Category Archives: boy

On Chicago, more than happily

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I’ve left so many times, for so many reasons, and every single time, I end up back in Chicago, staring longingly at the lake. It was the lake that brought me there, after all. This weekend was a lot like the weekend that I spent out there in July, but this weekend was so much better.

Chicago-style hot dog

Last week, when I told my boss that I was headed to Chicago for the weekend, he looked at me and said, “Your flight’s on Sunday night, right?” I paused. “Um….no….Monday morning, actually.” He looked at me and laughed. “I’ll see you on Tuesday,” he said.

(Remember the July trip? Waking up at 6:03 when my flight had taken off at 6:00….the long day spent laying on the couch while I killed time until my Monday night flight, a day of work lost, a terribly abrupt goodbye, the uncertainty of it all.)

Leaving Denver after work on Friday is not the best way to go. But then again, weekends are short – you’ve got to make the best of them. I was almost too tired to be excited, but simultaneously terrified that I wouldn’t make my flight. Of course, i had to stop for gas and ended up giving my dinner to a homeless man.

Sitting in my car, filling Jell-O shot containers full of shampoo and soap, I reminded myself why I do things like this. The work-life balance, but more than that. Life, mostly. The most beautiful life is the one that will never make me wonder what could have been.

The TSA was puzzled by my Jell-O shot shampoo containers. They took the bag out and marveled (my words, not theirs) at it before finally letting it go. This was immediately after I had to take cash out of my bra to get through the body scanner. I believe Charlie Sheen put it best when he said, “Winning.”

I’m a Taurus. I’m a very stubborn woman. He picked me up and I was first-date nervous. (Honestly, we’ve only ever been on about 4 dates, give or take, so it’s not like my nerves are entirely unfounded.) He made me dinner while I wandered to find beer. I interrupted him giving me directions with, “I’ll figure it out,” and ended up walking an extra 4 blocks each way to 7-11 (Chicago 7-11’s are the best – no 3.2% beer there!).

I didn’t mind the walk. I love the city.

Lights at the Congress Theater

Saturday day was him working for a bit and me going to see my friend Anne. Then it was double-date concert night. I’m not a huge fan of dubstep – it sounds like robots dancing to me – but we went and saw Bassnectar at the Congress Theater. It was loud, crowded, and fun. Some girl stepped all over the side of my heel though (until this happened, I wasn’t aware that it was possible to step on the side of a heel, all the way up to the ankle), which has left me bruised and grumpy. His brother and his girlfriend are great! We made brunch on Sunday morning, and I watched Back to the Future for the first time, curled up on the couch under a Cubs blanket.

Bassnectar

Not our best picture, but the only one I have!

Lights at Concert
I felt old for the first time. I know I was not the oldest person at the concert (by far), but I felt somehow removed from the crowd. My dress and sweater made me look like a librarian (no offense, Maddie, just making generalizations) compared to the neon halter tops and short shorts all around me. I don’t do this sort of dancing and I was entirely out of my element. By the end of the concert, I was tired of getting danced into. I was tired of dancing (that so very rarely happens) and I was tired of hearing sounds. I had so much fun, and I adore his brother and his brother’s girlfriend, but I don’t know that I’d be so willing to attend a repeat of that event. I’m glad that he understood.
Chocolate Chip Cookies
On Sunday, after a quick visit to his grandparents, we had dinner at his mom’s house. Last July, one too many “princess party drinks” (White Russians) had me doing some pathetic-late-night-love-drunk crying on his porch once we got home. His impression of that incident is nearly accurate and is hilarious – ask him to do it some time. (It’s just like the “I’ll go to DU, I swear” freshman year of college pleading, except two notches less hysterical. Maybe.) This time, I was (quite willingly) banned from drinking any. I would like to insert the fact that I’m also a lot more confident about his communication skills and where we stand, which is conducive to a no-tears environment.
His mom pulled him outside to tell him that I was too skinny before she made me eat second helpings on pasta and finish my giant hamburger. Then she walked me through making cookies from scratch.  “Beat the shit out of the butter,” she told me, after I’d failed to beat it quite fluffy enough. “Just set it on high, and walk away. Don’t watch it. Come back in five minutes.” It was terrifying, but so rewarding. I made something!!
I love his family. They’re so much like mine, sort of. Except his is definitely a little bit louder. Imagine four kids instead of me and Mike – it’s like that. It’s loud and chaotic and I feel right at home. His dad’s roommate, who I adore, came to dinner, too. We played Catchphrase, girls against boys, after dinner. The girls won quite soundly. It was the perfect ending to the trip.
DIA This time there were no tears. There was only the promise of “next time” – we’ll spend more time with his grandparents, we’ll cook again with his mom, we’ll get to see each other sooner rather than later.
This time felt good. I don’t know if it will be good forever, but for right now, it’s good, and I’m learning to accept those good things and stop waiting for the other shoe to drop. Because in time, it will.
This time, we woke up at an ungodly hour and crept through the sleeping city toward the airport. I was too tired to think about crying. He stopped the car in the second lane, using a giant, hulking van as a reason to do it (it is Chicago after all, most things go) and came around and wrapped me in his arms. There were whispers, quick conversation as he got back into the driver’s seat and I grabbed my bags. I shut the door and turned away. I didn’t look back, not even for one last glimpse as he drove away. I never look back. My smooth exit was marred only by the automatic door not working. I walked up to, so close I could have rubbed my nose against it, only to curse quite loudly when it failed to open. The automatic door marked exit was much more accommodating, and soon enough, I was standing in the long line to get through security.
Home sweet home and early for work! It was a very successful Monday morning.

