No one needs a play-by-play of a two-week vacation, but like everything we do in the life, there are always highlights. Those highlights are what make life worth living, memories worth sharing and moments worth creating.
I hitched a ride to Utah with my mommy and brother John as they headed down to Arizona for a cousin's wedding. Our first league of tripping ended in West Jordan at my grandma Nelson's house where we spent the night. Early the next morning everyone headed for Arizona, dropping me off in Santaquin to stay with my friend Kimberly. We've still got a week and a half to go where I will spend time at my grandma's house with my mom and brother and then go up to Grace with Handsome Husband's family for their family reunion, which Handsome Husband won't even be attending. And I am really nervous about that. But I feel like I should go and support this tradition that has been carried on for so long.
Highlights of Days in the Sunshine
Oregon was still freezing cold when we left, having rained the day before and the wind was blowing in for more. We got to Arlington mid-morning and it was still too cold to change Alaska into her travel clothes, that consisted of shorts, t-shirt and sandals, so she ran around in the grass and played on the slide in her footie pajamas, regular white-trash style with car-seat head and all.
Not after we had been at Kim's house for too long, her little girl, Lynnzee, handed Alaska her most prized possession, her Minnie Mouse. So glad they are going to be good friends this trip!
Lynnzee has a new sister that Alaska just loves. I was changing Kaylee's diaper and Alaska was very interested in her bellybutton and tiny feet, rubbing Kaylee's belly and then her own, touching the small toes and looking up at me in total disbelief. How could someone be so tiny? She held Kaylee's hand and touched her fingers, curving her toddler hand around Kaylee's infant fist. Alaska rubbed her belly for, "please" and looked at Kaylee expectantly. "You want to hold her?" I ask. Alaska chirps, "Yeah." and reaches her hands out. I helped her up on the couch with a pillow and she wrapped her little arms around Kaylee's middle, changing every few seconds trying to get the best hold. Alaska is constantly giving Kaylee hugs and kisses, she is going to be such a great big sister when the times comes and that makes me breathe a little easier.
Took Alaska to an outdoor pool. She wanted to wade out further than she was truly able because she loved the weight-less feeling. Standing on one leg, toes stretched to anchor herself to the bottom she would exercise her other leg, lifting it up to feel it float. After an hour of exploring the kiddie section she was content to sit on the edge of the pool and people-watch with her toes in the water.
Went to a splash pad and Alaska was brave enough to venture among the water shooting up, not staying just by the outside. It wasn't long before the cold water chased her out, but I was glad to see her having a good time exploring the world.
Saturday, June 22, 2013
Memories in the Footsteps
We're in Utah right now, soaking up the sun while we splash in pools, splash pads and wade pools.
As we entered Utah and got closer and closer to Farmington my heart beat added upon itself. Like it does when you've got a boy coming to pick you up for a date. Weird? I searched the left side of the free-way for Lagoon and was not disappointed as I saw the lighted ferris wheel and on the opposite side of the free-way, hiding behind the trees and upcoming apartment buildings I knew Station Park was growing. Its stores multiplying and perhaps rivaling those in the mall. And all within walking distance of where we spent our first married years.
We passed by, not taking the time to turn off the free-way and drive down main, and passed under the walking bridge that I had taken Alaska so many times. Often times screaming at the top of her lungs because we had been out too long on the bike trail, not turning around before she was tired of sitting still. I thought of my footsteps. The steps I had taken to escape the dullness of being indoors. The steps I had taken to be out in the sunshine. The steps I had taken with a friend, pushing our strollers side-by-side. The steps Handsome Husband and I had taken to the fair. And lastly, the steps I had taken to get out of the rain when it snuck up on Alaska and I. So many steps. My steps. My memories left behind, a step at a time.
For one split second I felt like I could see all the steps, mine and others, an accumulation of colors and shades of color, reflecting how that person was feeling as they stepped. Footprints left behind like leaves, only there were no trees. And then they were gone, swept up in the business of the cars racing below.
Thinking back to how much time we had spent in Farmington and how much we had loved it I was sorry that we had been in such a hurry to move on. We had our sights on two years and kept it there, not wanting to accept any more. Those two years we learned and loved and grew, looking back it's hard to think that so much could happen in two years. But we were still in a hurry to move on in life. I made sure to love every minute of it, as you ought, but there had always been a little tickling, a little dance in my heart, that didn't want to settle. It won't happen again.
