Honce

Dear Readers,

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Today, right now, this is my mantra.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

You've heard me talk about my friend Loren before. As far as friends go, he's the creme de la creme. Cream of the crop. Top drawer. More family than friend. More friend than family. He is my Lojo, and I am his h.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

He told me a little over a week ago that he was sick. He didn't need to tell me, because I know him as well as myself, and I've known for a long time that he was sick. They put him in the hospital for observation.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

He told me a little less than a week ago that he has cancer. He needed to tell me this, because I know him as well as myself, and I never would have imagined that it was cancer. They're keeping him in the hospital for treatment.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

This is one of those situations where I feel like Dorothy while she's in the house in the tornado on her way to Oz. Everything is spinning around her out of control, and she just holds tight to Toto and watches strange images fly past the window. My friends and family are the house, giving me a sense of familiarity and structure, keeping some of me together. Toto is the small things I hold onto that I feel I have some sense of control over; visiting everyday at the hospital, buying anything I can think of that might seem appetizing for someone who really doesn't want to eat, sending mundane text messages to anyone and everyone I could think of wanting even the smallest update on the current situation. In the meantime, I watch everything else through this crappy little window. A broken washing machine, dirty dishes in the sink, even eating a regular meal fly past this window reminding me for just a moment that there's something else I'm forgetting to do.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

I'm taking a day off today though. I'm talking a lot with my husband. I'm trying to land my house in Oz, and walk down that crazy yellow brick road until I find myself back in Kansas again. I've received so many supportive emails, phone calls, and text messages, each one with love for me but more importantly with love for Loren. Each one is so very much appreciated. Each one saying, "If there is anything I can do, let me know." To you all I say, keep doing what you're doing. Support and love Loren, his friends, his family, and yourself. Keep sending those messages, if even through your thoughts. I'm realizing more and more that it's not me going to the hospital everyday, it's not finding things to buy for him, it's not sending mundane updates and trying to feel like I can have control over this situation that's going to help him. It's not helping anyone, not even myself. It's me loving him, loving my friends, loving my family, and taking care of myself that will help him the most. I encourage you to do the same. Trust me, it's easier said than done.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

I question whether or not writing this blog is the right thing to do. It seems a bit contrived. If Loren reads it, I don't think he'll mind (do you Lojo?). If anything, it helps me to write it down and see things in a tangible fashion. It could probably use a bit more satire. I could tell you about the male nurse named Jamie who won the title of "Most Cliche Person of the Week". Or I could tell you about the patient I over heard yelling at her nurse because they offered her a nicotine patch in lieu of a cigarette (for some reason smoking's not allowed in hospitals), and she's "No damn quitter..." so why would thy offer her a patch? Or I could tell you about going to Chris' messy house last night, sitting on the floor with Lucas, looking around at the most unlikely group of people who I am so lucky to be so close with, watching "Adventure Times" and enjoying each other in a new way. But I guess I should keep it simple, like my mantra today.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Sincerely,
h.

Dance Yourself Clean

Dear Readers,

There's is something that I love to do. I have loved it since I can remember. Something I love so much, I do it every day. Eat? Well, yes, but that's not it. Watching television? Oh, I love that too, but no cigar. I love to dance.

The idea of me dancing may surprise, even repulse some of you. Even more surprising is that I have my upbringing in Rupert, Idaho to thank for it. I took a few ballet lessons from a woman named Ann Marie upstairs from what is now a Mexican wedding dress shop, but she moved shortly after I began. After that, I had to turn to the best teacher of all: MTV. Hours and hours were spent in front of the television, dancing around the small living room like I was the guest of honor at Studio 54. I would dance to anything and everything, but rap was my favorite. And when I finally made it to junior high, the thing I looked forward to most were those awful dances in the gym. The "DJ" would pump such classics as "The Electric Slide", and "Unforgettable". It didn't matter how crappy the music was though, I was killing it on the dance floor all night.

Please understand that I was never the kind of dancer that was able to memorize moves or routines. I never had a desire to be on a dance team or clog professionally or anything like that. My moves were always unrefined, spastic even. However, when I moved to Washington D.C. and started dancing at clubs there, I learned some things that white girls from Idaho typically don't have the privilege to. Often being the only white girl in the club, I was taken pity on and was some what of a novelty. My beautiful friends Suki and Giselle would keep a close eye on me, and critique me at the end of the night. Before I knew it, I was killing it on the dance floors there as well.