On Sunday, happily

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Mom's blanket

My mom has been working on crocheting this blanket for years. We tease her about it, but it’s almost done! Congratulations, Mom! (Whenever I look at this blanket, all I can see is my Aunt Sally tearing out rows of work that had to be re-done. I worry that we’re going to get to the end and she’s going to do the same thing all over again!)

Wake up, Carlos!

I love waking up to this.

Microfiche Reader

Since I’m back in good graces with the public library, I’m attempting to take advantage of the resources there. (You should see the stack of books on my nightstand. I’ve got ten to read in the near future and I’m thrilled.) Kevin and I were wandering around downtown yesterday when we ran into the microfiche/microfilm area. So of course, we opened one of the filing cabinets. I had stumbled upon the IRS files and picked one that looked interesting – it was the only one I could see that was filed backwards in the cabinet, so of course I grabbed it.  We fumbled for a bit trying to figure out how to work the reader (4 years of college and I never once had to do anything microfiche-related), before realizing that we were at the microfilm reader, which wasn’t going to do us any good. Twenty seconds later, we were in business.

It’s a good thing that the Rosenberger case was the one that we decided to read through. It was fascinating. The petitioner had been arrested with a bunch of drugs and cash in 1979, so the IRS decided to calculate his taxable income based on the value of the drugs.

It was hilarious to see that his occupation was listed as “DEALER” on his tax forms – I had no idea that this was a possible scenario. More hilarious was how they went about these calculations with such formality. The value of the drugs equated to “earned income”.

He later (much, much later) sued because he wanted them to drop his income to a lower level. But he ran into a problem because he had no receipts (from the drugs).

I love the way that the reader feels. It’s like an overhead projector. It’s like old and crisp and somehow much more interesting than scrolling down the results from a Google search. I could spend hours just digging through the files and reading. It’s simultaneously nostalgic and new.

Great afternoon.

On the Bad Thing

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Yesterday was not one of the best days of my life. When it was finally over, the tears wouldn’t stop coming, and I sat curled in the front seat of my car sobbing. I drove, and the tears pooled in my eyes and slid swiftly down my cheeks. I tasted them. They tasted like sweeping sadness. 

Sometimes, there’s nothing wrong with a relationship. But I was feeling that slow nagging at the back of my mind. It was probably just timing. Busy season has been too busy for too long. I’ve been in my own personal hell of trying to plan the rest of my life. I’m constantly coming up short, and this lack of ideas is causing me to panic. I told him yesterday, as we lay in the park, that I’m not the best at reaching out for help in times like these. Instead, I panic. My mom tried to sit next to me last night, to comfort me, and I waved her away. There are some things best felt alone. Things like pain and panic and sadness. They are too personal to share with physical touch. It is much better to remove yourself. 

I felt like a stranger in my own house last night. I haven’t slept there in nearly two months. My mattress doesn’t remember the curve of my back, nor does my bathroom know where to find my toothbrush. I’m glad to be home, I think, but as I tried desperately to fall asleep last night, I wished that he was with me. Carlos waited by the door for a while, then realizing that he wasn’t coming home, came and curled up to sleep next to me. He didn’t say goodbye to Carlos last night. It was would have been much easier had I not had to chase and grab and package a terrified cat while crying. He didn’t say goodbye.

