January 31, 2006
MoJo Forever
Today my friend Melissa turns 30.
We met in 1998, at the tender age of 22, when I worked for the Ohio House of Representatives with a girl who'd gone to Ohio U. Sally and I became quick friends, and she was constantly telling me how much I reminded her of one of her sorority sisters and best friends from school. "You remind me so much of Melissa!" she'd say, almost daily. A few months into the new job, I invited my coworkers to a holiday party my then-roommate and I were hosting. It was mostly Miami kids (so you know those Ohio U alumni felt inadequate already), and Sally brought a date, along with Melissa and her then-boyfriend. Needless to say, it wasn't friendship at first sight! I think we were both skeptical of the other, after hearing about one another for so long. I did notice that we had similar looks, but I was instantly jealous because I thought Melissa was much prettier. (And thinner, for sure.) Later she told me that she thought I was kind of bitchy that night, and when I pointed out that I was busy being the hostess she came back with, "Well, not with the mostess!"
A few weeks after Christmas, Sally invited us to go out again, to meet this new guy she was dating, and the four of us went to BW3s for wings and beer. For Melissa and I, it was like a first date - we laughed and whispered and got to know each other for hours, and when we walked out of the bar that night, singing Grease 2 songs, I knew we would be friends for life. For one, I dared her to dance down the sidewalk singing "Cool Rider," and she did it, and for two, I had never met anyone like her.
Much of our friendship has already been chronicled in this journal, which is a good thing, because at this point it would be simply impossible for me to put into words what she means to me or to recount the millions of memories we share. She has stood next to me, behind me and she has led me through the ups and downs of my post-college 20s. She has held my hand through heartbreaks, she has cheered my successes and she watched me drive away from Ohio. And as I left the safety of that place, that city where I met my best friend and began learning what it meant to be an adult, I knew that losing her friendship was something I didn't need to fear.
A few months after I came to Atlanta, she moved back home to Cincinnati, and we now only see each other once or twice a year, usually when we go to Florida together. But when we are together it's as if time and distance don't exist. It's like we're still roommates, living on Kossuth Street, watching old New Kids videos and debating the artistic stylings of Justin Timberlake and Jordan Knight. It's an amazing thing to share a home with the person who knows you better than anyone, and loves you still. It's the closest thing to marriage I know. It may seem weird, but I will be lucky to one day marry a man who makes me laugh as easily and is as good a friend to me as Melissa.
She called last night and said, "You're the last person I'm going to talk to in my 20s." And then she told me to have a good day today, "the best day of the year." It is the best day, Mo. Happy 30th birthday - I'm so glad you had to go first. I love you!
Posted by hannah at 09:50 AM | Comments (0)
January 29, 2006
Mother India
"Mother India" - Caedmon's Call, Share the Well
Father God, You have shed Your tears for Mother India
They have fallen to water ancient seeds
That will grow into hands to touch the untouchable
How blessed are the poor, the sick, the weak
Father, forgive me, for I have not believed
Like Mother India, I have groaned and grieved
Father, forgive me, I forgot Your grace
Your Spirit falls on India and captures me in Your embrace
The serpent spoke and the world believed its venom
Now we're ten to a room or compared with magazines
There's a land where our shackles turn to diamonds
Where we trade in our rags for a royal crown
In that place, our oppressors hold no power
And the doors of the King are thrown wide
Longtime readers may remember that my first cousin Matt and his wife Lynn adopted two children from India in 2000. Sam and Sophia came into our lives and turned them upside down. They are six now, and they are bright, loving, creative children. Sophia loves kitties and art and Sam is both fascinated by and scared to death of sharks. Like most six year olds, they ask a lot of "why" questions and they want to sit on your lap and tell you stories and whisper secrets in your ear.
That day that their parents were winging across the world to get them, I wrote:
I don't like being the Thomas of my family. The one who just can't let herself believe. Especially when the others let go so easily. They don't think about it. It's plain.
