Category: love

beginnings, endings

“What we call the beginning is often the end. And to make an end is to make a beginning. The end is where we start from.”
— T.S. Eliot

Normally at the end of the year, I reflect on the previous 12 months and try to recognize all the wonderful things that happened. I like to think about the vacations taken and the new, beautiful places I got to see. I like going through my photos and seeing normal, every day adventures. I like replaying holidays and hikes and birthdays. Then I like thinking about what I accomplished at work and and my favorite stories, and after all that, I usually like to make new goals and plan on doing things I’ve never done before.

Well, we all know the end of the last year was really different for me and I didn’t really reflect on the the things I normally do. The last couple weeks of December were all about simply making it through those tough days. Sure, there was a lot of reflection, but sometimes I was reflecting over my whole life, not just the last 12 months, and thinking of new goals wasn’t exactly in the forefront of my mind.

I thought about a lot lasts with my dad. There was our last conversation. The last time I saw him in person, and the last time we went for a hike and watched a movie, and went to a concert together.

The day before he died, we’d talked via speaker phone with my mom and the discussion went something like this: Disneyland plans and … poop.

Yes, poop.

Travis and I had just hosted an ugly sweater party the weekend before and when we exchanged white elephant gifts, I ended up with a book called “Poophemisms: Over 1,737 Fun Ways to Talk About Taking a Poop.” The book is basically a list of all the ways you can say poop and I knew my dad would get a kick out of it. So, I told him a few phrases like “Gone With the Wind,” “bake brownies,” “Do the Deed.”

He took me up on this right away and started asking if more phrases were in the book. I can’t remember for the life of me what his suggestions were, but none of them were in the book, and he named at least five. So then my mom said it sounded like he could write his own poop book and we all laughed.

While it might be nice to say the last conversation we had was philosophical or that I learned something really profound from him that night, I honestly can’t think of a better last conversation. It was funny and so us.

One of my favorite quotes about beginnings and endings comes from the movie “Hope Floats,” when little Birdie Pruitt says, “She says that beginnings are scary, endings are usually sad, but it’s the middle that counts the most. Try to remember that when you find yourself at a new beginning. Just give hope a chance to float up. And it will, too …”

My last conversation with my dad was still in “the middle” – in the part that counts the most. It was before everything turned sad and scary. While I can’t say every interaction with my dad was positive (I don’t think anyone can say that about their family), I’m so grateful that the majority of our “middle” was good, fun and inspiring.

There were so many beginnings and endings my dad was part of. He and my mom got me in piano lessons at age 8 and they bought my clarinet when it was decided I would take band classes in junior high. They were there for my first and last performances, and came to voice recitals in college when I decided to take on lessons.

He was there to give me advice and hope every year I started a new grade, and he read my stories when they first started printing in the local newspaper in high school. In college, he was the person I wanted to call after one of my first interviews for a college newspaper story because it had to do with mounting animals.

I was pretty miserable at sports, but he would come to my games when I tried something new like softball, or basketball or soccer. And when I started running races in college, I believe he was at every finish line with a camera, and a couple of times, he drove with me and my mom so we could run in Bryce Canyon or St. George. One of the last half marathons I completed was in Ogden almost three years ago, and he showed up to cheer us on wearing an Angry Birds shirt and a bell around his neck. I don’t know how else he could have better said “I’ll be there with bells on.”

He was there at my college graduation with a rose, camera and plans to pay for everyone’s lunch at Firehouse after. And when I ended my years of part-time work and started my first full-time job, he was happy for me and proud of my decision to stay in Logan.

Every time I needed help moving apartments because a school year ended or my life situation changed, he’d show up with his truck to help pack me up for the next adventure. The most notable of these moves was when he helped me close some chapters in Utah and move to New Mexico, even though I know he was nervous for me, and probably wasn’t sure I’d made the right decision.

He was there at the beginning of my marriage – I mean, he actually pronounced me and Travis married – and he gave me hope that we could have something as special as he and my mom.

More recently, he was here the weekend Travis and I made an offer on our first home. I often think about the day he came with us to look at this house and how he sat on the patio furniture in the backyard and made himself comfortable. It was like if my dad liked this house, then it was going to be OK.

