Wednesday Letters: Late Night Chats

Dear Sister-in-Law,

Thanks for staying up later than normal to chat with me and alleviate my stress about this Friday. I sure have missed these talks since you've been off in Europe for awhile. 

And I'm guessing we're probably going to have more of these chats. At least, that's what I'm hoping for. 

Love,

Emery

The Beach Boys And I Traded Venues...

It's true.

They were in Utah.

I was in California.

I think I got the better deal.

No stories today. I'm still trying to get back into the rhythm of my real life. But I do want to leave you with a few pictures that might explain why I'm currently very homesick to be anywhere but where I am.

See what I mean? Six days of this. Beach time. Sunshine. And little children.

I'll recover soon. I'm sure of it. I'm hoping for it.

"What are you waiting for?" "A red light?"

So, normally today would be Tech Tuesday.

But I'm on vacation. In California. My hometown.

We've eaten pancakes that are bigger than our heads (totally recommend the Potato Shack to anyone who is coming to Encinitas.)

I've played with my sweet six month old niece. I'm in love with her. And her smile.

This is her smile. And I can't wait to get a better phone to take better pictures.

And we've played at the beach.

And then, after shopping last night, we had a little car trouble. The title comes from my dad having stopped at the stop sign and waiting for the "red light". He was apparently a little tired. Laughed for awhile with that one.

But yes. Today is supposed to be Tech Tuesday. Instead, I'm giving you a reading assignment. Please find the book, "Content Rules" and start reading. I've checked it out from the library and now I'm about ready to go purchase it. It's a fantastic read about creating good content. Especially for those who are just starting in the social media/Internet scene with their business. It's definitely generated some serious thoughts that need to be discussed with my cohorts. 

So, read up. And let me know what good reads you've found. And I'll see you tomorrow.

Happiest Places

I feel like the people I live around now have been to Disneyland more often that I have. 

Which is sad. Because I grew up an hour and a half away.

My mother isn't much for amusement parks. With good reason. She had an undiagnosed case of multiple sclerosis and so walking was difficult for her. 

I maybe went three or four times from the time I was a child. And since then? Well, I keep planning that maybe... possibly... some day...

So awesome... I sure do love the eighties...

I even have maintained my So. Cal residency in the hopes that when I go, I can get the discounted tickets. (And really, that's just an excuse. I can't yet give up that I'm not living in California anymore). 

But Disneyland isn't my happy place. No... I have a lot of happy places. I have the happy place that was the Wilton House in England. Wandering around the grounds there (Yes... they have GROUNDS in England!), I realized that maybe I was destined to live in the country. Maybe the ocean air isn't for me after all. 

I have the little apartment in Spain with the balcony so close to the beach that I could taste the ocean air. I miss that apartment.

There's the little room in our first house in my hometown. In the bedroom that was mine. With the window in the front of the house so I could spy on my brothers as they played basketball. I miss that room.

But mostly, whenever I need to be reminded of good times, I just picture my parents' house in California. In fact, whenever I feel the need to find my center again that's the first place I want to go. To find the balance again.

I'm heading back there in a couple of weeks. And at this moment, that feels SO good. Just knowing that it's coming. I'll take it.

Wednesday Letters: Twin

Dear Twin,

There is so much to say.

First, congratulations on your recent MBA degree. You started a semester before me and graduated with a masters two years earlier than I will. It shows your brilliance and your tenacity. Thank you for letting me edit your essays for your applications. It helped me to gain a bit of insight into you.

From back in the day... when you started to get taller than me. I never caught up.

Secondly, I know we've had our moments. Not our finest moments. Our moments when one or both of us have not been at our best. When we have fought, in public, or said very mean and hurtful things with the intent to do damage. But we've also overcome those. There are times when I wish we were closer, when I wish I could call you up and talk to you about the boy situations that exist in my life and get your feedback on what I'm doing wrong or have you tell me that I'm doing okay and the guys around me are losers. But that's never going to be our relationship. That's not how it works. 

I send you a tweet about wireless routers and you respond with links to deals. That's how our relationship works. You're there when I need you to solve the problem. The solid, tangible problem. And I'm around to make sure that your grammar is correct. And that you don't mix up "cheddar" for "cedar". (Yes... I will continue to hold that over your head.)

I love watching you with your son. He's looking so much like you. And he's so... the only word I have for him is a Spanish word. Él es muy listo. I like to think that he gets that from you. But I'm sure it's a conglomerate of you and your wife. 

