Thursday, September 27, 2012

Tidings Of Comfort And Joy. And A Wedding. In September.

It's been a rough few days in the life of me.  Learning lessons days.  So when the She & Him version of "Blue Christmas" came on this morning, it’s no wonder I lost it, and started bawling my eyes out.  I had just pulled it all together, and was wiping away the winding rivers of mascara coal streaking down my cheeks when the next song hit and it was Dianna Krall singing "Count Your Blessings Instead Of Sheep".  Baaaaaaawwwww!!!!

Maybe if Christmas was here already I'd feel a little better.  I know Christmas is a very depressing time for a lot of people, but I could never imagine being sad during the best time of the year.  Goooo empathy!!!  Twinkling lights in the trees, snow glistening on the ground, the smell of pine and winter berries in the air, carols humming in the background everywhere you go.  All those lights.  I was made to live in Christmas.

Yet, even today, in this gorgeous fall weather, with regally colored trees turning all around me, I'm trying to tell myself to buck up buttercup and smile.  But you see, I'm having to be an adult, and a mature one at that.  And the pangs of finally growing up, at almost 40, are more than I want to deal with some days.  I'm a great big grown up womanly Peter Pan minus the elf ears and pointy shoes.

I guess you could say it started a few months ago when I made the most adult decision of my life and my fiancé and I moved in together.  It was an adult decision at that time because of the feedback I received from concerned friends, regarding the religious and moral consequences of that decision.  Coming to terms with what I believed and having the gumption to stand up for it was a pretty big move for me and for the first time in my life I felt like my faith was really put to the test, as were my beliefs.  And though we have our critics still, I've learned to deal with it.

With that decision came the responsibility of having to actually run a household too.  Within weeks I found out just what mom's and wives all around the world face on a daily basis - I was now keeping house for someone other than myself and it was a lot more work and sacrifice than I anticipated.  Gone were the days of clothes everywhere (kitchen table chairs make good staging areas for morning outfits).  Gone were the days of eating like a bachelorette (ice cream is a food group, and one meant specifically for breakfast and the occasional dinner).  Gone were the days of doing whatever I wanted, no matter what the consequences were, because I had to think of my darling fiancé, and what was also best for him.  I’ve grown up a lot in the last few months, learning to put my own bad habits aside and be the wifely woman I was meant to be.  It’s not easy – I love cooking, hate cleaning, have more shoes than C’s whole family combined and am okay with dropping clothes in the middle of a hallway.  He, on the other hand, is a master salad and omelet maker, but may not be the tidiest in the kitchen (see how nicely I said that?), takes three minutes tops to get ready in the mornings, and is never grumpy.  Life, as they say, goes on. 

As the months pass, we’re finding ways to work with each other, and to let love rule.  Above all else, let love rule.  I’ll say it again – LET.  LOVE.  RULE.  And so things have gotten a little easier, and as May draws closer we’ve been having a lot of fun planning our wedding.  We hit a few snags securing a venue, but last weekend we found the perfect place to get married, and signed the contract.  Really, all could not be going smoother with wedding plans, and we’re both really excited to have a super fun fantastical awesomeness wedding.

Then yesterday hit – and things changed significantly for me at work.  SIGNIFICANTLY.  I still have a job, and I still have a job I love.  I just have a job that I love that pays about 1/3 less than it did till now.  And with these significant changes, so came a huge change in our new household budget.  And with those changes, all of a sudden, gone are my dreams and plans for a beautiful, unique, bohemian, romantic, slightly steampunk wedding.  In the commitment we’ve made to incur no debt in getting married, we’ve decided to pay for the wedding out of our own pockets with whatever we can save between now and May.  Based on these recent work changes, that should come out to be about $29. 

And that, my friends, is the reason I’m bawling my eyes out at Christmas songs this morning.  Because I am really struggling with the feelings of materialistic want, and the subsequent feelings of guilt, that come from wanting a big, beautiful wedding.  Something big, and dreamy, and completely photogenic and off-the-charts.  But in the big scheme of things, something slightly unrealistic and unnecessary.  

Last night, as Craig and I were just lying there, vying for the same pillow, in the quiet fall night air, he asked me about the wedding.  I think we both knew the news was too new, too raw, to approach in the light of the living room, where we would be forced to talk about it and deal with it like big people do.  Just like you don’t say the word cancer in a country song, my fiancé has learned me well enough to know you don’t say the words “scale back” or “elope” unless you’re in the dark, about to fall asleep with a fort wall of pillows between you.

