Life is Beautiful

Today was a beautiful day, although my head rings with a headache, the remnant of my tears. I attended the funeral of Todd William Mee, the son of my mother's boss. He was only 35. I never met him, but I wish I had. This is not the first time I've left a funeral wishing I'd met the deceased. It was a reminder that there are wonderful people on this earth.

It was also a reminder that life is fleeting, that people are weak, and yet so strong. Strong enough to read a goodbye to their older brother and protector, strong enough to join the Navy after 9/11 because they feel called to help, strong enough to watch their son's casket carried away from them, strong enough to bury the man they would have married, had God given him a few more months.

I can't imagine how I would have held it had it been my brother. And yet my brother is young, has accomplished nothing compared to this valiant man. I walked away with the astounding sense that the person whose life was ended, far before its time had so much more to offer. He was a great man, a brave sailor, a caring brother and uncle and son. The little things today, like his sister telling us how he would answer her calls with "hello, beautiful" and his father telling us that his deep, melodic voice was "his favorite sound in the world," or the repeated strain that he was his family's protector, the gentle giant, "Bull," that made him the person he was, and made me so sad that I missed out on it.

After the funeral, I paid my respects to his parents, and his father told me this: "Take advantage of every moment" he said "because life can be over, so soon...you know, I think he reached the pinnacle of his life. He was celebrated in the Navy, engaged, and had just received a commission in the Pacific. Maybe his life had reached its pinnacle." He paused and said "I guess we only have so much time on this earth."
"He did so many wonderful things in his time, though" I said.
"It's true. But I still don't understand. I probably won't. Just promise me. Don't leave the house without saying "I love you." Don't waste a single moment."

Glimpse into the Past

On Tuesday night I went to my parents' house to celebrate my dad's birthday. On the kitchen table was an ancient-looking book, and as I have an unexplainable affinity for ancient-looking books, naturally I picked it up and took it to the couch to browse it's pages. It was a jewelry catalog, leather bound, from 1924. Inside my great-grandfather had pasted newspaper articles about baseball. Apparently he was really a fan of the sport. He began, based on the article dates, in 1930 and pasted into this book until about 1935. There were articles on Lou Gerig and Babe Ruth, as well as the then-winning Detroit Lions (his team). I felt his presence as I flipped pages of neatly aligned, yellowing articles. It was as though I could feel the concentration and love that had gone into this scrapbook of sorts, and that I held a treasure in my hands.

Halfway through the book there was an article not pasted on the pages, clipped carefully and folded in half. When I unfolded it I found my grandparents' wedding announcement. Her father must have clipped this later and stored it in his scrapbook. The picture is hard to make out, but one I've seen before. They look radiant, and elated. It does not speak of the years of violence and misery that would follow. The article describes her dress, her bouquet of white roses and gladioli centered on a qhite orchid, her bridesmaids and their dresses and flowers, the guests, and where they were to live, even what the mothers of the bride and groom wore. The attention to detail was touching. I suppose it conveyed a sense that people really cared. I felt as though I had stepped through some mystical door into the chapel with a nervous young couple, their parents, friends, and family. I felt the urgency to save this piece of history, record it. I am working on that. I've bought a wonderful book which will prompt my grandmother to tell her story, and I want to write it all down. But I also plan on treasuring her handwriting.

Reach out today. Ask your mother/grandmother/uncle, anyone, a question about what life was like for them in one certain moment. Remember it.

Never forget.

Quarter Life Crisis

So it's my birthday. 25 years old.

In my 24th year I: had several parties thrown in my honor, worked a lot of overtime, got married, went to Mexico, lost my grandfather, and found myself a little more.

I am currently working for "the man," trying to start a photography business, working on my skills in biking/getting in shape, trying to become a better person, attempting to stop gossiping, growing pumpkins, loving my personal style, feeling strong, adoring my husband of <9 months, trying to be a better wife everyday, working on the whole forgiveness thing, sticking up for myself at work, trying to love my body more, and generally appreciating the wonderful life I have.

I am thankful. I am strong. I am proud. I am 25 years old.

Memorial Day

Well I know I haven't written in a while, and I also realize that I missed Memorial Day, but life has been crazy, and...wait, I don't have to explain myself to a blog! I've been busy, k?

I wanted to share my Memorial Day tale. My mom's uncle was in the Air Force, and his plane crashed during the Korean War. He survived the crash, but had a broken back. He was captured. His back was broken somewhere midway up his spine and he found himself unable to hold his upper body up. He walked with his hands hanging by his ankles, in unbearable pain. His captors beat him daily, despite his broken back. He and his fellow POWs were tortured. They were fed nothing but small amounts of dirty rice, when they were fed at all. He had very little water. Between the dysentery, poor diet, and chronic infections, he lost a lot of weight. His back healed partially, and incorrectly. Over the course of two years he shuffled along, stooped over, through the abuse, lice, and other skin maladies, and malnourishment. When he returned home, his stooped 6'4" frame weighed only 89 pounds.