Today, I'm grateful for you. I love you. And I'm so proud to call you my twin. You and I are special. Let's remember that.

With love,

Emery

Memorial Day

I'm a church-going girl.

I think we need to get that straight, first of all.

This blog isn't for me to preach my beliefs. 

But it's just something you should know about me.

Yesterday, as I was sitting in church the man conducting the meeting went on and on about Memorial Day and remembering those who fought for our freedom. 

Being the know-it-all that I tend to be, I guffawed and thought, "I thought Memorial Day is to celebrate anyone who has passed? Why else would the cemeteries be covered in flowers."

But being the person that I am, I immediately pulled out my iPad and did a Google search. (Yep, I'm THAT person . . . the one who has to know the truth instantly. It's one of the reasons that I thought becoming a librarian might be a good idea. . .  but that's a discussion for another post.)

Unfortunately, I was wrong.

(I know... that NEVER happens—

please read that as sarcastically as you can)

Memorial Day is to celebrate those who died while fighting for freedom. 

Both of my grandfathers served during World War II (I'm a history major so I have to use roman numerals.). One grandfather was able to be discharged from the army because Grandma was diagnosed with Leukemia. The other grandpa served faithfully. Dad was even born in the Presidio of San Francisco. 

I honor these men from my family. In fact, I honor all of the men and women who have fight and who have continued to fight for the freedom that my family and myself enjoy. I only pray that the freedom will still be in tact when I have children. 

Yes, maybe I'm enjoying the day off from work. The sleeping in. The going to the movies with my niece. The hanging out with friends. But deep down, I'm going to spend some time reflecting on the sacrifices of those who have gone before. And I'll offer up a few prayers of thanks for them.

Belated (but not undeserved) Mother's Day

It's time to introduce you to a little of my family.

I have six older brothers. Even the sixth one, my twin brother, is older than me (by five minutes. He won't ever let me live that down).

Because I have so many brothers, people often forget about my sister. 

She's the third oldest. I'm the baby. There is enough of a gap that I feel that she is another mother. And yes... that is a very old picture of her. 

Apparently, my crib was in her bedroom. She and I shared a room. I remember many a night when we would push each other out of the bed. I usually spent the night on the ground. We shared a queen sized bed. We were grateful when we each got our own bed.

My sister and I haven't always gotten along. Mostly when I felt she was mothering and I felt like I only needed one mother (that's a total lie... I definitely need 2 mothers to keep me out of trouble). But as I've gotten older, I've seen that she simply wants to save me from heartache that she has known, keep me from experiences that have caused her pain. And for that, I'm grateful. 

When I was living abroad, I would receive letters from her. They were few and far between, she was in graduate school, getting her Ph.D—it was a busy time. But her letters were always timely and poignant. She had had similar experiences to me and I drew strength knowing that I was becoming like my big sister.

Even now, I sometimes wish I could be her. She is strong and happy and successful. She has a house and can do handy work. I usually end up stabbing myself with a screwdriver and then freaking out about getting tetanus. We've gotten into the habit of buying one another Christmas gifts. It's a nice little tradition that I really enjoy.

So, although it's been over a week since Mother's day, I want to simply give a little shout out to my sister for being the best non-Mom Mom. I've needed her, and I'm sure I'll still need her. And I'll forever be grateful that I have at least one other girl in the family.

Wednesday Letters: The Chief (Mom)

Wednesdays are the days when I write a letter to someone in my life (past, present, or future) and tell them something. Hence the title, Wednesday Letters.

Dear Mom,

I hope that you had a good Mother's day. Of course you did—Dad took off leaving you to a quiet house. You could relax.

I want to take this opportunity to thank you, Mom, for everything. I guess I took for granted that not every kid's mom got up at 5:30 AM to make them breakfast or at least hot chocolate for those cooler-than-normal San Diegan mornings. Yeah, you were a special mom.

I still remember coming home from high school one day in frustration because the girls who I thought were my friends had spilled about the crush I had on a boy. And you said that maybe I shouldn't spend so much time talking to those girls, but that I could talk to you because you would keep my secrets. I know I still don't always tell you my secrets, but you're usually on the list to know about things happening. I'd rather tell you than anyone else. 

Your laugh is my favorite thing about you. Maybe because I have the same laugh. On Sunday, we laughed about the recent flirting business with a guy and you laughed right along with me as I recounted the stories. And then even while you laughed you gave the best advice: "Be patient and let him work up the courage." When I told you my reasons for questioning whether or not he was even a viable option, you listened, and agreed, and understood. 

Basically, you're my best friend. 

