Since Aaron is in radio, voices and sounds play a major role in his life (and my default, mine as well). It's not uncommon experience for us to be out and about and someone either comments to Aaron that he should be in radio or ask him why his voice is so familiar. If you want to get a great listen to how sexy he can be, listen in on him while he's reading at mass with St. Isodore's. It's amazing. Truly, amazing. I have to look away, because I'm giggling like a school girl. On one of our early dates in the relationship, someone poked their head across the aisle at Valentino's and told Aaron he should be in radio. He didn't have the heart to tell her that he actually is, in radio. This has got me thinking about the voices and sounds we hear and the memories that correlate when we do. The passing of my maternal grandfather has really brought this topic to the front of my thoughts.
When Mom and Dad would trek us out to Grandma and Grandpa Landwehr's house in the country between Arnold and Utica, Kansas, I remember the mornings so vividly. They didn't get shit for radio service out there, except for an AM station out of McCook, Nebraska. You know that transmitter sound that AM radio makes that reminds you more of a UFO than modern broadcasting? This station was horrible. I mean, their farm was two miles south, I'm sure they wouldn't get the service for it. Grandpa would get up early, God only knows how early, and sit at the head of the table listening to the radio (fuzz, if you want to be specific). The station had a birthday contest daily. They'd pull three random letters and want people to call in if they had those initals; they were always odd like "ZVW" or "QTZ". Grandpa would repeat the initials for everyone at the breakfast table and ask if anyone had those initials. Seriously, Grandpa? We're all family. I'm pretty sure our last names either begin with "L" or "B". But, it didn't matter. He'd always ask and we'd always say "Nope! Not this time!" The older I got, the more annoyed I'd get. I mean, come ON! When you're little, you don't usually put two and two together. They had linoleum throughout their whole house, which was AWESOME with all the sticker plants out there, anyways. They had these two yap dogs, Freckles and Tip. I can hear their toenails tapping on the floor as if they were out there as if it were yesterday.
Oh, lord and their TV set up is one for stories. They had two TVs, right next to each other. Grant it, I'm not one to poke fun at people and their TVs, as my parents have their huge flat screen right on TOP of their old school Zenith TV. Anyways, they had two TVs and the satellite dish in their backyard could have started off the Cold War, if they pointed it right (thing was freaking huge). You could not touch their remotes, because they had it so rigged and set that even they probably couldn't figure it out. Somehow, they did. And their hearing may not be considered the best. Going to bed at Grandpa and Grandma Landwehr's sucked. I didn't take Ambien at age 10, so the blaring loud sound would keep us up for hours in the sewing room, where Mel and I would sleep. We'd complain to Mom and she'd just say to try and ignore it. Yeah, Mom. I'll ignore it just as soon as I ignore a sonic jet from blasting.
I won't continue down western Kansas memory lane, for the sake of your boredom.
Just take a moment to remember those memories with grandparents and the sounds that will always take you back to 10 years old and matching polyester sets and red beer. I'll always blame you for that addiction, Grandpa. The bars in Manhattan say "Thank you"
Monday, February 21, 2011
Monday, February 14, 2011
Not your typical vday blog
Happy Valentines Day to you all! As my single readers browse through this, I'm sure their defensive wall is already starting to be built over the frustration with this holiday. Rest assured, my lovelies, the focus on this is not against the bitterness that resounds on this day or the extreme love and gratitude I find in Aaron. The focus is on the gift of love from a grandparent who has lived 89 years and is slowly inching toward his final home.
My maternal grandpa is nearing his final stretch of life on this temporary earth. About a week and half ago, he took a nasty fall from his recliner into his wheelchair. Ten years ago, roughly, the decision was made to move him to the assisted living home in Halstead. It's a classy version of a nursing home and has been a great experience for our family. The fall was pretty solid, because he had the need to be placed on stronger pain medications. It was decided to bring in Hospice, twice a day, to administer pain medications for him.
Hospice. I hear that word and in my mind, death is already knocking at the door. And it has been, for 89 years.