We're settling in to St. Helens, though we won't be here forever. We've got our sights on three years but we keep that wrapped up tight in our own hearts. I am concentrating on making ties, sinking my roots in good and deep and will worry about the hurt that comes with ripping them up, later. Because, I have found, it hurts no matter what. May as well make that hurt worth it. I'm leaving my steps all over this town, spending time meandering between parks, becoming a regular at the thrift-stores and loving hard the people in our ward and our apartment complex.
I am learning names as fast and I can, and practice them when we get to church early. Saying first and last names in my mind and if there is someone I don't know, I vow to find them after sacrament and introduce myself. It doesn't matter that we've been here two months or a year. I want to be able to look out into the congregation and see friends, not faces.
Handsome Husband and I haven't been given a calling yet. It's strikingly eery and refreshing at the same time. Eery to not have a responsibility and be frantically gathering supplies together for a Sunday lesson or Tuesday activity. To not have a niche that includes children of some age or another. It has given me extra time to learn names in Relief Society and develop a few friendships, though I know for all the names I have learned there, there are at least that many more in primary that I may never meet unless I get called there.
It's interesting, how the church works, and how I am sure every church works. Religion is something we can relate to, and if we have nothing else in common, we have that. It can create numerous, instant friends, and a unification that we can present to the world as our offer of, "yes, I belong. Look how many people I know." I am eating it up, drinking it in deep and leaving my footprints all over it.
As we entered Utah and got closer and closer to Farmington my heart beat added upon itself. Like it does when you've got a boy coming to pick you up for a date. Weird? I searched the left side of the free-way for Lagoon and was not disappointed as I saw the lighted ferris wheel and on the opposite side of the free-way, hiding behind the trees and upcoming apartment buildings I knew Station Park was growing. Its stores multiplying and perhaps rivaling those in the mall. And all within walking distance of where we spent our first married years.
We passed by, not taking the time to turn off the free-way and drive down main, and passed under the walking bridge that I had taken Alaska so many times. Often times screaming at the top of her lungs because we had been out too long on the bike trail, not turning around before she was tired of sitting still. I thought of my footsteps. The steps I had taken to escape the dullness of being indoors. The steps I had taken to be out in the sunshine. The steps I had taken with a friend, pushing our strollers side-by-side. The steps Handsome Husband and I had taken to the fair. And lastly, the steps I had taken to get out of the rain when it snuck up on Alaska and I. So many steps. My steps. My memories left behind, a step at a time.
For one split second I felt like I could see all the steps, mine and others, an accumulation of colors and shades of color, reflecting how that person was feeling as they stepped. Footprints left behind like leaves, only there were no trees. And then they were gone, swept up in the business of the cars racing below.
Thinking back to how much time we had spent in Farmington and how much we had loved it I was sorry that we had been in such a hurry to move on. We had our sights on two years and kept it there, not wanting to accept any more. Those two years we learned and loved and grew, looking back it's hard to think that so much could happen in two years. But we were still in a hurry to move on in life. I made sure to love every minute of it, as you ought, but there had always been a little tickling, a little dance in my heart, that didn't want to settle. It won't happen again.
We're settling in to St. Helens, though we won't be here forever. We've got our sights on three years but we keep that wrapped up tight in our own hearts. I am concentrating on making ties, sinking my roots in good and deep and will worry about the hurt that comes with ripping them up, later. Because, I have found, it hurts no matter what. May as well make that hurt worth it. I'm leaving my steps all over this town, spending time meandering between parks, becoming a regular at the thrift-stores and loving hard the people in our ward and our apartment complex.
I am learning names as fast and I can, and practice them when we get to church early. Saying first and last names in my mind and if there is someone I don't know, I vow to find them after sacrament and introduce myself. It doesn't matter that we've been here two months or a year. I want to be able to look out into the congregation and see friends, not faces.
Handsome Husband and I haven't been given a calling yet. It's strikingly eery and refreshing at the same time. Eery to not have a responsibility and be frantically gathering supplies together for a Sunday lesson or Tuesday activity. To not have a niche that includes children of some age or another. It has given me extra time to learn names in Relief Society and develop a few friendships, though I know for all the names I have learned there, there are at least that many more in primary that I may never meet unless I get called there.
It's interesting, how the church works, and how I am sure every church works. Religion is something we can relate to, and if we have nothing else in common, we have that. It can create numerous, instant friends, and a unification that we can present to the world as our offer of, "yes, I belong. Look how many people I know." I am eating it up, drinking it in deep and leaving my footprints all over it.
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