Now, here we are in Boise. And I have a husband obsessed with music. We have 57 days worth of dance your heart out good times music on our iTunes playlist. Shay hates to dance, but he can put one hell of a set together. I would feel bad that he doesn't dance with me, but I have a list of friends who gladly will. And we all take our dance time seriously. My friend Deana had a birthday party last week, and she had Shay dj at it, and we danced for the entire 4 hour set. Once, in my friend Loren's basement apartment, our friend Pat put on a personal dance party for 8 or 9 of us and we danced all night. Some of my best times over the last few years involve Jenny, Lojo, Chris, Courtney and a dance floor.

So this morning, as I get ready to bake a cake for an order, I will put on LCD Soundsystem's newest album, and will "Dance Myself Clean" until the cake is ready frost.

Sincerely,
h.

"Home is Where the _________ is"

Dear Readers,

A week or two ago at work, my lovely coworkers Becky and Sarah and I were checking out this really cool journal. The journal asks you a new question to answer everyday, and has space under each question to answer said question every year for five years. The purpose is to see how different you are year to year. Like I said, it's really cool (I didn't buy it however because I know it would just be another book added to the pile on my bed stand that would soon be forgotten). Anyhow, one of the questions that Becky read out loud to us was: "Where is home?". A seemingly easy question to answer at first, but when you spend 2 weeks thinking about it, it quickly becomes convoluted.

When I hear the world "home", I'm immediately taken to 810 5th Street, Rupert, ID. The house I grew up in, and the one my parents still live in. Although many things have changed about the house over the years, it harbors the same familiar feeling that you probably will never find anywhere else than where you grew up. Every sound can be heard in that house, so forget about sneaking out. And yes, Mom will know if you're watching something you shouldn't be on television even when she's at the other end of the house. But is this really my home now? It's been so long since I lived there or even used it as my permanent address. But as the sign says that hangs over my mom's kitchen entry way, "Home is Where Your Mom Is".

Since leaving Rupert, I've lived in 19 residencies. Two in Logan, UT, one in Washington D.C., and 17 in Boise, ID. Obviously some of these residencies are more memorable than others. I'll never forget living in Logan, it was one of the best and most miserable times in my life. And my stint in D.C. has stayed with me as well. As for Boise, I have a hard time remembering where everything happened. I did learn some good lessons though: never find a roommate in the newspaper, never go back to church and move into a house with 8 other Mormon girls, never trust a roommate with a child when she asks if you'll keep an eye on her daughter for a bit and then find out later that by "a bit" she meant she was going to the Oregon Coast for a week and you're stuck with her 3 year old and no money or appropriate food. I'm sure I referred to all of these places as "home" at one time or another, but honestly I never felt like I had a home until I met Shay. Even then, we didn't live together, but I discovered with him that "home" was a feeling, not a physical place. After being together for a decade, I still find that he is my home. And when Lucas came along, he became a part of that home. So maybe it's more appropriate to say, "Home is Where Your Heart Is".

With that being said, my affection for Boise has grown significantly over the last few year. Particularity since I've had Lucas. And by Boise, I mean mostly the downtown area, although I don't mind venturing out to Milwaukee to go to Target once in a while. I love walking down 8th Street and seeing all the familiar faces. I love knowing that there's hardly a place of business downtown that I don't know someone. I love that when I hear someone nay-saying B-Town, my Mama Bear instincts kick in and I start to get angry and tell the people not to let the door hit them on the way out. I love the people in Boise, especially my group of creative, talented, and amazing friends that I'm sure could never coexist anywhere else but here. So I guess you could say that I've found a home in Boise, Idaho as well.

There are so many possible answers to this unassumingly bated question. I know that I'm very blessed to have so many answers. But now I have to go and clean my apartment, because unfortunately feelings won't do it for me.

Sincerely,
h.

Sad Little Monkeys

Dear Readers,

As you might have gathered from my last post, I'm going through a very introspective phase. In an effort to become a better person, I find that I'm becoming less and less self assured and confident and more and more anxious. This just doesn't make sense...right? Ah, but wait my dear kittens, I believe it makes perfect sense. Perhaps me being more self aware has taken away from the time I used to put into to helping others.

I learned on a very interesting PBS documentary last night that having personal relationships is sn essential component in one's health. In the same way that we must feed our body and protect it from the elements, we must nourish ourselves with friendship and love. There have been studies done where baby monkeys (I know this is awful, but the studies were done in the 50's before scientists had feelings) are given everything they need to support their physical well being (ie food, water, etc.) but were denied the company of others. You know what happened? They died.