Now we’re almost three weeks in this new year – this new beginning – and he’s not here like he used to be. I don’t have all my goals set up, so I’m not sure what I’d tell him I’m planning to do if he were here. Well, I do know of a couple things. I want to start a business, ski in Telluride, see Seattle, and go to a Garth Brooks concert. Other than the business, these are things that just kind of came up recently, but I know he’d be happy for me to tell him the stories and see my new work.

Today I went for a bike ride for the first time in 2015 and it was haaaaarrrrddddd, and I told myself I should make the goal to do that ride without any stops. I couldn’t help but ask for his help a couple times as I felt that bike ride everywhere – in my Jell-O legs, to my gasping-for-air lungs, to my heart that was beating wildly. I think he would have been proud of me because he was always excited to hear I’d tried something – from biking to hiking to climbing. I think he’d be glad to hear I want to get so much better.

There are still so many more beginnings, middles and endings to come because life is that way, and it changes often. There will be many more firsts and lasts.

To end this post, I want to share the last video I took of him. It was filmed Thanksgiving Day, and I found it unexpectedly a couple weeks after he passed away. I’d forgotten all about it. To give you some context, we were talking about the Live Long and Prosper sign from “Star Trek” for some reason, and my mom said she couldn’t get her fingers to move that way. So, my dad started helping her and I caught the end of it. We all laughed, and then my dad signed off with his signature peace sign and “bye bye.”

Oh, how I miss him. Live Long and Prosper in our dreams and somewhere close, Dad. Cheer us on and help us through the beginnings, middles and endings the rest of our lives.

life love

disneyland with dad

“Adults are only kids grown up, anyway.”
– Walt Disney

On vacations to see the Mouse, my brothers and I were raised to get up with the sun, arrive at the Disneyland gates before the park opened and play until the dragon and fire debuted in Fantasmic, the Electrical Parade floats had made their way down Main Street and cast members were ready to put all pirates, ghosts, tiki birds and Small World dolls to bed for the night.

We knew the expectations. We had to see and do it all – and if time allowed, we had to see and do some things two, three maybe four times. There would be little time to even eat because we would all be too excited for rides and shows, but we’d make sure to get salty popcorn, sugary churros, pink cotton candy and frozen pineapple ice cream along the way, often as we were heading from one attraction to another.

My brothers and I were Disney kids from the beginning because our parents loved it so much. Every few years we’d make our way to southern California, buy multiple-day passes and take part in everything the Happiest Place on Earth had to offer – from chili fries at the Golden Horseshoe, to a giant yeti scaring around Matterhorn corners, to being whipped around on “the wildest ride in the wilderness.”

In most of my Disneyland memories, my dad has a strong presence. It’s actually one of the last things we talked about over the phone the day before he died. A child at heart in some ways, my dad loved everything about that place. If there was anyone who didn’t want to waste a moment while we were there, it was him. It didn’t matter if we were in line for a child’s ride like Peter Pan, or something more adventurous like Indiana Jones, he was always enthusiastic about each experience – even if he’d done it many times before.

If the line wasn’t too long, he didn’t mind if I wanted a picture with Mickey Mouse, Winnie the Pooh or some other character, and he always took the opportunity to dress up like a character himself at the Mad Hatter in Fantasyland. He liked doing pretty much everything at Disneyland, from getting into submarines to see Nemo, to wearing 3-D glasses for “It’s Tough to be a Bug,” to screaming on the Tower of Terror as it dropped us over and over. And if a ride threatened to make him sick – like California Screamin’ or Space Mountain – he even liked waiting and watching us ride it for him.

He had his favorite shows and Billy Hill and the Hillbillies was on the top of the list. I remember being at the park on a hot day and taking a break at the Golden Horseshoe for some food, ice cream and that show of hillbillies playing instruments, singing and cracking jokes. Every time Billy Hill pulled out those fake costume teeth and made faces at the audience, my dad laughed as hard as the first time he’d seen the show.

He loved looking for new hats and hoodies in the Main Street shops, along with various Disney decorations for the house. And it wasn’t a Disneyland vacation without at least one breakfast at Carnation Cafe, where we’d order Mickey-shaped waffles and talk to waiters who’d been employed there for decades, and Oscar the chef who started working at Disneyland a year after the park opened.