Grandpa married my mother's mother over 55 years ago (I'm estimating, as I know that Mom is 53(?) and she's the youngest). My mother's mother passed away when Mom was two years old from breast cancer. Grandpa was left with 3 young girls, under the age of 10. It was not a shock when Grandmother passed; medical technology was not at all what we enjoy today. Her final years were intense beyond anyone can imagine. Mom and her two sisters were living in Wichita, KS with Grandpa's brother (Uncle Lee) and his wife (Aunt Irene) for the final duration of Grandmother's life. After grandmother's passing, grandpa remarried the sister of Aunt Irene. He had met Rose years prior, obviously, at Uncle Lee and Aunt Irene's wedding, etc. They all grew up around the same area (Andale and St. Mark's area). Grandma Rose made the move with Grandpa back to the poultry farm in western Kansas (Utica area). In short, BFE.
Rose was now the step-mother to three girls who had experienced helluva an emotional ride. Time would march on like it always does. Grandpa and Grandma Rose made the decision to adopt, however they wanted to adopted Catholic children and they vowed to never break up a family. A family of five children were discovered in Florida and without question, they boarded the plane with five extra one way tickets. Their lives had changed. Forever. These children needed a home with love and support, and that is what they were blessed with.
The transition was not easy and not always fun for mom and her sisters. Scarifies were made; Mom could not attend high school athletic events, for example, because that would mean someone would need to pick her up. Mom was the youngest of the three girls, so the changes and adjustments are most vivid for her. I'll say this about my mother: she's patient to a fault and that was a grace given to her by her mother, I believe, because she knew that Mom would need it in the coming years.
Bringing this back to the point of love and flowers and doves, talk about love. Grandpa and Grandma Rose showed a deep commitment to love by graciously adopting that family. Valentines Day is not always about your dreamy boyfriend or dedicated hubby. Or the kid in Natural Disasters that you're consistently stalking. It's about true love, regardless the circumstances.
So keep that in mind, as you're rolling your eyes at a florist van pulling up to your place of work. Pick up the phone and call your mom or dad. Or Grandparents. Celebrate the life that we're given and the fact that we can love without limits.
My maternal grandpa is nearing his final stretch of life on this temporary earth. About a week and half ago, he took a nasty fall from his recliner into his wheelchair. Ten years ago, roughly, the decision was made to move him to the assisted living home in Halstead. It's a classy version of a nursing home and has been a great experience for our family. The fall was pretty solid, because he had the need to be placed on stronger pain medications. It was decided to bring in Hospice, twice a day, to administer pain medications for him.
Hospice. I hear that word and in my mind, death is already knocking at the door. And it has been, for 89 years.
Grandpa married my mother's mother over 55 years ago (I'm estimating, as I know that Mom is 53(?) and she's the youngest). My mother's mother passed away when Mom was two years old from breast cancer. Grandpa was left with 3 young girls, under the age of 10. It was not a shock when Grandmother passed; medical technology was not at all what we enjoy today. Her final years were intense beyond anyone can imagine. Mom and her two sisters were living in Wichita, KS with Grandpa's brother (Uncle Lee) and his wife (Aunt Irene) for the final duration of Grandmother's life. After grandmother's passing, grandpa remarried the sister of Aunt Irene. He had met Rose years prior, obviously, at Uncle Lee and Aunt Irene's wedding, etc. They all grew up around the same area (Andale and St. Mark's area). Grandma Rose made the move with Grandpa back to the poultry farm in western Kansas (Utica area). In short, BFE.
Rose was now the step-mother to three girls who had experienced helluva an emotional ride. Time would march on like it always does. Grandpa and Grandma Rose made the decision to adopt, however they wanted to adopted Catholic children and they vowed to never break up a family. A family of five children were discovered in Florida and without question, they boarded the plane with five extra one way tickets. Their lives had changed. Forever. These children needed a home with love and support, and that is what they were blessed with.