Unlike those poor little monkeys, I have been very fortunate in the fact that I've always been surrounded by wonderful people and an excess amount of love. Strangely, the things I remember and hold on to most are the negative things said and done to me. Whether it be a grade school classmate that tormented me or a boss giving me negative feedback at work, I hold on to the things they say and replay them in my head the way Idaho radio stations play horrible 80's rock over and over again. During this the past week or so while I've been so selfishly introspective, these are the things that have been bringing me down. It annoys me how much energy I waste on these memories and on the anxiety they inevitably causes. By allowing this anxiety to grow stronger, I have to take more time for meditation to calm my self down. By the time I calm down, I'm exhausted, and I'm sure the energy I've created has helped to exhaust those around me as well.

So I quit. I don't need to sit around and think about what I've done wrong, what I can change, and what I can do better. Instead, I want to focus on loving and supporting the people I'm so lucky to have in my life. Please don't take this out if context. Professionally, I will of course do my best, whether it be folding clothes at work or baking cupcakes for a wedding at home. But personally, I need to focus on people who need my attention more than I do. I couldn't bear the thought of having sad little monkey in my life that I didn't help to nourish because I was to busy feeling bad about some stupid thing said to me in junior high.

Come to me little monkeys! I will adopt you and love you! But I will not give you cash...that you'll have to find elsewhere.

Sincerely,
h.

P.S. I wrote this on an iPad, please be kind about any typos that may have occured :)

10 Goals for 2011

Dear Readers,

It's a new year. It shouldn't be such a surprise to me, seeing as how it happens every year. It doesn't really feel like a new beginning this time around, which makes me wonder if I'm getting old or apathetic or both? Regardless, instead of resolutions, I've decided to make changes. Nothing huge or unattainable. Rather, a few minor things that I'm hoping will result in me being a better person. Without further ado, here are my 2011 goals:

1: Eat in a healthy fashion. I eat healthy food for the most part. My problem is, I don't eat on a consistent basis. I don't like breakfast, I rarely eat lunch, and by the time dinner comes around I eat more than my share. From what I understand, there's a better way to do this. So I'm going to force myself to eat food at regular intervals. What will this improve? I'm not sure. But it couldn't hurt to try.

2: Focus on what's working right with my body, not what's going wrong. Most of you that know me know this, but I have an auto-immune disorder called connective tissue disease. If Lupus and Rheumatoid Arthritis had a baby, it would resemble me. It causes me to be exhausted most (if not all) of the time, chronic pain, and the ability to live my life like I used to. However, I'm a couple years used to it now. Is it ideal? No. But it could be a lot worse, and I know that. Keeping that in mind, I'm tired of letting my disease dictate my life. I have a good doctor, I have ready access to medication and I have a very supportive husband, boss, and group of friends that don't allow me to feel sorry for myself. So now, in a further attempt to make my life as normal as possible, every time I have a gripe about what's going wrong, I will remind myself of what's going right (ie: "my hip hurts" will be matched with "my boobs look great today", or "every time I eat I want to throw up" will be countered with "my lungs work awesome!").

3: Do something compassionate every day. Explains itself.

4: Don't drink coffee after 11:00am. No one should drink as much coffee as I do. Thanks, Starbucks. Hopefully this will help promote goal number 1.

5: Do the best job you can do, whatever it is. I love my job, and I want to be the best at it. I would like this to fall into all areas in my life: laundry, dishes, whatever the chore, I want to do the best job I can.

6: Learn to be okay with the fact that not everyone is going to like me all of the time. I'm a pleaser. I will do just about anything to make sure that everyone around me is happy and likes me. It's ridiculous. If I'm meeting goals 3 and 5 and someone still doesn't like me, I'm sure there's not much more I can do to convince them that they should, and I'm going to just be okay with that. Well, probably not. But I'll do the best I can.

7: Every morning when you wake up list 10 things you're grateful for. Some people pray; I make lists.

8: Replace anxiety with peace using the mantras "I forgive myself" or "I'm alive and well". I find that I carry a lot of guilt, which is the trigger for my anxiety. Forgiving myself allows me to let go of a lot of that guilt. Reminding myself that I'm alive and well allows me to let go of the anxiety.

9: Be with my family as often as I can. I don't just mean being at home, but rather being present at home. It's fine if I go out once in a while, and it's okay if I want to be alone once in awhile. But while I'm with Shay and Lucas, I want to pay attention to them and be a family.

10: Let the people that mean the most to me in my life know they mean the most to me. Sorry friends, it looks like it will be a sentimental year. Look forward to getting lots of love from me!

There you have it. 10 goals that probably reveal more about me than you'd prefer to know. I look forward to the improvements I'll be making though, and am really happy they don't involve intense workouts or making more money.

Sincerely,
h.

