Learning About Love

I tried. I really did. My sister had given me "The 5 Love Languages" by Gary Chapman and reading the back piqued my interest. I wanted to learn what type of language I spoke in my relationships and so when I started reading it today, I figured the timing (less than a week before Valentine's Day) was perfect.

But as soon as I started reading it, I knew I wasn't going to be able to get through it. The author's intentions were good. Through his research and extensive time as a therapist, he had come to the conclusion that there are five different languages, or ways, that people show affection; words of affirmation, quality time, receiving gifts, acts of service and physical touch. His first chapter heading was "What happens to love after the wedding?" I was immediately turned off - what if I wasn't married (which I'm not)? Did I not show love the way married people do?

After making an effort to get through the first few chapters, I was disgruntled by the author's generic examples and, as I later texted my sister to tell her I couldn't read the book, the writing just wasn't good. It wasn't engaging and didn't inspire confidence that love was possible. It had a negative vibe - the examples he cited were all about couples who had fallen out of love because the woman asked the man to take out the trash in a "snarling tone." I was expecting a positive primer on how to communicate with your loved ones and was sorely disappointed.

I used to try and read through all books that I started. If I started it, I had to finish it. But those days are long gone and I don't spend wasted time on books that I don't enjoy. I'm sorry Mr. Chapman, but I just couldn't do it.

Today's Letters

Dear man sitting in the sun on the grass with your dogs: I like your style.  

Dear half-marathon training plan: Oh wait, you don't exist.  While I am a little worried that I don't have every single long run mapped out, I am motivated by the freedom.  

Dear Summer Olympics: While I love (love) you, you are totally screwing with my sleep schedule.  

Dear Mrs. Obama: Thank you for being so cool.  Hugging the USA basketball team and showing kids how awesome and important it is to be active? You rock. 

Dear Mr. Castillo: I am so stinkin' excited to go to San Diego with you this weekend! A trip, although just down the road, will allow us to sleep in and enjoy one another, without the distraction of the pup.  Here's to exploring the city and finding yummy food!

Texts from a Horrible Day

I rolled over and grabbed my phone, just like I do every morning.  Today was different.  There were three news notifications staring back at me: 14 dead in Aurora. Gunman opens fire in packed movie theater.

Shocked.  It literally took me a second to decipher what I was reading.  Aurora.  Colorado.

And then my heart stopped.  My best friend was originally from Aurora.  There was no way she had been at that theater, I told myself.  She had moved across town into a new apartment.  She couldn't be there.  For my selfish reasons, I willed her not to be at that theater.

"Are you ok?"  A simple text message, one that I found fairly easy to send but as I sat there looking at it, realized it scared the living daylights out of me.  I couldn't wait for the answer ... I had to get out of the house.

My mind flitted from this thought to that thought as I walked the dog.  I felt angry and then sad.  And then I felt guilty because it was so beautiful here in Southern California.  And then I felt angry at myself for feeling guilty because in all honesty, I wasn't involved in this horrific attack.  I hadn't pulled the trigger.  I hadn't booby-trapped my apartment.

But of course, I was involved. 

"Yes, wasn't there.  Thank god." I received that text and suddenly, my sight became a little clearer, my heart, a little lighter.

It still affected me, though.  As I read through Facebook post after Facebook post, countless tweets and a blow-by-blow account found on Reddit, I felt worse and worse.  I couldn't concentrate at work.  My mind again flitted from this thought to that thought, always settling on the idea that a human being had done this to 71 other human beings.  I had this feeling of complete and utter sadness at how people treat each other.

I have no closing cliches or big-picture thoughts.  I will continue to read coverage of this horrible situation from the people on the ground who watch as bomb-sniffing dogs come out of the shooter's apartment and from people who are much more verbose and eloquent and able to connect all of the dots.  And I will send texts like this.

"I love you."



For continuing coverage, check out The Denver Post - they are doing an awesome job on getting tons of information out to the public.