Maybe I gave up too early. I sobbed in the park and wished that I hadn’t made up my mind. I sobbed and wished that we could just go get dinner somewhere. Maybe this will be a good thing. Time will tell. Right now, I am empty inside. It’s so hard to give up good love in favor of a good life, but I told him that I’d focused so intently on making him happy that I’d entirely neglected myself. And even though I do love him, I want to love myself. I want to be happy again. We had created our own little world, which was entirely lovely, but we forgot that the rest of the world needed us, too.

This hurts. And it will hurt for a long time. I can only hope we’re moving in the right directions, whatever they may be.

I’m so sorry, Kev.

On Chicago, belatedly

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Lately, my life has been one of those hectic, crowded places. Sometimes, I worry that there’s not enough room for me.

Last night, after work, I cancelled plans to meet a friend and took a long bath instead (apparently, it’s possible to literally steam the cover off of a Vogue magazine). Carlos has been very much not in the mood to love me lately, so I’ve decided that we both need a change of scenery and will be relocating back to my apartment this weekend. That was supposed to happen last night, but instead, I laid on the couch and did absolutely nothing. It was wonderful.

Tonight is a lot of rearranging. I haven’t had my car since I left for Chicago; it’s been languishing in Mom’s driveway. I need to get that back, obviously. Kevin is going up to the mountains this weekend, so he’ll need his car and I very much miss driving Simon, who feels so much less like a Mack truck than Kevin’s SUV. I need to get myself ready for the weekend. Sadly, I wish I had exciting plans to report, but instead, I’m babysitting nearly every moment that I’m awake. 3 families. 4 “shifts”. 3 days.

I’m always excited to babysit. I never view it as work, really, but it does tend to take up quite a bit of time. I’m going to put the money toward my New York trip next weekend, which I am absolutely thrilled about.

Anyway, I feel like I never get to properly describe my Chicago visits. I get too busy with everything else and reminiscing about the trip falls by the wayside. Chicago was wonderful. It was a perfect weekend. I saw a lot of people (of course, I didn’t get to see everyone I wanted to see, bummer), and had a blast.

I ended up helping with a music video shoot on Sunday, so that was exciting. I got to stand on the rocks in one of my favorite places in Chicago (no, not the Bean, the Peace Garden!) and dance around awkwardly while wearing a wig and some rather scandalous clothing. It helped that the weather was beautiful that day.

Between the shoot and the airport, I stopped at Swisher’s.  There’s nothing like saying hello to a friend’s parents while your makeup looks like you’re going clubbing at 3 in the afternoon. Thank goodness for makeup removal wipes – those things are amazing. Carry them everywhere when you travel. Just have them on you at all times. They’re all-purpose cloths sent from Heaven.

Saturday, I went to Wisconsin with Anne. We went to see the Mars Cheese Castle, which used to be this amazing, kitschy place but is now just a touristy castle – they seriously redid it to be a castle, but they do have $1.50 meat sticks, so you know I was happy. I also got some white cheese with cranberry in it, a 6-pack of Spotted Cow from my favorite Wisconsin brewery, and some chocolate. (I’m attempting to recreate the experience I had with the Fairview cheese from South Africa and can’t do it. The white with the apricots was some of the most amazing cheese I’ve ever tasted. I can’t get close.)

After we were done at the Cheese Castle, we were like, well, we drove all the way out to Wisconsin, we should probably drive some more. So we googled. Anne found http://www.custardlist.com, a website which lists the daily custard flavors around the state. Seeing that some place called Oscar’s had m&m and cookie dough, we were off toward Milwaukee. Yes, it was better than Kopp’s (although Kopp’s makes some darn good custard), and I got two scoops for less than $2.50.

Saturday night, I went to play with Patrick and Maddie, who had a hotel room downtown. (Maddie’s explanation of why they couldn’t stay at his apartment is one of the funnier things I’ve heard lately.) Anne’s apartment has a problem with hot water, so I was relieved to find that the Embassy Suites was fully stocked with towels and all the hot water I could want. (I did want, so badly.) Swisher met us for happy hour and then we went out to a bar nearby. I was exhausted, so we ended up back at the hotel with snacks and wine. It was the perfect night. I was sad because my friend Adrian was having his annual “Fried, Fried, Fried” party – it’s exactly what it sounds like – and I was looking forward to eating all the things. However, I would never make it up to the North side. Instead, I fell asleep on the couch at the hotel.