Confessions from a Guilty Soul

Dear Readers,

When I was twelve years old, I was sitting in Bishop Robinson's office having a very serious talk about my future with the Church (the LDS Church, that is). I had been called into his office because a Young Women's leader of mine was concerned about some overly feminist questions and accusations I had brought up in our Beehive class. Bishop Robinson was and still is a favorite leader of mine; he was my soccer coach, as well as one of the most encouraging adults I knew as an adolescent. Because of that respect I had for him, I took it very seriously and to heart when during this meeting he told me that I was becoming a "cynic", and how that concerned him and my ability to stay a faithful member.

To this day, I replay that conversation over and over in my head. My Catholic friends think that they understand guilt, but I am quite sure at this point that guilt hath no friend quite like a Mormon.

Mormonism and my family go way back. I have ancestors that were members from the early beginnings of the church, that walked across the country to settle in Utah and later Idaho. One was a personal assistant to Brigham Young. They helped build and create towns and communities, settle land and to find a place for a people who had faced harsh discrimination and torment to finally find peace. My dad continues to do research on our family, defining our roots more and more. The stories are fascinating. The faith and diligence of my ancestors and other early members is both admirable and incredible. It is with guilt that I say, I don't think I would have lasted five minutes with this group.

When I was 17, I graduated from high school and moved to Logan, UT to attend Utah State University. I had never given much thought of leaving the church up until this point. Honestly, I think I stopped attending church more because it was an inconvenience to my sleeping in rather than it being a movement of conviction or lack of faith. I ended up becoming friends with non-members, because honestly they were more interesting than the members I met. Not long after that I moved to Washington D.C. It was at this time that it occurred to me for the first time in my life that being a Mormon was not a normal thing. Having been raised in Southern Idaho and making the short move to Logan, I had lived my entire 19 years in areas densely populated with Mormons. All of the sudden I found myself in a city that had more people than the entire state of Idaho, and very, very few of them were members. I was amazed at the ridiculous questions that were asked, the assertion that my people were part of a "cult", and the assumption that I was raised in a polygamist family. Honestly, it was somewhat upsetting, but at the same time it was very eye opening.

After moving to Boise, I went through a really rough period where I had little friends, a lot of responsibility (I was working 3 jobs and going to school full time), and a conscience carrying more guilt than an inmate on death row. I hadn't been going to church for quite some time, and I wasn't articulate enough to explain why. I was majoring in philosophy, so I was using all of the these big words to try and fill the void that was at one time faith. I ended up going back though, and in classic Heather fashion I returned with full intentions of being the best dang Mormon ever! I was going to a student ward, had a calling, and was trying to make plans to go on a mission. I even dated a return missionary. I was doing everything I could to insure that I would set a great example as a member. But the whole time, a little over a year, that I was trying so very hard to fit into the classic Mormon-girl mold, I was miserable. I thought it was a lack of faith bringing me down, but in retrospect I was miserable because I was trying so very hard to be a person that I wasn't at all. "Hypocrite" is the word used to describe the person I was.

After I left again, I took a different route then before. Rather than be a "jack mormon", I was going to make sure I was leaving for the right reasons. I read the Bible and Book Mormon in their entirety. I prayed constantly. I read articles and church publications. And I came up empty. At the same time, I started dating Shay. We attended a few non-denominational churches together, but I kept getting the feeling that I didn't belong, and that I was lying to everyone trying to be something I wasn't. The minute Shay and I stopped attending churches, our relationship flourished and we got along better than ever. We have raised our son outside of church, something that I've lost a lot of sleep over in the past. Anymore I realize that he wouldn't learn anything more about the things we feel are important at church, and that he is naturally one of the most loving and compassionate humans I've ever met.

I continue to do research into the LDS Church, for several reasons. I think keeping the connection to my family (immediate, extended, and ancestrally speaking) is important. I find early church history, particularly anything pertaining to Joseph Smith to be fascinating. I have no desire to speak ill of, or bare false witness to the LDS Church, its members, or its practices. I have a huge respect for their humanitarian work, a great admiration of their business and welfare practices, and will always be proud of my family and their involvement in their rolls.

I admire faith. I simply am not capable of having it. I've quoted this song before, but my friend Loren covered my beliefs and sentiments in a song he wrote that says, "I believe in the human bond, I believe in you and me, the love of a family...I find it a little bit hard to believe in the mystical." Bishop Robinson was right to be concerned about my questioning nature as a pre-teen. However, "cynic" was the wrong word to describe me. I don't doubt the intentions of people (well, most people anyway). "Skeptic" would have been a more appropriate word, as I am skeptical to the marrow of my bones. I am fortunate though. In my leaving the church, I was able to keep most of my relationships in tact. I did lose some friends, and I do have some family that insists on bothering me about it. My my parents, my sisters, and a few select friends have been willing to allow me to still be a part of their lives, and I will always be grateful for their love and support. I know it's not an easy thing for them, and it is for them that I write this blog.