To Mia

My mom FINALLY said we could get a dog.  After being screened by big adoption agencies that made us feel like we weren't good enough for the dogs they were trying to place, we decided to go to the local shelter that sat off the highway.  It would be our luck that on the day we went, there was one lonely dog in the kennel - the rest, the guy behind the desk told us, had been taken to an adoption fair in the town over.  They'd be back, he assured us, but of course, only the ones that hadn't gotten adopted would be left.

One dog came back.  She was a puppy, with paws that definitely had room to grow in to.  Her kennel-given name was Megan and she looked like a Siberian husky who had been rolled in Moab-red dirt a few times over.  She was perfect. 

Thirteen years later and on a Wednesday, my mom called to tell me that our Mia had died in the backyard sun, just beyond the door to my parent's bedroom.  It was at this door that she had always waited in the morning darkness for my dad so they could go on their daily run.  Those two were true buddies.  It could be said that you never know someone until you run in winter mornings along frozen trails that line dead corn fields.  These two had. 

Mia was a runner from the beginning.  In the cool evening between summer and fall on the day we brought her home, we took her up to the high school track and let her loose.  Part Siberian husky, part red heeler, she moved in a manner that would make Shalane Flanagan jealous.  Her love of it was contagious - soon we were all running around the track.  Were we chasing her or was she chasing us?  In the fall, she traveled with us to my middle school cross country meets, lolling around in her hot pink collar and matching leash.  She was the cutest.

She grew, we grew.  We moved, made new friends and started new jobs.  The line is familiar and the next one will be too.  She was loyal as any dog is expected to be. 

But her love for running never, ever, ever decreased.  As my mom cried in the background that Wednesday night, my dad reminisced on the memory of 13-mile-Saturdays, with Mia by his side. She was running half-marathons before I ever finished a 10k.  Tears dripped down my face onto my comforter as we laughed about how dad always brought water for himself, but never thought to bring any for Mia; she never complained.

She never made a peep, either, when the vet found tumors in her.  Not just one tumor.  But the next one.  And the one after that.  And those that continued to grow, those that my parents decided not to go after because they had had enough.  Mia had had enough.

Lucky for me, I never saw her as a dog I wouldn't want to remember.  I didn't have to see her splayed legs when she tried to get up to greet you as you walked out the back door.  I didn't have to see the huge chunk of her hindquarter gone as the one last attempt to give her more time.  I get to remember the hot pink collar.  And the long walks.  The way her hair used to come out in chunks in the summer because she had so much of it to shed; we used to say we should knit all of her hair into a sweater.  I get to remember what an amazing runner she was - a true running partner.

I Like You Too Much

I talk a lot about love on this blog.  Love for running.  Love for Austin.  Love for the boy that makes my heart smile.  And it's true.  I believe 100% in the power of love.

What I've found out in the last few weeks, though, is that love doesn't have to be shouted from rooftops or made into large, grand gestures. 

Love is ... reading side by side, knowing that the silence between the two of us is comfortable and warm.  When I think about my future, this is exactly what I see.  I hope to be reading next to this boy for the rest of my life.  We've got a ton of books to get through. 

Love is ... doing laundry together and laughing when one of my shirts ends up in his basket.

Love is ... splitting a dinner instead of ordering two.

Love is ... letting him park in my garage parking spot so he doesn't have to hunt around for an open space on the street.

Love is ... sending interesting articles to one another in the middle of the day because while you are reading said article, your mind immediately thinks of him.

Love is ... thinking about him all day.

Love is ... adding in some yummy toffee to his bag of leftover food for him to take home.  It's a sweet surprise!

Love is ... seeing the pup perk up when he hears the boy's car lock sound.  Yes, Austin knows exactly which beep comes from his favorite wrestling buddy's car.

Love is ... watching my two boys wrestle.

Love is ... saying 'I'm sorry for being a jerk' and then sealing that forgiveness with a kiss.