The transition was not easy and not always fun for mom and her sisters. Scarifies were made; Mom could not attend high school athletic events, for example, because that would mean someone would need to pick her up. Mom was the youngest of the three girls, so the changes and adjustments are most vivid for her. I'll say this about my mother: she's patient to a fault and that was a grace given to her by her mother, I believe, because she knew that Mom would need it in the coming years.
Bringing this back to the point of love and flowers and doves, talk about love. Grandpa and Grandma Rose showed a deep commitment to love by graciously adopting that family. Valentines Day is not always about your dreamy boyfriend or dedicated hubby. Or the kid in Natural Disasters that you're consistently stalking. It's about true love, regardless the circumstances.
So keep that in mind, as you're rolling your eyes at a florist van pulling up to your place of work. Pick up the phone and call your mom or dad. Or Grandparents. Celebrate the life that we're given and the fact that we can love without limits.
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
load the wagons
I'm going to pack up my things and gonna head out west
The rest of those lyrics escape me, unless I google them. Which I won't. Point still stands. I am going to move out west. With Aaron, of course. Is it odd that I envision our move like an episode of "Little House on the Prairie", where we load up our wagon with a cowhide tarp and take off for the sunset, as our city slicker friends wave good bye with their overpriced Starbucks coffee mugs and pricey take out?
"LHOTP" is my favorite show of all time. This is the only show I can watch over and over and over and over. Usually, if I see one episode of a show, I won't re-watch it. Ever. I am not joking at all when I say that I desperately wish I could spend one day of Laura Ingalls Wilder. My own mother is much like Caroline Ingalls, patient and soft spoken, while Charles is just as similar to Dad. Daddy is fiercely loyal to the Church (for a moment, we'll pretend that the Ingalls' were Catholic) and family is Dad's guiding rod. Maybe I am being a romantic to this time frame of life. I fully realize that back in 19th century Minnesota, there were no straightening irons or LASIK surgery. I'd be stuck with thick thick THICK glasses and probably would have ended up single forever like Eliza Jane Wilder. Maybe. Moving on. We're moving and we'll have to replace the team of horses with Aaron's Dodge Avenger and my Honda Accord.
Aaron's going to be going back toh is hometown to farm with his brother and his dad will be, eventually, retiring. In true farmer form, who knows when Will will honestly lay down the power/authority solely to Aaron and Mark. However, we'll be out there regardless. It's going to be scary, anxious, exciting, nerve-wracking, challenging, frustrating, and life. The Manhattan ammentieis that I enjoy now, will not be there. I won't be able to run over to Bed, Bath, and Beyond to pick up K-Cups after work. If I want to grab a cocktail after a stressful day at work, I'll be sitting next to the town drunks and by 8:00, everyone will know that "That girl from Kansas who's dating Aaron Leiker" is boozing. If we feel like fish in a bowl in MHK, we're going to feel like a sideshow freak show out there.
But, that will pass and it'll be old news that Aaron Leiker is moving back from the "big" city with some girl he met and was married to within a year. That's the thing about small town gossip, it passes. No one really forgets, though. It's just that bigger news comes out with the passing of time.
I just need to make sure that I hide all my LHOTP costumes and bonnets.
The rest of those lyrics escape me, unless I google them. Which I won't. Point still stands. I am going to move out west. With Aaron, of course. Is it odd that I envision our move like an episode of "Little House on the Prairie", where we load up our wagon with a cowhide tarp and take off for the sunset, as our city slicker friends wave good bye with their overpriced Starbucks coffee mugs and pricey take out?
"LHOTP" is my favorite show of all time. This is the only show I can watch over and over and over and over. Usually, if I see one episode of a show, I won't re-watch it. Ever. I am not joking at all when I say that I desperately wish I could spend one day of Laura Ingalls Wilder. My own mother is much like Caroline Ingalls, patient and soft spoken, while Charles is just as similar to Dad. Daddy is fiercely loyal to the Church (for a moment, we'll pretend that the Ingalls' were Catholic) and family is Dad's guiding rod. Maybe I am being a romantic to this time frame of life. I fully realize that back in 19th century Minnesota, there were no straightening irons or LASIK surgery. I'd be stuck with thick thick THICK glasses and probably would have ended up single forever like Eliza Jane Wilder. Maybe. Moving on. We're moving and we'll have to replace the team of horses with Aaron's Dodge Avenger and my Honda Accord.