It's weird to put all of this out there, not knowing who will read it and what their reaction will be. But I'm glad to do it, if for anything else to allow myself to get rid of some guilt and move on with my happy little life.

Sincerely,
h.

Empty-Nest Syndrome

Dear Readers,

Growing up, my family used to make fun of me for my ability to make friends. Yes, it is weird, isn't it? Rather than say, "Good for you! We're so happy you're socially adept and fun to be around!" they'd make snarky remarks about how retarded I am. Even today I get snide remarks from not only my sisters and parents, but from my husband as well. When looking at my Facebook page the other day, and seeing that I had over 300 "friends", he challenged me to tell where I knew each person from, and I not only accepted and completed his challenge but was able to tell him stories at length about most people. He'll never do that again, if for any other reason the sheer boredom he experienced.

I think I developed my ability to meet people through watching my Aunt Ruth. Ruth has always been a favorite person of mine, and from a very young age I found myself trying to pattern my own personality after hers. For instance, my favorite color is yellow. It's also Ruth's. Well, when I put it like that it doesn't seem too significant, but I assure you that at the age of 5 when I made yellow my official favorite color, it was a huge deal. Anyhow, I remember staying with Ruth during my vacation (one week in Boise every summer...I still don't look forward to anything the way I looked forward to that week), and going to Albertson's with her for a gallon of milk, but spending a half hour talking to the several people she knew. And then, while waiting in line to check out, she'd make friends with whoever was next in line. I loved this about her. And now, when I go to Albertson's, the same thing happens. However, Shay and Lucas don't find this to be endearing, but rather annoying. "How do you know these people?" Shay will ask, to which my reply will be a long explanation about how they know so and so and I met them at so and so's party and blah blah blah. "Nevermind" is his general reply.

Beyond my social grocery shopping encounters, I have my friends and then I have my "best" friends. Most people have just one, singular, best friend. I, on the other hand, describe several people with that title. Monica Maxwell is my best friend from growing up. Jessica Knickerbocker is my best friend from college. Scot Klein is my best friend from age 20-21. My cousin Adriana is my best friend for life. And my friends Loren, Jenny, Chris, Andrew, Jason, P.L., and Aaron are introduced or described as my "best friend". Who could forget Shay? The ultimate husband best friend. It's a tad ridiculous, I know. But how else would you describe them?

Earlier this week, I had a revelation about myself that kept me crying all night. The last group of people I described as besties, Loren, Jenny, Chris, Andrew, Jason, P.L., and Aaron, are people that I have upgraded from "friend" status to "family". When I think about who I want around me for the rest of my life, it's these people (don't worry blood family, you're included in that too). But what I realized was, I've surrounded myself with a group of extremely talented people who have the ability and the potential to follow their passions strait out of my life and into a glorious and famous life beyond Boise. At the same time, my dear sweet baby boy, Lucas, reminded me that he turns 7 next week, and "...isn't that old?". At that point, at the tender young age of 31, I went head long into a menopausal "empty-nest" panic attack. One that ended up requiring a sedative, and will probably require more (keep that Valium coming, doctor!). It's taken three long conversations, one with Andrew, one with Chris, and one with Shay, to assure me that I will never be out of the picture and regardless of what roads they go on (Andrew and Chris, that is. Shay's legally obligated to be in my life), I will always be a part of their lives. Of course I haven't confirmed this with the rest of our group, but I'm going to make an assumption that it will be the same with all of them. My mom told me today that should these amazing people leave my life, I could always make new friends. I suppose she's right. But the idea finding and making new friends at this caliber is an exhausting one. I mean, it takes a special kind of person to find me endearing...I'm foul mouthed, opinionated to a fault, known to force baked goods down your throat all the time, demand a lot of attention, and will make you help me move. Who wants that in their life?

My family will continue to make fun of my social abilities probably until the day I die. After that, they'll find it charming I'm sure. It doesn't bother me so much anymore though. My obnoxious friendliness has enabled me to have a charmed life, full of great jobs (because of people I know), great experiences (because of people I know), opportunities to travel and meet important/famous people (because of people I know), and the comfort of knowing that if I ever need to have a nice conversation I can head to any grocery store or coffee shop in the Boise area and count on finding a friend.

Sincerely,
h.