Love is ... him hi-fiving me when I say I ran three times last week.

Love is ... wanting to spend every waking minute with him and cherishing the ones that you actually do get to spend together.


I know, I know.  It's all super sappy.  But I feel like we are at a point in our relationship where everything is special with him.  I'm still wearing my love-tinted glasses.  To be honest, I hope I never have to take them off.

Thank You

Click for source

Google "pictures of soldiers" and many of the resulting images show soldiers and puppies.  Playing with them.  Feeding them.  Pups in the soldier's fatigue pockets.

I immediately smiled at these pictures.  And I couldn't help but wonder whether my boyfriend had ever found small pleasures like playing with street puppy while he was deployed.  I knew, though, that that Google search was barely scratching the surface of all of the pictures of war.  These were the happy pictures, the ones that we all fall in love with.  We all hope that those photos portray what war is - scary enough to have to carry around a gun, but stable enough to be able to find time to play with puppies.

Google "soldiers crying" and war becomes more real (as real as Googling images from the comfort of a climate-controlled building can be).  That is where the true, raw emotion comes through, the unrestrained sadness and grief.  These are the pictures that scare the living daylights out of me.  Why?  Because I imagine my boyfriend in those situations.  I imagine him seeing the same things that caused the soldiers in the pictures to shed those tears.  I imagine him being vulnerable and shaken, being rocked to his core by something as powerful as death.  And my breath catches.

Click for source

I'm still learning about the military, about what it means to be a Ranger, and how a soldier deals with the tragedy that is guaranteed.  I understand that I will never know everything.  And of course, I will never understand the feelings and thoughts and relationships that form while in war.

But I can be supportive and thankful.  And that extends beyond people who are in relationships with soldiers.  Sometimes, we just have to think of our soldiers & veterans like the puppies in the pictures.  They're scared and sometimes helpless.  What they probably need most is a hug.  And a lot of lovin'.

Click for source

Come Live in My Heart

From InspiredMess

 
While in a meeting, my boss posed the question, what's most important to you and why?  He said it was a hard question and that the answer shouldn't come right away - it was one of those prompts that require brewing (or is it stewing?).

I found this to be a ridiculously easy question and my answer came soon after I started thinking about it.

Love is what is most important, after all.  And don't fall into the trap of thinking that "love" means what happens between two adult people who want to spend their whole lives together.   That's only part of it.  Think of how each of those balloons makes up your heart - there are so many opportunities to show your true love and grow your heart.

Appreciate yourself for all of the things that you as a person can accomplish, can feel and can brave.  Loving yourself and every part of what makes you a unique individual is the foundation for other people loving you.

Taking pleasure in being pushed and challenged means that you will appreciate the outcome when you can raise your hands over your head and say, "I totally and completely conquered that and I loved every second of it."

Revel in simple, quiet moments when the world is spinning right on its axis.  You will love how perfect your life is at that exact second.  And don't ever be ashamed of feeling good about how well your life is progressing. 

Learn how to love each person that you encounter.  You don't have to like each and every part of them, but understand their good qualities.  Everyone has a talent or a gift, you just have to seek it out.  

Give of yourself, for in that sacrifice, you are loving. Period.

Don't be afraid to find a soul mate.  Don't be afraid to open your heart.  Don't be afraid that love will hurt.  Because it will.  But it will also be amazing.  So very amazing...

It's ok to be in love with things.  Like you iPad.  Or your cute shoes.  Or your favorite book.  Just don't show them more lovin' than special people in your life.

Speaking of those peeps - if they are in your life, they deserve all of the love that springs from your heart.  Remind them, tell them, shout at them; whatever it takes, make sure they know how much they mean to you.

Just remember, without love, babies wouldn't be born.  Without love, there wouldn't be BFFs.  Without love, we wouldn't have people dedicating their lives to great causes.  It's a really simple thing to do, once you boil down all of the unnecessary clutter of the fake stuff. 

