Thrifted

You guys, I scored a vintage gem today. I've been looking for something special to help out my life for a while and I finally found it. I'll be hauling most of my stuff into storage next week, moving out of the Lydia house, and living out of a suitcase while sleeping on an air mattress at a friend's house for the next couple of months. Transitional adventure? Yes please. I like the sound of it, minus the suitcase part. I need something bigger and prettier than a suitcase to hold my clothes and picture frames for a while. I've been looking for a nice big old trunk and I finally found her today.

In't she a beaut?

Sometimes, when you're antiquing, you find things that are pretty and functional and helpful and classy.
Other times, you find things so hideous and unexplainable that you just have to try them on, take lots of low grade cell phone pictures, and blog about them just to exclaim to the world that they were once intended to be taken seriously.
Are you ready?
Ok.
I would like you all to meet the Madonna.

She seems innocent enough at first, right? Madonna always does. Don't be fooled. Look closer at the details.

  White leather with embroidery and lace, you guys. Including a zip-up front closure. There's just no excuse for that. 

This dress screams 1980's Women's Lib. It breaks every rule. Too hot to be worn before Labor Day, and too white to be worn after. It's the anti-wedding dress, because who needs a man to be able to wear a white dress if she wants to? I should also point out that the shoulder pads were still present to make this number intimidate any glass-ceiling supporter. 

It was hard to walk away from this treasure, but Madonna went right back on the rack after I had my dress-up fun. I'm sure she'll make someone very happy someday.

Regarding the slow fade-out

I am writing this blog post in order to out myself.

Last week I was riding in a car with my dear old friend Sean. He's been a good friend to me since I moved to Kansas City four and a half years ago. Sean asked about my near future plans, and I reluctantly told him about getting ready to leave Kansas City. I don't like to talk about these things because it puts the spotlight of the conversation on me, my decisions, and how the other person chooses to react to news that I am leaving their life.

Sean's response to me was, "Ok. How do you want to be celebrated before you go?"
That question made me feel like a naked person in a crowded room.

I have moved many, many times. I am good at it. I love the thrill and challenge of being in a new place.
My tried and true method of leaving one place for another is to either go so fast that I don't have time to say goodbye to many people, or perform the trusty move that I like to call the "slow fade out".

The slow fade out is when I know that a change is coming a long way in advance, and I begin to taper off on all my relationships early. The theory here is that by the time I leave, my friends won't even miss me. My exit was so silky smooth that they've already filled in the gap of me with some other friend, activity, or interest. I really like the slow fade out. No one gets sad.  I don't feel guilty for leaving.  I don't think of sweet memories of time spent together that are now over and can't be re-lived.  I just drive down the highway and cry mute tears that no one will know about and will surely bother none.

I tell you, it's not even a conscious decision, but I've been avoiding people. I've been busy. The weather is too bad to drive to meet you. Sorry, I'm out of town. I have to write a paper. I'm on the phone.  Money is kind of tight right now, so no, I'd rather not go out to dinner. I'm too tired. That's the slow fade-out. Friends stop asking, to give me space, and before they know it I'll be gone.

Sean didn't really like this plan. He told me I couldn't do it, actually.
This all comes down to something at the root of me; I hate disappointing others. At all costs I will strive to never knowingly make anyone sad or uncomfortable.  I know that my Kansas City community loves me, and I don't want to bother them by leaving.  Let's all just pretend I'm staying until I'm gone.

Hopefully there will be a part II to this blog where I can report back that I conquered the slow fade-out and chose to truly feel what I am losing in Kansas City, but I need all of you to first know that this little mischief is what I've been up to thus far. It's not too late to nip it in the bud, though. I'm not leaving for another couple of months.

And right now two of my best friends are having a birthday party, and I need to go love on them. Keep me accountable to being a good friend to you. I'm not gone yet.

#attheoffice

Heather, Marlene, me, and Aril

...having a great time at work every day

terribly wonderful

My sister and I had interesting days today.
She reported on the memorial service of a fallen police officer in Chattanooga. His wife stood up in front of news cameras and, in her mourning, said that she would trust God and not lean on her own understanding.
I watched a little trouper take 21 stitches to the forearm. It took almost an hour for the doctor to sew him up. His mom cried and his dad, knowing him better than anyone, kept making him laugh despite the pain. Kids amaze me. Parents do too.
I wish we could all live in a world where our bodies don't break and bleed...and I think it was really sweet of God to prepare such a place for us to go when we're done here. Today I remembered again how undeniable it is that He put a little bit of Himself into each one of us so that we can handle crises we were never intended to endure.
Megan and I both cried over witnessing these events today. I think that if your job doesn't move you deep in your heart, you should at least get a hobby that does. Please. The world needs you at your most passionate.

Snuggie? Or inverted bathrobe?

I will never tell.

isn't he wonderful?

A very long time ago, Tim told me he had a surprise for me.