I put on my best optimistic voice, swallowing back any tears and told him it just meant that we’d have to make some pretty big changes to what we were planning.  I’d have to find another dress, and we'd have to look at another photographer, and another deejay, and other flowers, and we’d be eating Dickeys instead of a fancy caterer and what did he think of people having to stand during the ceremony instead of sitting?  And there in the quiet dark, he said the words that really just cut to my heart like a knife of truth.  He said it doesn’t matter to him what kind of wedding we have.  He just wants to be married to me. 

Sorry, I’m about to lose it again.

Here I spent the whole night lying awake, feeling sorry for myself, because I didn’t know how I, the keeper of the books, the cleaner of the kitchen, was going to make everything work out alright.  And all he’s been thinking is that he loves me and wants me to be his wife.  Now granted, there’s definitely a part of me that pops up and says “It’s easy to focus on love when you’re not looking at the bills piling up or trying to find a way to feed 152 guests”.  But you know what?  I hate that part of me.  I really like the love-focused part, and that’s the part that C brings out in me.  The part that remembers to let love rule.  He lets love rule.

So this morning, I woke up, and hurried to make our smoothies, and I rushed out the door, and the minute I sat down at work I started to feel sorry for myself again, and worry about how I’m going to pull off this miracle wedding.  Then I remembered his voice, repeating to me those words “I just want to be married to you.”

And the more I thought about it, and prayed about it, I realized, I just want to be married to him too.  That’s all I want in this life, to be Mrs. J, and to be really good to him day in and day out.  To bless him as much as he blesses me every day.  To honor the God who created us by letting love rule and to take the love we have and share it with a world without love.  And though I want a big, elaborate, beautiful wedding, I realized this morning I want it for all the wrong reasons.  When I stopped to pray about why I really want an impressive, beautiful wedding, the Lord reminded me it’s not for the memories we’ll carry with us throughout the years – those are made every day as we laugh, and love and live together.  It’s not for the joyous experience of that day’s celebration either – since I know that the feelings of joy I desire for us and our guests are not created by really nice centerpieces but by the feeling of love and joy in the air, love and joy that we create and radiate.  I realized, for the first time since he proposed, that I want a gorgeous, creative, unique wedding not for C & I, but for the people who I can picture gossiping about it afterwards, deconstructing it piece by piece. I can see their faces in my mind even as I type this and I sort of wish I could just punch them.  Stupid faces.

These are the people who, when they got engaged, went around flaunting their ring, hand extended for all to admire.  The people who, at their own weddings, showed no hospitality to me, as a “welcome guest”, but who’s tight lipped smiles made me realize I was only there as a matter of etiquette, not friendship.  The people who, let’s face it, I’m not really even friends with anyways.  I want a dream wedding to hush those critics, and to ensure that I don’t fall prey to their overly critical comments after the fact.  To be sure that they could never have one negative thing to say about how things were done at my wedding.  The true irony of the matter is this though – Those people aren’t even on the guest list anyways.  I’ve never imagined inviting them, preferring to give their spot to the people in my life I do care about.  And whether they were there, or just stalking our pictures on Facebook, I know deep down that they will have their trite little comments no matter what I do.  I’m sure my current living situation is just the “I told you so” they’ve been waiting for.  I told these people “so long” a long time ago, knowing that nothing I do will ever please them.  So why am I caught up in trying now? 

As I stopped to pray about it this morning, the thought reoccurred to me “Things don’t matter – people do.”  Let.  Love.  Rule.  Find a way to love these people, but realize that I don’t need to stress myself out trying to impress them.  Oh the pitfalls of the modern American woman.  Compare, compare, compare.  I need to know that the day is about love, shared between a man and a woman, and with everyone else in their life, as it is given to them by their Creator, not about table overlays and customized wedding favors and who's examining them or talking about them afterwards.  How freeing this realization was.  And just think, it was only a few hours ago I was repeating Philippians 4:6 & 7 to myself like a mantra, over and over again.  I think it was the Thanksgiving part (in combination with another friend’s Facebook post this morning about the transforming power of gratitude) that did it.  I feel like a weight has lifted, I feel so much lighter.  And relieved, and at peace. 