“Come live in my heart, and pay no rent.”
--Samuel Lover           

One Day at a Time

"The only way to live happily ever after is to do it one day at a time."
 -- Unknown


As of tomorrow, I will have lived 9,125 days here on this earth. 

Over 9,000 days.

That's a whole ton of sunrises and sunsets, of breakfasts and lunches, of ice cream cones and barefoot miles.

That's more tears than I can count, more hugs that have warmed my body and kisses that have made my soul soar.

In that amount of time, I have lived in four different states six different times (seems like I can't get away from the southwest).  I have cycled countless miles along the beach and up in the mountains.  My face has gotten sunburned and windburned and eaten by mosquitoes (don't ask).  

Looking back over more than 9,000 days is mind boggling.  So much has happened in those days.  So much has changed, whether it is my hair style, my shoe size or the boy who is holding my hand.  And yet, so much has stayed the course. My parents have loved me every single day, regardless of what I did in the 24 hours before or the 24 hours after.  I know that just like the sun will come up, they will love me.  That is a gift that not everyone can say they have.

I met my favorite person around day 824.  Even today, at the 9,124th day, and again in another 9,000 days, she will be the bestest sister a girl could ever wish for, or even have the gall to ask for.

Around day 8,245, I was a graduate for the third time in my life.  Wait, do I count kindergarten and 8th grade graduation in that?  Hmmmm...probably not.  Three times I have gotten up on a stage when my name was read, reveling in the feeling of accomplishment and satisfaction, finality and beginnings, while also being scared out of my ever-loving mind.  I have become an educated woman who is constantly wondering, asking and learning.  I don't know exactly when babies become curious beings, but I am still as curious now as I was that day.







I lost my grandpa around the 6,390th day.  That was one of a handful of truly, deeply, heart-wrenchingly sad days of my time here. I have been blessed to have lived, so far, an extremely happy life, one that hasn't been hidden under rain clouds or despair.

Between days 8,925 and today, I fell in love and have given my heart, fully, to another human being.  Hopefully there are more days that feel like these in my future.






 

I became responsible for a life somewhere in the 8,000's.  Every day has been a learning experience: Dogs like to chew carpet.  Dogs like to pee on carpet.  Carpet starts to smell after being peed on too many times.  Dogs like to lick you.  Dogs eat a lot of food.  Dogs need a ton of exercise.  Dogs are truly wo(man)'s best friend. 





People always say, "Man, am I old," in reference to themselves.  And in some cases, it's justified...if you're 89 years old and have lived a full life.  But don't tell me that at the age of 28 or 34, you can truly call yourself old.  Sure, you might be 10,220 days into life, or even 12,410 days.  But what is that compared to 32,485 days.

32,485 days.  89 years. 

That's what I'm striving for (and more).  I want each and every one of those days to combine together to make a happily ever after.  I'm already a third of the way there, and think of all I have experienced up 'til now.  

Here's to tomorrow...and the next day...and the next...

The Beauty of Colorado

"I heard in my infancy only the siren song of the mountains. An alpine meadow was my front yard, across which scuttled, instead of chipmunks and squirrels, conies and marmots that pierced the thin air with their shrill whistles before they ducked into holes they had burrowed into the tundra. On July afternoons, I looled among the primrose and forget-me-nots, caressed by the sun whose thermonuculear secrets my father probed with his coronagraph.  Safe in my bed, I listened to the tormented howls of timber wolves at dawn, over on Ceresco Ridge.  In the morning, I would stare at the sharp summit of 14,142-foot Mount Democrat, impossibly far away, its north face still choked with winter snowfields and wonder. What is it like up there? What can you see?"

-- "On the Ridge Between Life and Death" by David Roberts

My ID

I had seen the ads for Road ID in the Runner's World magazines that my dad would send me once he was done reading them (recycle, people).  I was intrigued.

