The Concert

I went to the We The Kings concert for Halloween. I could barely move. The crowd had me trapped to the point my nose rubbed boobs and my hand brushed bums. You may brutally judge me, but I will full-heartedly admit that I loved every moment of the concert. I loved the way my ears were ringing. I loved the awkward moments with the boy on my right. And all the sudden I was 19 again and I was going to all the concerts again, being a “wanna-be” punk, and thinking I was really cool. And I was thinking about “that boy” again – the one with the white stripe in his hair.He was the ultimate “punk.” I imagined our studded-bracelet-and-dyed-black-hair-lives would mesh into the so-called wild lifestyle that would keep me close enough to the edge but still within the terms of righteousness – ya know, exactly how romance goes! I had this temporary stage of what I considered rebellion. I was a punk, and a brat (I can definitely still be a brat), and I used a lot of four-letter words. Thus, I was the ultimate rebel! ;) Anyhow…

I know Halloween has passed. Mostly, I wanted to share my poem.

White Stripes

There I was again in my pink tights

My tattoo along the curve of my neck

They inked “bad girl” on my skin

The sweat was neither sweet nor salty

The crowd smelled of painted faces

We shook our fists into the spotted lights

An orange haired boy held the mike tightly

He sang to the jumping reckless fans

And the air shifted with the rising emotion

As I glanced at my friend my eyes blurred

Random elbows clipped my nose ring

The sting brought pleasant laughter

And I laughed while the orange haired boy sang

I wanted to know that boy

He tugged at my lagging control

He left me completely vulnerable

I like your hair

Colored it to mine

We can know this song

The rocking bodies are asking your name

They pass around the lyrics in matchless tones

That boy is writing a note in my mind

I am wandering back to where you sat

I am remembering the next scene

I am listening as you open the door

I am reading your handwritten stories

I am saying this was exactly right

I am guessing your next hidden look

I am lingering under the streetlight

And as always I am holding out for you

Milk Chocolate Goodness

My Dove wrapper said,

"You can't live a positive life with a negative mind."

Well...I can truly live a positive life, if my life is filled with chocolate!

I AM PREGNANT!!

I am pregnant!! Well…at least in my dream last night.

It was the perfect dream. I entered the hospital with my rounded belly and a blue gown. Nurses fed me ice chips and asked me how I was feeling. Nothing was overly dramatic. My face seemed a little sweaty, and I don’t remember much pain. But I do remember the beautiful dimpled baby in my arms. More so, I remember an attractive boy holding my hand. He was charming.

Then I woke up. I ached for that baby, and I prayed terribly long that somehow I could remember that attractive boys face. Alas…neither exist…no boy and no baby.

I blame the sad dream on my cousin Katie. I spent last night in her magnificent home. Honestly, her home is absolutely fabulous! She and her husband just bought a large home that sits on a hill and overlooks a lake. She also has a six-month-old bundle of joy. He is a doll and I could tickle his tummy for hours because those precious blue eyes and dimples are adorable! Curse Katie and her wonderful little family ha! ;) Katie is my age too. Sometimes I wonder how it would be – my life has been so different from hers. I wouldn’t take back a moment of what I have, especially my mission. But in that dream I longed for that little piece of heaven. That little piece of heaven I yearn for so deeply now that it may eat a hole into my chest. Katie’s little man had me smiling all night. Her house had me in awe. I loved watching her make dinner, and her husband walk through the door. I am content in my life. But I want joy. My life is not unhappy by any means. I find myself reading and writing like crazy. I plan on learning Hebrew in the spring. My days are filled with happy moments. I love my job and my independence is absolutely gratifying. If someone asked me in this very moment how I feel, I would reply confidently, “I feel wonderful!” And it’s true. Yet, there is that maternal instinct in my soul that is screaming for release. The inner me seems to be begging for something more. I want babies! And I can’t deny or argue that I would push aside my books, my painting, my writing, my Hebrew, and even my sleep to have a dimpled, giggling, curly-haired miniature me in my arms.

I have two dates this weekend. Maybe one of those will lead to two more. And maybe someday I will get married. As far as I understand it takes a boy to give me a baby. ;)

Bring me a boy! I need a baby!

Abuela

My grandma is 76 years old. I think she’s beautiful. I like her curly grey hair and wrinkled smile. It doesn’t take much to make her laugh.

I spent the evening with her at the nursing home. About three weeks ago she fell and broke her leg. They had to place a rod in her leg. She is now in recovery. She is expected to be here for the next two months. And no, that has not been easy on my grandpa. I imagine it was a small blessing that I decided to live with them only a couple of days before my grandma’s accident.