About a year ago, my parents began planning a Disneyland trip that would get our whole family together for a vacation for the first time since 2007. We had all been so excited, and then tragedy struck. During that first week after my dad passed away, we weren’t sure we wanted to go, but with some guidance from others who know and love us, we decided going to Disneyland would be what my dad wanted.

Before we left for California, I told myself it didn’t matter if I got to do everything at Disneyland, but that I should do the things that reminded me of my dad. It turned out he was everywhere. He was close on our first ride – Indiana Jones – because I could hear him laughing and whooping in my heart. It was the one ride where I had to fight back tears because I know how much he loved the way the jeep takes you around corners by fire, over that rickety bridge, near bugs and rats and beneath a giant, falling ball.

My dad was also in the holiday firework display when they played Silent Night, and he was in the Aladdin show when the genie said, “Wazzzzz uuuuup?” I really hope he got to see that we had front row seats to the holiday World of Color show in California Adventure, and that a kind Disney manager who found out he passed away got us in front of a 1.5-hour line to meet Olaf, and subsequently gave us fast passes to any ride of our choice. Other times, it’s like I could hear him saying how impressed he was with the holiday versions of It’s a Small World and the Haunted Mansion.

After my 3-year-old nephew Owen survived Space Mountain, I was wishing my dad could have seen his face. None of us were sure whether or not Owen liked it, or if he was just in pure shock after riding a roller coaster in the dark with laser stars all around him. Maybe somehow my dad did see his face, and if so, I bet he was laughing and proud at the same time.

My dad was in my mom’s eyes and in all her memories, and she told me she thought about him every second. I could see it one time specifically as she looked out over the water surrounding Tom Sawyer’s Island with Pirates of the Caribbean and the Haunted Mansion across from us. Her eyes were filling up with tears and I could see her picturing their happy moments from several trips before.

My dad could never hold back spoiling us and the grandkids when it came to holidays and Disneyland, so when you combine the two, you can only imagine he’d do a few extra things for everyone. A few weeks before Christmas, my mom said he found Disney watches for all the grandkids and picked them out specifically for each one – Mickey for Zachary, Cars for Owen, Frozen for Macie and Madison, and princesses for Chloe. I hope that somehow he saw how excited about them they were, and how Macie and Madison kept looking down at Elsa and Anna on their wrists and telling us what time it was.

It’s interesting how a person can be everywhere and no where at the same time. My dad was definitely everywhere on this trip. He was there from the moment we entered the park. He was in all the Christmas decorations – in the giant tree they had set up on Main Street. Every ride reminded me of him, along with so many signs and buildings and shows. It’s interesting how such a place – an amusement park – could hold so much of him.

But even though the memories surrounded us every moment, we were all a little lost without him. Did he see how we could have benefitted from his direction? Was he there every time it took the 12 of us a half hour to decide what to do next? Did he see how much we missed his guidance, even though that sometimes meant he walked away and expected us to follow?

I wish so bad he could have been there with us in person for one last Disney trip, but I guess my family knows now that if we want to feel his spirit somewhere other than home or close, familiar places, Disneyland is one more place we can go.

I love you, Dad. Keep watching over us. Help us laugh and feel you close as we heal.

“A dream is a wish your heart makes
When you’re fast asleep
In dreams you will lose your heartache
Whatever you wish for you keep

Have faith in your dreams and someday
Your rainbow will come smiling through
No matter how your heart is grieving
If you keep on believing
the dream that you wish will come true”

life love

a weekend filled with favorites

Post author By Manette
Post date August 19, 2014
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I hope you all have many days that feel perfect. The kind that make you so happy. The kind that remind you life is so good. The kind filled with sunshine and laughter, love and adventure. Days that are simple, yet grand.

Saturday, Aug. 9, was one of those days for me. Travis and I were sitting on a sand dune in White Sands, N.M., shoes and socks off, a T-shirt wrapped around Travis’ head, a sled by our side, blue skies and white fluffy clouds to our right, and a storm brewing to our left.

The weekend had been filled with some of our favorites – a Harry Potter audio book in the car, a 3.5-hour country drive with a great sunset and the moon, sleeping next to the mountains, getting coffee for breakfast, sand in our toes, hair and belly buttons. We took photos, I drew pictures in the sand, we ran around like kids, took that sled down hills that made me scream and Travis laugh.