I know that we will get married.  In 2013.  And though I know I have my work cut out for me, with a lot of challenges ahead, like I said it’s lesson learning time, and I’m growing up.  It’s only sad that it’s taken 30-some years to happen.  When someone asked me recently, in light of our decision to live together, how my relationship with C makes me a better Christian, I said that I’m learning so much through it, growing so much through it, that it can’t not make me a better person and Christ follower.  There’s been a lot of lesson learning days lately.  There’s a lifetime full of them ahead - today was just one of them.  But I get to walk on this road with a man who’s only want right now is to marry me, and who teaches me, through his own example, daily, what it means to love.  He shows me God’s love every day.  He lets love rule.

I guess in light of that, I really have no reason to be sad.  I'm sure this will be a struggle that rears it's ugly head many a time before we walk down the aisle.  But I know I can always look back to this moment, and be thankful I found out earlier rather than later what is important on our wedding day.  For now, I should wipe up my mascara and go listen to some jolly Christmas music now.  Something sparkly and upbeat.  Maybe some Glee.  And count my blessings instead of sheep. And that’s my story and I’m stickin’ to it. 

Wednesday, September 19, 2012

Domestic Bliss

I haven't blogged in a while, and I apologize to you few readers who are still faithfully following me.  I guess you could say I'm lazy, but in all honesty, I'm busy, and I haven't had much to say really, so there's that.  Mostly just that I haven't had anything to say.  Silence is becoming something I'm increasingly comfortable with.

But life is good.  I'm planning a wedding (my own), and it is a full time job I'm finding out.  I'm working more than full time, at a job that I love, with a small little office of characters.  My current boss (he's retiring next year) is the nicest person I've ever worked for, and I just enjoy our interactions every day.  This is a huge relief coming off the heels of hell at Onesta, and a boss-lady who would literally make me cry with her demeaning comments, off-the-clock demands, and split personalities.  They are each other's antithesis in every possible way.  I also work with two very young women, who make me feel older than I am, and than I've ever felt before.  They are both in their early twenties, and though I'm used to interacting with youth group girls that age, to see people so young in the work force is eye opening, and feels rather out of place.  The generational differences between us are also both amusing and slightly disconcerting.  When did I turn into this stuffy, proper, older woman?  I used to be cool, I swear!!

In any case, life is grand.  Life at home is grand as well, and I am more in love with my sweet fiance today than I was five months ago when he proposed.  Every day just a little bit more.  I am settled into domesticity like a fat old cat, content, quiet, napping the warm days away.   Last night I was sick with a cold, and he let me lay on the sofa and read as he made dinner and cleaned the kitchen.  Watching him in there with his handsome beard, cheerfully working away, the smells of spicy taco meat drifting my way, as I laid curled up with a blanket and some tea, literally filled my heart to overflowing.  This is what joy is - sweet, domestic joy.

As the days tick away, we are moving closer to our wedding date.  The fear of making sure everything is as perfect on that day as it is in my head keeps the timeline of a date fast approaching very surreal.  I wish I had a better grip on reality when it comes to gauging what seven months away is.  But by the time all is said and done we'll have been engaged for just over a year.  And though there are those have voiced their wish that we'd just get married already so we can stop "living in sin", I wouldn't wish a rushed engagement on anyone!  Planning takes so much time in the research of each factor involved.  Every day I'm working a little more at it, researching, making calls, comparing, putting everything into a speadsheet, into inspiration boards, into a budget.  Saving, saving, more saving.  Always saving.

I can't wait till we are married though, if for these two reasons only:  1.  We can finally get a dog.  I want a dog so bad!  Something that will be ours, together, and a shared joy, and that sweet unconditional, sloppy love of a dog.  Something to dote on, besides C, which I'm sure he'll appreciate.  2.  The other reason I really just want to get married already is so we can have a honeymoon.  As always, I have wanderlust.  Somethings might never change.  And though I get to travel for work this year and next, it's never the same.  I want to zipline through the jungles of Costa Rica.  I want to meander the vineyards of Napa.  I want to lounge in a mountain facing hot tub in Montana.  I want to go somewhere and just swoon at the scenery and eat somewhere I've never eaten before, and walk on a street that looks like it's out of an old Capra film.  I have romantic travelitis, and only seven months before a good excuse for it.  I get to go on a honeymoon.  I'm gonna be a married lady.

Sadie, Sadie.  Sigh.

