Blog Monday: that's so you.

Name 3-4 objects/things that when seen by others, make them think immediately of you.

ponytail.holder: A few months ago, I put a new picture on the desktop of my parents computer. I thought they would like having a picture of the family to look at on a daily basis, rather than blue. So, being the resourceful daughter I am, I dug up a picture from Easter 2010. As expected, my mom loved it. Come to find out, she stared at the photo so much, she mastered details that would normally get past any casual glance. When I was over for a visit, she said, "look at that picture and tell me what all you girls have in common". Lacking enthusiasm, I boringly guessed, "brown hair?" to which, with a frown, my mom said, "no", then added with a proud bit of pep, "If you look closely, it's like a where's waldo. You all have a brown ponytail holder on your wrist." And you know, she was right. It might not be something anyone would look at, and think of me, but my mom knows that it's something her girls have in common. and she likes it.



Dirty Martini: I've never seen the show "Mad Men", but my friend Dana watches regularly, and told me that part of its appeal is that it's the only thing that's ever tempted her to smoke cigarettes. Dana is one of the last people I can think of to pick up the cancerous habit, but I get it. Shows like that shed some "it.might.cause.early.death.but.it's.so.cool.and.therefore.worth.it" light on both smoking and drinking. especially martinis. There has always been something about Martinis that are glamorous. I mean, Rita Hayworth would drink a dirty martini over a PBR any day. am I wrong? They're classy, sassy, sophisticated, and swanky. and let's be honest, who wouldn't want to be any of those things? well that, and I like salt. When most of my friends order Mai Tai's and Pom-Tini's, the Dirty Martini just keeps drawing me back. So I'll keep ordering them, and letting my friends try them, then laugh at the faces of disgust they make upon first (and only) sip. Maybe one day they'll like it. But for most of them, probably not. and I'm okay with that. but I'll still have my signature cocktail... and with gin please, no vodka. [ I realize this part of the post indicates that I've failed at not giving into and believing the "cool" image that drinking alcohol gives people. sorry mom, dad, and PSAs]



Faith.Rings: At some point during my multiple trips to YL camps in college, I bought, and put on 2 rings that I have seldom taken off since. They are at home on my right hand, and have a familiarity I love, and are the reminder I often need. When outfits are changing, they stay the same. The one on my pointer finger is an Ichthus symbol, and the one on my ring finger simply says, "faith". I love them, because beyond anything else I talk myself into buying and wearing, these rings remind me of where I started from, and always go back to. They remind me that though I tend to define myself from the things I own, or the experiences I've had, that ultimately all I need to be is someone who has been forgiven. Plus, they have their fun bonus too... they do the best job of keeping track of my summer sun. Because what's better than a ring tan line to prove your logged hours outside?



Rocket.Dog.Shoes: My friend Katie told me the other weekend that Rocket Dog shoes make her think of me. There's a reason for that, and I'll let the picture do the talking for itself.






Now, am I slightly embarrassed that I have enough versions of the same shoe to create a beautiful shoe flower? absolutely. I may have went a little overboard on finding something I like, and embracing it. But they work. They're cute, and functional. The flats are perfect for work, and the heels are not only adorable, but surprisingly comfortable. So when everyone else was shoeless on the dance floor at the wedding I attended over the weekend, I was doing the Cha Cha Slide in that cute brown pair. ;) and yes, I am on my second pair of black ones. Because I really do like them that much. and they're sooooooo me.

granny dinner.

Wednesdays have always held a lot of weight in my family.

They are the day dedicated to family. Ever since my granny moved to Farmington in the 90's, it's been expected for every family member who is in town, to be there that evening for a meal. We gather, we eat, we talk, we watch "wheel" followed by Jeopardy, and grow as a family.

Those of you who know my family well, know that the last few years have proven to be increasingly difficult when it comes to dealing with Granny. Years ago, when she crossed the line into being a senior citizen (girlfriend's 91 now! she's been there a long time!), though she spent a lot of time caring for my Grandpa, she really seemed to enjoy her golden years. We've gotten to the point though, that it's unsafe for her to live by herself. Her mind has really started to decline, and the family decided that moving her into an assisted living facility was really the best option.

Although I agree my family made the right decision, this post is a bit of a lament. Because it seems that in the midst of all the chaos of sorting out details, and planning the move, my family seemed to glide over the fact that yesterday was the last "granny dinner" as we know it. I'm sad because I love my family, I love tradition, and I'm not quite sure what's going to happen next Wednesday night. But I do know it won't be at Granny's house on Longwood, the place we've gathered at for years. And I can tell you that it's doubtful we'll all join granny at her new home, and spend the $13/meal it costs to eat with her. Who knows, maybe (hopefully) I'm being dramatic about the situation, and the tradition will continue, just looking a little different. But just let me pout for a bit, readers. Let me be a little sad that an era started years ago has come to an end as I know it.

Even as I write this, I know it's not from my family appointed seat of optimist. It's just that Granny's house is so broken in, and comfortable. The change happened quick, and I think I'm mad at myself for not seeing it get here so fast.