We had big plans to sleep on the dunes under the full moon, but that didn’t work out. But, you know, the thing with perfect days is it doesn’t seem to matter when things don’t go just as planned. Sometimes it’s actually better when there is no plan.

friendship love stars

this heart of mine

Wednesday, July 27, 2011

I’m slightly tipsy but i want to say the perfect picture in my head right now is a big table of people for dinner. With a jew, a mormon, a gay person, a buddhist, people of all races, a catholic, a bahai. and all just having dinner. drinking and not drinking. and just loving each other. and there are stars. and twinkle lights. and candles. and laughter.

I was sitting on The Owl roof in Logan, most likely with a Blue Moon in front of me, when I typed that out on my phone and sent the text to Travis. At this point in my life, I’d probably only consumed alcohol a handful of times. The first time was two months prior while camping with some friends and I was finally able to convince myself I wouldn’t go to hell if I tried Corona. I was 26 years old and my world was changing.

When you live in Utah and you drink, I soon discovered religion is a common discussion topic when people have beer or cocktails in their hands. Perhaps my experience is unique, but I’ve heard this from non-Mormons who live in Utah, too. I also realize a lot of the friends I hung out with had Mormon backgrounds and were going through similar transition periods as me. Even when you try, it’s really hard to escape the religion for some reason. I can remember one night, when we were all gathered around a table some people started talking religion across from me. I quickly turned to my Mormon friend next to me who was not drinking and told him to talk to me about something else. I didn’t want to hear or participate in the drunken analysis of why Mormons do what they do.

When I drink, I’m that person that openly expresses how I want the world to be a happy place. I will tell you all the things I like about you. I will hug you and all your friends – and while I actually control myself a lot more now, I used to make everyone link arms or hold hands in circles because that’s the way I wanted the whole world to be – friends, happy, loving. A big, fat cheesy circle of peace.

During this transition period in 2011, wanting everyone to be friends no matter their background or current situation was the thought that filled my mind on long walks through Logan Canyon, on the Bonneville Shoreline Trail, and at night in my one-bedroom apartment. And I swear every time I was drinking, at some point if it didn’t come out of my mouth, I’d at least think, “I’m so happy we’re all friiieeennnddsss!!!” While I may have seemed like another annoying drunk person, the intentions were true. I really do like to imagine everyone being friends, and when there is conflict, it troubles me right down to my soul.

I haven’t been active in the church for more than four years, and I struggled with issues inside the religion for about two years before that. I’d long seen the way the church – and religion in general – can separate people. It can make outsiders feel lonely and misunderstood, and it can make members who don’t seem to fit all the criteria feel less worthy than others. I’ve seen in the Mormon church that for those who struggle with sexual orientation, addiction, gender inequality, family issues, and historical religious issues, the faith they hold dear can actually torment them.

That’s why I’m happy there have been people like John Dehlin and Kate Kelly, two Mormons who have been making a difference and including those who felt like outcasts in their own communities and church houses. Unfortunately, both were threatened with excommunication this week. Dehlin is an LGBT ally and the creator of Mormon Stories, a website with several podcasts from Mormons of all walks of life, and Kate Kelly is the founder of Ordain Women, a group which has been seeking for leaders to prayerfully ask God if women can hold the priesthood. They have also waited in lines to attend the priesthood session of General Conference – which Mormons hold twice a year – only to be denied.

When I heard Kelly and Dehlin received letters from their bishop and stake president this week about church disciplinary action, I was shocked. I didn’t think the Mormon church was that interested in excommunicating activists anymore as they did in 1993, when six feminist women were disfellowshipped or excommunicated. I thought the church had become softer, even though leaders hadn’t changed official stances on gay marriage and relationships, or women and the priesthood. Since neither Dehlin or Kelly were telling members to leave the church, and they’ve both openly said they want to be part of it forever, it seems like because they didn’t fit inside the cookie cutter mold and they opened a dialogue for issues viewed as controversial, they face being kicked out.

This hurts my heart more than it probably should. People who know me probably wonder why I care so much when I haven’t been an active member for a while now. At this point, I can’t see myself being active again in the Mormon church because I want a religion that is inclusive of all people and allows women to have the same opportunities as men, but at the same time, like many Mormons who fall away, I haven’t let it go completely, either. I see it for many beautiful things and I’m thankful for the way it’s influenced my life – and the lives of my family and friends – for good. This week, though, it broke my heart again.