Aaron's going to be going back toh is hometown to farm with his brother and his dad will be, eventually, retiring. In true farmer form, who knows when Will will honestly lay down the power/authority solely to Aaron and Mark. However, we'll be out there regardless. It's going to be scary, anxious, exciting, nerve-wracking, challenging, frustrating, and life. The Manhattan ammentieis that I enjoy now, will not be there. I won't be able to run over to Bed, Bath, and Beyond to pick up K-Cups after work. If I want to grab a cocktail after a stressful day at work, I'll be sitting next to the town drunks and by 8:00, everyone will know that "That girl from Kansas who's dating Aaron Leiker" is boozing. If we feel like fish in a bowl in MHK, we're going to feel like a sideshow freak show out there.
But, that will pass and it'll be old news that Aaron Leiker is moving back from the "big" city with some girl he met and was married to within a year. That's the thing about small town gossip, it passes. No one really forgets, though. It's just that bigger news comes out with the passing of time.
I just need to make sure that I hide all my LHOTP costumes and bonnets.
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
MOH speech preperations...
Oh, the directions a maid of honor speech can go. Mel is getting married on March 5 and I am serving as her maid of honor. I've been to dozens of weddings and catered even more when I worked for Bockers 2 Catering (Manhattan). I've heard a jillion of MOH speeches and some borderline epistle readings from these women. I never really thought much about them, prior to now. I would half listen and zone in and out. Majority of the time, I would zone in on the bar and estimate how much more time until they run out of booze...... During my single times, I would give the "Oh, this is so boring" roll of the eyes and try to connect with my hopeful next dancemate across the floor. Probably, in all honesty, it was more Monica's drunk eye (the raised left eyebrow) coming out as I imagine that I am looking much better than I truly do. You never really think much of the MOH speech, until it's your sister. And you're the MOH. And the pressure mounts.
I have the benefit of being the oldest of the family and with this older title, comes a touch of bossiness that is natural. Totally natural, I would argue. This bossy-trait also leads one to "may" appear to steal the spot light from her sisters, as I may OR may not be accused of, in the past. In the past, being the key phrase. For some mature reason, I have found myself shying away from the attention, lately. I blame Aaron. Anyways, back to my speech writing hang up.
There are so many directions that I could go with this speech. I could go serious. I could go hilarious. I could holier-than-though. I could go preachy. But, one thing I have to keep it: short. From my experiences, the longer the speech: the more people tune you out and are seriously wondering when Joe B's bar tab is going to run out. I love my sister. I adore my sister. I envy my sister (especially now that she's getting in Wedding Skinny Girl mode...bitch w/Michelle Obama arms.....) But, I am pretty sure everyone can decipher and figure that out, seeing that 1) she's my sister 2) she asked me to be the MOH. There are so many things I want to say to her, but I need to keep in mind that I'll see her again. Hell, after we move, we'll be two short hours from her and Mason (oh, you didn't hear? We're moving, anyways).
Last night, I found myself thinking of all the little stories we have growing up. I really should put a notepad next to my bed for these late night memory lane trips. The countless sitting in the corner episodes chanting "Can we get up now?" in a sing song voice. Mom writing on the calender "Mo: Window" then "Me:Window". Having the window seat in the dining room was a big deal for us growing up. You don't even know. Switching off of our snacks from apples/chz (what Mel liked) to apples/pb (what my fat ass loved). Wearing tee shirts on our heads, acting like that was our long hair. I could go on, but I want to save some sort of build up for the wedding :) I look at my younger sisters and I wonder if they have the sentimental memories growing up, that Mel and I have. I guess we'll find out at Jacinta's wedding.
good lord.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
welcome to my budget friendly life
There's going to be one word that Aaron is going to start to hate. Despise. Annoy. Frustrate. Agrivate.