For those of you who aren't in the know, Road ID is a bracelet that has some identifying info on it in the horrible case that you can't speak for yourself (see: being hit by a car).  You can put whatever you want on it - your birth date, contact info for next of kin, any allergies you may have, etc.

My gears started turning (the ones in my head) and I realized that no one would know who I was if I was lying on the side of the road unconscious.  Sure, Austin's tags say who I am, but what good would that be if A). he ran away when I got hit or 2). they called the number on his tag (my cell phone)...duh, I wouldn't answer cuz I'm lying on the side of the road!

So, I went ahead and bought a bracelet, thinking of my future unborn children who would need someone to birth them.

I have to say, I was a little skeptical about the size when I first got it - it looked like it could barely fit over Austin's paw.  And yes, it does require a little finagling when I put it on.  But, it fits securely when it's on and I barely feel it.  I make sure to always put it on when I take Austin out for a walk or when I go for a run or ride. 

When I was on the Road ID website and it prompted me to put in the information I wanted on the bracelet, my mind started wandering.  How do I identify myself?  In no particular order, this is what I came up with:

• I'm a woman.  Everything I am stems from the fact that my sex has been told no you can't, when really, anything you can do I can do better.
• I'm half Hispanic, a quarter Swiss and a quarter Chinese.  Each part of my background helps to shape how I view the world.
• I'm a romantic. I can't say hopeless anymore, because I've found my prince charming.
• I'm educated and believe that each and every child here in the United States, however they arrived, deserves an education.  Each of us should be given the basic tools that can help us become better people.
• I'm a Colorado girl in the deepest part of my soul.  There is almost nothing more perfect than the golden aspens in the fall.  Well, that and a good New Belgium brew with friends.  That's pretty perfect, too.
• I'm definitely a dog person. Cat's make me sneeze. And puppies are God's gift to man, so how can you argue with that?
• I believe that family is the most important thing in any person's life and that with a strong, loving, forgiving family, a person can be content in whatever they do.  I am in my family and my family is in me.
• I'm a voracious reader.  If it has words, I'm gonna read it.  Except maybe the creepy classified ads.  I don't read those. 

 

• I really, really, really want to be a writer.  I don't know if that will happen now, or later, or if ever, but I am going to strive to be a good wordsmith.  
• I'm a really good eater.  I'm not afraid of food, so I'll probably eat whatever you put down in front of me.  My aunt used to say, "I'd rather clothe her than feed her," in reference to a time in my life when I could eat a foot-long Subway sandwhich by myself.  When I was 13.
• I know that we should all be proud of our bodies (and most of the time I am), but there are certain glances in the mirror that make me want to do a few more sit-ups and run a few minutes longer.  
• I'm a lover. 
• I'm not ashamed to say I own a library card. And use it.
• I'm a homebody who is happy in her normal routines.
• I'm a runner who happens to run barefoot. Ok, ok...in Vibrams.
• I'm a worrier.  If I care about you, it's inevitable that I'll toss up a prayer about you every now and again.
• I'm a sister to an incredibly smart, funny, gorgeous woman who the world is open to...she just needs to figure out exactly how to conquer it. 

• Sometimes, I overcompensate and try to sound more knowledgeable or cultured than I am.
• I have been told that I have no taste in movies and that I've missed all of the "good" ones.  But I am also one who won't watch a stupid movie even if everyone else is watching it.  So there.
• Yes, I need validation that I am smart, beautiful, talented, fast, etc.  Maybe that's why I check Facebook several times a day - just to see if people have commented on my posts or photos.

Too bad all of this couldn't fit on my ID bracelet - those EMT's wouldn't know what hit them!

Holding His Hand

There are just some things that cut straight to your heart.  You see engagement pictures on Facebook, all gorgeously fuzzy with love and happiness and warmth, and you yearn for what the two people have, that comforting feeling of comfortableness with each other.  You hear a song that proclaims true love and while driving home, all you can think of is the magic that abounds in your heart when someone is holding your hand.  Strange how a touch three feet from it can rock your core so forcefully.