Well. It wasn't that long ago. I'm talking January...but the Frenchman and I have covered a lot of ground in a few short months of being the token of each other's affections--and I don't just mean the space between Kansas City and Chicago--so it does feel like a very long time ago.

Anyhow, before I went on my January visit, he was talking up this surprise. He kept going on about how it was a really, really good one. Then I got to Chicago and he took me on trains, and in cabs, and up to the 96th floor of the John Hancock building, then down Michigan avenue, then ice skating in Millenium Park, then to the Vivian Maier photography exhibit, and none of those wonderful activities was the surprise he was talking about. I left to come back to Kansas City, and still he boasted of his great surprise that was yet to come.

I went back to see him last weekend, and he promised that the first afternoon I was there, I would finally get to experience whatever this big surprise was. All I knew for sure was that it was weather sensitive and I had to not be afraid of heights to be able to enjoy it. I started developing unproven theories about what it could possibly be.

As soon as I arrived in Chicago, it started snowing. We were warming our hands on mugs of hot coffee when Tim made an ever so ambiguous call to "the place" asking if our "appointment" was still on despite the snow. The people said yes, and my man smugly assured me that his great surprise was still happening despite the snow, "because by the time we're in the air, the weather will have cleared."

In the air?

"So...is it an airplane or a helicopter?",  I asked. 

I still love the look on his face when he realized he'd let that bit of information slip. And he still loves the look on my face when he told me we were going on a sunset helicopter tour of downtown Chicago.

Whose life am I living here, people?

It was wonderful. I'll let the pictures tell the story of the experience, except for two snippets that show how hilarious and genuine my sweetheart is.

We got in the car to drive to the airport (because that's where helicopters take off from, go figure), and Tim handed me his camera bag because I wanted to play with those bad boys on the ride to Midway. I opened the bag and was surprised to find that he only packed one of his Cannon 5D Mark II's. He usually takes two cameras on important shoots. 

"Just one?", I asked.

"Yeah", he replied, "if the chopper goes down, I only want to lose one camera."

"Seriously?! What about our lives, mister?"

He chuckled and said something about preserving the value of his estate.

Comforting.

And then, when the pilot was getting us settled in our seats, he asked Tim if he wanted to sit up front to take advantage of the better view for photography. The window space up there was easily three times what is was in the back. Without hesitation, Tim declined the better seat next to the pilot. He wanted to sit next to me in the back, even though it meant his view would be limited.

Speaking of his pictures, here's a few incredibles. If you want to see the whole collection, click here.

Well.

I have never been one to tell a story before its finish, and my life is currently a whirl of several different stories that are positively swollen with potential for fat happy endings, but it's too early to tell just yet.

When I was a kid, my mom refused to promise me anything except that she would never stop loving me. I begged for promises for birthday parties and puppies and vacations and new shoes, but she flat refused to tell me on certain terms that any of those things would materialize. Her word was strong as steel because she let no weak promises slip in to her language.

That was a grand tangent.

The point is, I won't tell my stories yet because they're not finished. But that strong as steel word told me tonight that I needed to update my blog with something...anything, for goodness' sake, so I will tell you things that I am sure are true.

• I have eaten oatmeal with raisins, apples, and honey for breakfast every day for the last 5 months. I love this food. I start thinking about it everyday around 7 pm. If I'm not careful, I eat it for dinner too. Gosh. I could eat some right now.
• I have been 24 years old for almost 24 hours. It feels good.
• My boyfriend is the most admirable man I have ever known, save for my father and grandfathers.
• I want to be a Child Life Specialist. I've tasted it for two months now, and I love every day that I spend at the children's hospital with those kiddos helping them understand and cope with being sick, and remember joy in the midst of their pain.
• I am going to move away from Kansas City sometime before August. If I hadn't been slowly preparing myself for this for the last year, I would wretch at the thought. I love all that this sweet little city and its beautiful people has been for me since I was 19 years old, but I have two big life dreams that can't come true here, so I will go. But I promise to come visit as much as I possibly can (except in February and August when the weather is profoundly irrational).

There they are; the things I know for sure.
Now, a funny:
On Wednesday I was at the hospital , learning more about how to do my dream job, and I met a sweet girl for the first time. We were getting acquainted, talking about various play activities and whatnot. Near the end of our conversation, I thought I would be nice and let her know that she had paint on her forehead. I figured she had broken out the finger paints for her play-group that day and one of the kids had tagged her without her knowing.
"Oooh!", she said kindly, "that's not paint. It's ashes."
I wanted to crawl in a hole and die. It was Ash Wednesday, people.  What kind of a Christian am I?

That's all for tonight, buddies. Except for one thing, doesn't my Mimi look positively regal in her birthday picture?

I mean, she could be the queen of England.
The other night over the phone, Opa (that handsome gent pictured above) told me he remembered the first time he ever told a girl he loved her. I asked him how that turned out, and he said: "Oh...you know...well, she's sitting right in front of me."

Sleep tight, my readers.