In any case, this is not that exciting of a post. It's nothing special.  But yet, it's kind of everything special for me right now.  It's everything that is sweet and wonderful in my ordinary daily life, and I feel like this is the me I've always wanted to be.  Content, quiet, and full of undeserved joy.  Thanks to the One who gave it to me.  And that's my story, and I'm stickin' to it.

Wednesday, June 20, 2012

C, A Preacher, A Dress And A Little Bit Of Joy

A dear friend of mine got married this past weekend, and though her wedding wasn't extravagant, it was beautiful, joyous, heartwarming and God-honoring. I rememeber thinking, during the worship part of her ceremony, "I'm home. I'm home." In that moment, in that church, with those people, and pouring my heart out to God, the God that loves me as His bride, and the God that brought my friend the bride her beloved husband, I knew that my heart was home, where it belonged. And all this at a wedding!

I'll be planning my own wedding soon, and I hope, beyond hope, that at least one life is touched this way on the day my fiance and I get to share our love with the friends and family we cherish. I know we may disagree on how much worship is too much worship at a wedding, or how preachy should the preacher get. But at the end of the day, if one life can walk away filled with joy, at seeing love incarnate between two people, who have first known love incarnate through their Savior, then we'll have done our jobs. Well, I'll have done my job, because his is basically just Get Us To The Honeymoon!!

We struggle a little bit, he and I, in how to express our faith during this occasion. I come from the FBC tradition of outright evangelism, and strong public expression. C comes from a more reserved, private tradition, wherein your faith is something you share upon invitation, and with a good helping of respect for the diversity of other's beliefs. I worry about this polarization of our beliefs when it comes to the kind of service we will have. I desire a service in which two or three Protestant hymns are sung, and the unity sand is poured, and a blessing is given under a chuppah. Eclectic, yes, but faith inspired. I think C wouldn't mind the five minute "Do you? Yeah I do." version.   I know that all I really need is this man, a preacher and a dress, but I sincerely hope we'll find a way to meet in the middle on all the other little details.  No matter what we decide, however, when I think about marrying this man who balances me out so well the thought fills my heart with joy. Joy at the thought of watching him watch me walk down the aisle, giving him heart and life publicly and sealing it all with a kiss.

And joy is the one thing I want this day to be about. Yes, it's a celebration, and yes, it's about love, but joy is the manifestation of that love in our hearts, that makes them flutter, and leap and pop, for the emotional outpouring we feel of celebrating all that darned love. When I picture my wedding, I picture looking out from the dance floor, twirling and being spun around (by a quite reluctant dancing groom), and seeing every face in the house grinning. Not just smiling, but grinning. Smiling is what you do when you know the camera is near. Grinning is the look your face makes when your heart just can't hold it all in anymore, a second cousin to laughing if you will.

When I think about things that I have to figure out, like the venue, the decorations, colors (oh, so many colors to think about), the dinner, the dessert, the dancing, the wine, the favors, the kids, the parents, the EVERYTHING, the only thing I keep coming back to is this: what will bring our guests the most joy? What is going to inspire their hearts to recognize the love that this man and I have for each other, because God first loved us, and share in that love so directly that it makes their faces grin? What is going to bring all involved joy? Oh yes, I want to make C proud. And show off my personal style, and DIY abilities. And I want to make sure everyone has fun, we don't spend too much money and all six parents and multiple grandparents are satisfied. But mostly, I think of the faces of my dear friends, and I want to look around and know that they have felt the same way I felt the other day at my dear friends wedding. Joy - it's what a wedding should be about.

So, as I embark on trying to figure out how to take one quarter of the budget of the average American wedding and turn it into something special, I need to remind myself that joy is something we can all have for free. It's the feeling in your heart when you know you are home. It's the feeling in your heart when you see two people so madly in love that they can only grin at each other stupidly, and you know that you love them so much too that you can have nothing but joy for them. In the end, all I really need is this man, a preacher and a dress. But I really hope our wedding can be so much more than that both for us, and the people around us. I hope it can be an occasion of joy, to be remembered for years. Something that brings other's closer to God, more covered in the shadow of His love, and more filled with the joy that they too are loved by Him, and by us. 

In the end, that joy is all I really need.  And that's my story, and I'm stickin to it.

Friday, April 20, 2012

I'm Engaged!!!

What more needs to be said other than - he asked, I said yes!!!