Do I see more engagement pictures and have a stronger visceral reaction to them when I'm single?  Or when I'm dating someone?  Does that wedding video make me tear up because I wish that will happen to me sometime...someday...or because I can actually see myself in that same position?

I used to write in my journal that it was definitely the former - "I want the knowledge that you can reach over to that person, hold their hand and know that everything will be ok."  I waxed and waned poetic nonsense and felt sorry for myself - timing was never on my side and I had come to the conclusion that relationships were always doomed to fail because one of us was always going to be leaving, moving, graduating, etc.  I can't start to tell you how many pages in my journal are devoted to questioning the guys in my life and the relationships that I might never have.

Slowly, though, my journal entries have changed to the latter - "We were truly in a little love bubble and it felt like my heart was complete."  (We were sitting in a Starbucks and immediately, my mind picked this song to be part of my life's soundtrack).

It's crazy how suddenly, your hand feels better in the hand of someone else than it does hanging listlessly, alone, by your side, something it had been doing for your whole life.  Your heart jumps in irregular beats when that person laughs over the phone - is it possible that Zuzu Bailey from "It's A Wonderful Life" was wrong when saying "every time a bell rings, an angel gets his wings" and it's really when someone you love laughs? Angels would be getting wings right and left in my case...that boy laughs all the time.

Separately, the heart and the mind are incredible organs.  The heart (hopefully) learns that sitting down with the someone at lunch who might otherwise eat a PB&J by herself is good for both involved.  It understands that exercise makes the muscle stronger and the "heart" lighter and happier.  The brain recognizes symbols and speech and pairs them together to make "Where the Red Fern Grows" and "Come Away With Me".

But together, they can gang up on a person.  They can make you believe that wonderful, fuzzy feelings and dreams are easily accessible when you hold that someone's hand.  That truly and indescribably, everything and anything is possible when you hear that laugh.  And abruptly, the look that all engagement pictures have is how your life looks through your eyes...the love, warmth and happiness are now radiating off of you and not off of the picture that you yearn for.  You now have what you have always yearned for.  I now have what I have always yearned for.

If Heaven Wasn't so Far Away

As I was driving home the other day, I heard this song on the radio and it made me think of my grandpa.

My grandpa, Jose Vigil, was never able to see any of his granddaughters graduate from high school, much less college.  He won't get to watch any of us get married or have babies.  He was barely a tangible presence in my younger cousin's life, as he died when she was still young; she has a few memories of him, but not too many.  My sister and I were lucky enough to have a solid childhood of experiences with him.

• Going to the shed to get the air compressor to pump up the old, worn-out-to-the-point-where-the-leather-was-smooth basketball.
• Drinking from the outside water spigot.
• Going tubing down the small stream on their property.  We'd enter the property, hop into the bed of the truck (the only place we could ride in the bed), and drive up to the stream.  There, we'd cruise down the stream for a bit, but usually it was too cold to stay in too long.  Once it was lunchtime, my grandma would feed us Vienna Sausages & potted meat on saltine crackers.  We'd drink it down with the barrel juice drinks (you know the kind).  Those were sweet, sweet times when life was wrapped up in that one afternoon.  Nothing could get better than that.
• Riding horses.
• Playing in the hay loft (which was usually cut short by my sneezes and runny noses...dang allergies).
• Watching baseball on TV with the sound off (the announcers never said anything worth anything).
• Making carne seca (beef jerky)...a little bit of salt, a little bit of pepper.

Remembering these times with Grumpy makes me smile and warms my insides.  Here's a little prayer up to you, Grampito:

We all miss you so much down here.  The family is not the same without you and while we somehow figured out how to on in your absence, there is definitely a big void.  I was lucky enough to grow up with you in my life.  I worry that Nieves' memories of you are brief & fuzzy - I wish she could have known & loved you like Pilar, Sierra & I did.