Oh, this heart of mine. This troubled, aching heart that just wants the whole world over for dinner with stars and twinkle lights and candles and laughter.

I hope one day it happens. Until then, here’s a cyber circle hug.

beauty friendship life love

inexhaustible source of magic

Post author By Manette
Post date May 8, 2014
No Comments on inexhaustible source of magic

Let’s geek out for a moment here. I love Harry Potter. I told you that in January in the post about audio books and the greatness of the library. Since that post, I’ve listened to “Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire” and I’m halfway through “Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix.”

The characters in Harry Potter are just so great. I love Snape because of his complexity, Luna for her weirdness, Neville for his sweet nerdiness, Hermione for her confidence, brains and creativity, and Dumbledore because he is wise.

Last year for Travis’ birthday, I gave him Dumbledore’s wand and, because I’m a child, decorated our room with balloons that had little pieces of paper inside with quotes from that old, wise wizard. (Side note … I love balloons.) This all led up to main gift – tickets to a John Williams-themed symphony where they would play “Harry’s Wondrous World.”

Now about those Dumbledore quotes … there are some gems, one of my most favorite being about words.

He says, “Words are, in my not-so-humble opinion, our most inexhaustible source of magic. Capable of both inflicting injury, and remedying it.”

I really need to print this out and hang it in our apartment somewhere, because if there’s two things I love (along with Travis, and balloons, and sunflowers, and See’s chocolates, and a billion other things), it’s writing and talking. And while a lot of what comes out of my brain is probably mumbo-jumbo, if I could remember that words are sources of magic – for good or bad – I’d be a lot more careful about what comes out of my mouth and what lands on paper. Even careless slips can lead to jinxes that cause hurt, pain and/or embarrassment. And the words we tell ourselves are also very important, for if they are not good, they can cast the worst of spells upon our daily lives.

The best of words can create friendship, love and peace. They can remedy dark magic. They can simply roll off your tongue in some beautiful way. The right combination of words create the most lovely of images, describe exactly how we feel, and help people relate and feel connected.

Handwritten words are simply the best sometimes, and the words we say in the dark hours can sometimes lift a tear-stained face and heart. Words are magic – our most inexhaustible source of magic.

Yesterday, while perusing through Facebook, I noticed a wonderful Buddhist vow my friend posted … all about words and communication. I’m going to leave it with you with the hope we can all do better with this, especially myself.

“Aware of the suffering caused by unmindful speech and the inability to listen to others, I vow to cultivate loving speech and deep listening in order to bring joy and happiness to others and relieve others of their suffering. Knowing that words can create happiness or suffering, I vow to learn to speak truthfully, with words that inspire self-confidence, joy, and hope. I am determined not to spread news that I do not know to be certain and not to criticize or condemn things of which I am not sure. I will refrain from uttering words that can cause division or discord, or that can cause the family or the community to break. I will make all efforts to reconcile and resolve all conflicts, however small.”

And now, just for fun, we may as well end with more Harry Potter goodness, including me at the Wizarding World of Harry Potter in Florida three years ago and the Valetine’s by Yenniper I gave this year. Always remember I like your long bottom. If those words aren’t magic, I don’t know what are.

beauty life love stars

slowly, then all at once

I promise this won’t turn into the death blog, but I just finished “The Fault in Our Stars,” a book I enjoyed very much for several reasons, including the way death was described and dealt with. It looms over the book’s characters, who are teens with cancer.

The book is written in the voice of a teenager, which was enjoyable. I liked her spunk and edge while facing horrific things. The book gave me perspective of what having cancer at a young age might feel like – to always wonder if you’re going to live or die, and continue living anyway.

I’m going to share some of my favorite lines – some may sound familiar as they seem to keep popping up on Pinterest … at least in my feed.

Enjoy!

• • • • •

I fell in love the way you fall asleep: slowly, and then all at once.

• • • • •

My thoughts are stars I cannot fathom into constellations.

• • • • •

That’s part of what I like about the book in some ways. It portrays death truthfully. You die in the middle of your life, in the middle of a sentence.