And their faith is being manifested today. Today when Matt and Lynn walk into that poor New Dehli orphanage, crowded with baby girls and sick little boys, and lift two of India's own out of her despair.
Sam and Sophia are now so utterly American. It's hard to imagine they were born in poverty, abandoned in a crowded, city hospital before they were even hours old. Do they feel a soul connection to their Mother India? Do they ever wake with the smell of New Dehli seeping over from their dreams?
They now have a younger brother, Abo, whom Matt and Lynn adopted in 2003, and their family is about to get even bigger as they are currently undergoing adoption procedures for a fourth Indian child.
Today's message at church was about the short-term mission trips that North Point Ministries has planned for 2006. There are more than 30 of them, to places as far off as Southeast Asia and as close as Mississippi. It's been five years since I first let the thought of going on a mission creep in.
In January 2001 I wrote:
A family friend is going on a mission trip to Romania in June. He'll be leading a group of Baptist College students as they volunteer in an orphanage. My god, this is what I want to do. But then all the doubts swim into my head: money, my career, rent, bills, everything waiting for me in Ohio. All the adult responsibilities I have now. I can't just cast it all aside and go move to a depressed nation.
But India calls.
And everyday her voice rings louder in my ear.
And I'm at a loss as to where to look.
So I wait for a door to open. A window to crack.
And all I ask is that when He closes it behind me, He slams it shut.
My life in 2006 is so different from the one that 2001 girl led. I have more reponsibilities, more connections, yet even more bills. But still, India calls. When I look into Sophia's eyes I wonder at the mysterious life that may have been hers to lead, had it not been for Providence and I know that there are 1,000s of Sophias still cradled by their motherland. Do they know that God loves them? Do they know they have a Savior? Do they know how special they are?
On Sunday mornings I volunteer in the "daycare" portion of church, in the Ones room. So the kids in there are all post-toddling but pre-two years old. They can mostly talk and they are starting to remember me from week to week. The only real lesson plan for the babies to four-year-old environment is to teach them that God loves them and that Jesus wants to be their friend forever. So for an hour every Sunday I play with a bunch of one year olds and their laughter and cuddles make the rest of my week tolerable. These children have every creature comfort they could ever want, but beyond that they have parents who love them enough to teach them that they are loved by God, just because of who they are. But what of those Indian orphans? Who is there to rock them? To save them?
I don't know when and I don't know how or why or where, but I know that Mother India waits for me. I just have to be ready when finally her call becomes a command.
Posted by hannah at 05:16 PM | Comments (2)
January 28, 2006
Mornin'
I'm getting ready to to go to the gym, but thought I would take a minute to check my e-mail. Montego is tied up out front and she's already had an exciting morning - my neighbor Howard, who walks the length of our deadend street each a.m., stopped to play with her; and another neighbor, Connie, walked by with her two little Yorkies - Brother and Little Brother. One of those brothers is mean.
Sarah gets married three weeks from today. 21 days. My bridesmaid dress doesn't fit. That's right people. (I blame the girls up top.) Which means that the next 21 days will find me in LA Fitness and little place else.
Wish me luck.
Posted by hannah at 09:52 AM | Comments (2)
January 27, 2006
Wonderful
(Because I can't do anything original)
On my iPod:
"Life Is Wonderful" - Jason Mraz
It takes a crane to build a crane
It takes two floors to make a story
It takes an egg to make a hen
It takes a hen to make an egg
There is no end to what I'm saying
It takes a thought to make a word
And it takes a word to make an action
It takes some work to make it work
It takes some good to make it hurt
It takes some bad for satisfaction
La la la la la la la life is wonderful
Ah la la la la la la life is full circle
Ah la la la la la la life is wonderful
Al la la la la
It takes a night to make it dawn
And it takes a day to you yawn brother
It takes some old to make you young
It takes some cold to know the sun
It takes the one to have the other
It takes no time to fall in love
But it takes you years to know what love is
It takes some fears to make you trust
It takes those tears to make it rust
It takes some dust to make it polished
Ha la la la la la la life is wonderful
Ah la la la la la la life is full circle
Ah la la la la la la life is so full of
Ah la la la la la la life is so rough
Ah la la la la la la life is wonderful
Ah la la la la la la life is full circle
Ah la la la la la la life is our love
Ah la la la la la
It takes some silence to make sound
It takes a loss before you found it
It takes a road to go nowhere
It takes a toll to make you care
It takes a hole to make a mountain
Ah la la la la la la life is wonderful
Ah la la la la la la life is full circle
Ah la la la la la la life is wonderful
Ah la la la la la la love is meaningful
Ah la la la la la la life is wonderful
---
It's funny how quickly things can change. 2006 is, from now on out, Whine Free. Feel it, people.