And so I just have to make this one request of you:

I need you to stay well until I get married. Maybe a little after.

Getting sick, going to the hospital—I don't know if I can handle it again. I'm sure you can't either. But I need you to keep hanging on for a bit longer. Cause I'm not ready to lose my best friend.

Love you!

Emery

Mother and Rosa

Perhaps this post is more appropriate for next Sunday.

But patience is not ones of my strong qualities. (I'm not even sure it's one of my qualities in general...)

This is my mother:

I think this was taken around the time she got married which was... when she was 24. Mom is so pretty. I often wished that I inherited her beautiful black hair. Unfortunately, I'm the blond. One of two blonds in the family (there are 8 of us kids).

My mom loves roses. 

I remember her always having rose bushes and every spring and summer she would go out there on Saturday morning and cut roses to bring inside. She would also cut them and have me deliver the roses to neighbors or to anyone who needed a bit of cheering up. They were beautiful roses. 

When I was 23, I stopped disliking Mom so much. I grew out of my teenage angst and attitude and I actually loved spending time with her. I realized that she was growing much older. And she probably wouldn't be around for much longer. 

That year, I lived at home for six months. And during that spring and summer, I would go help my mom cut the roses. She taught me about their names and the differences. Her favorites were black magic. They are red that deepen the color towards the ends of the petals so that they look almost black. Or at least, I like to say those are her favorites. Maybe they're just mine.

When I went back East a couple of weeks ago, I ran into the U.S. Botanical Gardens. It was on my trek through the National Mall and I thought, "Why not?"

Of course, the roses were blooming. And I found a new favorite. Prairie Desert.

I loved the pink (I never like pink so that was a bit of a surprise), but I also loved the yellow. It was just... pretty. 

One day, when I have a house, I want a line of rose bushes. And you can be sure that there will be a bush of Black Magic and a bush of Prairie Desert.

Saturday Stories: Grandma's Love

Normally, I tell one of my stories.

But today, in honor of my grandma, I want to tell her love story.

She met a handsome young man when she was seventeen and had moved from her small town in Illinois to San Francisco. He worked with her brother. But he was rather conceited. He knew that he could any girl he wanted. And he wanted Jennie. 

But being the youngest, Jennie knew how to push back. He wasn't sure how much he liked that. He liked it enough to keep trying to win her over. 

Their relationship was perfect, except for their few spats. Her siblings liked him alright, but Chad was Mormon from Salt Lake City. And that could only lead to bad things. Jennie decided that she liked him. Who cares if he's a Mormon? He's a good man who works hard and is quite handsome. In those days, that was all that mattered (if only we could go back to those days).

And so it was that on Thanksgiving, Jennie and Chad found themselves obligated to attend three different dinners. 

In between one and two, they got into a fight.

Between two and three, they got engaged.

Chad yelled at Jennie, "If I bought you a ring, would you wear it?" While they drove to house number three.

Jennie yelled back, "If you bought me a damn ring, I'd wear it."

And so it was that their love story began. And lasted for years. 

I love that story.

Wednesday Letters: Niece

Wednesdays are the days when I write a letter to someone in my life (past, present, or future) and tell them something. Hence the title, Wednesday Letters.

Dearest Niece,

It seems that not so long ago they made me hold you. To everyone it was sweet for an 11 year old child to hold her first niece. All I could think about was how grateful I was to no longer be the youngest in the family. And maybe I was excited to hold a baby, too.

There have certainly been times when I didn't love being the person closest to you in age. Not that I didn't like it, it's just that at some points I wanted to be the grown-up, not treated like a kid (you understand this now...). And so maybe I ignored you (okay, I did) and maybe I didn't play with you as much as I should have. But you were always my buddy.

I still remember when I made it up to your soccer game that one time and got to see you score the only goal in the game. That was a proud moment for me.

And now you're 18. Graduating high school. Going off to college. Making decisions that will affect the rest of your life. Yes, I always give you tons of advice whenever I see you but please know that it's not because I think you're doing things wrong. I just see you making similar decisions to the ones I made and I'm trying to help you maybe not make as many mistakes as I did. You're always welcome to ignore my advice, just listen though, okay? Give your aunt a minute of your time.

I love you, Niece. Really, I do. I think you can tell that since I spend more time talking to you than anyone else in the family. Because I feel like you get it. You get what I want, what I'm looking for, etc. And as you reach closer to graduation... well... I hope for all the things I wished for when I was 18. But I hope that you actually get all of those wishes.

Love you always.