Being back in Chicago was like suddenly realizing that you lost something. I have lost my memory of the street names (not all of them, but finding myself staring at the Chicago theater on State street and wondering which way to walk was a disconcerting feeling); I have lost the flow of the trains, my balance as they stop. I felt my hand reaching out to clutch the pole in a panic as we slid into one of the stations. Being back was like going home. Swisher took me to the train, took me down Lake Shore Drive. I used to drive that every single day. This time, all I could do was stare around. The park. The lake. The river. The buildings. There’s something wonderful about the way the city looms above you, around you. It sinks into you, a little. You’ll never be able to take that bit of Chicago away.

I remember being in love when I was 19. I remember the way that I threw myself into it; the way that logistics stopped being paramount; that no distance was too far, no amount of separation too much. I want to love the way I loved when I was 19. It was pure. It was admittedly one of the most imperfect relationships you could imagine, but it was so real, and it was all-encompassing, and it was beautiful. When did I lose the ability to throw caution to the wind and jump in?

On the Chase

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This is for Mom, mostly.

But I know the rest of you hate cats too, so enjoy!

Kevin and I worked from home the day of the blizzard a few weeks ago, which was absolutely wonderful. However, we (I) made the mistake of letting Carlos out to wander about in the snow. My thinking? What if he gets lost some day? He’ll need to know how to get home.

As it turns out, Carlos knows how to get home. But he also knows how to escape. Ever since that day, whenever you open the door to Kevin’s apartment – which inconveniently for me, opens directly to the outside world at ground level – Carlos is waiting. He doesn’t even wait for the door to open more than 6 inches. He’s ready to run. Which he does frequently. If I’m lucky, he’ll wait for me to start chasing him. Otherwise, he’s just going to go until you get ahead of him and make him go back. Then he slinks along the brick wall, looking for an alternate escape route. If he doesn’t find one, he’ll run back inside.

I wish I had more of a scaredy cat and less of a panther.

Ah, well, there’s always next time. [joke – I’m never getting another cat. After this, I’m moving on to dogs. They run in the park with you instead of run to the park away from you.]

from Reader’s Digest [yeah, I really am 80]:

On Being Really Happy (and liking it)

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Valentine's Day Dinner

(Mom wanted a picture)

How it started:

I was joking around with a friend on Facebook about all of the spam that we get from Twitter (It’s stuff like, “I’m 21 and single, want to chat?” – Gross and very annoying), and I told him that if I really wanted to find that kind of a date/casual encounter, I’d get on Craigslist. And then I realized that it’s really because of Craigslist that I know Kevin.

Last summer, one of my friends started looking for a new place to live. She found some roommates on Craigslist and after a brief interview process, was selected to be a member of their household. I started hanging around at their house more and more, and one day, one of the roommates told me that I should meet his friend Kevin since he thought we’d be a great match (Kevin’s sarcasm and my cynicism plus lack of filter were apparently enough to go on). I was like, “Uh, no thanks” (mostly because set ups are so awkward and never work).

Conveniently, we were both at the Halloween party that they threw. His first memory of me is me looking like this (keep in mind that I had the flu):

Halloween

Kevin later admitted that when he first saw me, he was convinced that they’d hired a caterer for the party, so I’m glad that I have this personality thing to fall back on when my sex appeal fails me.

Present-tense

It’s been almost four months now, which makes no sense. It’s like it either just started, or has been going on forever. Looking back, everything just sort of aligned at the right times. Of course I’m terrified, but I’m also thrilled. Seriously thrilled. I sincerely hope that I make him as happy as he makes me. He’s smart and willing to engage me (and by engage, I mean listening to me rant about whatever it is that I’m in the mood to rant about that day) in discussions. He’s sweet. He loves Carlos (and more importantly, Carlos loves him). He’s spontaneous. He likes my family. He respects me. He’s patient when I’m falling down mountains. He trusts me enough to let me drive. We’re total opposites who just happen to have a lot more in common than I thought.

Rather than worry (which I’m so prone to doing), I have decided to just embrace this experience. Like jumping feet-first off the Bloukrans Bridge.

Bloukrans Bridge

(Never again)

It’s better than bungee jumping – less panic, less leg-shaking, less terror. It’s an adventure. It’s the best kind of adventure – the kind where you fall asleep at night knowing that it’s going to start all over again the next day.

Thank you, Craiglist. You can be super sketchy, but you’re alright with me.

On Valentine’s Day

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Personally, I’m not the biggest fan of Valentine’s Day. It’s stupid and commercial.  But, then again, it provides us with the opportunity to really examine our own lives and the love that’s in them. And that, dear reader, is something that we should all be immensely grateful for. Love is the best part of this journey.