• • • • •

When you go into the ER, one of the first things they ask you to do is rate your pain on a scale of one to ten, and from there they decide which drugs to use and how quickly to use them. I’d been asked this question hundreds of times over the years, and I remember once early on when I couldn’t get my breath and it felt like my chest was on fire, flames licking the inside of my ribs fighting for a way to burn out of my body, my parents took me to the ER. nurse asked me about the pain, and I couldn’t even speak, so I held up nine fingers.

Later, after they’d given me something, the nurse came in and she was kind of stroking my head while she took my blood pressure and said, “You know how I know you’re a fighter? You called a ten a nine.”

But that wasn’t quite right. I called it a nine because I was saving my ten. And here it was, the great and terrible ten, slamming me again and again as I lay still and alone in my bed staring at the ceiling, the waves tossing me against the rocks then pulling me back out to sea so they could launch me again into the jagged face of the cliff, leaving me floating face up on the water, undrowned.

life love stars

when loved ones return to the stars

Post author By Manette
Post date February 26, 2014
2 Comments on when loved ones return to the stars

For the last three months, I’ve been visiting a woman with Alzheimer’s. Every Wednesday, we’d sit at her table, watch Today, drink coffee, and talk about the same things over and over – where she grew up, her kids, her grandkids, her sparkly purple sweater, the garden, the white car across the street, going to school. I’d ask her how old she was and she’d say, “old enough,” and we’d laugh.

My job as a hospice volunteer is just to provide company and friendship to patients. I don’t take care of them, feed them or give them medicine. I don’t have any sort of medical certificate. I’m just supposed to provide company for those who may leave this life soon.

This morning, I found out this cute woman I’ve visited for the last little while has moved on to join the stars, to hopefully shine her light on her family and friends she’s left behind. Over the last few months, I’ve gotten to know her sweet husband who walked her down the aisle 60 years ago. They were two kids in love – she was young enough at 19 or 20 that state law required her to get her parents’ permission to marry. And they’ve been together ever since, living in different states out east, volunteering at their church and raising their family.

Her husband told me he asks God why he’s still here, living in his 80s. Then he’d point to his wife and say, “I’m here for her.”

It breaks my heart to think of this man alone now – a man who told me just last week his house felt too empty when his wife moved into an assisted living facility a few days before. She didn’t have the highest quality of life anymore and would sometimes do things that confuse those of us who have more control over our minds. But I wonder what it must feel like to have the love of your life – 60 years of your life – gone overnight.

The last few years, death has started to enter my life. I realize the longer I live, the more I’ll experience it, but it’s not easy. Losing my hospice patients affects me differently than losing other people in my life, or learning the tragic stories of lives ended too short. But with every death, there is a little heart ache, a little confusion, and wonder at how someone can be here one day and not the next.

If I get to be with my husband for 60 years, I’ll consider myself one of the luckiest women in the world. But as I’ve seen with hospice patients and my grandparents – it doesn’t matter how long you live; it always seems too short.

A little over a month ago, a friend and I were emailing each other about how hard death can be after we learned our college professor’s wife died at age 58, after battling an illness that took her away. We both said death is so hard and surprising and shocking every time.

Life is so strange. It’s long and it’s short. And it’s hard when you’re the one living. It’s like in the last Harry Potter movie when Dumblerdore says, “Do not pity the dead, Harry, pity the living. Above all, pity those who live without love.”

I think the only good thing about acknowledging death is that is makes you live life more fully because you realize nothing is for certain, not even tomorrow. And some days that helps me put things in better perspective. But most days, I’m not to the point of feeling that comfortable with it. Mostly I just fear it. And instead of worrying about me dying, which would probably be the most beneficial because then I’d really make sure to take advantage of every moment, I worry about losing the ones I love.

I also wonder if it’s hard for the one who dies. Wouldn’t that person miss the same things? Wouldn’t that person hate leaving families and friends behind knowing they are suffering?

And when I think of my problems, I think they are so small. Really, people are dying everywhere, every moment, and people are crying over them. Since I work in news, I read all these stories of children and young people dying. I read about those who die in the most horrific ways. And then there are wars and there’s sickness and it’s all over the world and if I think about it too long, it’s too overwhelming.