Posted by hannah at 03:59 PM | Comments (0)
January 25, 2006
Roller Coaster
It will come as no surprise to regular readers that 2005 was a tough for year for me. A lot of new stresses (mortgage-related, mostly, but relationship-related as well, for sure) were added to my life and I haven't dealt with everything probably as well as I should have. I have a tendency to hide out and pull away (it's the Cancer way), and yes, lash out. I don't like to think that I spent a great deal of the past year sad or unhappy, but when I look back at it, I guess I did.
The guy I recently stopped seeing said to me the other day that it kills him that when I look back on our relationship it's not with fondness, because he has all these great memories of our time together. Memories he will cherish forever. The weekend after we decided to definitely move from friends to more, he drove me up to Rome, Ga. and showed me around his alma mater and we hung out with some of his friends. Traffic was at a dead stop on I-75 and it took us four hours to make the typically 90-minute drive. But we talked nonstop as we sat there on the interstate, surrounded by cars full of families and college kids who were on their way back to the Midwest after Spring Break in Florida. We finally made it to an exit and took back roads, and stopped for directions at a crazy country gas station that sold hot wings and Rebel Flag paraphernalia, like scrunchies. It was an amazing weekend where we realized we could really fall for each other (and did), but that was also the weekend I met the girl he is currently dating (and, ahem, her then-husband), so no, I don't look back at the weekend with any great fondness.
It seems like most of last year is like that - bright rays of sunlight surrounded by clouds. I got to do fun things: I went to Savannah twice (once with him, so scratch that from the happy memory list) and Florida three times. I spent a weekend in Texas with my dad and brother. I went to Puerto Rico and hosted Thanksgiving at my house (two weeks after I was spectacularly dumped and my heart was broken the entire time). I made a responsible choice by investing in my financial future (I hope) and I ran a half-marathon in Nashville. But I was also sad a lot. When Melissa and I got back from Florida, and I was alone in my house after spending an entire week with her, I felt gutted. She is one of the people in the world who loves me down to my soul, and it took a few days to shake the emptiness I felt in her absence. I remember just standing there alone in my living room, Montego still with the dog-sitter, and thinking, "Well, what now?"
I want this year to be different. I want to wake every morning and do things that will make the world better, not just my life better. I want to fall asleep each night knowing I acted as honorably and as kindly as I could have. I don't want to spend even one more minute feeling sorry for myself and bemoaning my current state. But maybe that's unrealistic. Maybe life this is how life is. It's meant to go up and down and up and down and you just figure out how to ride out the downturns, knowing that at any moment, the rollercoaster is going to start climbing again. And then all you can do is hang on.
Posted by hannah at 01:01 PM | Comments (0)
January 24, 2006
Year
If I can make it through this first year of homeownership without
a. robbing a bank
b. stabbing someone
it will be a dang miracle.
Posted by hannah at 01:48 PM | Comments (4)
Friendster
Once a month my friends Catherine, Kim, Mary Lee and I meet for sushi at our favorite little place in Virginia-Highlands. It started out as "Sushi Tuesdays," but that had to shift a bit due to schedules and the fact that Mary Lee now has tap class every Tuesday night. Yes, tap class.