B.U.D.G.E.T
This semester, I have donated my time on Fridays to my practicum experience (donate is not the right word. Forced as per my graduation requirements with my M.S). The point of a practicum is to experience a new office setting and environment; last semester, I experienced the department of art advising office (I've become quite used to it, actually. Weird) I wanted to honestly try something different than I had in the past and New Student Services (NSS) is a new office that I haven't really dealt with, on the other side of the coin. Being the art advisor, they contact me daily to set up appointments for students who are interested in visiting with the department of art. Perhaps, at times, I've been frustrated with their office. However, let the record state that my frustration was due to someone else (ahem: helicopter parents). I needed someone to blame. Opps.
So, in the spirit of following what the desired outcome is, I signed up for a practicum with NSS. This impacted my work schedule, as I needed to dedicate a good amount of hours with this office (NSS). I made the (risky financial) decision to not work on Fridays and drop from full time to part-time status (32 hours/wk). My paycheck has dropped, as well (obviously). $200 less. Ouch. This led me to 1) invoke the assistance of Dave Ramsey financial god and 2) create a budget so I can see in black/white just how close I need to play the financial game this semester. I'll be able to play the game. I just need to keep budget on the mind, at all times.
Aaron covers the phone bill and I cover groceries. After mass on Sundays, we go to Wal-Mart and play the "Is that the cheapest?" game. We plan out our dinners through the week. I've budgeted $50/wk for this trip (that includes all the toiletries, etc that I get, so not just food). Here's hoping that we can make it work on that, but I'm more willing to purchase the 97 cent Great Value Chicken seasoning as opposed to the "Shake-n-Bake" brand name that it's $1.97.
Poor, Aaron, though. I know that "budget" will be a word that he'll start to cringe at and will roll his eyes when I say "Is that in the budget? If not, then forget it" God, when he proposed he was proposing to all sides of me. The frugal side (which I never realized how deep the frugal bone runs in me), the dramatic side (which I always knew was there and strong), the pissed off side when we go to Aggieville for the first time in months and I'm pissed because I've made the SMART choice to not fake tan this season and all the other so-hos have. However, I'm still pissed about it and feel insecure, because I've tanned every other year. He proposed to all sides and he'll learn to love it. He already has.
On a sidenote: any words of wisdom in saving pennies @ the grocery stores? And don't waste the typing power on suggesting generic brands: I was raised on generics, baby.
B.U.D.G.E.T
This semester, I have donated my time on Fridays to my practicum experience (donate is not the right word. Forced as per my graduation requirements with my M.S). The point of a practicum is to experience a new office setting and environment; last semester, I experienced the department of art advising office (I've become quite used to it, actually. Weird) I wanted to honestly try something different than I had in the past and New Student Services (NSS) is a new office that I haven't really dealt with, on the other side of the coin. Being the art advisor, they contact me daily to set up appointments for students who are interested in visiting with the department of art. Perhaps, at times, I've been frustrated with their office. However, let the record state that my frustration was due to someone else (ahem: helicopter parents). I needed someone to blame. Opps.
So, in the spirit of following what the desired outcome is, I signed up for a practicum with NSS. This impacted my work schedule, as I needed to dedicate a good amount of hours with this office (NSS). I made the (risky financial) decision to not work on Fridays and drop from full time to part-time status (32 hours/wk). My paycheck has dropped, as well (obviously). $200 less. Ouch. This led me to 1) invoke the assistance of Dave Ramsey financial god and 2) create a budget so I can see in black/white just how close I need to play the financial game this semester. I'll be able to play the game. I just need to keep budget on the mind, at all times.
Aaron covers the phone bill and I cover groceries. After mass on Sundays, we go to Wal-Mart and play the "Is that the cheapest?" game. We plan out our dinners through the week. I've budgeted $50/wk for this trip (that includes all the toiletries, etc that I get, so not just food). Here's hoping that we can make it work on that, but I'm more willing to purchase the 97 cent Great Value Chicken seasoning as opposed to the "Shake-n-Bake" brand name that it's $1.97.