Lamely, I included the same message in my cards to my mom and grandmother. I don’t even know that I was quite able to express the sentiment, and am hoping that when they read this entry, they’ll understand that “you’re such a wonderful example of love in this world” means that I’m in awe of their ability to leave such a positive imprint wherever they go. Both my mom and my grandma are serious badasses. Sorry for the language, but I’m actually not sorry at all. These are two of the strongest, most capable, generous, hilarious women that you’ll ever meet. They’re unconventional, they’re sweet, they’re kind, caring, humble, understanding, and again, funny. I’m lucky to come from such people.

Anyway. In honor of Valentine’s Day, I’m going to make you suffer through me recounting my favorite instances of love (romantic love, just for today):

1. Aunt Jan and Uncle Mike. Their love is the kind of love that Nicholas Sparks writes sappy tear-jerkers about. They met on a blind date and were engaged shortly thereafter. I once asked Uncle Mike about it and he responded, “Sometimes you just know.” Every time I think about that, I smile. It’s incredible. And I bet they’re going to make adorable old people (some day very far in the future).

2. Grandma Mary and I used to go to Southglenn Mall (when it was still a mall) for our shopping trips. We were there having an Orange Julius, and I watched a very elderly (hey, in all fairness I was like ten years old, so anything above sixty was very elderly to me at that point) couple order a milkshake and then share it. With two straws. It’s funny to me that the image of them with their milkshake and two straws in a suburban mall is the image that I think of when I think of romance, but to be honest, it was one of the cutest things I’ve ever seen.

3. I was at the store buying my Valentine’s Day cards (me and half of Denver, apparently), and the man in front of me at the checkout line was buying a vase full of roses and all the extras. The cashier asked him how long they’d been married and he paused and then said “63  years.” The cashier proceeded to chat with him about it and he said, “She’s a very special lady.” I love that after 63 years of marriage, they’re still in love. And I hope that they have many more years together.

Love isn’t perfect. It’s not all storybook endings and romance novel covers, although I do wish it was, just a little – those dresses!  You’d do well to read NPRs “Dark History of Valentine’s Day”. But first, this, also from NPR. It’s a story of romance between a nun and a brother. It made me cry (but then again, what doesn’t?). You’ll love it.

from NPR: 

A Brother And Sister Get Married (And Later, Their Son Tweets It)

by Clare O’Neill

As comedian John Fugelsang recalls, all in life was dandy until one fateful day, at age 6, he noticed an odd motif in some photos: “In every family picture … my mother was wearing a habit.”

Last August, he tweeted his parents’ unusual love story — with photos — on the one-year anniversary of his father’s death. In a series of blurbs 140 characters or less, he tells it better than I ever could: (click on this link and go view the slideshow – I cried while going through it)

Credit: Courtesy of John Fugelsang

Fugelsang, who has hosted America’s Funniest Home Videos and consulted for Rosie O’Donnell, among other things, explained more in an interview.

Not only had his mother, Peggy, joined a convent after an abusive childhood, taking the name Sister Damien. But his father, Jack, had become a Franciscan monk after high school. The two met in Brooklyn when Jack — or Brother Boniface — had become ill with tuberculosis.

“From all accounts I heard, he fell madly, desperately, insanely in love with this Southern nurse in a nun’s habit that he knew he could never have, and had sworn to God he would never want to have,” Fugelsang says.

Brother Boniface did the only thing he could do. He held a secret torch for Sister Damien for some 10 years. During that time, he expressed his love through platonic letters. She had been sent to Malawi to care for people with leprosy. And every week, he would write. He kept her — and all of the sisters — apprised of the latest: of L.B.J. and M.L.K. and everything else U.S.A.

Then, her father died. When she returned home to take care of her family, Brother Boniface found out and intercepted her — showing up at the hospital where she was working and professing his love. “She was appalled,” says Fugelsang.

But eventually, Boniface won her over. They broke their religious vows and made new ones — to each other. As Fugelsang says, it was their first love and second marriage, the first being a marriage to God. They dropped their names and became Jack and Peggy again. They had kids and lived happily married for decades, from what Fugelsang recalls.

“I can honestly say that my father’s love only grew as he got older and as they aged,” says Fugelsang. “The romance didn’t slow down for him at all. He was someone who was completely unable to separate his devotion to God from his devotion to his wife.”

Well into his 60s, Jack’s heart thumped at full force — emotionally and spiritually. But then, two heart attacks had doctors shaking their heads, saying there was nothing they could do.