Kim and I went to Miami together, and Catherine and Mary Lee went to college together, and the three of them used to work together. (Which is how I met them to begin with.) Two of us are single and two of us are married, which means we always have plenty to talk about. More often than not our conversations revolve around college and earrings and husbands and boys, as most girltalk will, but because we're women we can say things without saying them.
I look forward to our sushi meet-ups for more than the soy or the Super Crunch - I look forward to them because they help keep me sane. When you have touchstones, a place to come back to when your life feels distant and whirling, it makes all the hard stuff survivable. When you have friends who love you, unconditionally, simply because of who you are, it's freeing. I would like to think that I am that kind of friend - the kind who gives because it's what is commanded of me, not because of what is returned.
The older I get, the more I learn about who Jesus really was, the more I feel a greater urge to return the kind of friendship that has been so lavished on me my entire life. It's easy loving people who listen to you, care about you and want the best for you. It's harder to love people who want to tear you down or see you fail or use you for their own pleasure or success. So I try to look past the crazy or the mean or the wicked actions to see what role I played in all of that; to fix cracks I may have caused; to love, as Jesus so simply put it, my enemies. Not because I want to keep them close in order to trip them up or turn the tables or make them "pay." But because it is what was asked of me. Because I have been given to so freely and given so much. Because being a friend to my enemies honors the people who have befriended me, and of course, it honors Him. There's no better, no other, reason than that.
Posted by hannah at 12:16 PM | Comments (0)
January 23, 2006
Searching
When I was in Texas last weekend I read the book "Searching for God Knows What," by Donald Miller. I found it insightful and engaging, and if I could, I would quote the entire book right here, that's how much I agreed with all of it.
The gist of his book was that religion has become forumlaic, and instead of building a relationship with our Creator (which was His intention from the get-go), we cling to steps and programs and formulas to fill us up, or to prove that we're good people. When all we really need to do is, as Third Day says, "cry to Jesus."
Miller posits the "lifeboat theory", which is that everything we do in life is a way to jockey a better position in the lifeboat - proving that we're worthy of surviving, of not getting tossed out. It's why we play sports, why we have beauty pagents, why there is racism and classism and sexism. Because of the Fall, because Adam and Eve had to leave the garden, we've been separated from God, and we're looking for validation in the only ways we know how. We're missing the Light and we're dying.
Page 110:
"What we really need is somebody who loves us so much we don't worry about death, about our hair thinning, about other drivers pulling in front of us on the road, about whether people are poor or rich, good-looking or ugly, about whether we feel lonely or about whether or not we are wearing clothes. We need this; we need this so we can love other people purely and not for selfish gain, we need this so we can see everybody as equals, we need this so our relationships can be sincere, we need this so we can stop kicking ourselves around, we need this so we can lose all self-awareness and find ourselves for the first time, not by realizing some dream, but by being told who we are by the only Being who has the authority to know, by that I mean the Creator."
God's favor is free, and it comes unearned, and all we have to do is recognize it. It's powerful and it's something I try and remember, not only on a daily basis, but on a moment by moment basis. I am valuable because of who I am in light of who HE is.
Why would I worry?
Posted by hannah at 08:41 PM | Comments (0)
January 19, 2006
Blood
Jo & Lige Hall - 1980 or '81.
My grandmother was barely 16 years old when she married my grandfather, he was only a few short months past 21, and within the next ten years they had five children; thirteen years after that they'd added another two, my mother among them.
Because I came along, their final grandchild, a whole generation (29 years) after their first, most of the stories of their life were already legend. By that time they'd retired (as much as lifelong farmers can retire), from daily farm life and they'd been in town for more than 25 years. I was a modern girl, living a suburban American life almost 1,000 miles away, and I think in a lot of ways we didn't understand each other - these small town rural grandparents of mine; this spoiled, attention-centered granddaughter of theirs. Going to visit them was like visiting another planet - cookies in the cookie jar; porch swings; backyard gardens; alleys and basements full of treasure; box fans instead of air conditioning. My father rolled his eyes at their penny-pinching, and I couldn't understand it either. How much is a light bulb anyway? But as I've stood on my own two feet (with enormous help from the boon of their bone-crunching work, of course), I understand it all too well. When you come from dirt, you learn quickly that dirt is the only thing that lasts.