Poor, Aaron, though. I know that "budget" will be a word that he'll start to cringe at and will roll his eyes when I say "Is that in the budget? If not, then forget it" God, when he proposed he was proposing to all sides of me. The frugal side (which I never realized how deep the frugal bone runs in me), the dramatic side (which I always knew was there and strong), the pissed off side when we go to Aggieville for the first time in months and I'm pissed because I've made the SMART choice to not fake tan this season and all the other so-hos have. However, I'm still pissed about it and feel insecure, because I've tanned every other year. He proposed to all sides and he'll learn to love it. He already has.
On a sidenote: any words of wisdom in saving pennies @ the grocery stores? And don't waste the typing power on suggesting generic brands: I was raised on generics, baby.
Monday, January 24, 2011
who's to say you should take your shoes off
Saturday morning Aaron asked if I wanted to start our wedding registry before our 12:30 lunch reservation @ Longhorns Steakhouse, here in Manhattan. I was astonished that he, the male in the relationship, would offer and seem to want to start this process. Of course, he had wanted to use the clicker. That, he said, was the whole reason why he wanted to start it. Mmmhmm. I have learned several things about Aaron during this experience and one of them is that he is as dedicated and loyal to this wedding planning process as I am. He was the one who suggested that we start making our invitation list a few weeks back. Which was smart, seeing how when we got engaged, our seven month countdown to the big day had already begun. In short, we're pumping behind schedule it seems at times.
I quickly showered and met him @ "Bed, Bath and Beyond" (he had beat me there and had begun scoping out the place). We met with an amazing sales associate who asked us to fill out the general information that is needed to establish the registry. While I was filling out the paperwork, she started going over the china options for us. In that moment, I thanked God for Aaron Leiker. He was paying attention and was actively interested in the options and amazing credit points you can earn w/their registry. I was filling out my name and address for the 3950th time in my life and was zoned out. Aaron was zoned in. It was awe inspiring. Then ironic when he said to me "I don't care what you pick", when in reality he really did care.
I think my initial hang up on registering for gorgeous china was that, when we used it, that meant that it was a snazzy reason. That snazzy reason spells anxiety for me, because the high mark of performance in preparing food that is set when one is serving food on expensive Vera Wang china. However, we narrowed it down to two sets that we both liked that wasn't too frilly or colorful, but classic and timeless. My question that I am sure Aaron is going to be exhausted of by July 30:
"What's the price difference between the two?"
That sealed my decision.
Then, when I thought we could breathe and be finished, Tiffany (amazing, again) pulled out a catalog of flatware. Then stemware. Then "normal" dining ware. My guidelines for the "normal" dining ware was that it wasn't heavy one color, that it was a general neutral. And the chosen winner is a cream colored w/light coca on the rims. The plates are heavy and now I am envisioning plates falling on the floors on toes and the dreaded screaming that occurs after. I guess I should be ecstatic that it's heavy, because that means that it won't break easily if dropped. I apologize to my toes, Aaron's toes, and the future Aaron Leiker family toes. If and when a plate falls on any of my family members' toes (that is so weird saying and it not meaning my sisters or parents), I'll have the old standby that Mom always would say "Were you wearing shoes?!" And if we weren't, she'd have no sympathy for us. At.all. That's why it's weird to me still taking my shoes off when I enter someone's home. We grew up on a farm and there is dirt everywhere. And sand. And mud. We could honestly care less if you didn't take your shoes off; we would find you odd if you did take your shoes off at our house.
Is that odd?
So, if you're reading this and I have been in your house and did not take my shoes off and it offended you, I am sorry.
I get it from my mama.
I quickly showered and met him @ "Bed, Bath and Beyond" (he had beat me there and had begun scoping out the place). We met with an amazing sales associate who asked us to fill out the general information that is needed to establish the registry. While I was filling out the paperwork, she started going over the china options for us. In that moment, I thanked God for Aaron Leiker. He was paying attention and was actively interested in the options and amazing credit points you can earn w/their registry. I was filling out my name and address for the 3950th time in my life and was zoned out. Aaron was zoned in. It was awe inspiring. Then ironic when he said to me "I don't care what you pick", when in reality he really did care.