Yep, as of Monday I am now officially a fiance to the best man I know. We're getting married, and I couldn't be more excited to spend the rest of my life with this amazing man. His patience, kindness, humor and love are just a few of the qualities that make me want to be his wife and little woman.

So, ring pics to come - we still have to go shopping for one. Being the intelligent man that he is, he decided I should pick it out, versus him buying something I wasn't crazy about. What he doesn't know is that I would have loved whatever he chose, but I'll love the one we choose together even more. This Saturday is the big day, and I plan on dragging him around till we find the perfect one.

Speaking of rings, I think I'm learning just what a hippie non-traditionalist I am. I am in love with a certain style, and a certain stone, and a certain precious metal and none of it is the traditional white gold or platinum set diamond that is everywhere you look. What's more, I am highly skeptical that I will find this magical ring of mystery in any of the traditional places, like Wedding Day Diamonds or Kay or even higher end Shane Co. I have, however, found it on Etsy, a few times over, and so want us to order it from there, but am afraid that the minute I say "Hey honey, let's order the ring from this online craft bazaar" he's gonna run screaming the other way at my crunchy gal ways. Although, if he hasn't figured it out by now...

So, my question to you all is this: Yes, I understand that it's okay to be a non-traditionalist when it comes to your wedding, and I understand that it's up to the couple to decide what is "right" for them. But is buying your engagement ring on Etsy taking it a step too far? Well I guess we'll find out soon, right?

But for now, that's the good news... I'm engaged.  And in love.  And happy as a lark.  And that's my story, and I'm stickin' to it.

Wednesday, March 14, 2012

The House That Built Me

I'm moving this week, from my little one bedroom apartment, into a new place with the love of my life, a full 40 miles, two bedrooms, three baths, a mudroom and a lifetime away.

I seriously hate moving, people, and when I moved into my current little one bedroom apartment I swore I wouldn't leave till either I was old and grey, or I found the man I was going to spend the rest of my life with, and we moved on together, if only because I hate moving and packing/unpacking that much. At that time, two years ago, that prospect seemed like decades away from happening, if ever, and I envisioned a long, quiet existence in this little place. Yet here I am, a month away from our one year anniversary of falling in love, and facing the inevitable task of packing up again, and moving on.

I cannot believe how much I've managed to accumulate in just two short years. As I opened up the living room closet yesterday, to start digging through bags of old clothing to give away or sell, I found things I haven't seen in so long that I forgot I even had them. So much moss has gathered while this stone has been unrolling.

Yet, the one thing I am finding hardest to part with isn't old clothing, an awesome old brown papasan (message me if you want it!), unread magazines and half used bottles of condiments - it is the identity that I've found intricately tangled up in this apartment, my own identity, and the person that I used to be here, and that being here has made me.

In a way I have Miranda Lambert to blame. Well at least, she helped me put it all together. I have been going through such a hard time leaving here, not because I have any doubts of where I'm going or that it's the right path for me, but for reasons my heart couldn't identify. Up till last night, I couldn't tell you why I was fighting leaving, crumbling at the thought of packing, or why, strangely, the truth that I was moving out and on didn't seem real or concrete.

Then last night I sat down to take a break from packing, and I hit shuffle on my Cloud Drive, and the song "The House That Built Me" came on, and I broke down into tears. I love that song, and it has always provoked an emotional response in me, but for much different reasons. The first time I heard it, I realized that growing up it was my grandma's house that shaped so much of my childhood, as my own mom and brother and I were so often transient, living in too many apartments and houses to even count over the years. We always rented, seeming to move on every few years or so, so no place left lasting memories on me as much as my grandma's house at 2028 Yosemite Drive in Eagle Rock. It was there I would spend weekends helping out at grandma's stupid yard sales, or taking naps in that little back bedroom, waiting for Fiorucci, the little black Lhasa Apso to jump with her short legs up on the bed and nap with me. It was there that my aunt would sit me out on the back porch and cut (or, gasp! perm) my hair, or that we would all gather in the breakfast nook for dinner, grandpa reciting the same old prayer, me hiding in the bathroom to get out of washing dishes. It was there that Ryan and I I would play in the backyard, collecting fallen avocados from the tree on the side of the house to eat with salt and pepper, or that eventually I would entertain Hannah and Tristan, my younger cousins. It was there that a Tommy's run was just up the street, those greasy chili burgers and fries imbedding their poison on my culinary memory so that even now I would give anything for one bite. For the better part of my childhood and life, my grandma's house was the house that built me, and the memory and emotional response that the song evoked.