My PaPa was never prouder of anything than he was of his family - his family was everything to him. Their name, their reputation, his legacy. Feb. 20 will mark the sixth anniversary of his death, but there is never a gathering or a moment when his name isn't on someone's tongue. He hangs among us, a giant of a memory, everyone's recollections different. After this year's Christmas Eve, my cousin Ron (aka "Big Ron"), who at 47 is already a grandfather himself, hung around late - talking to me, my mother, Colleen and Aunt Jane. He told us story after story of PaPa working with him on the Hall farm. How, when the rain was coming and they were bailing hay, my grandfather had no time for laughter or jokes. (I guess that's what they mean when they say hurry up and make hay.) Ron laughed and said that you didn't mess around when you were working with PaPa, not unless you wanting a verbal lashing or a head thump. I can't imagine PaPa as a strict boss - when he was with me, he was gentle, patient - getting me lollipops from the bank or teaching me how to keep "the books." He would sit on their front porch every morning and afternoon and read, waving at neighbors as they walked by. He would tolerate my singing as I pushed myself on the porch swing, and he never even yelled at me that time I took every rubber band out of his desk and wrapped them around the porch newel post. (Of course, there was that one time he asked me repeatedly to stop playing on the organ, and I ignored him, only to be yanked off the bench by my ponytail.)
Time is running away from me, and I can't slow it down. I can't go back to that porch swing and see my PaPa sitting across from me, his tractor company hat on his head, newspaper stretched out in front of him. I can't go back to the hot, sticky nights of sleeping in the spare bedroom in their 1800s house, a box fan running over my head, knowing at some point he was going to come in the room and turn it off - who needs a fan when they're asleep?
My grandparents lives were more different than mine than I can possibly list out or articulate. But their blood is in my heart and I can't imagine it any different.
Posted by hannah at 12:53 PM | Comments (0)
January 14, 2006
Good Morning, Texas
Sitting at the island in my dad and Ginger's kitchen. One of their many televisions is tuned to CNN the anchors reporting live from Atlanta. Everyone is getting ready to go downtown to the Houston Marathon Expo.
This morning Mary Lee and I woke up and went to Meyer Park and ran three easy miles. When I was little, Meyer Park was where all the kids played soccer and where my mom would walk almost every day. Running around the curved paths, with my friend at my side, we passed several solo walkers. I thought about my mother, going there daily, part of her routine, walking alone. I thought about her, alone, raising a teenage daughter, her future laid out in front of her, unchanging.
In September she and David celebrated their 9th anniversary, so she has now been remarried longer than she was single, which is hard to believe. Those years seemed sad and long for me; I can't imagine how they must have stretched out for her.
Being here in my childhood home (though not in my childhood house), is always a strange experience. The stores and buildings are different, but the streets and places are the same. Houses look older; schools look smaller, but it's the same place it's always been. It's me that is different.
Posted by hannah at 11:47 AM | Comments (4)
January 12, 2006
Wayne
From the Columbus Dispatch:
"ELLETT C. Wayne Ellett, 89, of Worthington, Friday, January 6, 2006 at home after an extended illness. He was born to Clayton D. and Ida (Phillips) Ellett in Northfield, Oh. He received a BA from Kent State and MSc and Ph.D. from The Ohio State University where he taught Botany, Plant Pathology and Mycology. Trustees named the plant and diagnostic clinic as the C. Wayne Ellett Plant and Pest Diagnostic Clinic to reflect his contributions to the university and his expertise in plant disease diagnosis, and his establishment of the plants disease clinic. He was a consultant with the National Science Foundation in Washington, D.C. and with the Institute of Biology in India, for two summers each. He retired as Professor Emeritus in 1981. Wayne was a member and elder of Overbrook Presbyterian Church.