Gramita is doing ok.  Things are getting harder for her - maintaining the house and land, taking care of the animals, worrying about all of us ... please help her to stay strong and not give up.  Because without her ... I don't know what this family would do.

I think that you would be proud of the people your granddaughters have grown up to be.  Pilar is so bright and talented and with focus, could do so many things.  Sierra is a very smart girl who finds interest in new, surprising things.  She has huge potential now as she graduates from high school - I hope that she sees her potential as we do.  And then there's Nieves, who is probably the most caring, sensitive, loving child I know.  She is the definition of sweetness and I can't wait to see who she grows up to be.

Grumpy, I hope you are proud of me.  I've stumbled sometimes and I have tried my hardest to be a good person.  Please continue to watch over me and guide me to do what is right.

When You're Happy Like a Fool...

Have you ever come across a song that embodies how you are feeling at the exact moment you hear it?  It seems to say what is going through your head in a perfectly succinct way that only songs can do.

I listened to OneRepublic's new song "Good Life" on repeat this weekend.  Every time I listened to it, I couldn't believe how it made me smile and gave me this warm, gooey feeling inside.  Let me allow you the pleasure of listening to it (and really listen to it...don't just watch the video):

My life is super good right now.  Have you ever been at that place where your heart is full and your mind is happy?  Here's why I feel the way I do:

• Austin. He's a cute puppy who is always up to something. He makes me smile on a daily basis and when he comes to curl up at my feet, the world feels right.  I'm pretty sure God gave us dogs to remind us that life really is simple...they love unconditionally, and I believe that's the true meaning of it all.

• Being able to run when I want, how I want and not let my body dictate (ie. stop me from doing something I love). The freedom of just going out into the world is exhilarating.  Our bodies are magical specimens that we shouldn't take for granted.

• I've recently had the time and motivation to start reading again! And let me tell you...a good book sure does my soul well.  There's nothing quite like getting lost in the great words of brilliant wordsmiths.

• My boyfriend, Dave, makes me laugh every single day. It doesn't matter whether it's through a text, on the phone or in person, not a day goes by when I don't laugh until it hurts with him (or at him, sometimes).  His mantra to life (live like you were dying) encourages me to wake up a little bit earlier, enjoy each moment a little bit more and don't stress the small stuff.

• A job can be a job, or a job can be something you put your energy into and enjoy.  Mine falls into the latter category.  I don't ever dread coming to work.  I usually look forward to it (come on, now, I get the Monday blues just like everyone else).  My position allows me to work freely on projects I'm interested in, while helping others in departments that I'm not in, further broadening my work "education."  It's creative work that keeps the mind young, and fortunately for me, I do a lot of it.

• Simply Limeade. A drink that makes my tastebuds jump (literally) for joy.  It's not very sweet like other limeades; this one has the tartness that a natural lime has.  I'm not kidding you that when I think about it, my mouth starts watering. It's that good.

• I have friends that any girl would be jealous to have.   They truly get me.  Almost nothing can compare to a girlfriend who can finish your sentence or thinks the same thing you do at the same time.  In my mind, having one friend "get" you is much more important than having 10 friends "like" you.  Quality over quantity, people.  Find yourselves some good peeps.

• My family rocks my socks off.  We've reached the point where my parents are still my parents, but they are now cool and hip and fun to be around.  They provide advice but let us make decisions on our own.  They understand that we are adults and are out in the wide world (but that doesn't mean my mom's not going to worry all the time or pray rosaries when we go on road trips). 

Obviously there's more to my life than these few bullet points.  The beautiful thing about it all is that all of the things I've mentioned (plus the ones I didn't) meld and combine into a simple thing that we call life.  Isn't it crazy to think that we are here, living, breathing, thriving?

"We are God of stories, but please tell me
What is there to complain about?

When you're happy like a fool, let it take you over
When everything is out, you gotta take it in."