He eventually healed, although his back had to be re-broken and to heal again. He had children and he never once spoke of his time as a POW. Until about a year ago, when he wrote his story down and gave it to one of his daughters. She emailed it to the rest of us. Those who knew him then always wanted to know what happened. In his matter of fact way, he answered their curious minds. I am going to have my grandma try and find the email so I can post his original story in his own words...but for now...

Take a moment to reflect on the sacrifices that have been made, and continue to be made. Try and separate the soldiers from the war. You may not believe in the cause for fighting, but it has to be done, and will be done, and brave souls will always stand up for what they believe in. They believe in this nation, and the freedoms we have. Soldiers have not always believed in the war they fight, but they know it has to be done, and they will sacrifice to do it.

Thank you.

I love CA

There are so many things I love about the place I live. Among them are the wildflowers and scents of spring. You haven't lived until you've ridden on a motorcycle through cooling fields of strawberries after dusk. They give off a smell that is sweet and delicious, with undertones of dark, rich earth. The air swirls in eddies of different temperatures. You can feel the cool air from the coast mixing with the heat rising from the asphalt. The air is tinged with the scent of pink star jasmine and orange blossoms.

I wonder if my children will know the scents of Orange County, or if concrete and glass will replace fields of strawberries, as they did the fields of oranges. I remember driving down Irvine Blvd. in the summer time and smelling the sharp smell of ripe citrus fruit in the sun and the acrid smell of rotting oranges in the shade of the trees. Now, driving down this same street, the only orange trees left are a novelty. In springtime the sweet and yet citrusy floral scent of their blossoms precedes the fruit that no one will pick, no one will eat.

The fields of strawberries and nurseries of blooming jasmine might be walled in and smothered by parking lot and cinder block. Will I still remember the way they smelled? The difference between spring, summer, and fall? The way the eucalyptus trees bordered the fields and scented the warm, middle-of-day air?

Will anyone remember?

Bliss and Engagement Rings

There are times when I think I am a selfish person. I know that jealousy is "normal," natural even, but I don't want to be a jealous person. I want to be truly happy for those in my life. Sometimes I worry that I am not capable of this.

I am not worried today.

On Friday, in the midst of a terrible day at work, I received some news that has made me incredibly happy. My good friend Krysta let me know that she was engaged. I felt the bliss--true, pure, unselfish bliss--of happiness for her. I am ecstatic. I can't wait to talk to her about it. I've also been reflecting on my engagement, and what a beautiful time it was.

When my husband proposed, I was stunned, shocked, and on cloud nine. The weeks following were some of the most blissful I can remember. I played a Vanessa Carlton song with the lyrics "love is dancing on my finger" and watched the diamond sparkle on my left hand. It was stunning. I remember the disbelief of the moment--that fated, overdone-in-movies moment was happening in my life. My husband was nervous and my incessant "is this really happening? I can't believe it" was not helping. The ring box (oh! there was a ring and everything!) was shiny mahogany, with black velvet inside, and the ring was this incredible jewel. He placed it on my trembling finger with clammy hands and I realized the importance of this symbol. The diamond, shiny and beautiful like our love, was the outward manifestation of our relationship. The strongest natural compound on a band of precious metal that would wear and attain a patina revealing its age and the age of our relationship. it would shout to the world, "I am taken, I am loved."

For weeks, as I caught a glimpse of the sparkle on my left hand, or found it caught in my hair (I've never been happier to have something caught in my hair) or saw someones eyes transfixed on it as they noticed it for the first time, I would overflow with joy. Before the madness of wedding planning, the first weeks of engagement are pure bliss.

Krysta, I am overjoyed for you. My happiness for you knows no bounds. I intend on helping and supporting you through the journey that is to come, but for now...just enjoy this moment. Enjoy every blissful moment.

One final thought: I am not a person who ever defines a moment in her life as "the best"--because I don't know what is to come. I always live as though the best is yet to come, whether or not I know what that is. As amazing as the beginning of the engagement is, have heart that a better moment is to come...the day you see a ring on your partner's hand. The joy you feel witnessing a ring on your own is momentous, but seeing a ring on his...I've never felt anything like it.

Tired and Uninspired

I haven't felt like writing lately...

(How many times have I started a post this way?)

But I have been making strides in other ways.

I have been working out, routinely, and with more effort than ever before. I am really seeing the results of this. I have also been practicing with my camera. This past weekend I took photos of my husband, and while he was quite unwilling, it was a good practice for me. I am trying to see my life differently. It is very close to a life that I would call ideal. Is close enough? I hope so. I think if we could focus on the positives we would discover that we have so much to appreciate.

I discovered this weekend that I am finally fulfilling a personal goal that I have been wanting to fulfill for years. I wanted to be the kind of person that sticks up for others, all the time, and the type of person who does not let ill things, spoken of others, go unnoticed. Several times lately I've caught myself standing up for what I believe in. I could have agreed with the person and forgotten about the situation, which is what I've done in the past. instead, I I voiced my disagreement aloud. It felt...wonderful.

The opportunity to improve myself is the greatest gift I've been given.