“So he just began telling everyone that he wasn’t going to die,” says Fugelsang, “that he was going to live on because he was too in love. And he held on longer than any of the doctors thought he could.”

A risky stem-cell treatment in Thailand afforded him a few more years.

“It was amazing seeing how even in the last days of his life, the love just got deeper and deeper. I have photos of him in his hospital bed looking at her with a kind of naked, calm love that I’ve seldom seen on a man’s face.”

Jack died in August 2010.

“You know, we live in a culture where men are not really celebrated for love,” says Fugelsang. “And so for me, the most defining personal dynamic in my life has been watching a man madly in love with his wife.”

“And now I’m going to be a dad for the first time,” he continues. “[And] the fact of the matter is, my kid gets to grow up in this beautiful, complicated world because many years ago, some guy in Brooklyn chose love.”

Last year, Fugelsang retold the story in tweets. Today, he’s telling the unabridged version in a solo performance, Guilt: A Love Story, currently touring the country.

On the Weekend

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This weekend was a mid-winter retreat up to Breckenridge. We went up with another couple; it was the longest double date that I’ve ever been on, and it was wonderful. We stayed in a trailer that we found online. I was a little nervous since I’ve never had any real trailer experience, but I have to say that it was absolutely beautiful. It had just been updated – new everything. So clean and bright and welcoming. We had our own rooms – definitely an upgrade from the New Year’s trip when Kevin and I slept in a second story office area right off the stairs. It was warm and cozy and the design was really well thought out. You could tell the owner (who is also a designer) put thought into each and every decision she made. The space was lovely.

I did my first double-black run on Saturday!  Sort of. Mostly, I just fell down the mountain, but luckily for me, the top part was nice and fluffy, so falling didn’t hurt at all. I think that I was too hesitant to really just jump into it – I might have had more success that way. The black run after that was much harder for me, partially due to my frustration with the terrain. It was bumpy and rough; about halfway through, I fell really hard and pulled my shoulder in a direction that shoulders shouldn’t go. As I sat there trying to gain my composure (read: didn’t want anyone to see that I was starting to cry), I had a moment of realization. I had to keep going to get back to a groomed run. There was no other way. I wasn’t about to take off my board and walk it, so I mustered up the courage to just deal with it. I went as slowly as I wanted and I focused on keeping my balance. By the time I saw the groomed trail looming ahead of me, I was filled with excitement. I felt good. I had just gotten off the highest lift in North America and made it down. And the top part was awesome – I’d happily do that again!

By Sunday, I was much more comfortable. I’m now nearly able to keep up with everyone – Kevin still waits for me at certain points to make sure that I’m alive, which is really sweet of him since I know that he’d much rather be flying down the mountain. There’s one run that’s labelled as black off of Peak 7, which is mostly just blues (all of which I can do with no problem!) – the top part of it is steep and through trees, but it flattens out as you get to the bottom of it. I found myself complaining to Kevin that it would be so much better if it didn’t flatten out. This is a sentiment that I’m surprised I’m expressing. I’m excited that I’m willing to try harder things, I’m excited that I’m up for trying runs that I normally would be hesitant to even attempt, I’m excited that I’m getting more and more confident. I look back even a few weeks and realize how far I’ve come, and it’s so satisfying. I’m going to be good at this in no time. Considering I’ve only been doing this for a season (and only been up about 11 times), I’m amazed by my progress. Yeah, I definitely still cop out and ride the back edge of my board down the steeper hills, and I still get a little bit more panicky on the more crowded runs, but I’m definitely getting there. Baby steps.

I’m grateful to have such patient friends – no one pushes me to do things that I’m uncomfortable doing (the one exception here is Kevin, who always says, “this is the easiest way down!” but even then, he knows that I have my limits and never tries to force anything). Everyone is wonderful about waiting for me at the bottom of the run (I’m about a minute or so behind these days, hoping that soon it’ll be much quicker). It’s been such a wonderful experience and I’m grateful for the opportunities.

We drove down last night in the snow – it was a sketchy drive and I’m grateful that Kevin is so confident and cautious when he needs to be. It was nice to see Carlos, who definitely missed us. Even though I’m super sore today, it was absolutely worth it.

On Valentine’s Day

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I’m starting to panic.
What am I going to do for Kevin for Valentine’s Day?
I have zero good ideas.

I realize that Valentine’s Day is a whole bunch of crap, but we’re at a really good place right now and I’m excited. Things are bright; life is beautiful; and I want a way to let him know that I appreciate him. I’m also hesitant because I’m worried that whatever I do will be super lame.