He enjoyed photography - especially of mushrooms and tree flowers, hiking in state parks, stamp collecting, birding and working in his yard. He served in the Pacific while in the United States Navy during WW II. He is predeceased by his parents and his brother Dwight P. Ellett of Hudson, Oh. His survivors include his brother, Clarence A. (Betty) Ellett of Norwalk, Oh.; his wife of 51 years, Mary Hall Ellett; daughter, Rebecca Sloan of Oak Ridge, N.C.; grandsons, Marshall Brandt McCorkle of Baltimore, Md., Christopher (Bekah) Sloan and great-granddaughters, Kaylee and Briana Sloan, all of Sumpter, S.C.; and his mother-in-law, Josephine M. Hall of Washington C.H., Oh. He leaves many beloved nieces and nephews."
This niece is one of them. Thank you for books; for helping me understand nature; for always having drawing paper and markers; for showing me how to feed a squirrel out of the palm of my hand; for never forgetting my birthday; for loving your wife's crazy family; for loving your wife. For 29 years of being my Uncle Wayne.
Posted by hannah at 02:39 PM | Comments (4)
January 10, 2006
Well With My Soul
For Christmas my cousin Colleen gave me Selah’s “Greatest Hymns” CD. I love old hymns, almost as much as I love modern worship, and when they are combined, I am in heaven. (So to speak.) On Boxing Day my mother and I made the short trip over to Dayton to go shopping and we listened to the disc on the drive. I discovered that my favorite hymn, “How Great Thou Art,” is also MeMe’s favorite, (which I realize isn’t that uncanny considering it is one of the most popular and well-loved hymns of all time). The final hymn on the CD is “It Is Well With My Soul,” and my mom told me the story of the author – how he lost his four daughters to the sea when their passage from America to England sank in the Atlantic. When he made the trip a few weeks later to meet up with their mother, who had sent a telegram stating simply “SAVED ALONE,” he wrote this hymn as the ship passed over the spot where his daughters died.
When peace, like a river, attendeth my way,
When sorrows like sea billows roll;
Whatever my lot, Thou has taught me to say,
It is well, it is well, with my soul.
It’s a powerful message on its own, but to realize this simple man was submissive enough, humble enough, godly enough, to say that even in such a tragedy, it is well with his soul – it makes my petty resistance to God, to His perfect plan for me, seem bratty and contemptuous. Its lyrics have stayed with me the past few weeks, never far from my tongue, or my heart.
Though Satan should buffet, though trials should come,
Let this blessed assurance control,
That Christ has regarded my helpless estate,
And hath shed His own blood for my soul.
It is well, with my soul,
It is well, with my soul,
It is well, it is well, with my soul.
On Sunday – my first service back since Dec. 18 – the message was about the oft quoted Romans 8:28. “And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.”
The message was a short one to help us frame this new year of 2006 – to prepare for the unexpected bumps in the road every new year holds - knowing that God is in control and that because He loves us (despite our inability to love him as much in return), everything will ultimately work out. (I think the hated cliché “Everything happens for a reason!” could trace its roots back to this verse.)
Paul, who authored Romans, didn’t mean that because we are Christians only good things would happen to us. Or even that we DESERVE to only have good things happen to us – I think he meant simply that God’s plan is bigger than we can ever see and that because His plan is perfect, because His directs our paths, that all things will eventually work toward the good. (Even if it’s not a personal good.)
Jeff, who taught on Sunday, went back to Acts, to the story of the Stephen, as an example. On its face the stoning of Stephen was a terrible act and one that served to scatter the newborn Christian movement. A passive observer of that stoning, Saul, went on to become one of the movement’s greatest persecutors and haters. If you continue reading the book of Acts you will learn that Jesus visited Saul, whose heart was changed as well as his name – to Paul.
My sin, oh, the bliss of this glorious thought!