I do believe there is a God and that he watches over everyone before, during and after this life. I do believe there is something wonderful after this life, too. I’ve never blamed God for anything, but that doesn’t mean I understand why some people leave the earth early, either. And I really do believe death can teach us how to live. But all the other parts in between can be very agonizing and painful. I think maybe death helps us look out for each other, which is a silver lining.

When my friend and I were emailing, I stumbled across this quote from the book “Horseradish: Bitter Truths You Can’t Avoid,” by Lemony Snicket. I think it’s fitting.

“It is a curious thing, the death of a loved one. We all know that our time in this world is limited, and that eventually all of us will end up underneath some sheet, never to wake up. And yet it is always a surprise when it happens to someone we know. It is like walking up the stairs to your bedroom in the dark, and thinking there is one more stair than there is. Your foot falls down, through the air, and there is a sickly moment of dark surprise as you try and readjust the way you thought of things.”

I’m so thankful for this life – for its twists and turns, and mostly for the love within it. The beautiful thing about love is it lasts beyond life. It can live anywhere – in the sun, in warm summer breezes, in those moments when our hearts are so full they feel like they are going to explode. Love is in the sky and in the stars that remind us of heaven. It’s in the faces of our family members, friends and even strangers. It’s in life and in death.

Though I don’t know if there’s anything more difficult to handle or understand than losing those we care for, maybe love is the point of all of it.

beauty clouds life love

i see her in the clouds

The morning after my grandma died last October, the sun turned the clouds the most brilliant orange I’ve ever seen. There was also lavender and grayish blues and golden yellows. I’d never seen a sunrise like it. It was like God and my grandma were telling me everything was going to be OK – that even though I’d lost one of the best people I’ll ever know, there was more beauty to come, and someone was watching over me.

I wouldn’t have seen that sunrise had I not asked the pilot who flies our station’s helicopter if I could have a ride that day. It was during the week of Albuquerque’s annual Balloon Fiesta and our station was taking aerial video of the launches every day that week. I wouldn’t be flying to Utah for the funeral for a couple more days and decided I couldn’t miss this opportunity.

I had to get up crazy early, when the night was still in charge, and drive to the airport in the dark. The pilot would take three of us up that morning and as we waited for him to get everything ready, we walked outside the garage where the helicopter was parked and began to see amazing views of the sun rising behind the mountains. I felt so thankful to be there, to have this incredible moment the day after I fell apart making pumpkin pie in an effort to keep it together.

We got to ride in the helicopter for a couple hours and the views were incredible – hundreds of balloons in 1,000 colors rising and falling near the Rio Grande, green trees covering the ground to the west, the Sandia mountains in shades of purple to the east. I kept thinking through it all that this ride was for my grandma – I only wished she could see it.

About a month ago, my husband and I drove to the airport in the early hours of the morning so he could fly out east for a work conference. The sky was similar to that day in October and I kept looking behind us as Travis steered us to the freeway. Once we were on I-25, I had a good view to my left and some of the same thankful feelings I had in October returned.

I see my grandma in the clouds now. Sometimes I miss her so much it hurts. There have been days lately where I long to call her and catch up – to hear her say, “Well, hello sweetheart, how are you?” I wish I could hear her wit, get her to tell me all the family secrets and just talk about the day.

But sometimes, I see her in the clouds – in sunrises and sunsets. In the oranges and pinks and yellows. And I know she’s there. Somewhere.

love stars

love from mars and stars

A friend at work showed me these Valentine’s Day images from NASA’s Instagram page today and I couldn’t help but sharing. After all, this is my stars blog, right?

These photos are so fun and beautiful. It’s amazing how we can see love all around us, sometimes on purpose, sometimes on accident, sometimes in nature, and sometimes written in the stars or on another planet. It’s everywhere!

Enjoy! The captions are from the Instagram page as well.

#NASALove from the Red Planet: Mars is red, so don’t be blue. Hearts abound from us to you! From the Mars Global Surveyor (MGS) Mars Orbiter Camera (MOC) team, this collection of images acquired over 3 Mars years shows some of the heart-shaped features found on Mars by the team.