So. I end it here. A little sad, but relieved that Granny is getting around the clock care. And I'll keep reminding myself of that, and remain thankful to have a family that takes care of each other. Which I know also means, there's a good chance someone will be looking to have dinner with me come 6:30 Wednesday night.

c'mon, here, i love you.

you guys.

I saw this video last night posted on a friends Facebook, and had to share it.

It's the most adorably funny little clip i've seen in... possibly forever.

Marcel The Shell With Shoes On.

enjoy watching, and re-watching. Because it is that good.

she used to babysit you.

They say a good friend is hard to find.

for me though, that hasn't really been the case.

For starters, it's a bonus when God starts off your life with a best friend in a wombmate. But it just gets better when I think about all the careful crafting that went on to land me the friends I have.

I returned home Sunday from our second annual fill.in.the.blank.palooza. This year, it was held in Grand Rapids at the Veenstra household. With the collection of high activity, time in the sun, and nights out late, logically, it should have added up to an exhausting Monday morning. But that's not the case either. This morning, I started off work energized. I probably slept more total hours on Sunday night then the previous two nights combined, but even beyond that, it just felt good to be me today. Over the weekend, I'd wake up after our short sleeps, and want to get up right away. Like Christmas morning. I just couldn't wait to spend more time with my friends. I spent the weekend with women who have known and loved me for years. With women who it's still kinda hard to even call, "women", because most of the time, we laugh so much together that it still feels like we're school girls.

Times change, people move, some marry, houses come, jobs change, and in the midst of it all, we love being with each other all the same. We have a warehouse full of memories we've created, and when we're together, we run up and down its aisles and pull out the good ones, dust off the old ones, re-share the best ones, and store up some new ones. It's the best. For those who are married, the husbands come too. And it works out so well, because these are the men who married these women because they realized the gems that they are, and they get us. they do. and I love them for loving my friends. I love that Bryan constantly handed out DC's because he knew Katie and the bangles love them. I love Ryans generosity, buying our hostess dinner out, and drinks all around. and I loved Jeff on the beach, making us literally laugh out loud by telling us about buying Sarah computers and bags of turkey for their anniversary, because those are the things that she really loves.

Each girl... or woman, whatever, is so unique yet so comfortably predictable. It was no surprise that Sarah wanted to play volleyball, that Aud would make sitting on the beach look glamorous, that Emily would dance with an elbow winding groom, that Katie would make sure we always got coffee [home.starbucks.AND.church], or that I'd fall for a piano player because he could rap.

We talked about life, ate good meals, planned for disney, passed drinks full circle, danced amongst strangers, missed deepa, sang while we walked like Egyptians, didn't bring her into it, slept little, laughed lots, shared secret recipes, watched a chicken dance, made a pact to buy watches if it rained, and when it didn't, we ate blueberries on the beach instead. we spent more time laughing about "wits 'n wagers" than actually playing it, sat on the porch, talked too much about Urine Vandersloth, took pictures, bbq'd, and did one thing after another because we just know what makes each other laugh.

We loved it. every minute. and we'll do it again next year, and the next, and the next. And we'll keep doing it forever, really. Because we know that for many people, a good friend is hard to find. And somehow, we managed to find good ones a long time ago, and with seemingly little effort. And at the end of the day (or any palooza weekend), we know that something this good needs to be held onto tight. so we will. because when we say 4L, we mean it.

B4L love.

Pepe.

Most beautiful summer days when I'm stuck at work, I can't wait to get outside. I'll run a paper next door, I'll get the door for patients, shoot, I'll even take out the trash. My favorite thing to do though, is to take lunch outside. If I bring it, I'll park my car under a shady Oak, and with the windows down, either read a book, or listen to the current happenings on NPR while watching squirrels play tag.

On the common occurrence that I'm planing to buy lunch, options are not that vast. Seeing as eating establishments are pretty slim pickins' around here, repetition happens frequently.

Today though, I had a first.

i.became.a.regular.

Whenever I walk into Jimmy Johns, by habit, I look at the menu. Honestly, it's because I can never remember that the ham sandwich is called "pepe" or that it's "#1". But today, the girl who is always (wo)maning the register said to me, "a number one?". My first thought was, "wait. am I really that predictable?" To which those exact words muttered their way out of my mouth (slightly under my breath, mind you). My attitude was off. I mean, here I am, someone who takes pride on being flexible with food. For real. I like, liking, just about everything. And I've been called out on being a sandwich eating, creature of habit, ordering ham and cheese for lunch. again. So, feeling strangely defeated, I responded "yes", and watched her smirk in satisfaction with the fine tuning of her prophetic skills.

After thinking it over for a bit, I realized that I should not have been offended by being known. I read it as being predictable (as if that was a bad thing in itself) vs. being noticed. The bottom line is it's good to be known. Even if it's boring, and for the type of sandwich you order.

I've decided to like it. Next time, I'm just going to have my money ready, and get the same combo I love so much (with diet coke and jalapeno chips!).

That's not to say, however, that I won't try to beat her at her own game, and give her my punch card before she even asks for it. ;)