My sin, not in part but the whole,
Is nailed to the cross, and I bear it no more,
Praise the Lord, praise the Lord, O my soul!
It is well, with my soul,
It is well, with my soul,
It is well, it is well, with my soul.
At the end of the service, a man came out and sang “It Is Well With My Soul” a cappella. I couldn’t believe it. It was one of those moments where, if you do not stand up and take notice, it is only your own blindness contributing to your despair.
I’m not a theologian. There is much that I do not understand. But it is a comfort knowing that my instinct of everything happening for a reason – of seeing how the puzzles fit together with 20/20 hindsight – is such because God will never disappoint me. At almost 30 my life is nothing like I imagined it would be. Nothing. But I know that I have been led here, and I know that as long as I keep choosing to believe (because faith is a choice), He will never let me down.
And Lord, haste the day when my faith shall be sight,
The clouds be rolled back as a scroll;
The trump shall resound, and the Lord shall descend,
Even so, it is well with my soul.
Posted by hannah at 10:38 AM | Comments (3)
January 05, 2006
Sleepy
2006 is kicking off on a fairly quick clip. Today and tomorrow the association I work for is having its midyear meeting, so I'm out of the office at the host hotel for two full days, doing a lot of the hurry up and wait. I love these meetings though - we always make a lot of good memories and it's nice to be with the members, putting faces to e-mail addresses and phone voices.
Normally this meeting falls on the second week of January, so it was a bit of a rush getting everything together after the holiday and short work weeks. It works out though, since next weekend my friend Mary Lee and I are going to Texas, ostensibly to run the Houston Half Marathon. However, since our training has been spotty at best, we'll see if we actually do that. It may just end up being a relaxing three-day weekend at my dad's! I'm looking forward to it, but I always sort of imagined that when I took someone back to Spring and showed them around, that person would be a boyfriend or a husband, not a friend. Still, I think she'll get a kick out of seeing good ole Klein High etc. (Or maybe not. That kind of stuff may only be interesting to the person it relates to.)
I will be out of town at least one weekend a month through July, which is crazy. I have the Houston trip, Sarah's wedding, Vegas, my sister-in-law's baby shower and then in June, the association's annual meeting.
And then... then I turn 30. Everyone hold on tight.
Posted by hannah at 09:13 PM | Comments (4)
January 04, 2006
Gifted
Look what I bought! I don't know what I ever did without it. If anyone has any Podcast recommendations, let me know.
I love it already.
Posted by hannah at 03:35 PM | Comments (2)
January 03, 2006
Dogs
A dog is the only thing on earth that loves you more than he loves himself. -Josh Billings
Montego drove up with me to Ohio last week, all strapped up in her harness (and not super happy about it). She is a pretty good traveling companion. When you're on the road, stopped at a McDonald's or a gas station, and you unload a fluffy black little dog, you get a lot of "Honey, look!" and smiles from other dog owners.
Lately I've started to notice that she is moving slower and she naps a lot more than she used to. Most nights, when it's time to go to sleep, she takes her time before jumping up on the bed (sometimes she takes so long that I know she's waiting for me to help her), and I wonder if doggy stairs are in our not-so-distant future.
We give dogs time we can spare, space we can spare and love we can spare. And in return, dogs give us their all. It's the best deal man has ever made.
-M. Acklam
It makes me feel old that this buddy of mine is getting so old herself. This spring, she will turn 8, which puts me 8 years out of college, 8 years beyond the 22-year-old girl who nonchalantly went to pick any old puppy out at the pound.
When J0shua and I were dating, I made the trip up I-85 from my house to his more often than I probably should have, every time with Montego in the backseat. I can't tell you how many times I almost hopped into the HOV lane, forgetting that while I had a companion in the car, it wasn't another human being.
Dogs are not our whole life, but they make our lives whole. -Roger Caras
I can't say it enough; she is my favorite.
Posted by hannah at 01:59 PM | Comments (3)