Happy Valentine’s Day! Here’s #NASALove to celebrate – like this cosmic rose from the Spitzer Space Telescope. Spitzer captured in 2004 with its infrared eyes a pink and green rose-like picture of a cluster of newborn stars known as a nebula. “The picture is more than just pretty,” said Dr. Thomas Megeath, principal investigator for the latest observations and an astronomer at the HarvardSmithsonianCenter for Astrophysics, Cambridge, Mass. “It helps us understand how stars form in the crowded environments of stellar nurseries.” Located 3,330 light-years away in the constellation Cepheus and spanning 10 light-years across, the rosebud-shaped nebula, numbered NGC 7129, is home to some 130 young stars. Our own Sun is believed to have grown up in a similar family setting.

A Valentine’s Day Mystery! Our Chandra Observatory sees a heart in the darkness – This young star cluster NGC 346 highlights a heart-shaped cloud of 8 million-degree Celsius gas in the central region. Evidence from radio, optical and ultraviolet telescopes suggests that the hot cloud, which is about 100 light years across, is the remnant of a supernova explosion that occurred thousands of years ago.

friendship love

valentine’s day

I wrote the following post two years ago. I still feel the same.

In 2011, I went through a breakup two weeks before Valentine’s Day and while I wasn’t concerned about being single on the holiday (in fact, I was really into doing things alone around that time), my friend made sure I was going to have a good night. She told me for at least a week that she had a big surprise for me, and it wouldn’t be a blind date. At work she would come up to my desk every morning and tell me how excited she was to give me my gift. That night, I went to her house to watch “The Bachelor” and after I was there for a half hour or so, a girl came to the door with a massage table in hand. My friend had set up a private, hour-long massage for me at her house. The girl took the table into the dining room where everything was closed off, dimmed the lights and turned on music. It was so relaxing during a stressful time in my life. My friend was so kind to do that for me and at that point in my life, I honestly think it was the most thoughtful thing anyone had ever done for me on Valentine’s Day.

I’ve always had a little bit of a thing for Valentine’s Day. It probably stems from my childhood when my parents and teachers made the holiday fun. It wasn’t about being in a relationship then; it was about friendship and family and making boxes at school for valentines and candy. In junior high, Valentine’s Day became about getting balloons from secret admirers at school. I know I got one in seventh grade (which was also the same day I broke up with my first little “boyfriend,” but I don’t think the balloon was from him).

In high school, I made fudge for my friends one year, but it didn’t set up right. For some reason I packaged little bits of it in cellophane anyway and handed them out with a spoken disclaimer. I knew the fudge looked like poop, but I promised the gooey, chocolatey mixture still tasted good. Um … I hope they agreed. I remember one kid literally licking it off the plastic and getting chocolate all over his face. That’s how messy it was.

I had a friend back then who wrote me a whole Valentine’s Day story one year on 3X5 cards during one of her classes. It was so funny with illustrations and all.

My freshman year of college my roommates and I went to dinner together. The following few years I had a boyfriend who made the holiday fun.

I’ve never thought Valentine’s Day had to revolve around a relationship. I think it can be all about celebrating friendship, too. That’s a kind of love, right? My cousin wrote on Facebook the other day that she’d just finished making her valentines. She followed with, “Celebrating love and friendship just makes me happy!” I love that.

I once had a friend who told me his sister, who was single, bought a Valentine’s present for her dog and I think that’s cute. If no one is going to make the holiday about you, it can be just as fun to make it about someone else, including your pet.

A couple years ago, my friend hosted a party called “Violent Times” right around Valentine’s Day. It was possibly one of the most awesome parties I’ve been to because it was creative and everyone there was super funny. We played Pin the Weapon on the Broken Heart (making weapons out of construction paper), Spin the Broken Bottle (where you had to either physically or verbally assault people instead of kissing them) and read emo poetry over candlelight. Believe me, it really was awesome.

I guess I’m writing this because I know a lot of people don’t like the holiday. They see it as a mandatory day to show love and spend money, they think it’s meaningless, or they feel like the universe is shouting “You’re single!” one day a year. But I think if people look around, many of them will see they’re really not alone, that friendship can mean just as much or more than any relationship, and we all have the opportunity to give, even if no one gives back to us. I’m not writing this to change anyone’s mind or to say everyone has to celebrate the February day of love. More so, I wanted to point out celebrating love and friendship is always a good idea and there are many ways to do that, even without a significant other.

Happy Valentine’s Day to you and yours, whoever they may be.