But last night, as I heard it again, I realized that despite childhood memories being tied up in that song, it also reminded me that living in a certain place can build who we are as adults, and shape how we see ourselves. So much of who I've thought I am has been wrapped up in this apartment, and these four walls have cemented in me a sense of who I am, or who I have been. With the song playing in the background, drifting in on a warm spring breeze from the living room, I stood in the doorway to my bedroom and was overwhelmed with emotion. This, of all other rooms in the apartment, was one that I so thoughtfully and craftily built to evoke a sense of comfort, warmth, and in a way independence. I remember for the first time in my life, feeling like I had a bedroom that was completely my own, and represented 150% who I was, what I liked, and pleased only me. This was a room built for no one else - it was pretty, slightly country, feminine, yet cozy and quirky. A sensory memory came to me then, that it was in this room that, for the first time in my life, I came to terms with the fact that I might spend the rest of my life alone, and I was, for the first in my life, completely and wholly content and happy with the thought. It was in that bedroom, that for the first time, I could picture what my life would be like alone, and I liked it.

Two years later I am packing up that bedroom and the reality of what that means finally hit me last night. No small wonder I've been hesitant, procrastinating and choosing to lay in bed overwhelmed rather than get up and pack. In leaving this place, this apartment, that bedroom, I am coming to terms and admitting who I am now, a wholly different person than the woman that moved in here two years ago.

I am moving on. I am sharing my life now. And I am scared. I will never be alone again, and I cannot tell you if that fact thrills me or scares me. For so very, very long, even while in this sometimes surreal feeling relationship, I have always felt that I am on my own. Even on warm summer weekends that Craig would spend up here, it always felt like my place, and when he would leave, it felt like a dream that he was even here. On Monday's when I would come home to this apartment, after spending the weekend with him, it felt like everything was just a figment of my imagination, and being alone was the true reality. I always chalked up those feelings to a sense of not being able to believe I'd gotten so lucky in life. I've been pinching myself for the last year! Here I am in the most amazing relationship, with the best man I've ever known - of course it felt like a dream.

Now I wonder if it was something more. Maybe the emotional ties of my own singleness and aloneness, to this apartment, have run deeper than I could have ever imagined, and it's like while I'm here, that is part of who I am. Maybe this apartment really is the last link to the old me, the person who didn't need anyone else to go on and be happy. Maybe while I am here I will never be able to shake that overwhelming, quiet but pervading sense of being alone.

But that is not the person I am anymore.

Truly a dream has come true, and I have met the most wonderful man. I love him with all my heart, and I know that he loves me. I have never felt so loved or cared for in my life, and in every way he exemplifies to me what true love, selfless, caring, and patient, really is. It is time for me to embrace my new life with him, time to let him in, to my life, to my inner house and to all that builds me.

It is time to pack up boxes, to pack up my life, and to move on. This is no longer who I am anymore, and as hard and altering as it is to say goodbye to, it is not somewhere I want to stay. The future is bright, and sometimes that brightness frightens me a little, like it's more than I could ever hope to deserve, therefore too good to be true. But true it is, and as much as I tread lightly, I know that it is time to go down that road, say goodbye to my singleness, what I have perceived before to be my independence, and to my identity as a single woman.

I am a "we" now, and for the sake of loving him I should pack so he doesn't have to. I should pack because there is a new road, a new street, and four new walls that are awaiting me, where I will learn what it means to be part of a couple, and function together with the other's well being in mind. I have new lessons to learn, memories to make and associations to sink deep inside those new walls. He promises me that someday our "we" will become three (or even four), and then we will have even bigger walls to build and to fill, for our lives together, with our children and our family, and our friends (and maybe even a puppy).

As I listen to Miranda's song again I can only hope that in leaving behind the fallacy that I would be alone for the rest of my life, I can build a home for the man I love and maybe one day our children too, and give their memories a place to nest. That by moving on (and in) together I can build a home that will be the foundation for our own dreams and life together. The more I think about it, the more I can't wait to get going and give life to those dreams and to start making memories somewhere new! In that prospect there is such hope, and joy. I think it's about time for me to say my goodbyes to this old place, and start loading up some boxes.

And that's my story, and I'm stickin' to it.