I think my initial hang up on registering for gorgeous china was that, when we used it, that meant that it was a snazzy reason. That snazzy reason spells anxiety for me, because the high mark of performance in preparing food that is set when one is serving food on expensive Vera Wang china. However, we narrowed it down to two sets that we both liked that wasn't too frilly or colorful, but classic and timeless. My question that I am sure Aaron is going to be exhausted of by July 30:
"What's the price difference between the two?"
That sealed my decision.
Then, when I thought we could breathe and be finished, Tiffany (amazing, again) pulled out a catalog of flatware. Then stemware. Then "normal" dining ware. My guidelines for the "normal" dining ware was that it wasn't heavy one color, that it was a general neutral. And the chosen winner is a cream colored w/light coca on the rims. The plates are heavy and now I am envisioning plates falling on the floors on toes and the dreaded screaming that occurs after. I guess I should be ecstatic that it's heavy, because that means that it won't break easily if dropped. I apologize to my toes, Aaron's toes, and the future Aaron Leiker family toes. If and when a plate falls on any of my family members' toes (that is so weird saying and it not meaning my sisters or parents), I'll have the old standby that Mom always would say "Were you wearing shoes?!" And if we weren't, she'd have no sympathy for us. At.all. That's why it's weird to me still taking my shoes off when I enter someone's home. We grew up on a farm and there is dirt everywhere. And sand. And mud. We could honestly care less if you didn't take your shoes off; we would find you odd if you did take your shoes off at our house.
Is that odd?
So, if you're reading this and I have been in your house and did not take my shoes off and it offended you, I am sorry.
I get it from my mama.
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
it's a great day to be alive
Oh the promises we make to ourselves that blow up in our pretty wittle faces.
While utilizing my time in one awesome great way (facebook chatting with an old friend), he had asked how the wedding planning was going. I had told him that everything seems to be humming along well (it's fabulous when your fiance is just as into it as you are, although he'll never admit it) and that I'd never in a million years dream that I'd be planning a wedding reception/dinner/dance outside and actually WANT it that way. It's true.
I sweat like a whore.
And I'm wanting and planning a reception OUTSIDE. Not in December or January. But in JULY. JULY. The dog days of summer, if you will. Luckily, the summer heat in Colorado isn't as fucking muggy as it is here in Kansas. Still, it'll be warm. Which is hard to describe now with the snow on the ground and Uggs on my feet. My roommate reminded me that I'd be freezing as I was getting ready for work. I am wearing grey tights with my classic Uggs. Any other girl, yes, would be freezing their skinny asses off. Me? Hell, it's like a walk in Palm Springs.
The point of this is that one should never make promises or plans to themselves. Again, never thought I'd be planning a bash outside for a wedding. I mean, the sunset will be to die for. The open prairie. A beer in my hand and a husband in the other. Life will be kick ass, even if I'm sweating. And even IF (when) I'm sweating outside, I know that I'd be sweating even if our reception was in a meat locker.
Second, never in a million YEARS would I think that I'd be moving back to the farm. And, honestly, being psyched beyond my dreams. The farm was not my most favorite place growing up. I hated it. Despised it. Almost even embarrassed by it in high school. My high school was private and we were the only family who legitimately farmed. Talk about sticking out like a sore thumb. Now? I love it and adore throwing it around, as if it's some private ritzy club. Our own little country club. Nothing calms a soul then a spacious sunset and peace with quiet.
Life is changing for this HV County Farmer's daughter. I may be pulling up these stakes for another in Colorado, but I'll always be a HV County girl in my soul. Even if my plates read different (preferably a K-State Powercat plate).
One thing is for sure, I'll never let this blog go. So, it will be interesting to watch and read back as we start planning for this new chapter in our lives <3
Buckle up slackers. Shiz is getting real.
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