I wheeled her down to the dining room for dinner. The carpet here is a musty brown. I watched my feet and traced my steps as I held the handles to her chair. The walls are cream. I passed a couple of wandering looks and faces from random rooms that line the hall. All the faces are so pale, but the majority wrinkled their noses and curved their mouths enough to give me a small grin. One woman stared right at me, and blurted, “Wow! You’re so tiny! You’re just petite now, aren’t you – and pretty too?” She glanced at me again and then just walked away. I barely remarked a “thank you!”

Grandma ate a type of enchilada casserole. A small pot of fake red flowers sat on the white tablecloth. A round stool and one chair were at the table. The walls were cream here too and the floor linoleum, practically the same musty brown as the carpet. The floor in grandma’s room is also linoleum.

Her meal was interrupted as she told me stories of her childhood and thanksgiving. I listened as she spoke of the sweet smells of food and family. Never had I listened so intently to my grandma. My mind swarmed a little with all the “should have’s” and “ I wishes” because I realized in that moment how I wanted to know grandma more – and how I want to have the same moment with one of my grandchildren. I felt as though I had entered an LDS commercial and someone was repeating, “Family. Isn’t it about time?” Sure, I was experiencing the utmost regret in mocking most of those commercials – and the fact that I always reject any such sentiment– but I seemed to be overwhelmed with the brutal reality of what “is.”

And what “is” is grandma sitting in a wheelchair with a rod in her leg. What “is” is someone having to help her go to the bathroom. What “is” is the noisy oxygen machine and the nose bleed it gave grandma. What “is” is the ugly floor and vacant feeling in the room. What “is” is that grandma is stuck here and I am not.

Family photos of a younger smiling grandma hang on the cream walls. Red and yellow roses sit in paper cups and glass vases. There is a little nightstand and clock from home. Grandchildren have colored with crayons on coloring book pictures and cut out paper fish or bumblebees. I scan every little

piece of what grandma sees each day. And then I look at grandma. She looks lovely in her pink shirt with her hair curled.

We take a picture together. Grandma wants to take off her glasses and look better for the picture. I tell her she looks wonderful. She laughs. And we chat a little while longer.

Hiding Places

I wrote a poem :)

Hiding Places

I wish I could put all the parts of you

In my hiding places where no one knows

And then I would see you when I needed you

Because I could simply climb there

You see I keep all my secrets up above

It is easiest to find and easiest to keep

There is only one way to get there

So you would stay in the same spot

We could sit and talk for hours most likely

I would probably laugh at your jokes

You would tell me how cute I am

We could play like we really love each other

We could kiss and hold hands and whisper

I would let you tell me everything you want

You would listen to everything I say

And our lives could fit in that place up above

It is what we talk about all the time

We have dreams

Let’s find them together and forget the others

Let’s let go of what keeps taking our thoughts

We don’t want to lose our hearts in fear

We can’t see anything without the truth

I could wash your clothes and mend your hurts

You could comb my hair and fix my brokens

We would erase all the loneliness down here

We would be the happy that swings at the park

And our hands would always come back together

Our smiles would be for each other

Our eyes would only know what we see

I want all the parts of you

And you want all of me

Let’s go to this place

Let’s just go there

I will find you

You find me

I love you

Daily Happiness

Look at this happy face! Ha! I bought striped thermals and settled into a life in American Fork, Utah.

They call me Ms. Walker now. When did I grow up?! I didn't. I am still mistaken for one of the students; but, working at a charter school is delightful. I have already dealt with a sprained wrist, handed out multiple bandaids, wiped away some tears - and dirty noses!, and decided I am going to stay. They make me laugh. I call Brandon "chico." He smiles every time. Brayden talks more than I have time to work. Danni and Chelsea are my Japanese twins. They give me paperclip flowers. I may follow them all to Spain in June. Waking up at six is a lot easier these days.

I am happy.

NILLA

Nilla sits nicely in my garage. I am not sure why, but not once have I parked my car in the garage. So it is a running joke that my bike is more important than my car. The funny thing is - it's not a joke! I adore that bike. I am not quite sure how to fully express the joy I find in riding Nilla. One Saturday I had what I claim to be the "perfect day." I went running in the morning, went shopping and bought a flirty shirt, attended the Temple, rode Nilla for an hour or so, rented a redbox, and finished the night by watching "Leap Year" and painting. The day was absolutely delightful. The highlight was riding Nilla. I had an entire hour to reflect on everything I had just experienced in the Temple. And the moment was just peaceful. I may sound dramatic - and rightly so - but moments like those are necessary to remember why I am happy. Sometimes I forget. It is nice to know that something so simple can remind me.

Red Nails and Ponytails

I like red nails and ponytails. That's my favorite fashion mode of late. The weather is finally warming up and it seems rather fitting to pull up my hair, throw on some sandals, and paint my nails as bright as possible. I think I exaggerate my love for winter, because when summer finally rolls around, I am positive there is no better way to spend my day than riding Nilla around in the sun.