happy. It brings back memories of dance parties in my room, home-made music videos and summer adventures.

And from now on it will take me back to last night-- dancing barefoot on the beach in Waikiki with my best friends.

Third times a charm.